"Doth Heaven
Woo the free spirit for dishonored breath
To sell its birthright? Doth Heaven set a price
On the clear jewel of unsullied faith
And the bright calm of conscience?"
MRS. HEMANS.
A private council immediately followed the confession received; but
though it continued many hours, no active measures could at once be
decided upon. Secret and illegal, according to Spanish laws, as this
tribunal was, it was yet an instrument of the Pope, acknowledging his
supremacy alone, and, in consequence, always receiving his protection.
Civil justice, it appeared, could not reach those who were protected
by; the head of the church; but Ferdinand's mind was far too capacious
to admit this plea. Rooted out of his dominions--in its present
form, at least--he resolved it should be, and Isabella confirmed the
resolve. Not only was its secret existence fraught with the most awful
crimes and injustice, regarded generally, but it was derogatory and
insulting to that sovereign power, which Ferdinand and Isabella had
both determined on rendering supreme. Father Francis, whose usual
energy of thought and counsel appeared completely annihilated from the
fearful tale he had heard, strenuously urged the sovereigns to wait
the arrival of Torquemada, the Queen's confessor, who was now every
hour expected, and whose sterner and more experienced mind would give
them better counsel. To this both sovereigns agreed, but one measure
they adopted at once. As Grand Inquisitor, the principal actor in this
atrocious drama might be servant of and solely answerable to the Pope;
as Don Luis Garcia, he was subject to Ferdinand and Isabella, and as
such amenable to the laws of Spain. A schedule was therefore drawn up,
stating that whereas the man commonly known as Don Luis Garcia, had
been convicted of many atrocious and capital crimes, and, amongst
the gravest, of having instigated and commanded the murder of Don
Ferdinand Morales, and done to death his own tool, the real committer
of the deed, that Arthur Stanley might be charged with, and executed
for, the same; the sovereigns of Spain called upon their loving
subjects--of every rank and every degree, in all and every part of the
realm--to unite in endeavoring to discover, and deliver up the said
Don Luis Garcia, to the rigor of the law. An enormous reward was
offered for delivering him alive into the hands of justice, and half
the sum, should he have resisted to the death. The proclamation was
made by sound of trumpet in various parts of Segovia, and copies sent,
with all possible speed, to every city, town, and even village, over
Spain. A correct description of his person accompanied the schedule,
and every possible measure was adopted that could tend to his
apprehension. So strong was the popular feeling against him that every
class, almost every individual, felt it a personal duty to assist, in
this case, the course of justice. He had deceived all men, and all men
in consequence leagued themselves against him. So secretly, and yet
so judiciously, were the plans for his seizure carried on, and so
universal the popular ferment, that it appeared marvellous how he
could have escaped; and yet weeks merged into months, and, though the
measures of the Santa Hermandad in no way relaxed, Don Luis was still
at large, and effectually concealed. We may here state at once--though
it carries us much in advance of our present scene--that Father
Francis resolved at all costs to purge the church of Spain from
this most unholy member; and, authorized by the sovereigns, made a
voluntary pilgrimage to the court of St. Peter's, obtained an audience
with the Pope, laid the case before him, and besought the penalty of
excommunication to be fulminated against the hypocrite who had dared
to use, as cover for most atrocious villany, the pure and sacred
ordinances of the church. Alexander the Sixth, himself a worker of
such awful crimes that he was little capable of entering into the pure
and elevated character of the Sub-Prior, heard him calmly, smiled
sneeringly, and then informed him, he was too late. The worthy and
zealous servant of Rome, known to men as Don Luis Garcia, had been
before him, made confession of certain passions as exciting erring
deeds, to which all men were liable, had done penance, received
absolution, and was in a fair way of rising to the highest eminence in
the church.
Father Francis remonstrated, urged, dared to speak bolder truths than
had ever before reached the papal ear but all without effect: and
this truly good and spiritual man returned to Spain stricken to the
dust. He reported the failure of his mission; heard, with bowed
head and aching soul, the natural indignation of Ferdinand, and the
quieter, but to him, still more expressive sorrow, at this fearful
abuse of her holy religion from Isabella; and then, with an
earnestness impossible to be resisted, conjured the royal permission
to retire entirely from all interference in public life. He could not,
he said, support the weight of shame, which, falling on his church,
had affected him individually. Vain were the royal solicitations, vain
the love of the people, vain the entreaties of the abbot and brethren
of his convent; he resigned the office of Sub-Prior, relinquished
every religious and secular honor, and buried himself in the most
impenetrable solitude, fraught with austerity and mortification,
personal penance, and yet devoted to such extraordinary acquirements,
that, though for long years his very existence was well nigh
forgotten, when next he burst upon the astonished eyes of the world,
it was no longer as Father Francis, the Sub-Prior of a Franciscan
monastery, a good and benevolent monk, but as the learned priest, the
sagacious statesman, the skilful general, ay, and gallant warrior--the
great and good CARDINAL XIMENES!
To wait the arrival of Torquemada, the sovereigns and their council
unanimously resolved. It was but a very brief delay, and would permit
a more effectual extermination of the secret office than could be
decided upon by the laity alone. Ere the day closed, and in presence
of the sovereigns, of all the nobles, officers of state, the Santa
Hermandad and principal citizens, Arthur Stanley was formally
pronounced INNOCENT of the crime with which he had been charged. The
golden spurs, which had been ignominiously hacked from his heels, were
replaced by the aged Duke of Murcia; knighthood again bestowed by the
King; and Isabella's own hand, with winning courtesy, presented him
a sword, whose real Toledo blade, and richly jewelled hilt, should
replace the valued weapon, the loss of which had caused him such
unmerited suffering, and shame.
"May it be used for us, as faithfully and nobly as its predecessor,"
were Isabella's concluding words; "and its associations, Senor
Stanley, be nought but those of joy."
The young man's cheek burned, but there was a deep shadow on his
countenance, which neither the honors he received, nor his own urgent
efforts had power to remove. He looked wistfully after the sovereigns
as they quitted the church, then with an irresistible impulse, broke
from the throng with whom he had been endeavoing to join in animated
converse, and, suddenly kneeling before Isabella, exclaimed in low,
agitated tones--
"_She_--she may still be in the villain's power. Oh, my liege, wait
not for Torquemada's arrival and leave her to die! He will wreak his
full vengeance upon her."
"Trust me for her safety, my young friend; measures have been already
taken to secure it," was Isabella's instant reply, in a tone so full
of sympathy, that Arthur caught her robe, and pressed it to his lips.
She smiled kindly and passed on, still accompanied by Ferdinand, not a
little astonished at her words, and still more so when Marie's whole
tale was imparted to him.
On retiring to rest that night, his thoughts still engrossed with
vain speculations as to the destined fate of Marie,--Arthur, half
unconsciously, unsheathed Isabella's magnificent gift, to judge of
the temper of the blade; and, as he did so, a scroll, which had been
twisted round the steel, fell to the ground. He raised it with hasty
curiosity, but his heart throbbed as he recognized the handwriting of
the Queen, and deciphered the following words:--
"To Senor Stanley, in secrecy and confidence, these: The eye of love
is said to pierce through all disguises. In this instance it has
proved less discriminative than woman's sympathy, and woman's
penetration. She in whom we believe Senor Stanley interested, and to
whose exertions he owes the publication of his innocence in time to
save life as well as honor, is safe, and under the protection of her
Queen. Let this suffice for present peace, and speak of it to none.
ISABELLA R."
Arthur's first impulse was to press the precious letter to his lips,
and gaze upon it till every letter seemed transferred from the paper
to his heart; his next was to sit down on the nearest seat, and bury
his face in his hands, actually bewildered by the flash of light,
which with those brief words came. Disguise--exertion--could it be
possible? Nay, it must be! The soft touch of that little hand, the
speaking look of those lovely eyes, again thrilled through his very
soul, and he knew their meaning now. Mysterious, bewildering as it
was, the novice, the poor, exhausted, seeming boy--was Marie! Again he
owed his life to her, and the wild yearning to gaze on her again, to
clasp her to his bosom, to pour forth his gratitude, to soothe and
shield, became so painfully intense, as almost to banish the joy,
which her rescue from danger ought to have occasioned. Had it not been
for her refusal to bear witness against him, not even the month's
grace would have been allowed him; he would have been executed at
once. She had saved him then--she had saved him now! And his heart so
swelled he knew not how to contain its fulness, how to calm it down,
to wait till the Queen's further pleasure should be known. But hope
sprung up to give him comfort; Isabella would accomplish her intention
of conversion; Marie could never resist her, and then--then, oh! she
would be all, all his own, and life shine, for both the brighter, for
its former tempest clouds. Meanwhile, he had such sweet thoughts, such
lovely images, to rest on. He owed his life, his honor, to her; and he
thought that it was his devoted gratitude which so deepened love. How
sweet is such illusion! how refreshingly soothing to be grateful, when
the object of that gratitude has been, and is still, the dear object
of our love! How often we deceive ourselves, and imagine we are
experiencing the strongest emotions of gratitude, when, had an
indifferent person conferred the same benefit, we might feel it
indeed, but it would more pain than pleasure; and be an obligation, so
heavy that we should never rest, till in some measure, at least, it
was returned. How contrary the impression of benefits from those we
love!
Never before had the appearance of the Queen's confessor, the stern,
and some said cruel, Torquemada, been hailed with such excitement. He
was speedily informed of the late transactions, and his counsel most
earnestly demanded by both sovereigns. He required some days to
deliberate, he said, so momentous and important was the affair; and
when he did reply, his counsel was entirely opposed to what many
hoped, and Ferdinand expected. Indignant as he declared himself to
be, at the abuses in religion, he yet put a strong and most decided
negative on the royal proposition, of utterly exterminating this
unlawful tribunal. With all his natural eloquence, and in most
forcible language, he declared that, if kept within proper bounds,
restrained by due authority, and its proceedings open to the
inspection of the Sovereign, and under him, the archbishops and other
dignitaries of the church, the Inquisition would be a most valuable
auxiliary to the well-doing and purifying of the most Catholic
kingdom. He produced argument after argument of most subtle reasoning,
to prove that every effort to abolish the office in Spain had been
entirely useless: it would exist, and if not publicly acknowledged,
would always be liable to abuse and desecration; that the only means
of exterminating its secret, and too arrogant power, was to permit its
public establishment, and so control it, that its measures should be
open to the present, and to every successive sovereign. He allowed the
necessity, the imperious necessity of rooting out the _secret_ office;
but he was convinced this could not be done, nor in fact would the
church allow it, unless it should be recognized in the face of all
Europe, as based on alike the civil and religious laws of Spain.
On Ferdinand the wily churchman worked, by proving that his royal
prerogative would be insured rather than injured by this proceeding;
that by publicly establishing the Inquisition, he proved his
resolution to control even this power, and render it a mere instrument
in his sovereign hand; that his contemplated conquest of the Moors
could not be better begun than by the recognition of a holy office,
whose glory it would be to bring all heathens to the purifying and
saving doctrines of the church of Rome. Ferdinand, though wary and
politic himself, was no match for Torquemada's Jesuitical eloquence;
he was won over to adopt the churchman's views with scarcely an effort
to resist them. With Isabella the task was much more difficult. He
appealed guardedly and gently to her tender regard for the spiritual
welfare of her people, sympathized with her in her indignant horror
of the crimes committed under religion's name, but persisted that the
evil of a secret Inquisition would never be remedied, save by the
measure he proposed. He pledged himself never to rest, till the
present halls and ministers of darkness were exterminated from every
part of Spain; but it could only be on condition of her assent to his
counsel. He used all his eloquence; he appealed to her as a zealous
Catholic, whose first duty was to further and purify her faith; but
for four days he worked in vain; and when she did give her consent, it
was with such a burst of tears, that it seemed as if her foreboding
eye had indeed read the shrouded annals of the future, and beheld
there, not the sufferings of individuals alone, but of the decline and
dishonor of that fair and lovely land, which she had so labored to
exalt. Ere another year from that day had passed, the Inquisition was
publicly established throughout the kingdom; and Torquemada, as first
Grand Inquisitor, reaped the reward of his persevering counsel, and
sealed, with blood, the destiny of Spain.
To her confessor, Isabella revealed the story of Marie, and her own
intentions. Torquemada heard the tale with a stern severity, little
encouraging to the Queen's ideas of mercy; he insisted that her
conversion _must_ be effected; if by kindness and forbearance, well
and good; but if she were obstinate, harshness must be resorted
to; and only on that condition would he grant Isabella the desired
blessing on her task. He did not fail to bring forward the fact of
a zealous Catholic, such as Don Ferdinand Morales, wedding and
cherishing one of the accursed race, and conniving at her secret
adherence to her religion, as a further and very strong incentive for
the public establishment of the Inquisition, whose zealous care would
effectually guard the sons of Spain from such unholy alliances in
future. He urged the supposition of Marie's having become the mother
of children by Ferdinand; was it not most probable, nay, certain, that
she would infuse her own unbelief in them; and then how mixed and
defiled a race would take the place of the present pure Castilians.
Isabella could reply nothing satisfactory to this eloquent reasoning.
The prejudices of education are strong in every really earnest heart;
and though her true woman's nature revolted at every thought of
severity, and towards one so suffering as Marie, she acknowledged its
necessity, in case of kindness failing. Under the seal of confession,
she imparted her full plan to Torquemada, entering more into minute
particulars than she had done even to her husband, or in words to
herself. It was so fraught with mercy and gentleness that Torquemada
gave his consent, believing it utterly impossible, if Marie really
loved, as Isabella fancied, that she could resist.
On the departure of her confessor, the Queen communed, as was her
frequent custom, long and severely with her own heart. What was the
cause of her extreme dislike to using harshness? With any other member
of that detested race, she felt Torquemada's counsel would have been
all-powerful; she would have left it all to him. It was then mere
personal regard, fear of the suffering which, did she cause Marie
increase of pain, she should inflict upon herself, and this must not
be. She was failing in the duty she owed her religion, if she could
not summon resolution to sacrifice even affection at its shrine. And
so she nerved herself, to adopt Torquemada's stern alternative, if
indeed it were required. How strange is self-delusion! how difficult,
even to the noblest, most unselfish natures, to read another spirit by
their own! Isabella felt it might be a duty to sacrifice affection for
religion, and nerved herself to its performance at any cost. And
yet that Marie should do so, she could not believe; and if she did,
harshness and suffering were to be her sole reward! Oh, that in
religion, as in every thing else, man would judge his brother man by
his own heart; and as dear, as precious, as his peculiar creed may be
to him, believe so it is with the faith of his brother! How much of
misery, how much of contention, of cruelty and oppression, would pass
away from this lovely earth, and give place for Heaven's own unity and
peace, and harmony and love.