On July 29, 1498, an Auto de Fé was held in Rome in the vast square before St. Peter’s, when 180 Spanish Judaizers came to be reconciled to the Church.*
[* This is the figure given by Burchard, and is the most authoritative (“Diarium,” ii. 492). Llorente says “250,” and Sanuto (“Diario,” i. col. 1029) “zercha 300 marrani.”]
It is worth while to take a glance at this, and to mark the difference between the Act of Faith in the very heart of Christendom, and the spectacles provided under the same title by Spanish bigotry and fanaticism.
There were present the Governor of Rome, Juan de Cartagena, the Spanish Orator at the Vatican, the Apostolic auditors, and the Master of the Sacred Palace, whilst the Pope himself surveyed the scene from the balcony above the steps of St. Peter’s.
The penitents received the sanbenitos, which were put on over their ordinary garments, and arrayed in these they entered St. Peter’s. There all were assembled and reconciled, whereafter they were taken in procession to the Church of Santa Maria della Minerva. In this temple they put off their sanbenitos, and each one withdrew to his home without further bearing the insignia of shame and infamy.*
[* Llorente, “Anales,” tom. i. ; Burchard, “Diarium,” ii. p-2. Sanuto the Venetian diarist reports the matter from letters received from Rome with a sarcasm entirely characteristic: “The Pontiff sent some 300 marranos in penitence to the Minerva, dressed in yellow, candle in iiand: this was their public penance; the secret one would be of their money...” (“Diario,” i. col. 1029).]
The view taken by Torquemada of a Pope who so Httle understood what the former considered to be the duties of Christ’s earthly Vicar is to be gathered from the attitude of the Sovereigns in the matter of these reconciliations, and their protests — protests which, beyond doubt, would be inspired by the Grand Inquisitor.
Alexander advised the Sovereigns in reply — by a brief of October 5 — that in according these absolutions one of the pains imposed upon the penanced was that they must never return to Spain without the special sanction of the Catholic Sovereigns.*
[* Lumbreras, quoted by Llorente, “Anales,” tom. i. .]
In this manner, clearly, there was no infringement by the Pontiff of the power relegated to the Spanish inquisitors, since as long as the penitents remained abroad they were beyond the jurisdiction of the Holy Office of Spain. As for the prohibition to return being a part of the penance imposed, it was surely supererogative, for we cannot think that any of those who had so fortunately obtained absolution would easily incur the risk of coming within reach of the talons of a court that would disregard, or else find a way to cancel or circumvent, the Roman reconciliation.
But by the time the brief reached Spain, Frey Tomás de Torquemada, the arch-enemy of the Jews, had breathed his last in his beautiful monastery of St. Thomas at Avila.
He passed away in peace, laying down the burden of life and sinking to sleep with the relief and thankfulness of the husbandman at the end of a day of diligent, arduous, and conscientious toil. His honesty of purpose, his integrity, his utter devotion to the task he had taken up are to be weighed in the balance of historic judgment against the evil that he wrought so ardently in the unfaltering conviction that his work was good.
His name has been execrated and revered at once. He has been vituperated as a fiend of cruelty, and all but worshipped as a saint; and there is bias in both judgments — both are no better than gratifications of prejudice.
Perhaps Prescott is nearest the truth when he says that “Torquemada’s zeal was of so extraordinary a character that it may almost shelter itself under the name of insanity.*
[* “History of Ferdinand and Isabella,” vol. i. .
Llorente estimates the number of Torquemada’s victims at 8,800 burnt, 6,500 burnt in effigy, and 90,000 penanced in various degrees. These figures, however, are unreliable and undoubtedly exaggerated, although they are in themselves a correction of his earlier estimate, which fixes the number of burnt at upwards of 10,000 — an estimate flagrantly preferred by Dr. Rule and other partisan writers on the subject.]
Garcia Rodrigo speaks of the barbarians of the nineteenth century who desecrated the monastery of St. Thomas, and whose “revolutionary hammers” smashed so many of the sepulchral and other marbles. He turns the medal about for us when he pours his fierce invective upon anti-religious fanaticism and speaks of these broken marbles as evidences of “perversity, intolerance, and want of enlightenment.”*
[* “Hist. Verdadera,” vol. ii, .]
The anti-religious fanaticism and intolerance must be admitted. But it must be admitted that they are the inevitable fruits that fanaticism and intolerance produce. Men reap as they sow. And what but thistles shall be yielded by the seed of thistles?
The same author inveighs against the political fanaticism of Spanish Liberalism, which in the hour of reaction sought fiercely for the bones of the first Grand Inquisitor. He denounces it indignantly for disturbing the peace of sepulture. In the main we share his feelings; and yet can we avoid perceiving here a measure of retributive justice? Can we fail to see in this fanatical act the vengeance of humanity for the almost obscene violation of a thousand graves by that same Grand Inquisitor’s fanaticism?
He was laid to rest in the chapel of his monastery, and his tomb bore the following simple inscription:
HIC JACET REVERENDUS P. F. THOMAS DE TURRE-CREMATA
PRIOR SANCTAE CRUCIS, INQUISITOR GENERALIS
HUJUS DOMUS FUNDATOR. OBIIT ANNO DOMINI
MCDLXLVIII, DIE XVI SEPTEMBRIS.*
[* Paramo, “De Origine,” .]
But his work survived him. His spirit — through his enactments — continued for three centuries after his death to be the guiding spirit of the Inquisition, executor of the stern testament he left inscribed upon the walls of his monastery —
PESTEM FUGAT HAERETICAM.
THE END
THE HISTORICAL NIGHTS’ ENTERTAINMENT: SERIES 1
CONTENTS
PREFACE
I. THE NIGHT OF HOLYROOD — The Murder of David Rizzio
II. THE NIGHT OF KIRK O’ FIELD — The Murder of Darnley
III. THE NIGHT OF BETRAYAL — Antonio Perez and Philip II of Spain
IV. THE NIGHT OF CHARITY — The Case Of The Lady Alice Lisle
V. THE NIGHT OF MASSACRE — The Story Of The Saint Bartholomew
VI. THE NIGHT OF WITCHCRAFT — Louis XIV and Madame De Montespan
VII. THE NIGHT OF GEMS — The “Affairs” Of The Queen’s Necklace
VIII, THE NIGHT OF TERROR — The Drownings At Nantes Under Carrier
IX. THE NIGHT OF NUPTIALS — Charles The Bold And Sapphira Danvelt
X. THE NIGHT OF STRANGLERS — Govanna Of Naples And Andreas Of Hungary
XI. THE NIGHT OF HATE — The Murder Of The Duke Of Gandia
XII. THE NIGHT OF ESCAPE — Casanova’s Escape From The Piombi
XIII. THE NIGHT OF MASQUERADE — The Assassination Of Gustavus III Of Sweden
PREFACE
In approaching “The Historical Nights’ Entertainment” I set myself the task of reconstructing, in the fullest possible detail and with all the colour available from surviving records, a group of more or less famous events. I would select for my purpose those which were in themselves bizarre and resulting from the interplay of human passions, and whilst relating each of these events in the form of a story, I would compel that story scrupulously to follow the actual, recorded facts without owing anything to fiction, and I would draw upon my imagination, if at all, merely as one might employ colour to fill in the outlines which history leaves grey, taking care that my colour should be as true to nature as possible. For dialogue I would depend upon such scraps of actual speech as were chronicled in each case, amplifying it by translating into terms of speech the paraphrases of contemporary chroniclers.
Such was the task I set myself. I am aware that it has been attempted once or twice already, beginning, perhaps, with the “Crimes Celebres” of A
lexandre Dumas. I am not aware that the attempt has ever succeeded. This is not to say that I claim success in the essays that follow. How nearly I may have approached success — judged by the standard I had set myself — how far I may have fallen short, my readers will discern. I am conscious, however, of having in the main dutifully resisted the temptation to take the easier road, to break away from restricting fact for the sake of achieving a more intriguing narrative. In one instance, however, I have quite deliberately failed, and in some others I have permitted myself certain speculations to resolve mysteries of which no explanation has been discovered. Of these it is necessary that I should make a full confession.
My deliberate failure is “The Night of Nuptials.” I discovered an allusion to the case of Charles the Bold and Sapphira Danvelt in Macaulay’s “History of England” — quoted from an old number of the “Spectator” — whilst I was working upon the case of Lady Alice Lisle. There a similar episode is mentioned as being related of Colonel Kirke, but discredited because known for a story that has a trick of springing up to attach itself to unscrupulous captains. I set out to track it to its source, and having found its first appearance to be in connection with Charles the Bold’s German captain Rhynsault, I attempted to reconstruct the event as it might have happened, setting it at least in surroundings of solid fact.
My most flagrant speculation occurs in “The Night of Hate.” But in defence of it I can honestly say that it is at least no more flagrant than the speculations on this subject that have become enshrined in history as facts. In other words, I claim for my reconstruction of the circumstances attending the mysterious death of Giovanni Borgia, Duke of Gandia, that it no more lacks historical authority than do any other of the explanatory narratives adopted by history to assign the guilt to Gandia’s brother, Cesare Borgia.
In the “Cambridge Modern History” our most authoritative writers on this epoch have definitely pronounced that there is no evidence acceptable to historians to support the view current for four centuries that Cesare Borgia was the murderer.
Elsewhere I have dealt with this at length. Here let it suffice to say that it was not until nine months after the deed that the name of Cesare Borgia was first associated with it; that public opinion had in the mean time assigned the guilt to a half-dozen others in succession; that no motive for the crime is discoverable in the case of Cesare; that the motives advanced will not bear examination, and that they bear on the face of them the stamp of having been put forward hastily to support an accusation unscrupulously political in purpose; that the first men accused by the popular voice were the Cardinal Vice-Chancellor Ascanio Sforza and his nephew Giovanni Sforza, Tyrant of Pesaro; and, finally, that in Matarazzo’s “Chronicles of Perugia” there is a fairly detailed account of how the murder was perpetrated by the latter.
Matarazzo, I confess, is worthy of no more credit than any other of the contemporary reporters of common gossip. But at least he is worthy of no less. And it is undeniable that in Sforza’s case a strong motive for the murder was not lacking.
My narrative in “The Night of Hate” is admittedly a purely theoretical account of the crime. But it is closely based upon all the known facts of incidence and of character; and if there is nothing in the surviving records that will absolutely support it, neither is there anything that can absolutely refute it.
In “The Night of Masquerade” I am guilty of quite arbitrarily discovering a reason to explain the mystery of Baron Bjelke’s sudden change from the devoted friend and servant of Gustavus III of Sweden into his most bitter enemy. That speculation is quite indefensible, although affording a possible explanation of that mystery. In the case of “The Night of Kirk o’ Field,” on the other hand, I do not think any apology is necessary for my reconstruction of the precise manner in which Darnley met his death. The event has long been looked upon as one of the mysteries of history — the mystery lying in the fact that whilst the house at Kirk o’ Field was destroyed by an explosion, Darnley’s body was found at some distance away, together with that of his page, bearing every evidence of death by strangulation. The explanation I adopt seems to me to owe little to speculation.
In the story of Antonio Perez— “The Night of Betrayal” — I have permitted myself fewer liberties with actual facts than might appear. I have closely followed his own “Relacion,” which, whilst admittedly a piece of special pleading, must remain the most authoritative document of the events with which it deals. All that I have done has been to reverse the values as Perez presents them, throwing the personal elements into higher relief than the political ones, and laying particular stress upon the matter of his relations with the Princess of Eboli. “The Night of Betrayal” is presented in the form of a story within a story. Of the containing story let me say that whilst to some extent it is fictitious, it is by no means entirely so. There is enough to justify most of it in the “Relaciori” itself.
The exceptions mentioned being made, I hope it may be found that I have adhered rigorously to my purpose of owing nothing to invention in my attempt to flesh and clothe these few bones of history.
I should add, perhaps, that where authorities differ as to motives, where there is a conflict of evidence as to the facts themselves, or where the facts admit of more than one interpretation, I have permitted myself to be selective, and confined myself to a point of view adopted at the outset.
R. S.
LONDON, August, 1917
I. THE NIGHT OF HOLYROOD — The Murder of David Rizzio
The tragedy of my Lord Darnley’s life lay in the fact that he was a man born out of his proper station — a clown destined to kingship by the accident of birth and fortune. By the blood royal flowing in his veins, he could, failing others, have claimed succession to both the English and the Scottish thrones, whilst by his marriage with Mary Stuart he made a definite attempt to possess himself of that of Scotland.
The Queen of Scots, enamoured for a season of the clean-limbed grace and almost feminine beauty (“ladyfaced,” Melville had called him once) of this “long lad of nineteen” who came a-wooing her, had soon discovered, in matrimony, his vain, debauched, shiftless, and cowardly nature. She had married him in July of 1565, and by Michaelmas she had come to know him for just a lovely husk of a man, empty of heart or brain; and the knowledge transmuted affection into contempt.
Her natural brother, the Earl of Murray, had opposed the marriage, chiefly upon the grounds that Darnley was a Catholic, and with Argyll, Chatellerault, Glencairn, and a host of other Protestant lords, had risen in arms against his sovereign and her consort. But Mary had chased her rebel brother and his fellows over the border into England, and by this very action, taken for the sake of her worthless husband, she sowed the first seeds of discord between herself and him. It happened that stout service had been rendered her in this affair by the arrogant border ruffian, the Earl of Bothwell. Partly to reward him, partly because of the confidence with which he inspired her, she bestowed upon him the office of Lieutenant-General of the East, Middle, and West Marches — an office which Darnley had sought for his father, Lennox. That was the first and last concerted action of the royal couple. Estrangement grew thereafter between them, and, in a measure, as it grew so did Darnley’s kingship, hardly established as yet — for the Queen had still to redeem her pre-nuptial promise to confer upon him the crown matrimonial — begin to dwindle.
At first it had been “the King and Queen,” or “His Majesty and Hers”; but by Christmas — five months after the wedding — Darnley was known simply as “the Queen’s husband,” and in all documents the Queen’s name now took precedence of his, whilst coins bearing their two heads, and the legend “Hen. et Maria,” were called in and substituted by a new coinage relegating him to the second place.
Deeply affronted, and seeking anywhere but in himself and his own shortcomings the cause of the Queen’s now manifest hostility, he presently conceived that he had found it in the influence exerted upon her by the Seigneur Davie — that Piedmont
ese, David Rizzio, who had come to the Scottish Court some four years ago as a starveling minstrel in the train of Monsieur de Morette, the ambassador of Savoy.
It was Rizzio’s skill upon the rebec that had first attracted Mary’s attention. Later he had become her secretary for French affairs and the young Queen, reared amid the elegancies of the Court of France, grew attached to him as to a fellow-exile in the uncouth and turbulent land over which a harsh destiny ordained that she should rule. Using his opportunities and his subtle Italian intelligence, he had advanced so rapidly that soon there was no man in Scotland who stood higher with the Queen. When Maitland of Lethington was dismissed under suspicion of favouring the exiled Protestant lords, the Seigneur Davie succeeded him as her secretary; and now that Morton was under the same suspicion, it was openly said that the Seigneur Davie would be made chancellor in his stead.
Thus the Seigneur Davie was become the most powerful man in Scotland, and it is not to be dreamt that a dour, stiff-necked nobility would suffer it without demur. They intrigued against him, putting it abroad, amongst other things, that this foreign upstart was an emissary, of the Pope’s, scheming to overthrow the Protestant religion in Scotland. But in the duel that followed their blunt Scotch wits were no match for his Italian subtlety. Intrigue as they might his power remained unshaken. And then, at last it began to be whispered that he owed his high favour with the beautiful young Queen to other than his secretarial abilities, so that Bedford wrote to Cecil:
“What countenance the Queen shows David I will not write, for the honour due to the person of a queen.”
Collected Works of Rafael Sabatini Page 657
