"Meekly had he bowed and prayed,
As not disdaining priestly aid;
And while before the Prior kneeling,
His heart was weaned from earthly feeling:
No more reproach, no more despair--
No thought but heaven, no word but prayer."
BYRON.
Time passed slowly on, and no proof appeared to clear Arthur Stanley's
fame. All that man's judgment could counsel, was adopted--secret
measures were taken throughout Spain, for the apprehension of any
individual suspected of murder, or even of criminal deeds; constant
prayers offered up, that if Arthur Stanley were not the real murderer,
proofs of his innocence might be made so evident that not even his
greatest enemy could doubt any longer; but all seemed of no avail.
Week after week passed, and with the exception of one most mysterious
occurrence, affairs remained the same. So strong was the belief of the
nobles in his innocence, that the most strenuous exertions were made
in his favor; but, strong as Ferdinand's own wish was to save him, his
love of justice was still stronger; though the testimony of Don Luis
might be set aside, calm deliberation on all the evidence against
him marked it as sufficiently strong to have sentenced any other so
accused at once. The resolute determination to purge their kingdom
from the black crimes of former years, which both sovereigns felt and
unitedly acted upon, urged them to conquer every private wish and
feeling, rather than depart from the line laid down. The usual
dispensers of justice, the Santa Hermandad--men chosen by their
brother citizens for their lucid judgment, clearness of perception,
and utter absence of all overplus of chivalrous feeling, in matters of
cool dispassionate reasoning--were unanimous in their belief in the
prisoner's guilt, and only acquiesced in the month's reprieve, because
it was Isabella's wish. Against their verdict what could be brought
forward? In reality nothing but the prisoner's own strongly-attested
innocence--an attestation most forcible in the minds of the Sovereign
and the nobles, but of no weight whatever to men accustomed to weigh,
and examine, and cross-examine, and decide on proof, or at least from
analogy, and never from an attestation, which the greatest criminals
might as forcibly make. The power and election of these men Ferdinand
and Isabella had confirmed. How could they, then, interfere in the
present case, and shackle the judgment which they had endowed with
authority, dispute and deny the sentence they had previously given
permission to pronounce? Pardon they might, and restore to life and
liberty; but the very act of pronouncing pardon supposed belief in and
proclamation of guilt. There was but one thing which could save him
and satisfy justice, and that was the sentence of "not guilty." For
this reason Ferdinand refused every petition for Stanley's reprieve,
hoping indeed, spite of all reason, that even at the eleventh hour
evidence of his innocence would and must appear.
Stanley himself had no such hope. All his better and higher nature had
been called forth by the awful and mysterious death of Morales, dealt
too by his own sword--that sword which, in his wild passions, he had
actually prayed might shed his blood. The film of passion had dropped
alike from mental and bodily vision. He beheld his irritated feelings
in their true light, and knew himself in thought a murderer. He would
have sacrificed life itself, could he but have recalled the words of
insult offered to one so noble; not for the danger to himself from
their threatening nature, but for the injurious injustice done to the
man from whom he had received a hundred acts of little unobtrusive
kindnesses, and whom he had once revered as the model of every thing
virtuous and noble--services which Morales had rendered him, felt
gratefully perhaps at the time, but forgotten in the absorption of
thought or press of occupation during his sojourn in Sicily, now
rushed back upon him, marking him ingrate as well as dishonored. All
that had happened he regarded as Divine judgment on an unspoken,
unacted, but not the less encouraged sin. The fact that his sword had
done the deed, convinced him that his destruction had been connived
at, as well as that of Morales. A suspicion as to the designer, if not
the actual doer of the deed, had indeed taken possession of him; but
it was an idea so wild, so unfounded, that he dared not give it words.
From the idea of death, and such a death, his whole soul indeed
revolted; but to avert it seemed so utterly impossible, that he
bent his proud spirit unceasingly to its anticipation; and with the
spiritual aid of the good and feeling Father Francis, in some degree
succeeded. It was not the horror of his personal fate alone which bade
him so shrink from death. Marie was free once more; nay, had from
the moment of her dread avowal--made, he intuitively felt, to save
him--become, if possible, dearer, more passionately loved than before.
And, oh! how terrible is the anticipation of early death to those that
love!--the only trial which bids even the most truly spiritual, yet
while on earth still _human_ heart, forget that if earth is loved and
lovely, heaven _must_ be lovelier still.
From Don Felix d'Estaban, his friendly warder, he heard of Isabella's
humane intentions toward her; that her senses had been restored, and
she was, to all appearance, the same in health as she had been since
her husband's death; only evidently suffering more, which might be
easily accounted for from the changed position in which the knowledge
of her unbelief had placed her with all the members of Isabella's
court; that the only agitation she had evinced was, when threatened
with a visit from Father Francis--who, finding nothing in the mansion
of Don Ferdinand Morales to confirm the truth of her confession,
had declared his conviction that there must be some secret chamber
destined for her especial use. As if shrinking from the interview he
demanded, Marie had said to the Senora, to whose care she had been
intrusted--"He need not seek me to obtain this information. For my
husband's sake alone I concealed the faith in which I glory. Let
Father Francis remove a sliding panel beneath the tapestry behind
the couch in my sleeping apartment, and he will find not only all he
seeks, but the surest proof of my husband's care and tenderness for
me, unbeliever though he might deem me."
The discovery of this secret closet, Don Felix continued, had caused
much marvel throughout the court. Where Morales had found her, or how
he could have reconciled his conscience not only to make her his wife,
but permit her the free exercise of a religion accursed in the sight
both of God and man, under his own roof, were questions impossible to
solve, or reconcile with the character of orthodox Catholicism he had
so long borne. The examination had been conducted with the church's
usual secrecy; the volumes of heresy and unbelief (it did not signify
that the word of God was amongst them) burnt; the silver lamps and
other ornaments melted down, to enrich, by an image of the virgin, the
church of St. Francis; the recess itself purified with incense and
sprinkled with holy water; the sign of the cross deeply burnt in the
walls; and the panel which formed the secret entrance firmly fastened
up, that its very existence should be forgotten. The matter, however,
Don Felix added, was not publicly spoken of, as both the King and
Queen, in conjunction with the Sub-Prior, seemed to wish all that
had passed, in which Donna Marie was concerned, should be gradually
forgotten. Don Ferdinand's vast possessions had, in consequence of
his widow's being an unbeliever, and so having no power to inherit,
reverted to the crown; but in case of Marie's conversion, of which Don
Felix appeared to entertain little doubt, the greater part would be
restored to her. Till then, Marie was kept in strict confinement in
the palace; but all harsher measures Isabella had resolved to avoid.
This intelligence relieved Stanley's mind of one painful dread, while
it unconsciously increased his wish to live. Marie free! a Catholic!
what could come between them then? Must she not love him, else why
seek to save him? And then again the mystery darkened round her. A
wild suspicion as to the _real reason_ of her having wedded Ferdinand,
had flitted across his mind; but the words of Estaban so minutely
repeated, seemed to banish it entirely; they alluded but to her
husband's forbearing tenderness, felt the more intensely from its
being extended by a zealous Catholic to one of a race usually so
contemned and hated. In vain he tried to reconcile the seeming
inconsistency of her conduct; his thoughts only became the more
confused and painful, till even the remembrance of her self-devotion
lost its power to soothe or to allay them.
When Don Felix again visited his prisoner, his countenance was so
expressive of consternation, that Stanley had scarcely power to ask
what had occurred. Marie had disappeared from the castle so strangely
and mysteriously, that not a trace or clue could be discovered of her
path. Consternation reigned within the palace; the King was full of
wrath at the insult offered to his power; the Queen even more grieved
than angry. The guards stationed without the chamber had declared on
oath that no one had passed them; the Senoras Leon and Pas, who slept
in the room adjoining, could tell nothing wherewith to explain the
mystery. In the first paroxsym of alarm they had declared the night
had passed as usual; but on cooler reflection they remembered starting
from their sleep with the impression of a smothered cry, which having
mingled with their dreams, and not being repeated, they had believed
mere fancy. And this faint sound was the only sign, the only trace
that her departure was not a voluntary act.
"Father Francis! the arm of the church!" gasped Stanley, as Don Felix
paused in his recital, astonished at the effect of his words on the
prisoner, whose very respiration seemed impeded.
"Father Francis has solemnly sworn," he replied, "that neither he nor
any of his brethren had connived at an act of such especial disrespect
to the sovereign power, and of injustice towards the Queen. Torquemada
is still absent, or suspicion night rest on him--he is stern enough
even for such a deed; but how could even he have withdrawn her from
the castle without discovery?"
"Can she not have departed voluntarily?" inquired Stanley, with sudden
hope. "The cry you mention may indeed have been but fancy. Is it not
likely that fear as to her fate may have prompted her to seek safety
in flight?"
"Her Grace thinks not, else some clue as to her path must, ere this,
have been discovered. Besides, escape was literally impossible without
the aid of magic, which however her accursed race know well how to
use. The guards must have seen her, had she passed her own threshold
in any human form. The casement was untouched, remaining exactly as
the Senora Leon secured it with her own hand the preceding evening;
and, even had she thence descended to the ground, she could have gone
no further from the high and guarded walls. It may be magic: if so,
and the devil hides himself in so fair a form, the saints preserve
us! for we know not in whom next he will be hid." So spoke, gravely,
seriously, undoubtingly, a wise and thoughtful Spanish noble, of the
fifteenth century; and so then thought the whole European world.
Stanley scarcely heard the last words; for in his mind, however
sorcery might be synonymous with _Judaism_ it certainly was not with
_Marie_; and he could only realize the fact of the utter impossibility
of a voluntary flight.
"Had the Queen seen her since her trial?" he inquired.
"She had not; a fact which deepens her distress; for she fancies had
Marie been nearer her person, and aware of the full extent of her
merciful intentions, this might have been averted. She believes that
the smothered cry alluded to was really Donna Marie's; but, if
so, what the dark power is, which has so trampled on the royal
prerogative, is plunged in as impenetrable mystery as every thing
else, in which Donna Marie has been concerned."
"Even the same dark power which seeks my destruction, and laid Morales
low," replied Stanley, more as if thinking aloud than addressing his
companion; "and when the clue to one mystery is found, the rest will
follow. Some fiend from hell is at work around us. Morales is gone.
Marie has followed, and I shall be the next; and then, perhaps, the
demon's reign will end, and the saints of heaven triumph."
"Would to heaven a Jewess had never come amongst us," was the
rejoinder; "there is always evil in their train." And the blood rushed
to Arthur's cheek, his hand involuntarily clenched, and his eye
glanced defiance towards Don Felix, as if, even at such a moment,
insult even in thought towards Marie should not pass unquestioned; but
he restrained himself, and the emotion was unnoticed.
From that day so engrossed were the thoughts of the prisoner with
vain speculations as to the fate of Marie, that the fact of his own
position remaining the same, and his hours of life waning fast, seemed
actually unheeded. From Don Felix, in various visits, he heard that
Marie was no longer publicly spoken of; the excitement occasioned
alike by her avowal and disappearance was fast fading from the
imagination of the populace. The public jousts and festivals, intended
to celebrate the visit of the sovereigns, but which Morales's death
and the events ensuing had so painfully suspended, were recommencing,
and men flocked to them, as glad to escape from the mourning and
mystery which had held sway so long.
And now only three days intervened ere the expiration of the given
month; and each day did the Sub-Prior of St. Francis pass with the
prisoner, exhorting, comforting, and strengthening him for the dread
passage through which it was now too evident his soul must pass to
eternity. It was with difficulty and pain, that Stanley could even
then so cease to think of Marie, as to prepare himself with fitting
sobriety and humility for the fate impending; but the warm sympathy of
Father Francis, whose fine feelings had never been blunted by a life
of rigid seclusion, won him to listen and to join in his prayers, and,
gradually weaning his thoughts from their earthly resting, raised them
to that heaven which, if he truly repented of sin, the good father
assured him, was fast opening for him. Under the inviolable seal of
confession, Arthur acknowledged his deep and long-cherished love
for Marie, his dislike to her husband, which naturally followed the
discovery of her marriage, and the evil passions thence arising; but
he never wavered in the reiteration of his innocence; adding, that he
reproached no man with his death. The sentence was just according to
the appearances against him. Had he himself been amongst his judges,
his own sentence would have been the same. Yet still he was innocent;
and Father Francis so believed him that, after pronouncing absolution
and blessing, he hastened from the prisoner to the King to implore a
yet longer reprieve. But Ferdinand, though more moved by the Prior's
recital than he chose to display, remained firm; he had pledged his
kingly word to the chief of the Santa Hermandad that the award of
justice should not be waived without proof of innocence, and he could
not draw back. One chance only he granted, urged to do so by an
irresistible impulse, which how often comes we know not wherefore,
till the event marks it as the whisper of some guardian angel, who has
looked into the futurity concealed from us. The hour of the execution
had been originally fixed for the sixth hour of the morning; it was
postponed till noon.
The morning dawned, and with its first beams came Father Francis to
the prisoner. He found him calm and resigned: his last thought of
earth was to commend Marie, if ever found, to the holy father's care,
conjuring him to deal gently and mercifully with a spirit so broken,
and lead her to the sole fountain of peace by kindness, not by wrath;
and to tell her how faithfully he had loved her to the last. Much
affected, Father Francis promised--aye, even to protect, if possible,
an unbeliever. And Stanley once mere knelt in prayer, every earthly
thought at rest. The last quarter-bell had chimed; and ere it ceased,
the step of Don Felix was heard in the passage, followed by the
heavy tramp of the guard. The Prior looked eagerly in the noble's
countenance as he entered, hoping even then to read reprieve; but the
stern yet sad solemnity on Don Felix's face betrayed the hope was
vain. The hour had indeed come, and Arthur Stanley was led forth to
death!