Although to-morrow was to end all Amine's hopes and fears--all her short
happiness--her suspense and misery--yet Amine slept until her last
slumber in this world was disturbed by the unlocking and unbarring of
the doors of her cell, and the appearance of the head gaoler with a
light. Amine started up--she had been dreaming of her husband--of
happiness! She awoke to the sad reality. There stood the gaoler, with
a dress in his hand, which he desired she would put on. He lighted a
lamp for her, and left her alone. The dress was of black serge, with
white stripes.
Amine put on the dress, and threw herself down on the bed, trying, if
possible, to recall the dream from which she had been awakened, but in
vain. Two hours passed away, and the gaoler again entered, and summoned
her to follow him. Perhaps one of the most appalling customs of the
Inquisition is, that after accusation, whether the accused parties
confess their guilt or not, they return to their dungeons, without the
least idea of what may have been their sentence, and when summoned on
the morning of the execution they are equally kept in ignorance.
The prisoners were all summoned by the gaolers from the various
dungeons, and led into a large hall, where they found their
fellow-sufferers collected.
In this spacious, dimly-lighted hall, were to be seen about two hundred
men, standing up, as if for support, against the walls, all dressed in
the same black and white serge; so motionless, so terrified were they,
that if it had not been for the rolling of their eyes, as they watched
the gaolers, who passed and repassed, you might have imagined them to be
petrified. It was the agony of suspense, worse than the agony of death.
After a time, a wax candle, about five feet long, was put into the
hands of each prisoner, and then some were ordered to put on over their
dress the _Sanbenitos_--others the _Samarias_! Those who received these
dresses, with flames painted on them, gave themselves up for lost; and
it was dreadful to perceive the anguish of each individual as the
dresses were, one by one brought forward, and with the heavy drops of
perspiration on his brows, he watched with terror lest one should be
presented to him. All was doubt, fear, and horror!
But the prisoners in this hall were not those who were to suffer death.
Those who wore the Sanbenitos had to walk in the procession, and receive
but slight punishment; those who wore the Samarias had been condemned,
but had been saved from the consuming fire, by an acknowledgment of
their offence; the flames painted on their dresses were _reversed_, and
signified that they were not to suffer; but this the unfortunate
wretches did not know, and the horrors of a cruel death stared them in
the face!
Another hall, similar to the one in which the men had been collected,
was occupied by female culprits. The same ceremonies were observed--the
same doubt fear and agony, were depicted upon every countenance. But
there was a third chamber, smaller than the other two, and this chamber
was reserved for those who had been sentenced and who were to suffer at
the stake. It was into this chamber that Amine was led, and there she
found seven other prisoners, dressed in the same manner as herself: two
only were Europeans, the other five were negro slaves. Each of these
had his confessor with him, and was earnestly listening to his
exhortation. A monk approached Amine, but she waved him away with her
hand: he looked at her, spat on the floor, and cursed her. The head
gaoler now made his appearance with the dresses for those who were in
this chamber; these were Samarias, only different from the others,
inasmuch as the flames were painted on them _upwards_ instead of down.
These dresses were of grey stuff, and loose, like a waggoner's frock; at
the lower part of them, both before and behind, was painted the likeness
of the wearer that is the face only, resting upon a burning fagot, and
surrounded with flames and demons. Under the portrait was written the
crime for which the party suffered. Sugar-loaf caps, with flames
painted on them, were also brought and put on their heads, and the long
wax candles were placed into their hands.
Amine, and the others condemned, being arrayed in these dresses,
remained in the chambers for some hours before it was time for the
procession to commence, for they had been all summoned up by the gaolers
at about two o'clock in the morning.
The sun rose brilliantly, much to the joy of the members of the Holy
Office, who would not have had the day obscured on which they were to
vindicate the honour of the Church, and to prove how well they acted up
to the mild doctrines of the Saviour--those of charity, good-will,
forbearing one another forgiving one another. God of Heaven! And not
only did those of the Holy Inquisition rejoice, but thousands and
thousands more, who had flocked from all parts to witness the dreadful
ceremony, and to hold a jubilee--many, indeed, actuated by fanatical
superstition, but more attended from thoughtlessness and the love of
pageantry. The streets and squares through which the procession was to
pass were filled at an early hour. Silks, tapestries, and cloth of gold
and silver, were hung over the balconies, and out of the windows, in
honour of the procession. Every balcony and window was thronged with
ladies and cavaliers in their gayest attire, all waiting anxiously to
see the wretches paraded before they suffered; but the world is fond of
excitement, and where is anything so exciting to a superstitious people
as an _auto-da-fe_?
As the sun rose, the heavy bell of the cathedral tolled, and all the
prisoners were led down to the grand hall, that the order of the
procession might be arranged. At the large entrance-door, on a raised
one sat the Grand Inquisitor, encircled by many of the most considerable
nobility and gentry of Goa. By the Grand Inquisitor stood his
secretary, and as the prisoners walked past the throne and their names
were mentioned, the secretary, after each, called out the names of one
of those gentlemen, who immediately stepped forward, and took his
station by the prisoner. These people are termed god-fathers; their
duty is to accompany and be answerable for the prisoner, who is under
their charge, until the ceremony is over. It is reckoned a high honour
conferred on those whom the Grand Inquisitor appoints to this office.
At last the procession commenced. First was raised on high the standard
of the Dominican order of monks, for the Dominican order were the
founders of the Inquisition, and claimed this privilege by prescriptive
right. After the banner, the monks themselves followed, in two lines.
And what was the motto of their banner?--"Justitia et Misericordia!"
Then followed the culprits, to the number of three hundred, each with
his godfather by his side, and his large wax candle lighted in his hand.
Those whose offences have been most venial walk first; all are
bareheaded and barefooted. After this portion; who wore only the dress
of black and white serge, came those who carried the Sanbenitos; then
those who wore the Samarias, with the flames reversed. Here there was a
separation in the procession, caused by a large cross, with the carved
image of our Saviour nailed to it, the face of the image carried
forward. This was intended to signify, that those in advance of the
crucifix, and upon whom the Saviour looked down, were not to suffer; and
that those who were behind, and upon whom his back was turned, were cast
away, to perish for ever, in this world and the next. Behind the
crucifix followed the seven condemned; and, as the greatest criminal,
Amine walked the last. But the procession did not close here. Behind
Amine were five effigies, raised high on poles, clothed in the same
dresses, painted with flames and demons. Behind each effigy was borne a
coffin, containing a skeleton; the effigies were of those who had died
in their dungeon, or expired under the torture, and who had been tried
and condemned after their death, and sentenced to be burnt. These
skeletons had been dug up and were to suffer the same sentence as, had
they still been living beings, they would have undergone. The effigies
were to be tied to the stakes, and the bones were to be consumed. Then
followed the members of the Inquisition; the familiars, monks, priests,
and hundreds of penitents in black dresses, which concealed their faces,
all with the lighted tapers in their hands.
It was two hours before the procession, which had paraded through almost
every important street in Goa, arrived at the cathedral in which the
further ceremonies were to be gone through. The barefooted culprits
could now scarcely walk, the small sharp flints having so wounded their
feet, that their tracks up the steps of the cathedral were marked with
blood.
The grand altar of the cathedral was hung with black cloth, and lighted
up with thousands of tapers. On one side of it was a throne for the
Grand Inquisitor, on the other, a raised platform for the Viceroy of
Goa, and his suite. The centre aisle had benches for the prisoners and
their godfathers; the other portions of the procession falling off to
the right and left to the side aisles, and mixing for the time with the
spectators. As the prisoners entered the cathedral, they were led into
their seats, those least guilty sitting nearest to the altar, and those
who were condemned to suffer at the stake being placed the farthest from
it.
The bleeding Amine tottered to her seat, and longed for the hour which
was to sever her from a Christian world. She thought not of herself,
nor of what she was to suffer: she thought but of Philip; of his being
safe from these merciless creatures--of the happiness of dying first,
and of meeting him again in bliss.
Worn with long confinement, with suspense and anxiety, fatigued and
suffering from her painful walk, and the exposure to the burning sun,
after so many months' incarceration in a dungeon, she no longer shone
radiant with beauty; but still there was something even more touching in
her care-worn yet still perfect features. The object of universal gaze,
she walked with her eyes cast down, and nearly closed; but occasionally,
when she did look up, the fire that flashed from them spoke the proud
soul within, and many feared and wondered, while more pitied that one so
young, and still so lovely, should be doomed to such an awful fate.
Amine had not taken her seat in the cathedral more than a few seconds,
when, overpowered by her feelings and by fatigue she fell back in a
swoon.
Did no one step forward to assist her? to raise her up, and offer her
restoratives? No--not one. Hundreds would have done so, but they dared
not: she was an outcast, excommunicated, abandoned, and lost; and should
any one, moved by compassion for a suffering fellow-creature, have
ventured to raise her up he would have been looked upon with suspicion,
and most probably have been arraigned, and have had to settle the affair
of conscience with the Holy Inquisition.
After a short time two of the officers of the Inquisition went to Amine
and raised her again in her seat, and she recovered sufficiently to
enable her to retain her posture.
A sermon was then preached by a Dominican monk, in which he portrayed
the tender mercies, the paternal love of the Holy Office. He compared
the Inquisition to the ark of Noah, out of which all the animals walked
after the deluge, but with this difference highly in favour of the Holy
Office, that the animals went forth from the ark no better than they
went in, whereas those who had gone into the Inquisition with all the
cruelty of disposition, and with the hearts of wolves, came out as mild
and patient as lambs.
The public accuser then mounted the pulpit, and read from it all the
crimes of those who had been condemned, and the punishments which they
were to undergo. Each prisoner, as his sentence was read, was brought
forward to the pulpit by the officers to hear it, standing up, with his
wax candle lighted in his hand. As soon as the sentences of all those
whose lives had been spared were read the Grand Inquisitor put on his
priestly robes, and followed by several others, took off from them the
ban of excommunication (which they were supposed to have fallen under),
by throwing holy water on them with a small broom.
As soon as this portion of the ceremony was over, those who were
condemned to suffer, and the effigies of those who had escaped by death,
were brought up one by one, and their sentences read; the winding up of
the condemnation of all was in the same words, "that the Holy
Inquisition found it impossible, on account of the hardness of their
hearts and the magnitude of their crimes, to pardon them. With great
concern it handed them over to secular justice to undergo the penalty of
the laws; exhorting the authorities at the same time to show clemency
and mercy towards the unhappy wretches, and if they must suffer death,
that at all events it might be without the _spilling of blood_." What
mockery was this apparent intercession not to shied blood, when, to
comply with their request, they substituted the torment and agony of the
stake!
Amine was the last who was led forward to the pulpit, which was fixed
against one of the massive columns of the centre aisle, close to the
throne occupied by the Grand inquisitor. "You, Amine Vanderdecken,"
cried the public accuser. At this moment an unusual bustle was heard in
the crowd under the pulpit, there was struggling and expostulation, and
the officers raised their wands for silence and decorum--but it
continued.
"You, Amine Vanderdecken, being accused--"
Another violent struggle; and from the crowd darted a young man, who
rushed to where Amine was standing, and caught her in his arms.
"Philip! Philip!" screamed Amine falling on his bosom; as he caught
her, the cap of flames fell off her head and rolled along the marble
pavement. "My Amine--my wife--my adored one--is it thus we meet? My
lord, she is innocent. Stand off, men," continued he to the officers of
the Inquisition, who would have torn them asunder: "stand off, or your
lives shall answer for it."
This threat to the officers, and the defiance of all rules, were not to
be borne; the whole cathedral was in a state of commotion, and the
solemnity of the ceremony was about to be compromised. The Viceroy and
his followers had risen from their chairs to observe what was passing,
and the crowd was pressing on, when the Grand Inquisitor gave his
directions, and other officers hastened to the assistance of the two who
had led Amine forward, and proceeded to disengage her from Philip's
arms. The struggle was severe. Philip appeared to be endued with the
strength of twenty men; and it was some minutes before they could
succeed in separating him and when they had so done, his struggles were
dreadful.
Amine, also, held by two of the familiars, shrieked, as she attempted
once more, but in vain, to rush into her husband's arms. At last, by a
tremendous effort, Philip released himself; but as soon as he was
released, he sank down helpless on the pavement; the exertion had caused
the bursting of a blood-vessel, and he lay without motion.
"Oh God! Oh God! they have killed him! monsters--murderers!--let me
embrace him but once more!" cried Amine, frantically.
A priest now stepped forward--it was Father Mathias--with sorrow in his
countenance; he desired some of the bystanders to carry out Philip
Vanderdecken, and Philip, in a state of insensibility, was borne away
from the sight of Amine, the blood streaming from his mouth.
Amine's sentence was read--she heard it not, her brain was bewildered.
She was led back to her seat, and then it was that all her courage, all
her constancy and fortitude gave way; and during the remainder of the
ceremony, she filled the cathedral with her wild hysterical sobbing; all
entreaties or threats being wholly lost upon her.
All was now over except the last and most tragical scene of the drama.
The culprits who had been spared were led back to the Inquisition by
their godfathers, and those who had been sentenced were taken down to
the banks of the river to suffer. It was on a large open space, on the
left of the custom-house, that this ceremony was to be gone through. As
in the cathedral raised thrones were prepared for the Grand Inquisitor
and the who, in state headed the procession, followed by an immense
concourse of people. Thirteen stakes had been set up, eight for the
living, or the dead. The executioners were sitting on, or standing by,
the piles of wood and faggots, waiting for their victims. Amine could
not walk she was at first supported by the familiars, and then carried
by them, to the stake which had been assigned for her. When they put
her on her feet opposite to it, her courage appeared to revive, she
walked boldly up, folded her arms and leant against it.
The executioners now commenced their office: the chains were passed
round Amine's body--the wood and faggots piled around her. The same
preparations had been made with all the other culprits, and the
confessors stood by the side of each victim. Amine waved her hand
indignantly to those who approached her, when Father Mathias, almost
breathless, made his appearance from the crowd, through which he had
forced his way.
"Amine Vanderdecken--unhappy woman! had you been counselled by me this
would not have been. Now it is too late, but not too late to save your
soul. Away then with this obstinacy--this hardness of heart; call upon
the blessed Saviour, that he may receive your spirit--call upon his
wound's for mercy. It is the eleventh hour, but not too late. Amine,"
continued the old man with tears, "I implore you, I conjure you. At
least, may this load of trouble be taken from my heart."
"`Unhappy woman!' you say?" replied she, "say rather, `unhappy priest:'
for Amine's sufferings will soon be over, while you must still endure
the torments of the damned. Unhappy was the day when my husband rescued
you from death. Still more unhappy the compassion which prompted him to
offer you an asylum and a refuge. Unhappy the knowledge of you from the
_first_ day to the _last_. I leave you to your conscience--if
conscience you retain--nor would I change this cruel death for the pangs
which you in your future life will suffer. Leave me--_I die in the
faith of my forefathers_, and scorn a creed that warrants such a scene
as this."
"Amine Vanderdecken," cried the priest on his knees, clasping his hands
in agony.
"Leave me, Father."
"There is but a minute left--for the love of God--"
"I tell you then, leave me--that minute is my own."
Father Mathias turned away in despair, and the tears coursed down the
old man's cheeks. As Amine said, his misery was extreme.
The head executioner now inquired of the confessors whether the culprits
died in the _true_ faith? If answered in the affirmative, a rope was
passed round their necks and twisted to the stake, so that they were
strangled before the fire was kindled. All the other culprits had died
in this manner; and the head executioner inquired of Father Mathias,
whether Amine had a claim to so much mercy. The old priest answered
not, but shook his head.
The executioner turned away. After a moment's pause, Father Mathias
followed him, and seized him by the arm saying, in a faltering voice,
"Let her not suffer long."
The Grand Inquisitor gave the signal, and the fires were all lighted at
the same moment. In compliance with the request of the priest, the
executioner had thrown a quantity of wet straw upon Amine's pile, which
threw up a dense smoke before it burst into flames.
"Mother! mother! I come to thee!" were the last words heard from
Amine's lips.
The flames soon raged furiously, ascending high above the top of the
stake to which she had been chained. Gradually they sunk down; and only
when the burning embers covered the ground, a few fragments of bones
hanging on the chain were all that remained of the once peerless and
high-minded Amine.