XXXII.
The Valley of the Shadow of Death.
"And shall I fear the coward fear of standing all alone To testify of Zion's King and the glory of his throne? My Father, O my Father, I am poor and frail and weak, Let me not utter of my own, for idle words I speak; But give me grace to wrestle now, and prompt my faltering tongue. And name thy name upon my soul, and so shall I be strong."--Mrs. Stuart Menteith
Many a weary hour did Carlos shorten by chanting the psalms and hymns ofthe Church in a low voice for himself. At first he sang them loudlyenough for his fellow-prisoners to hear; but the commands of Benevidio,which were accompanied even by threats of personal violence, soon madehim forbear. Not a few kindly deeds and words of comfort came to himthrough the ministrations of the poor servant Maria Gonsalez, aided bythe gaoler's little daughter. On the whole, he was growing accustomed tohis prison life. It seemed as though it would last for ever; as thoughevery other kind of life lay far away from him in the dim distance.There were slow and weary hours, more than he could count; there werebitter hours--of passionate regret, of dark foreboding, of unutterablefear. But there were also quiet hours, burdened by no special pain orsorrow; there were sometimes even happy hours, when Christ seemed verynear, and his consolations were not small with his prisoner.
It was one of the quiet hours, when thoughts of the past, not full ofthe anguish of vain yearning, as they often were, but calm and evenpleasant, were occupying his mind. He had been singing the Te Deum forhimself; and thinking how sweetly the village choristers used to chantit at Nuera; not in the time of Father Tomas, but in that of hispredecessor, a gentle old man with a special taste for music, whom heand his brother, then little children, loved, but used to tease. He wasso deeply engaged in feeling over again his poignant distress upon oneparticular occasion when Juan had offended the aged priest, that all hispresent sorrows were forgotten for the moment, when he heard the largekey grate harshly in the strong outer door of his cell.
Benevidio entered, bearing some articles of dress, which he ordered theprisoner to put on immediately.
Carlos obeyed in silence, though not without surprise, perhaps even apassing feeling of indignation. For the very form and fashion of thegarments he was thus obliged to assume (a kind of jacket withoutsleeves, and long loose trowsers), meant to the Castilian noble keeninsult and degradation.
"Take off your shoes," said the alcayde. "Prisoners always come beforetheir reverences with uncovered head and feet. Now follow me."
It was, then, the summons to stand before his judges. A thrilling dreadtook possession of his soul. Heedless of the alcayde's presence, hethrew himself for one brief moment on his knees. Then, though his cheekwas pale, he could speak calmly. "I am ready," he said.
He followed his conductor through several long and gloomy corridors. Atlength he ventured to ask, "Whither are you leading me?"
"_Chiton!_" said Benevidio, placing his finger on his lips. Speech wasnot permitted there.
At last they drew near an open door. The alcayde quickened his pace,entered first, made a very low reverence, then drew back again, andmotioned Carlos to go forward alone.
He did so; and found himself in the presence of his judges--the Board,or "Table of the Inquisition." He bowed, though rather from the habitof courtesy, than from any special respect to the tribunal, and stoodsilent.
Before any one addressed him, he had ample leisure for observation. Theroom was large, lofty, and surrounded by pillars, between which therewere handsome hangings of gilt leather. At one end, the furthest fromhim, stood a great crucifix, larger than life. Around the long table onthe estrada six or seven persons were seated. Of these, one alone wascovered, he who sat nearest the door by which Carlos had entered, andfacing the crucifix. He knew that this was Gonzales de Munebraga, andthe thought that he had once pleaded earnestly for that man's life,helped to give him boldness in his presence.
At Munebraga's right hand sat a stern and stately man, whom Carlos,though he had never seen him before, knew, from his dress and theposition he occupied, to be the prior of the Dominican convent adjoiningthe Triana. One or two of the subordinate members of the Board he hadmet occasionally in other days, and he had then considered them very farhis own inferiors, both in education and in social position.
At length Munebraga, half turning, motioned him to approach the table.He did so, and a person who sat at the opposite end, and appeared by hisdress to be a notary, made him lay his hand on a missal, andadministered an oath to him.
It bound him to speak the truth, and to keep everything secret which hemight see or hear; and he took it without hesitation. A bench at theInquisitor's left hand was then pointed out to him, and he was desiredto be seated.
A member of the Board, who bore the title of the Promoter-fiscal,conducted the examination. After some merely formal questions, he askedhim whether he knew the cause of his present imprisonment? Carlosanswered immediately, "I do."
This was not the course usually taken by prisoners of the Holy Office.They commonly denied all knowledge of any offence that could haveinduced "their reverences" to order their arrest With a slight elevationof the eyebrows, perhaps expressive of surprise, his examiner continued,gently enough, "Are you then aware of having erred from the faith, andby word or deed offended your own soul, and the consciences of goodChristians? Speak boldly, my son; for to those who acknowledge theirfaults the Holy Office is full of tenderness and mercy."
"I have not erred, consciously, from the true faith, since I knew it."
Here the Dominican prior interposed. "You can ask for an advocate," hesaid; "and as you are under twenty-five years of age, you can also claimthe assistance of a curator.[#] Furthermore, you can request a copy ofthe deposition against you, in order to prepare your defence."
[#] Guardian.
"Always supposing," said Munebraga himself, "that he formally denies thecrime laid to his charge.--Do you?" he asked, turning to the prisoner.
"We understand you so to do," said the prior, looking earnestly atCarlos. "You plead not guilty?"
Carlos rose from his seat, and advanced a step or two nearer to thetable where sat the men who held his life in their hands. Addressinghimself chiefly to the prior, he said, "I know that by taking the courseyour reverence recommends to me, as I believe out of kindness, I maydefer my fate for a little while. I may beat the air, fighting in thedark with witnesses whom you would refuse to name to me, still more toconfront with me. Or, I may make you wring out the truth from meslowly, drop by drop. But what would that avail me? Neither for thetruth, nor yet for any falsehood I might be base enough to utter, wouldyou loose your hand from your prey. I prefer that straight road whichis ever the shortest way. I stand before your reverences this day aprofessed Lutheran, despairing of mercy from man, but full of confidencein the mercy of God."
A movement of surprise ran around the Board at these daring words. Theprior turned away from the prisoner with a pained, disconcerted look;but only to meet a half-triumphant, half-reproachful glance from hissuperior, Munebraga. But Munebraga was not displeased; far from it. Itdid not grieve him that the prisoner, a mere youth, "was throwinghimself into the fire." That was his own concern. He was saving "theirreverences" a great deal of trouble. Thanks to his hardihood, hisfolly, or his despair, a good piece of work was quickly and easilyaccomplished. For it was the business of the Inquisitors first toconvict; retractations were an after consideration.
"Thou art a bold heretic, and fit for the fire," he said. "We know howto deal with such." And he placed his hand on the bell that was tosignal the termination of the interview.
But the prior, recovering from his astonishment, once more interposed."My lord and your reverence, be pleased to allow me a few minutes, inwhich I may set plainly before the prisoner both the wonted mercy andlenity of the Holy Office to the repentant, and the fatal consequencesof obstinacy."
> Munebraga acquiesced by a nod, then leant back carelessly in his seat;this was not a part of the proceedings in which he felt much interest.
No one could doubt the sincerity with which the prior warned Carlos ofthe doom that awaited the impenitent heretic. The horrors of the deathof fire, the deeper, darker horror of the fire that never dies, thesewere the theme of his discourse. If not actually eloquent, it had atleast the earnestness of intense conviction. "But to the penitent," headded, and the hard face softened a little, "God is ever merciful, andhis Church is merciful too."
Carlos listened in silence, his eyes bent on the ground. But when theDominican concluded, he looked up again, glanced first at the greatcrucifix, then fixed his eyes steadily on the prior's face. "I cannotdeny my Lord," he said. "I am in your hands, and you can do with me asyou will. But God is mightier than you."
"Enough!" said Munebraga, and he rang the hand-bell. After a very shortdelay, the alcayde reappeared, and led Carlos back to his cell.
As soon as he was gone, Munebraga turned to the prior. "My lord," hesaid, "your wonted penetration is at fault for once. Is this the youthwhom you assured us a few months of solitary confinement would renderpliant as a reed and plastic as wax? Whereas we find him as bold aheretic as Losada, or D'Arellano, or that imp of darkness, littleJuliano."
"Nay, my lord, I do not despair of him. Far from it. He is much lessfirm than he seems. Give him time, with a due mixture of kindness andseverity, and, I trust in our Lord and St. Dominic, we will see him ahopeful penitent."
"I am of your mind, reverend father," said the Promoter-fiscal. "It isprobable he confessed only to avoid the Question. Many of them fear itmore than death."
"You are right," answered Munebraga quickly.
The notary looked up from his papers. "Please your lordships," he said,"I think it is the _sangre azul_ that makes him so bold. He is Alvarezde Menaya."
"Keep to thy quires and thine ink-horn, man of law," interposedMunebraga angrily. "Thy part is to write down what wiser men say, notto prate thyself." It was well known that the Inquisitor, far fromboasting the _sangre azul_ himself, had not even what the Spaniards call"good red blood" flowing in his veins; hence his irritation at thenotary's speech.
There is often a great apparent similarity in the effects of quiteopposite causes. That which results from a degree of weakness ofcharacter may sometimes wear the aspect of transcendent courage. Abolder man than Don Carlos Alvarez might, in his circumstances, havemade a struggle for life. He might have fought over every point as itarose; have availed himself of every loophole for escape; have thrownupon his persecutors the onus of proving his crime. But such a coursewould not have been possible to Carlos. As a running leap is far moreeasy than a standing one, so to sensitive temperaments it is easier torush forward to meet pain or danger than to stand still and fight itoff, knowing all the time that it must come at last.
He would have been astonished had he guessed the impression made uponhis examiners. To himself it seemed that he had confessed his Lord inmuch weakness. Still, he had confessed him. And shut out as he wasfrom all ordinary "means of grace," the act of confession became a kindof sacrament to him. It was a token and an evidence of Christ'spresence with him, and Christ's power working in him. He could say now,"In the day that I called upon thee thou answeredst me andstrengthenedst me with strength in my soul." And from that hour heseemed to live in greater nearness to Christ, and more intimatecommunion with him, than he had ever done before.
It was well that he had strong consolation, for his need was great. Twoother examinations followed after a short interval; and in both of theseMunebraga took a far more active part than he had done in the first.The Inquisitors were at that time extremely anxious to procure evidenceupon which to condemn Fray Constantino, who up to this point hadsteadily resisted every effort they had made to induce him to criminatehimself. They thought it probable that Don Carlos Alvarez could assistthem if he would, especially since there had been found amongst hispapers a highly laudatory letter of recommendation from the late CanonMagistral.
Still, his assistance was needed even more in other matters. It isscarcely necessary to say that Munebraga, who forgot nothing, had notforgotten the mysterious appointment made with him, but never kept, by acousin of the prisoner's, who was now stated to be hopelessly insane.What did that mean? Was the story true; or were the family keeping backevidence which might compromise one or more of its remaining members?
But Carlos was expected to resolve a yet graver question; or, at least,one that touched him more nearly. His own arrest had been decreed inconsequence of two depositions against him. First, a member of Losada'scongregation had named him as one of the habitual attendants; then amonk of San Isodro had fatally compromised him under the torture. Themonk's testimony was clear and explicit, and was afterwards confirmed byothers. But the first witness had deposed that two gentlemen of thename of Menaya had been wont to attend the conventicle. Who was thesecond? Hitherto this problem had baffled the Inquisitors. Don ManuelAlvarez and his sons were noted for orthodoxy; and the only other Menayaknown to them was the prisoner's brother. But in his favour there wasevery presumption, both from his character as a gallant officer in thearmy of the most Catholic king, and from the fact of his voluntaryreturn to Seville; where, instead of shunning, he seemed to courtobservation, by throwing himself continually in the Inquisitor's way,and soliciting audience of him.
Still, of course, his guilt was possible. But, in the absence ofanything suspicious in his conduct, some clearer evidence than the vaguedeposition alluded to was absolutely necessary, in order to warrantproceedings against him. According to the inquisitorial laws, what theystyled "full half proof" of a crime must be obtained before ordering thearrest of the supposed criminal.
And the key to all these perplexities had now to be wrung from theunwilling hands of Carlos. This needed "half proof" could, and must, befurnished by him. "He must speak out," said those stern, pitiless men,who held him in their hands.
But here he was stronger than they. Neither arts, persuasions, threats,nor promises, availed to unseal those pale, silent lips. Would torturedo it? He was told plainly, that unless he would answer every questionput to him freely and distinctly, he must undergo its worst horrors.
His heart throbbed wildly, then grew sick and faint. A dread far keenerthan the dread of death prompted one short sharp struggle against theinevitable. He said, "It is against your own law to torture a confessedcriminal for information concerning others. For the law presumes that aman loves himself better than his neighbour; and, therefore, that he whohas informed against himself would more readily inform against otherheretics if he knew them."
He was right. His early studies had enabled him to quote correctly oneof the rules laid down by the highest authority for the regulation ofthe inquisitorial proceedings. But what mattered rules and canons tothe members of a secret and irresponsible tribunal?
Munebraga covered his momentary embarrassment with a sneer. "That rulewas framed for delinquents of another sort," he said. "You Lutheranheretics have the command, 'Thou shall love thy neighbour as thyself,'so deeply rooted in your hearts, that the very flesh must needs be tornfrom your bones ere you will inform against your brethren.[#] Ioverrule your objection as frivolous."
[#] Words actually used by this monster.
And then a sentence, more dreaded than the terrible death-sentenceitself, received the formal sanction of the Board.
Once more alone in his cell, Carlos flung himself on his knees, andpressing his burning brow against the cold damp stone, cried aloud inhis anguish, "Let this cup--only this--pass from me!"
His was just the nature to which the thought of physical suffering ismost appalling. Keenly sensitive in mind and body, he shrank inunspeakable dread from what stronger characters might brave or defy.His vivid imagination intensified every pang he felt or feared. Hismind was like a room hung round with mirrors, in which every terribleth
ing, reflected a hundred times, became a hundred terrors instead ofone. What another would have endured once, he endured over and overagain in agonized anticipation.
At times the nervous horror grew absolutely insupportable. Tearfulnessand trembling took hold upon him. He felt ready to pray that God in hisgreat mercy would take away his life, and let the bearer of the dreadedsummons find him beyond all their malice.
One thought haunted him like a demon, whispering words of despair. Ithad begun to haunt him from the hour when poor Maria Gonsalez told himshe had seen his brother. What if they dragged that loved name from hislips! What if, in his weakness, he became Juan's betrayer! Once it hadbeen in his heart to betray him from selfish love; perhaps in judgmentfor that sin he was now to betray him through sharp bodily anguish.Even if his will were kept firm all through (which he scarcely dared tohope), would not reason give way, and wild words be wrung from his lipsthat would too surely ruin all!
He tried to think of his Saviour's death and passion; tried to pray forstrength and patience to drink of _his_ cup. Sometimes he prayed thatprayer with strong crying and tears; sometimes with cold mute lips, tooweary to cry any longer. If he was heard and answered, he knew it notthen.
Days of suspense wore on. They were only less dreary than the nights,when sleep fled from his eyes, and horrible visions (which yet he knewwere less horrible than the truth) rose in quick succession before hismind.
One evening, seated on his bench in the twilight, he fell into an uneasyslumber. The dark dread that never left him, mingling with the sunnygleam of old memories, wove a vivid dream of Nuera, and of that summermorning when the first great conflict of his life found an ending in thestrong resolve, "Juan, brother! I will never wrong thee, so help meGod!"
The grating of the key in the door and the sudden flash of the lamparoused him. He started to his feet at the alcayde's entrance. Thistime no change of dress was prescribed him. He knew his doom. He cried,but to no human ear. From the very depths of his being the prayerarose, "Father, save--sustain me; _I am thine_!"
The Spanish Brothers: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century Page 32
