The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed,
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes;
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown.
SHAKSPEARE.
The interest attending a trial, in which royalty had evinced such
powerful sympathy, naturally extended to every member of Isabella's
female train: her anxiety as to the issue had been very visible,
notwithstanding her calm and quiet demeanor. The Infanta Isabella and
the Infant Don Juan were with her during the morning as usual; but
even their infantile caresses, dearer to her true woman's heart than
all her vast possessions, had failed to disperse the anxiety of
thought. Few can peruse the interesting life of Isabella of Castile
without being struck by the fact, that even as her public career was
one of unmixed prosperity for her country and herself, her private
sorrows and domestic trials vied, in their bitterness, with those of
the poorest and humblest of her subjects. Her first-born, the Infanta
Isabella, who united all the brilliant and endearing qualities of her
mother, with great beauty, both of face and form, became a loving
bride only to become a widow--a mother, only to gaze upon her babe,
and die; and her orphan quickly followed. Don Juan, the delight
and pride and hope of his parents, as of the enthusiasm and almost
idolatry of their subjects, died in his twentieth year. The hapless
Catherine of Arragon, with whose life of sorrow and neglect every
reader of English history is acquainted, though they sometimes forget
her illustrious parentage; her sorrows indeed Isabella was spared, as
she died before Henry the Eighth ascended the English throne. But
it was Juana, the wife of Philip, and mother of Charles V., whose
intellects, always feeble, and destroyed by the neglect and unkindness
of the husband she idolized, struck the last and fatal blow. And she,
whom all Europe regarded with unfeigned veneration--she whom her own
subjects so idolized, they would gladly have laid down a thousand
lives for hers--she fell a victim to a mother's heart-consuming
grief.[A] Who then, after perusing her life, and that of how many
other sovereigns, will refuse them, the meed of sympathy, because,
raised so far above us in _outward_ things, we deem the griefs and
feelings of common humanity unknown and uncared for? To our mind,
the destiny of the Sovereign, the awful responsibility, the utter
loneliness of station, the general want of sympathy, the proneness to
be condemned for faults or omissions of which they are, individually,
as innocent as their contemners, present a subject for consideration
and sympathy, and ought to check the unkind thoughts and hasty
condemnation, excited merely because they are placed in rank and
circumstances above us. A King of kings has placed them there, and a
Universal Father calls them His children, even as ourselves.
[Footnote A: Isabella had been previously attacked by dangerous
indisposition, from which, however, the natural strength of her
constitution would have enabled her in some degree to rally; but the
springs of life had been injured by previous bereavement. Her lungs
became affected, and the symptoms of decline rapidly and fatally
increased from continual affliction of mind.--_History of Spain_.]
Isabella had not seen Marie that morning; her trusty attendant, Donna
Inez de Leon, had alone been with her, and had reported that she was
calm and composed, and more like herself than she had been since her
bereavement. Time passed but slowly, and Catherine Pas, the same
high-spirited maiden mentioned in a former chapter, perceiving that
the Queen's anxiety evidently increased as the hours waned, quietly
left the chamber, unbidden, and even unseen. A brief interval saw
her return, and with a countenance so expressive of horrified
bewilderment, as to excite the astonishment of all.
"Oh, madam!" she exclaimed, as she flew to the Queen's seat,
regardless of either decorum or rebuke; "Oh, madam, it has killed her;
she is dying!"
"Dying!" repeated Isabella, and the whole strength of her character
was put forth, to prevent her starting from her seat. "Dying!--who is
dying? Speak out, in Santa Maria's name!"
"Donna Marie--the poor, unhappy Marie; she has been borne from the
hall! Don Felix had her in his arms; I saw her; I followed them, and
she looked dead, quite dead; they would not let me go to her at first,
till I called them hard-hearted wretches! And I have tried to rouse
her, but I could not. Oh, save her, gracious madam! Do not let her
die!"
"And have they none with her?" demanded the Queen. "But whom can they
have, save her own terrified women? Inez--Leonor--go to her at once!
Your skill and tenderness will soon revive her; this silly child
is terrified at shadows. 'Tis but a faint, such as followed the
announcement of her husband's death. If any one dare refuse you
entrance, tell them you go in your Queen's name. Foolish trembler,"
she added, in a tone of relief, as her commands were instantly obeyed,
"why this excessive agitation, when thou hast seen a faint like this
before?"
"Nay, but by your leave, gracious madam, I have not," replied
Catherine, with emotion. "There is far more of horror in this; she is
cold--cold, like stone; and they have planted a guard at the entrance
of her apartments, and they tell a tale so wild and strange, I cannot
give it credence!"
"Ha! what say they?" demanded the Queen hastily, her eyes flashing
with light, as they always did when she was excited. "What can it be,
too wild and strange for thy hair-brained fancy to believe? Marvellous
it must be indeed!"
Isabella spoke jestingly, but her heart was not with her words: and
Catherine replied with tears starting to her eyes, "Oh, do not speak
thus, my liege. It is indeed no theme for jest." And she continued so
rapidly, that to any but the quickened mind of Isabella, her words
must have seemed unintelligible. "They say she is a heretic, royal
madam! Nay, worse--a blaspheming unbeliever; that she has refused to
take the oath, on plea of not believing in the Holy Catholic Church;
that she has insulted, has trampled on the sacred cross! Nor is
this all--worse, yet worse; they say she has proclaimed herself a
JEWESS!--an abhorred, an unbelieving Jewess!"
A general start and loud exclamation of horror was the natural
rejoinder to this unlooked-for intelligence; but not from Isabella,
whose flashing eyes were still fixed on the young girl's face, as to
read in her soul the confirmation of these strange words. "What dost
thou say?" she said at length, and so slowly, a second might have
intervened between each word. "Speak! let me hear again! A Jewess!
Santa Maria! But no; it _cannot_ be. They must have told thee false!"
So the Queen spoke; but ere Catherine had concluded a calmer
repetition of the tale, Marie's words of the preceding evening rushed
back on her mind, confirming it but too surely. "To-morrow all will be
distinct and clear enough!" she had said; ay, distinct it was; and
so engrossingly intense became the thoughts thronging in her mind,
bewildering succession, that Isabella sat motionless, her brow leaning
on her hand, wholly unconscious of the lapse of time.
A confusion in the gallery, and the words, "The King! the King!"
roused her at length; and never was the appearance of Ferdinand more
welcome, not only to Isabella, but to her attendants, as giving them
the longed-for opportunity to retire, and so satisfy curiosity, and
give vent to the wonderment which, from their compelled silence in
Isabella's presence, had actually become intolerable.
Ferdinand speedily narrated the affairs of the morning, and concluded
by inquiring if any thing had occurred in her interview with Marie to
excite suspicion of her mad design. The Queen replied by relating, in
her turn, all that had passed between them. The idea of madness could
no longer exist; there was not the faintest hope that in a moment of
frenzy she had spoken falsely.
"And yet, was it not madness," the King urged, "thus publicly to avow
a determined heresy, and expose herself to all the horrors of the
church's vengeance! 'Years of deception and fraud!' she told thee,
'would be disclosed.' By St. Francis! fraud enough. Who could have
suspected the wife of Don Ferdinand Morales a Jewess? It was on this
account he kept her so retired. How could he reconcile his conscience
to a union with one of a race so abhorred, beautiful as she is? And
where could he have found her? But this matters not: it is all wild
conjecture, save the madness of the avowal. What cause could there
have been for such self-sacrifice?"
"There was a cause," replied the Queen earnestly; "cause enough to
render life to her of little moment. Do not ask me my meaning, dearest
Ferdinand; I would not do her such wrong as to breathe the suspicion
that, spite of myself, spite of incomprehensible mystery, will come,
even to thee. Do not let us regret her secret is discovered. Let her
but recover from the agony of these repeated trials, and with the help
of our holy fathers, we may yet turn her from her abhorred faith, and
so render her happy in this world, and secure her salvation in the
next."
"The help of the holy fathers!" repeated the King. "Nay, Isabel,
their sole help will be to torture and burn! They will accuse her
of insulting, by years of deceit, the holy faith, of which she has
appeared a member. Nay, perchance of using foul magic on Morales (whom
the saints preserve), and then thou knowest what will follow!"
The Queen shuddered. "Never with my consent, my husband! From the
first moment I beheld this unfortunate, something attracted me towards
her; her misery deepened the feeling; and even now, knowing what she
is, affection lingers. The Holy Virgin give me pardon, if 'tis sin!"
"For such sin I will give thee absolution, dearest," replied the King,
half jestingly, half earnestly. "Do not look so grave. No one knows,
or values thy sterling piety half so tenderly and reverentially as
I do. But this is no common case. Were Marie one of those base and
grovelling wretches, those accursed unbelievers, who taint our fair
realm with their abhorred rites--think of nothing but gold and usury,
and how best to cheat their fellows; hating us almost as intensely as
we hate them--why, she should abide by the fate she has drawn upon
herself. But the wife of my noble Morales, one who has associated so
long with zealous Catholics, that she is already most probably one of
us, and only avowed her descent from some mysterious cause--by St.
Francis, she shall be saved!"
"But how?" inquired Isabella anxiously. "Wouldst thou deny her faith
to Father Francis, and persuade him she has spoken falsely?"
The King shook his head. "That will never do, Isabel. I have had the
holy man closeted with me already, insisting on the sanity of her
words, and urging me to resign the unbeliever at once to the tender
mercy of the church. All must depend on thee."
"On me?" repeated Isabella, in a tone of surprised yet anxious
inquiry.
"On thee, love. Thy perfect humility is ignorant of the fact--yet it
is nevertheless perfectly true--that thou art reverenced, well nigh
canonized, by the holy church; and thy words will have weight when
mine would be light as air. Refuse the holy fathers all access to her;
say she is unfitted to encounter them; that she is ill; nay, mad, if
thou wilt. Bring forward the state in which she was borne from the
hall; her very laugh (by St. Francis, it rings in my ear still) to
confirm it, and they will believe thee. The present excitement will
gradually subside, and her very existence be forgotten. Let none but
thy steadiest, most pious matrons have access to her; forbid thy young
maidens to approach or hold converse with her; and her being under
thy protection can do harm to none. Let her be prisoner in her own
apartments, an thou wilt; she deserves punishment for the deception
practised towards thee. Treat her as thou deemest best, only give her
not up to the mercy of the church!"
"Talk not of it," replied the Queen earnestly. "Unbeliever though
she be, offspring of a race which every true Catholic must hold in
abhorrence, she is yet a _woman_, Ferdinand, and, as such, demands and
shall receive the protection of her Queen. Yet, would there were some
means of saving her from the eternal perdition to which, as a Jewess,
she is destined; some method, without increase of suffering, to allure
her, as a penitent and believing child, to the bosom of our holy
mother church."
"And to do this, who so fitted as thyself, dearest Isabel?" answered
the King with earnest affection. "Thou hast able assistants in some
of thy older matrons, and may after a while call in the aid of Father
Denis, whose kindly nature is better fitted for gentle conversion
than either Francis, or thy still sterner chaplain, Torquemada. Thy
kindness has gained thee the love of this misguided one; and if any
one have sufficient influence to convert, by other than sharp means,
it can only be thyself."
Isabella was not long undecided. Her heart felt that to turn Marie
from blindness and perdition by kindness and affection would be indeed
far more acceptable to the virgin (her own peculiar saint) than the
heretic's blood, and she answered with animation, "Then so it shall
be, Ferdinand; I fear me, alas! that there will be little reason to
prevaricate, to deny all spiritual access to her. Thy report, combined
with my terrified Catherine's, gives me but little hope for health or
reason. But should she indeed recover, trust me she shall be happy
yet."
Great was the astonishment of the guards as they beheld their
Sovereign fearlessly enter the chamber of a proclaimed Jewess--a word
in their minds synonymous with the lowest, most degraded rank of
being; and yet more, to hear and perceive that she herself was
administering relief. The attendants of Isabella--whose curiosity was
now more than satisfied, for the tale had been repeated with the usual
exaggerations, even to a belief that she had used the arts of sorcery
on Morales--huddled together in groups, heaping every opprobrious
epithet upon her, and accusing her of exposing them all to the horrors
of purgatory by contaminating them with her presence. And as the
Sovereign re-appeared in her saloon with the leech Benedicto, whose
aid she had summoned, there were many who ventured to conjure her not
to expose herself to such pollution as the tending of a Jewess--to
leave her to the fate her fraud so merited. Even Catherine, finding to
disbelieve the tale any longer was impossible, and awed and terrified
at the mysterious words of her companions, which told of danger to her
beloved mistress, flung herself on her knees before her, clasping her
robe to detain her from again seeking the chamber of Marie. Then
was the moment for a painter to have seized on the face and form of
Isabella! Her eye flashed till its very color was undistinguishable,
her lip curled, every feature--usually so mild and feminine--was so
transformed by indignation into majesty and unutterable scorn as
scarcely to have been recognized. Her slight and graceful form dilated
till the very boldest cowered before her, even before she spoke; for
never had they so encountered her reproof:--
"Are ye women?" she said at length, in the quiet, concentrated tone of
strong emotion; "or are we deceived as to the meaning of your words?
Pollution! Are we to see a young, unhappy being perish for want of
sympathy and succor, because--forsooth--she is a Jewess? Danger to our
soul! We should indeed fear it; did we leave her to die, without one
effort to restore health to the frame, and the peace of Christ to the
mind! Has every spark of woman's nature faded from your hearts, that
ye can speak thus? If for yourselves you fear, tend her not, approach
her not--we will ourselves give her the aid she needs. And as for
thee," she continued severely, as she forced the now trembling
Catherine to stand upright before her, "whose energy to serve Marie
we loved and applauded; child as thou art, must thou too speak of
pollution? but example may have done this. Follow me, minion; and then
talk of pollution if thou canst!" And with a swift step Isabella led
the way to the chamber of Marie.
"Behold!" she said emphatically, as she pointed to the unhappy
sufferer, who, though restored to life, was still utterly unconscious
where she was or who surrounded her; her cheek and brow, white and
damp; her large eye lustreless and wandering; her lip and eyelid
quivering convulsively; her whole appearance proving too painfully
that reason had indeed, for the time, fled. The soul had been strong
till the dread words were said; but the re-action had been too much
for either frame or mind. "Catherine! thou hast seen her in her
beauty, the cherished, the beloved of all who knew her--seen her when
no loveliness could mate with hers. Thou seest now the wreck that
misery has made, though she has numbered but few more years than thou
hast! Detest, abhor, avoid her _faith_--for that we command thee; but
her sex, her sorrow, have a claim to sympathy and aid, which not even
her race can remove. Jewess though she be, if thou can look on her
thus, and still speak of pollution and danger, thou art not what we
deemed thee!"
Struck to the heart, alike by the marked display of a mistress she
idolized and the sympathy her better nature really felt for Marie,
Catherine sunk on her knees by the couch, and burst into tears.
Isabella watched her till her unusual indignation subsided, and then
said more kindly, "It is enough; go, Catherine. If we judge thee
rightly thou wilt not easily forget this lesson! Again I bid thee
abhor her faith; but seek to win her to the right path, by gentleness
and love, not prejudice and hate."
"Oh! let me tarry here and tend her, my gracious Sovereign," implored
Catherine, again clasping Isabella's robe and looking beseechingly in
her face--but from a very different feeling to the prompter of the
same action a few minutes before--"Oh, madam, do not send me from her!
I will be so gentle, so active--watch, tend, serve; only say your
Grace's bidding, and I will do it, if I stood by her alone!"
"My bidding would be but the promptings of thine own heart, my girl,"
replied the Queen, fondly, for she saw the desired impression had been
made. "If I need thee--which I may do--I will call upon thee; but
now, thou canst do nothing, but think kindly, and judge
mercifully--important work indeed, if thou wouldst serve an erring and
unhappy fellow-creature, with heart as well as hand. But now go: nay,
not so sorrowfully; thy momentary fault is forgiven," she added,
kindly, as she extended her hand towards the evidently pained and
penitent maiden, who raised it gratefully and reverentially to her
lips, and thoughtfully withdrew.
It was not, however, with her attendants only, this generous and
high-minded princess had to contend--with them her example was enough;
but the task was much more difficult, when the following day, as King
Ferdinand had anticipated, brought the stern Sub-Prior of St. Francis
to demand, in the church's name, the immediate surrender of Marie. But
Isabella's decision once formed never wavered. Marie was under her
protection, she said--an erring indeed, but an unhappy young creature,
who, by her very confession, had thrown herself on the mercy of her
Sovereign--and she would not deliver up the charge. In vain the Prior
urged the abomination of a Jewess residing under her very roof--the
danger to her soul should she be tempted to associate with her, and
that granting protection to an avowed and blaspheming unbeliever must
expose her to the suspicions, or, at least the censure of the church.
Isabella was inexorable. To his first and second clause she quietly
answered as she had done to her own attendants; his third only
produced a calm and fearless smile. She knew too well, as did the
Prior also, though for the time he chose to forget it, that her
character for munificent and heartfelt piety was too well established,
not only in Spain but throughout Europe, to be shaken even by the
protection of a Jewess. Father Francis then solicited to see her; but
even this point he could not gain. Isabella had, alas! no need to
equivocate as to the reason of his non-admission to Marie. Reason had
indeed returned, and with it the full sense of the dangers she had
drawn upon herself; but neither frame nor mind was in a state to
encounter such an interview as the Prior demanded.
The severity of Father Francis originated, as we have before remarked,
neither in weak intellect nor selfish superstition. Towards himself
indeed he never relented either in severity or discipline; towards
others benevolence and humanity very often gained ascendency; and
something very like a tear glistened in his eye as Isabella forcibly
portrayed the state in which Marie still remained. And when she
concluded, by frankly imparting her intention, if health were indeed
restored, to leave no means untried--even to pursue some degree of
severity if nothing else would do--to wean her from her mistaken
faith, he not only abandoned his previous intentions, but commended
and blessed the nobler purpose of his Sovereign. To his request that
Marie might be restrained from all intercourse with the younger
members of Isabella's female court--in fact, associate with none but
strict and uncompromising Catholics--the Queen readily acceded; and
moreover, granted him full permission to examine the mansion of
Don Ferdinand Morales, that any books or articles of dangerous or
heretical import might be discovered and destroyed.
With these concessions Father Francis left his Sovereign, affected
at her goodness and astonished at her influence on himself. He had
entered her presence believing nothing could change the severity of
his intentions or the harshness of his feelings; he left her with the
one entirely renounced, and the other utterly subdued.
Such was the triumph of prejudice achieved by the lofty-minded and
generous woman, who swayed the sceptre of Castile.[A] And yet, though
every history of the time unites in so portraying her; though her
individual character was the noblest, the most magnanimous, the most
complete union of masculine intellect with perfect womanhood,
ever traced on the pages of the past; though under her public
administration her kingdom stood forth the noblest, the most refined,
most generous, ay, and the freest, alike in national position, as in
individual sentiment, amongst all the nations of Europe, Isabella's
was the fated hand to sign two edicts[B] whose consequences
extinguished the lustre, diminished the virtues, enslaved the
sentiments, checked the commerce, and in a word deteriorated the whole
character of Spain.
[Footnote A: We are authorized to give this character to Isabella of
Castile, and annex the lustre of such action to her memory; as we know
that even when, by the persuasions and representations of Torquemada,
the Inquisition was publicly established, Isabella constantly
interfered her authority to prevent _zeal_ from becoming _inhumanity_.
Rendered unusually penetrating by her peculiarly feeling and gentle
nature, she discovered, what was concealed from others, "That many
enormities may be committed under the veil of religion--many innocent
persons falsely accused; their riches being their only crime. Her
exertions brought such things to light, and the suborners were
punished according to their guilt."--WASHINGTON IRVING'S _Siege of
Granada_.--Of Ferdinand too we are told, "_Respetó la jurisdiction
ecclesiastica, y conservo la real_;" he respected the ecclesiastical
jurisdiction, but _guarded_ or was _jealous_, for that of the crown.
His determination, therefore, to refuse the church's interference in
the case of Marie, though unusual to his _age_, is warranted by his
larger mind and freer policy.]
[Footnote B: The establishment of the Inquisition, and expulsion of
the Jews.]
For fourteen days affairs remained the same. At the end of that period
the castle and city of Segovia were thrown anew into a state of
the wildest excitement by a most mysterious occurrence--Marie had
disappeared.