CHAPTER XXII
THE INQUISITION IN THE INDIES
My next chapter is perhaps too sad; it shall be at least as short as Ican make it; but it was needful to be written, that readers may judgefairly for themselves what sort of enemies the English nation had toface in those stern days.
Three weeks have passed, and the scene is shifted to a long, low rangeof cells in a dark corridor in the city of Cartagena. The door of one isopen; and within stand two cloaked figures, one of whom we know. It isEustace Leigh. The other is a familiar of the Holy Office.
He holds in his hand a lamp, from which the light falls on a bed ofstraw, and on the sleeping figure of a man. The high white brow, thepale and delicate features--them too we know, for they are those ofFrank. Saved half-dead from the fury of the savage negroes, he has beenreserved for the more delicate cruelty of civilized and Christian men.He underwent the question but this afternoon; and now Eustace, hisbetrayer, is come to persuade him--or to entrap him? Eustace himselfhardly knows whether of the two.
And yet he would give his life to save his cousin.
His life? He has long since ceased to care for that. He has done whathe has done, because it is his duty; and now he is to do his dutyonce more, and wake the sleeper, and argue, coax, threaten him intorecantation while "his heart is still tender from the torture," soEustace's employers phrase it.
And yet how calmly he is sleeping! Is it but a freak of the lamplight,or is there a smile upon his lips? Eustace takes the lamp and bends overhim to see; and as he bends he hears Frank whispering in his dreams hismother's name, and a name higher and holier still.
Eustace cannot find the heart to wake him.
"Let him rest," whispers he to his companion. "After all, I fear mywords will be of little use."
"I fear so too, sir. Never did I behold a more obdurate heretic. He didnot scruple to scoff openly at their holinesses."
"Ah!" said Eustace; "great is the pravity of the human heart, and thepower of Satan! Let us go for the present."
"Where is she?"
"The elder sorceress, or the younger?"
"The younger--the--"
"The Senora de Soto? Ah, poor thing! One could be sorry for her, wereshe not a heretic." And the man eyed Eustace keenly, and then quietlyadded, "She is at present with the notary; to the benefit of her soul, Itrust--"
Eustace half stopped, shuddering. He could hardly collect himself enoughto gasp out an "Amen!"
"Within there," said the man, pointing carelessly to a door as theywent down the corridor. "We can listen a moment, if you like; but don'tbetray me, senor."
Eustace knows well enough that the fellow is probably on the watch tobetray him, if he shows any signs of compunction; at least to reportfaithfully to his superiors the slightest expression of sympathy witha heretic; but a horrible curiosity prevails over fear, and he pausesclose to the fatal door. His face is all of a flame, his knees knocktogether, his ears are ringing, his heart bursting through his ribs, ashe supports himself against the wall, hiding his convulsed face as wellas he can from his companion.
A man's voice is plainly audible within; low, but distinct. The notaryis trying that old charge of witchcraft, which the Inquisitors, whetherto justify themselves to their own consciences, or to whiten theirvillainy somewhat in the eyes of the mob, so often brought against theirvictims. And then Eustace's heart sinks within him as he hears a woman'svoice reply, sharpened by indignation and agony--
"Witchcraft against Don Guzman? What need of that, oh God! what need?"
"You deny it then, senora? we are sorry for you; but--"
A confused choking murmur from the victim, mingled with words whichmight mean anything or nothing.
"She has confessed!" whispered Eustace; "saints, I thank you!--she--"
A wail which rings through Eustace's ears, and brain, and heart! Hewould have torn at the door to open it; but his companion forces himaway. Another, and another wail, while the wretched man hurries off,stopping his ears in vain against those piercing cries, which followhim, like avenging angels, through the dreadful vaults.
He escaped into the fragrant open air, and the golden tropic moonlight,and a garden which might have served as a model for Eden; but man's hellfollowed into God's heaven, and still those wails seemed to ring throughhis ears.
"Oh, misery, misery, misery!" murmured he to himself through grindingteeth; "and I have brought her to this! I have had to bring her to it!What else could I? Who dare blame me? And yet what devilish sin can Ihave committed, that requires to be punished thus? Was there no one tobe found but me? No one? And yet it may save her soul. It may bring herto repentance!"
"It may, indeed; for she is delicate, and cannot endure much. Youought to know as well as I, senor, the merciful disposition of the HolyOffice."
"I know it, I know it," interrupted poor Eustace, trembling now forhimself. "All in love--all in love.--A paternal chastisement--"
"And the proofs of heresy are patent, beside the strong suspicionof enchantment, and the known character of the elder sorceress.You yourself, you must remember, senor, told us that she had been anotorious witch in England, before the senora brought her hither as herattendant."
"Of course she was; of course. Yes; there was no other course open. Andthough the flesh may be weak, sir, in my case, yet none can have provedbetter to the Holy Office how willing is the spirit!"
And so Eustace departed; and ere another sun had set, he had gone to theprincipal of the Jesuits; told him his whole heart, or as much of it,poor wretch, as he dare tell to himself; and entreated to be allowed tofinish his novitiate, and enter the order, on the understanding that hewas to be sent at once back to Europe, or anywhere else; "Otherwise,"as he said frankly, "he should go mad, even if he were not mad already."The Jesuit, who was a kindly man enough, went to the Holy Office, andsettled all with the Inquisitors, recounting to them, to set him aboveall suspicion, Eustace's past valiant services to the Church. Histestimony was no longer needed; he left Cartagena for Nombre that verynight, and sailed the next week I know not whither.
I say, I know not whither. Eustace Leigh vanishes henceforth from thesepages. He may have ended as General of his Order. He may have worn outhis years in some tropic forest, "conquering the souls" (including, ofcourse, the bodies) of Indians; he may have gone back to his old workin England, and been the very Ballard who was hanged and quartered threeyears afterwards for his share in Babington's villainous conspiracy:I know not. This book is a history of men,--of men's virtues and sins,victories and defeats; and Eustace is a man no longer: he is become athing, a tool, a Jesuit; which goes only where it is sent, and does goodor evil indifferently as it is bid; which, by an act of moral suicide,has lost its soul, in the hope of saving it; without a will, aconscience, a responsibility (as it fancies), to God or man, but only to"The Society." In a word, Eustace, as he says himself, is "dead." Twicedead, I fear. Let the dead bury their dead. We have no more concern withEustace Leigh.
Westward Ho! Or, The Voyages and Adventures of Sir Amyas Leigh, Knight, of Burrough, in the County of Devon, in the Reign of Her Most Glorious Majesty Queen Elizabeth Page 22