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
jailor with a light. Amine started up--she had been dreaming of her
husband--of happiness! She awoke to the sad reality. There stood the
jailor, 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 jailor 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 jailors, 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 jailors, 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 their confessor with them, and
were 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 jailor 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 faggot, 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
jailors 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 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 fanaticism,
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 Fé_?
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
throne, 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 the godfathers;
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 had 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 pourtrayed
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 the sentence was read, was brought
forward to the pulpit by the officers, to hear their sentence,
standing up, with their wax candles lighted in their hands. 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 shed blood, when to comply with their request, they substituted the
torment and the 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 Viceroy, who, in state, headed the
procession, followed by an immense concourse of people. Thirteen
stakes had been set up, eight for the living, five for 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
wounds for mercy. It is the eleventh hour, but not too late. Amine,"
continued the old man, with tears, "I implore, 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 burnt 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.