CHAPTER XXV.
"Hovers the steel above his head, Suspended by a spider thread: On, on! a life hangs on thy speed; With lightning wing the gallant steed! Buoy the full heart up! It will sink If it but pause to feel and think. There is no time to dread his fate: No thought but one--too late, too late!"
MS.
Too soon did Marie realize the power of Don Luis to exercise histhreatened vengeance! Two days after that terrible interview, shewas again dragged to the hall of judgment: the same questions wereproposed as before, whether or not she would denounce the secretfollowers of her own creed, and confess her late husband's realbelief; and the same firm answers given. We shrink in loathing fromthe delineation of horrible tortures applied to that frail and gentlebeing--shrink, for we know that such things actually have been; andwomen--young, lovely, inoffensive as Marie Morales--have endured thesame exquisite agony for the same iniquitous purpose! In public,charged to denounce innocent fellow-beings, or suffer; in private--inthose dark and fearful cells--exposed to all the horror and terror ofsuch persecution as we have faintly endeavored to describe. It is nopicture of the imagination, delighting to dwell on horrors. Would thatit were! Its parallel will be found, again and again repeated, in theannals--not of the Inquisition alone--but of every European statewhere the Romanists held sway.
But Marie's prayer for superhuman strength had been heard. No cry,scarcely a groan, escaped her. She saw Don Luis at her side; sheheard his hissing whisper that there was yet time to retract andbe released; but she deigned him no reply whatever. It was not hispurpose to try her endurance to the utmost in the first, second, orthird trial; though, so enraged at her calmness, as scarcely to beable to restrain it even before his colleagues, and with difficultycontrolling his fiendish desire to increase the torture to its utmostat once, he remanded her to her dungeon till his further pleasureshould be known. She had fainted under the intolerable pain, and layfor many successive hours, too exhausted even to raise to her parchedlips the pitcher of water lying near her. And even the gradualcessation of suffering, the sensation of returning power, brought withthem the agonized thought, that they did but herald increased andincreasing torture.
One night--she knew not how long after she had been remanded to hercell, but, counting by suffering, it felt many weary nights anddays--she sunk into a sleep or trance, which transported her to herearly home in the Vale of Cedars. Her mother seemed again to standbefore her; and she thought, as she heard her caressing voice, and metthe glance of her dove-like eyes, she laid her head on her bosom, asshe was wont to do in her happy childhood; and peace seemed to sinkinto her heart so blessedly, so deeply, that the very fever of herframe departed. A voice aroused her with a start; it was so like hermother's, that the dream seemed lingering still.
"Marie, my beloved one," murmured the voice, and a breath fannedher cheek, as if some one were leaning over her. She unclosed hereyes--the words, the voice, still so kept up the illusion, thoughthe tones were deeper than a woman's, that even the hated dress ofa familiar of the Inquisition could not create alarm. "Hast thouforgotten me, my child? But it matters not now. Say only thou wilttrust me, and safety lies before us. The fiends hold not their hellishcourt to-night; and the arch-fiend himself is far distant, on a suddensummons from the King, which, though the grand Inquisitor might scorn,Don Luis will obey. Wilt come with me, my child?"
"Ay, any where! That voice could not deceive: but 'tis all vain," shecontinued, the first accents of awakened hope lost in despondency--"Icannot rise."
"It needs not. Do thou hold the lantern, Marie; utter not aword--check even thy breath--and the God of thy fathers shall savethee yet."
He raised her gently in his arms; and the hope of liberty, of rescuefrom Don Luis, gave her strength to grasp the light to guide them. Shecould not trace their way, but she felt they left the dungeon, andtraversed many long, damp, and narrow passages, seemingly excavated inthe solid earth. All was silent, and dark as the tomb; now and thenher guide paused, as if to listen; but there was no sound. He knewwell the secret paths he trod.
The rapid motion, even the sudden change, almost deprived Marie ofconsciousness. She was only sensible, by a sudden change from theclose, damp, passages to the free breezes of night, that she was inthe open air, and apparently a much freer path; that still her guidepressed swiftly onwards, apparently scarcely feeling her light weight;that, after a lengthened interval, she was laid tenderly on a soft,luxurious couch--at least, so it seemed, compared with the cold floorof her cell; that the blessed words of thanksgiving that she wassafe broke from that strangely familiar voice; and she asked nomore--seemed even to wish no more--so completely was all physicalpower prostrated. She lay calm and still, conscious only that she wassaved. Her guide himself for some time disturbed her not; but afterchanging his dress, and preparing a draught of cooling herbs, he kneltdown, raised her head on his knee with almost woman's tenderness, and,holding the draught to her lips, said, gently--
"Drink, beloved child of my sainted sister; there is life and healthin the draught."
Hastily swallowing it, Marie gazed wildly in his face.--Thehabiliments of the familiar had been changed for those of aBenedictine monk; his cowl thrown back, and the now well rememberedcountenance of her uncle Julien was beaming over her. In an instant,the arm she could still use was thrown round him, and her head buriedin his bosom; every pulse throbbing with the inexpressible joy offinding, when most desolate, one relative to love and save her still.Julien left not his work of healing and of security incomplete;gradually he decreased, by the constant application of linen bathedin some cooling fluid, the scorching fire which still seemed to burnwithin the maimed and shrivelled limb; parted the thick masses ofdishevelled hair from her burning temples, and bathed them with somecooling and reviving essence; gently removed the sable robes, andreplaced them, with the dress of a young novice which he hadprovided; concealed her hair beneath the white linen hood, and then,administering a potion which he knew would produce deep and refreshingsleep, and so effectually calm the fevered nerves, she sunk down onthe soft moss and heath which formed her couch, and slept calmly andsweetly as an infant for many hours.
Julien Morales had entered Segovia in his monkish garb, as wasfrequently his custom, on the evening of the trial.--The excitement ofthe whole city naturally called forth his queries as to its cause;and the information imparted--the murder of Don Ferdinand, andincomprehensible avowal of Judaism on the part of his niece--demandeda powerful exercise of self-control to prevent, by a betrayal ofunusual grief and horror, his near relationship to both parties.Hovering about the palace, he heard of Isabella's merciful intentionstowards Marie; and feeling that his presence might only agitate,and could in nothing avail her, he had resolved on leaving the citywithout seeing her, when her mysterious disappearance excited allSegovia anew.
Julien Morales alone, perhaps, amidst hundreds, in his own mind solvedthe mystery at once. Well did he know tire existence of the secretInquisition. As we narrated in one of our early chapters, the fateof his father had so fixed itself upon his mind, that he had boundhimself by a secret, though solemn oath, as his avenger. To accomplishthis fully, he had actually spent ten years of his life as familiar inthe Inquisition. The fate of Don Luis's predecessor had been plungedin the deepest mystery. Some whispered his death was by a subtlepoison; others, that his murderer had sought him in the dead of night,and, instead of treacherously dealing the blow, had awakened him, andbade him confess his crimes--one especially; and acknowledge that ifthe mandate of the Eternal, "Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shallhis blood be shed," were still to govern man, his death was but an actof justice which might not be eluded. Whether these whispered rumorshad to do with Julien Morales or not, we leave to the judgment of ourreaders.--Suffice it, that not only was his vow accomplished, but,during his ten years' residence in these subterranean halls, henaturally became familiarized with all their secret passages andinvisible means of egress and ingress--not only to the apparentlyprivate homes
of unoffensive citizens, but into the wild tracts ofcountry scattered round. By one of these he had, in fact, effected hisown escape; and in the mild and benevolent Benedictine monk--knownalike to the cities and solitudes of Spain--none would have recognizedthe former familiar of the Inquisition, and still less have imaginedhim the being which in reality he was--a faithful and believing Jew.
To him, then, it was easy to connect the disappearance of Marie withthe existence of the Holy Office, even though he was entirely ignorantof Garcia's ulterior designs. In an agony of apprehension, he resolvedon saving her if possible, even while he trembled at the delay whichmust necessarily ensue ere he could arrange and execute his plans,more especially as it was dangerous to associate a second person intheir accomplishment. With all his haste and skill he was not in timeto save her from the barbarity of her misnamed judges. His very soulwas wrung, as he stood amongst the familiars a silent witness of hersufferings; but to interfere was impossible. One thing, however, wasfavorable. He knew she would not be again disturbed till a sufficienttime had elapsed for the recovery of such strength as would enable herto endure further torture; and he had, therefore, some time before himfor their flight.
Her voluntary avowal of her faith--aware too, as she was, of theexistence of the Inquisition--had, indeed, perplexed the good unclegreatly; but she was in no state, even when partially recovered fromphysical weakness, to enter into explanation then. He saw she wasunhappy, and the loss of her husband might well account for it. To therumors which had reached him in Segovia, as to the suppositions of thereal cause of Stanley's enmity to Morales, and Marie's self-sacrifice,he would not even listen, so completely without foundation did theyseem to him.
The second evening after their escape, they left the cave to pursuetheir journey. Father Ambrose--for so, now he has resumed his monkishgarb, we must term Julien--had provided a mule for the novice's use;and thus they leisurely traversed the desolate and mountainous tractforming the boundaries of the provinces now termed old and newCastile. Neither uncle nor niece spoke of their destined goal; Marieintuitively felt she was proceeding to the Vale of Cedars, the onlyplace of safety now for her; but, so engrossed was her mind with thevain thought how to save Arthur, that for herself she could not framea wish.
The second evening of their journey they entered a small, stragglingvillage, so completely buried in mountains that its existence wasunknown save to its own rustic inhabitants. The appearance of a monkevidently caused an unusual excitement, which was speedily explained.The chief of the villagers approached Father Ambrose, and, addressinghim with the greatest respect, entreated him to follow him to hishouse, where, he said, lay a man at the point of death, who had, fromthe time he became aware of his dangerous position, incessantly calledfor a priest to shrive him from some deadly sin. He had been found,the villager continued. In a deep pit sunk in a solitary glen half wayto Segovia, with every appearance of attempted murder, which, beingsupposed complete, the assassins had thrown him into the pit toconceal their deed; but chancing to hear his groans as he passed, hehad rescued him, and hoped to have cured his wounds. For three weeksthey seemed to progress favorably, but then fever--occurring, hethought, from great restlessness of mind--had rapidly increased,and, after ten days of fearful struggle between life and deathmortification had ensued, and hope could exist no longer At first,Perez added, he seemed to shrink from the idea of priestly aid, onlyharping on one theme--to get strength enough to reach Segovia, andspeak to the King. They had thought him mad, but humored him; but nowhe was almost furious in his wild cries for a priest, not only toshrive him, but to bear his message to the King. They had triedto gratify him, but their distance from any town or monastery hadprevented it; and they now, therefore, hailed Father Ambrose almost assent from heaven to save a sinner by absolution ere he died.
This tale was told as the monk and novice hastened with. Perez to hishouse. The poor inhabitants thronged his path to crave a blessing,and proffer every attention their simple means afforded. Fearing forMarie, Julien's only care was for the supposed novice; and thereforePerez, at his request, eagerly led her to a large comfortable chamber,far removed from the bustle of the house, and left her to repose.But repose was not at that moment possible, even though her slightlyreturning strength was exhausted, from the fatigue of a long day'stravel. Fruit and cakes were before her; but, though her mouth wasparched and dry, she turned from them in loathing; and interminableseemed the space till Father Ambrose returned. Ere he spoke, hecarefully closed and secured the door, and exclaimed, in a low,cautious tone, "My child, this is indeed the finger of a righteousGod--blessed be His name! The unhappy man to whose dying bed theybrought me--"
"Is the murderer of my husband!" interposed Marie in a tone of almostunnatural calmness. "I knew it from the first moment Perez spoke. Wehave but to think of one thing now--Stanley is innocent, and must besaved!"
"And shall be, if possible, my child; but there are fearfuldifficulties in the way. The unhappy man conjures me not to leave him,and is in such a horrible state of mental and bodily agony that I fearif I do, he will commit some act of violence on himself, and so renderhis evidence of no avail. We are not much above sixty miles fromSegovia, but the roads are cross and rugged; so that it will needsteadiness and speed, and instant audience with the King."
"But time--have we time?" reiterated Marie. "Say but there is time,and every other difficulty shall be smoothed."
"There is full time: the execution is not till the second day afterto-morrow. Nay, my child," he added, observing her look of doubtingbewilderment, "suffering makes the hours seem longer than they are.Fear not for time, but counsel me whom to send. Who amongst these poorignorant rustics will ever reach the King--or, failing him, the ChiefHermano--and make his tale so sufficiently clear as to release theprisoner, and send messengers here with the necessary speed to takedown this man's confession? He cannot linger two days more. Would thatI could go myself; but I can leave neither him nor thee."
"And it needs not," was the firm reply. "Father, I myself will dothy errand. There must be no delay, no chance of hesitation in itsaccomplishment. Ah! do not look upon me as if my words were wild andvain; were there other means I would not speak them--but he must besaved!"
"And again at the sacrifice of thy safety--perchance thy life! Marie,Marie! what hold has this young stranger upon thee that thou shouldesttwice so peril thyself? Thy life is dearer to me than his--I cannotgrant thy boon."
"Nay, but thou must. Listen to me, my second father! If Stanley dies,his blood is on my head!" And struggling with strong emotion, shepoured forth her whole tale.
"And thou lovest him still--him, a Nazarene--thou, child, wife, of anunstained race! And is it for this, thy zeal to save him?" ejaculatedJulien, retreating several paces from her--"Can it be?"
"I would save him because he is innocent--because he has borne morethan enough for me; for aught else, thou wrongest me, father. He willnever be to me more than he is now."
It was impossible to resist the tone of mournful reproach in whichthose simple words were said. Julien pressed her to his bosom, badeGod bless her, and promised, if indeed there were no other means, herplan should be adopted; objection after objection, indeed, he broughtforward, but all were overruled. She pledged herself to retain herdisguise, and to return with Perez, without hesitation, and accompanyher uncle to the vale, as intended. But that she should start at once,he positively refused. How could she hope to accomplish her journeywithout, at least, two hours' repose? It was then late in the evening.At six the next morning all should be ready for her journey, and therewould be still more than twenty-four hours before her; Marie tried tobe content, but the horrible dread of being too late did not leave herfor a moment, even in sleep, and inexpressibly thankful was she whenthe morning dawned. Julien's provident care had been active whileshe slept. Perez, flattered at the trust reposed in him, had offeredhimself to accompany the young novice to Segovia: and at the appointedhour he was ready, mounted himself, and leading a strong, docilep
alfrey for brother Ernest's use. He knew an hostellerie, he said,about twenty miles from the city, where their steeds could be changed;and promised by two hours after noon, the very latest, the noviceshould be with the King. It could be done in less time, he said; buthis reverence had told him the poor boy was unusually delicate, andhad, moreover, lost the use of his left arm; and he thought, as therewas so much time before them, it was needless to exhaust his strengthbefore his errand was done. Julien expressed his entire satisfaction,gave them his blessing, and they were rapidly out of sight.
Once or twice they halted to give their horses rest and refreshthemselves; but so absorbed were the senses of Marie, that she wasunconscious of fatigue. Every mile they traversed seemed bearing aheavy load from her chest, and enabling her to breathe more freely;while the fresh breeze and exciting exercise seemed actually to reviveher. It wanted rather more than an hour for noon when they reached thehostellerie mentioned by Perez. Two fleet and beautiful horses werespeedily provided for them, bread and fruit partaken, and Perez, readymounted, was tasting the stirrup cup, when his friend demanded--
"Is it to Segovia ye are bound?"
"Yes, man, on an important errand, charged by his reverence FatherAmbrose himself."
"His reverence should have sent you two hours earlier, and youwould have been in time for one of the finest sights seen sinceIsabella--God bless her!--begun to reign. They were common enough afew years back."
"What sight? and why am I not in time?"
"Now, art thou not the veriest rustic to be so entirely ignorant ofthe world's doings? Why, to-day is the solemn execution of theyoung foreigner whom they believe we have murdered Don FerdinandMorales--the saints preserve him! He is so brave a fellow, they say,that had it not been for this confounded hostellerie I would have madean effort to be present: I love to see how a brave man meets death. Itwas to have been two hours after day-break this morning, but Juan heretells me it was postponed till noon. The King--"
He was proceeding, when he was startled by a sharp cry, and Perez,hastily turning, caught the novice as he was in the act of fallingfrom his horse. In an instant, however, he recovered, and exclaiming,in a thrilling tone of excitement--
"Father Ambrose said life or death hung upon our speed and promptness;he knew not the short interval allowed us. This young foreigner isinnocent--the real murderer is discovered. On--, on, for mercy, or weshall be too late!"--gave his horse the rein, and the animal startedoff at full speed. Perez was at his side in an instant, leaving hisfriend open-mouthed with astonishment, and retailing the marvellousnews into twenty different quarters in as many seconds.
Not a word was spoken; not a moment did the fiery chargers halt intheir headlong way. On, on they went; on, over wide moors and craggysteeps; on, through the rushing torrent and the precipitous glen;on, through the forest and the plain, with the same unwavering pace.Repeatedly did Marie's brain reel, and her heart grow sick, and herlimbs lose all power either to guide or feel; but she neither spokenor flagged--convulsively she grasped the reins, and closed her eyes,as the voice and hand of her companion urged their steeds swifter andyet swifter on.
An exclamation from Perez roused her. The turrets of Segovia werevisible in the distance, glittering in the brilliant sun; but herblood-shot eye turned with sickening earnestness more towards thelatter object than the former. It had not yet attained its fullmeridian--a quarter of an hour, perhaps twenty minutes, was stillbefore them. But the strength of their horses was flagging, foamcovered their glossy hides, their nostrils were distended, theybreathed hard, and frequently snorted--the short, quick, sound ofcoming powerlessness. Their steady pace wavered, their heads drooped;but, still urged on by Perez's encouraging voice, they exertedthemselves to the utmost--at times darting several paces suddenlyforward, then stumbling heavily on. The cold dew stood on Marie'sbrow, and every pulse seemed stilled. They passed the outergates--they stood on the brow of a hill commanding a view of the wholecity. The castle seemed but a stone's throw from, them; but the soundof muffled drums and other martial instruments were borne towards themon the air. Multitudes were thronging in one direction; the CalleSoledad seemed one mass of human heads, save where the scaffold raisedits frightful sign above them. Soldiers were advancing, forming athin, glittering line through the crowds. In their centre stood theprisoner. On, again, dashed the chargers--scarcely a hundred yardsseparated them from the palace-gate. Wildly Marie glanced back oncemore--there were figures on the scaffold. And at that moment--borne inthe stillness more loudly, more heavily than usual, or, at least, soit seemed to her tortured senses--the huge bell of the castle chimedthe hour of noon!
The Vale of Cedars; Or, The Martyr Page 26
