[#] So called by the Inquisitor, De Pegna.
At earliest dawn next morning, Juan established himself in an upper roomof one of the high houses which overlooked the gate of the Triana. Hehad hired it from the owners for the purpose, stipulating for solepossession and perfect loneliness.
At sunrise the great Cathedral bell tolled out solemnly, and all thebells in the city responded. Through the crowd, which had alreadygathered in the street, richly dressed citizens were threading their wayon foot. He knew they were those who, out of zeal for the faith, hadvolunteered to act as _patrinos_, or god-fathers, to the prisoners,walking beside them in the procession. Amongst them he recognized hiscousins, Don Manuel and Don Balthazar. They were all admitted into thecastle by a private door.
Ere long the great gate was flung open. Juan's eyes were rivetted tothe spot. There was a sound of singing, sweet and low, as of childishvoices; for the first to issue from those gloomy portals were the boysof the College of Doctrine, dressed in white surplices, and chantinglitanies to the saints. Clear and full at intervals rose from their lipsthe "Ora pro nobis" of the response; and tears gathered unconsciously inthe eyes of Juan at the old familiar words.
In great contrast with the white-robed children came the next in order.Juan drew his breath hard, for here were the penitents: pale, melancholyfaces, "ghastly and disconsolate beyond what can be imagined;"[#] formsclothed in black, without sleeves, and barefooted--hands carryingextinguished tapers.
[#] Report of De Pegna.
Those who walked foremost in the procession had only been convicted ofsuch _minor_ offences as blasphemy, sorcery, or polygamy. But by-and-bythere came others, wearing ugly sanbenitos--yellow, with redcrosses--and conical paper mitres on their heads. Juan's eye kindledwith intenser interest; for he knew that these were Lutherans. Notwithout a wild dream--hope, perhaps--that the near approach of deathmight have subdued his brother's fortitude, did he scan in turn everymournful face. There was Luis D'Abrego, the illuminator of churchbooks; there, walking long afterwards, as far more guilty, was MedelD'Espinosa, the dealer in embroidery, who had received the Testamentsbrought by Juliano. There were many others of much higher rank, withwhom he was well acquainted. Altogether more than eighty in number, thelong and melancholy train swept by, every man or woman attended by twomonks and a patrino. But Carlos was not amongst them.
Then came the great Cross of the Inquisition; the face turned towardsthe penitent, the back to the _impenitent_--those devoted to the deathof fire. And now Juan's breath came and went--his lips trembled; allhis soul was in his eager, straining eyes Now first he saw the hideouszamarra--a black robe, painted all over with saffron-coloured flames,into which devils and serpents, rudely represented, were thrusting theimpenitent heretic. A paper crown, or carroza, similarly adorned,covered the victim's head. But the face of the wearer was unknown toJuan. He was a poor artizan--Juan de Leon by name--who had made hisescape by flight, but had been afterwards apprehended in the LowCountries. Torture and cruel imprisonment had almost killed himalready; but his heart was strong to suffer for the Lord he loved, andthough the pallor of death was on his cheek, there was no fear there.
But the countenances of those that followed Juan knew too well. Neverafterwards could he exactly recall the order in which they walked; yetevery individual face stamped itself indelibly on his memory. He wouldcarry those looks in his heart until his dying hour.
No less than four of the victims wore the white tunic and brown mantleof St. Jerome. One of these was an old man--leaning on his staff forvery age, but with joy and confidence beaming in his countenance. Thewhite locks, from which Garcias Arias had gained the name of DoctorBlanco, had been shorn away; but Juan easily recognized the waverer ofpast days, now strengthened with all might, according to the gloriouspower of Him whom at last he had learned to trust. The accomplishedCristobal D'Arellano, and Fernando de San Juan, Master of the College ofDoctrine, followed calm and dauntless. Steadfast, too, though notwithout a little natural shrinking from the doom of fire, was a mereyouth--Juan Crisostomo.
Then came one clad in a doctor's robe, with the step of a conqueror andthe mien of a king. As he issued from the Triana he chanted, in a clearand steady voice, the words of the Hundred and ninth Psalm: "Hold notthy peace, O God of my praise; for the mouth of the ungodly, yea, themouth of the deceitful, is opened upon me: and they have spoken againstme with false tongues. They compassed me about also with words ofhatred, and fought against me without a cause.... Help me, O Lord myGod: O save me according to thy mercy; and they shall know how that thisis thine hand, and that thou, Lord, hast done it. Though they curse,yet bless thou." So died away the voice of Juan Gonsalez, one of thenoblest of Christ's noble band of witnesses in Spain.
All these were arrayed in the garments of their ecclesiastical orders,to be solemnly degraded on the scaffold in the Square of St. Francis.But there followed one already in the full infamy, or glory, of thezamarra and carroza, with painted flames and demons;--with a thrill ofemotion, Juan recognized his friend and teacher, CristobalLosada--looking calm and fearless--a hero marching to his last battle,conquering and to conquer.
Yet even that face soon faded from Juan's thoughts. For there walked inthat gloomy death procession six females--persons of rank; nearly all ofthem young and beautiful, but worn by imprisonment, and more than oneamongst them maimed by torture. Yet if man was cruel, Christ, for whomthey suffered, was pitiful. Their countenances, calm and even radiant,revealed the hidden power by which they were sustained. Theirnames--which deserve a place beside those of the women of old who werelast at his cross and first beside his open sepulchre--were, DonaIsabella de Baena, in whose house the church was wont to meet; the twosisters of Juan Gonsalez; Dona Maria de Virves; Dona Maria de Cornel;and, last of all, Dona Maria de Bohorques, whose face shone as the firstmartyr's, looking up into heaven. She alone, of all the female martyrband, appeared wearing the gag, an honour due to her heroic efforts toconsole and sustain her companions in the court of the Triana.
Juan's brave heart well-nigh burst with impotent, indignant anguish."Ay de mi, my Spain!" he cried; "thou seest these things, and endurestthem. Lucifer, son of the morning, thou art fallen--fallen from thyhigh place amongst the nations."
It was true. From the man, or nation, "that hath not," shall be taken"even that which he seemeth to have." Had the spirit of chivalry,Spain's boast and pride, been faithful to its own dim light, it mighteven then have saved Spain. But its light became darkness; its trustwas betrayed into the hand of superstition. Therefore, in the justjudgment of God, its own degradation quickly followed. Spain's chivalrylost gradually all that was genuine, all that was noble in it; until itbecame only a faint and ghastly mockery, a sign of corruption, like thephosphoric light that flickers above the grave.
Absorbed in his bitter thoughts, Juan well-nigh missed the last of thedoomed ones--last because highest in worldly rank. Sad and slow, witheyes bent down, Don Juan Ponce de Leon walked along. The flames on hiszamarra were reversed; poor symbol of the poor mercy for which he soldhis joy and triumph and dimmed the brightness of his martyr crown. Yetsurely he did not lose the glad welcome that awaited him at the close ofthat terrible day; nor the right to say, with the erring restoredapostle, "Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee."
All the living victims had passed now. And Don Carlos Alvarez was notamongst them. Juan breathed a sigh of relief; but not yet did hisstraining eyes relax their gaze. For Rome's vengeance reached even tothe grave. Next, there were borne along the statues of those who haddied in heresy, robed in the hideous zamarra, and followed by blackchests containing their bones to be burned.
Not there!--No--not there! At last Juan's trembling hands let go theframework of the window to which they had been clinging; and, theintense strain over, he fell back exhausted.
The stately pageant swept by, unwatched by him. He never saw, what allSeville was gazing on with admiration, the grand procession
of thejudges and counsellors of the city, in their robes of office; thechapter of the Cathedral; the long slow train of priests and monks thatfollowed. And then, in a space left empty out of reverence, the greatgreen standard of the Inquisition was borne aloft, and over it a gildedcrucifix. Then came the Inquisitors themselves, in their splendidofficial dresses. And lastly, on horseback and in gorgeous apparel, thefamiliars of the Inquisition.
It was well that Juan's eyes were turned from that sight. What avails itfor lips white with passion to heap wild curses on the heads of thosefor whom God's curse already "waits in calm shadow," until the day ofreckoning be fully come? Curses, after all, are weapons dangerous touse, and apt to pierce the hand that wields them.
His first feeling was one of intense relief, almost of joy. He hadescaped the maddening torture of seeing his brother dragged before hiseyes to the death of anguish and shame. But to that succeeded the bitterthought, growing soon into full, mournful conviction, "I shall see hisface no more on earth. He is dead--or dying."
Yet that day the deep, strong current of his brotherly love was crossedby another tide of emotion. Those heroic men and women, whom he watchedas they passed along so calmly to their doom, had he no bond of sympathywith them? Was it so long since he had pressed Losada's hand ingrateful friendship, and thanked Dona Isabella de Baena for the teachingreceived beneath her roof? With a thrill of keen and sudden shame thegallant soldier saw himself a recreant, who had flaunted his gay uniformon the parade and at the field-day, but when the hour of conflict came,had stepped aside, and let the sword and the bullet find out braver andtruer hearts.
_He_ could not die thus for his faith. On the contrary, it cost him butlittle to conceal it, to live in every respect like an orthodoxCatholic. What, then, had they which he had not? Something that enabledhis young brother--the boy who used to weep for a blow--to stand andlook fearless in the face of a horrible death. Something that enabledeven poor, wild, passionate Gonsalvo to forgive and pray for themurderers of the woman he loved. What was it?
The Spanish Brothers: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century Page 36