Those condemned to death, either by fire or strangulation, were now formed into a melancholy procession, each person accompanied as before by familiars and monks, the latter disturbing the last moments of their yellow-robed victims by their senseless exhortations. Thus they proceeded slowly through the gates, accompanied by nearly all those who had witnessed the first part of the proceedings; the eager crowd making their observations on the appearance and bearing of the sufferers, many of the more brutal mocking and jeering, especially as they caught sight of the two princ.i.p.al martyrs. It might have seemed strange to them that of all the human beings collected they should have appeared the calmest, though the look of agony which arose on Herezuelo's brow at the sight of his wife had not yet left it.

Arrived at the spot where the stakes were erected and the f.a.ggots piled up, further efforts were made to induce Cazalla and Herezuelo to recant.

The former, seeing his brother Augustine not at the stake, but among those who were to be strangled before being burned, signified his sorrow by an expressive motion of his hands. The latter remained firm as before, unmoved by all the exhortations of the priests and monks. Even when instigated by his tempters, the unhappy Doctor Augustine Cazalla urged him to be reconciled to the Church of Rome, he turned on him a look of sorrow and compa.s.sion, mingled with contempt, which at once silenced the recreant from the truth. Herezuelo's calmness seemed to excite the rage and all the evil pa.s.sions of the priests and soldiers.

They cursed and swore and reviled him in every possible way. "Ah! ah!

in a short time, in spite of your bold looks, you will be in h.e.l.l with your a.s.sociate, Luther," they shouted. To these and similar expressions he made no sign of complaints--only turning his eyes to that blue sky to which his beautified spirit was about to wing its flight towards the martyr's crown of glory awaiting him in the realms of the blessed.

The f.a.ggots were lighted, the flames ascended, when one of the soldiers, enraged at his constancy, plunged his lance into his body, and thus saved him from the pangs he might otherwise have had to suffer. His fellow-martyr died with equal firmness, and the other victims were strangled before their bodies were cast into the flames. With them at the same time were also cast the bones and effigy of Dona Leonor de Vibero, which had appeared at the _auto_. This was done because at her house the Protestants had frequently a.s.sembled for prayer and praise.

In a short time, of the fourteen human beings who had dragged their tortured, lacerated limbs to the spot, a few ashes alone remained. Such was the termination of the first great _auto-da-fe_ of Protestants in Spain.

There was yet another spectacle to be witnessed that day. It was to see the house of Dona Leonor de Vibero, the mother of the Cazallas, razed to the ground, and the place on which it stood sown with salt. On the spot a pillar, with an inscription stating the cause of its demolition, was immediately afterwards erected, and stood till the commencement of the present century.

It is easy to conceive how Dona Leonor de Cisneros had been induced apparently to abandon the faith to which she had so long adhered.

Falsehoods and devices of all sorts had been employed to induce her to make her peace with Rome. Every argument which sophistry could invent had been brought forward to shake her belief. There was a rack, with other fearful tortures, and the stake, on the one hand, and forgiveness and reconciliation with the Church on the other--ay, and a happy life with her Antonio. When at last the inquisitors found her stubborn, they did not hesitate to a.s.sure her that she had less wisdom than her husband, who had lately--convinced that the Protestant cause was lost in Spain--agreed heartily to conform to the faith of Rome, and to be reconciled to the Church. A rigid course of penance was prescribed for her, and after its performance she was told that she would be set free, and allowed to join her husband, who, as had been some others, would be banished the kingdom, though possibly a milder punishment might be awarded him.

Could it be possible that her husband would abjure his principles? Her faith wavered. If she remained obstinate, he might, she was a.s.sured, be brought out to witness her death. She was meditating on these things in her solitary cell when the door opened, and the Archbishop Munebrega stood before her. He spoke to her gently and kindly, as an old family friend. He would urge her to take his advice, and conform at once.

Long she thought on the subject, but she could not pray for guidance.

Why? Her conscience revolted against the act she contemplated. In a husky voice she told the Archbishop that she would yield.

"We will endeavour, then, to induce the advocate Herezuelo to yield also, lovely Leonor," said the Archbishop, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips.

"Why, you told me that my husband had already yielded!" exclaimed Leonor, scarcely conscious of the act.

"I surely could not have said so, as I am not cognisant of the fact,"

answered Munebrega blandly. "Be a.s.sured that for your sake I will endeavour to win him over to the truth." Much more was urged by the Archbishop, but poor Leonor's mind was in too great a whirl to understand the meaning of what he said. Cruel indeed was the conflict going on within her. "For the sake of appearances you will have to undergo some penances; but I will take care that they shall be as light as possible, that your health may be in no way injured," he remarked; and with a treacherous smile the tempter left her.

No words can describe the unhappy Leonor's feelings at seeing her husband among those condemned to the stake. It had been hoped by Munebrega, from the position in which she was placed, that she would not have discovered him. The effect has been described. On being conducted back to the convent to which she had been removed, she at once refused to continue the penances which had been prescribed. No persuasions could make her alter her determination; and therefore, as an obstinate heretic, she was returned to a cell in the Inquisition. Munebrega was soon in her presence. He reminded her that she was a widow and helpless--that he had the power of setting her at liberty. He entreated her on his knees once more to recant--to preserve her life--not to allow her beauty to be marred by a long imprisonment. She turned from him with loathing. Munebrega well knew the importance of caution. His chief and brother inquisitors were very indifferent what means were made use of (even the most abominable), provided they contributed to bring about the objects they had in view; but they would allow no private interests to be gratified. Day after day Munebrega visited the unhappy lady. His protestations, his arguments, every subject he introduced, only tended to strengthen her resolution. "Get thee behind me, Satan,"

was her daily e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n when he appeared. She did not trust to her own strength, but hourly sought strength and grace from above to withstand all the trials and temptations to which she was exposed. Like Peter, she had fallen once; severe was the lesson she had learned. Like Peter's repentance, hers had been deep and truly sincere. No longer did she trust to herself. Munebrega at last retired, gnashing his teeth at having been foiled by a weak woman, utterly incapable of comprehending the mighty power which had been fighting on her side against him. He now allowed other persons to attempt to move her.

Among others, her former admirer, Don Francisco de Vivers, was induced to visit her. He was still unmarried. What arguments he used it is not necessary to state. He was not hardened to the craft of the priests, and he left the prison abashed and confused. He visited her again more than once, and the idea was entertained by the inquisitors that he was moving her obdurate heart. At length, however, he was missing from Valladolid, and some of his friends feared, from some words that he had let drop, that he had offended the inquisitors, and was immured in their prisons.

It would be impossible to imagine, much less to describe, the cruelties practised on Leonor de Cisneros; and yet there were many hundreds of delicately-nurtured females and hidalgos of high rank suffering as she was physically in the numerous prisons of the Inquisition throughout Spain--many shut up in loathsome dungeons, destined never again to see the light of day.

Numerous _autos-da-fe_ succeeded each other for the purpose of stamping out Protestant principles from Spain. The second celebrated at Valladolid took place on the 8th of October, 1559, for the purpose of celebrating the return of Philip the Second, husband of Queen Mary of England, who was employed at that time in burning her own bishops and other subjects for the same cause. King Philip was himself present, enjoying the spectacle, with his unhappy son Carlos, his sister, the Prince of Parma, three amba.s.sadors from France, and a numerous a.s.sembly of prelates and n.o.bility of both s.e.xes.

The Inquisitor-General, Valdes, advancing to the bed of state, administered the same oath which had been taken by Don Carlos and the Queen of Portugal. Philip took it without hesitation, and, rising from his seat, drew his sword, in token of his determination to use it in support of the Holy Office.

A similar group to that before described, clothed in yellow garments covered with pictures of flames and devils, stood on the platform before the King and his court. The most n.o.ble-looking and highest in rank was Don Carlos de Seso, the upturning flames on whose robe showed that he was doomed to the stake. With him was Domingo de Roxas, Pedro de Cazalla, parish priest of Pedroso, who was destined to share the fate of his family. Dona Isabella de Castilla, wife of Don Carlos de Seso, was there, and her niece, Dona Catalina--condemned to lose all their property, to wear the san-benito, and to be imprisoned for life. There were also three nuns of San Belem; one of them, Dona Mariana de Guevara, was condemned to be strangled and then thrown into the flames; she was highly born, and even connected with Valdes, the Chief Inquisitor, but he could not save her from the consequences of her opinions. His subordinates resisted the applications he was said to have made on her behalf as an interference with their jurisdiction, and a proof of partiality and weakness unworthy of one of those whose office required him to be insensible to the feelings of nature and friendship.

The death of Don Carlos de Seso was worthy of his life; though gagged on the platform and on the way to execution, the instrument was removed when he was bound to the stake by the friars, who stood round exhorting him to confess. He replied in a loud voice, "I could demonstrate to you, unhappy men, that you ruin yourselves by not imitating my example; but there is no time. Executioners, light the pile which is to consume me." These were his last words. The order was instantly obeyed, and, looking up, he died without a groan.

Another martyr was Juan Sanchez. Entrapped in the Low Countries by the emissaries of the Inquisition, he was brought a prisoner to Valladolid, and condemned to the stake. The cords which bound him having rapidly been consumed, he leaped unconsciously on to the stage where the friars were confessing some who had recanted at the last moment. The friars immediately collected round him, and urged him to retract his errors.

Looking at the unhappy penitents who were risking their salvation to escape a few moments' suffering, and then at the n.o.ble De Seso, standing unmoved amid the rising flames, he walked deliberately back to the stake, exclaiming, "I will die like De Seso." More fuel was brought, and he was quickly in the joy of his Lord.

Numbers bore testimony to "the truth as it is in Jesus" by dying fearlessly like De Seso. At the same time, eight females, of irreproachable character, some of them of high rank, were burned alive; among them Maria Gomez, who so nearly betrayed the Protestants during a sudden fit of insanity. Having recovered her senses she returned to the Protestant faith, and soon was brought before the Inquisitors. She suffered with her three daughters and a sister. So hardened had the populace become by similar scenes, that not a single expression of sympathy escaped them as they thus witnessed the destruction of a whole family. Year after year pa.s.sed away, and the same horrors continued to be enacted; the b.l.o.o.d.y-minded inquisitors being hounded on to their work of death by the bigot king; that king who, it has truly been said, was busily engaged in making Spain what she in a few years became, the lowest and least influential among the nations of Europe; while as truly was Elizabeth, by her wise measures, laying the foundation of England's greatness and power.

CHAPTER NINE.

FREEDOM.

We must return once more to the unhappy Leonor de Cisneros. She was seated on a rough bench in her dungeon beneath the halls of the Inquisition. One gleam of light only was admitted by a small aperture, leading into a courtyard, far above her head.

The gleam fell on her marble countenance, pale as that of one who has ceased to breathe. Her once rich hair, now glistening like snow, hung over her shoulders, while her figure was draped in the dark robe she was doomed to wear. Heavy chains hung on her arms, which she could with difficulty lift to her head, whenever she strove to press her hands upon her burning brow. Even the agony of mind and body which she had endured had scarcely dimmed her beauty. Though her eyes had lost their l.u.s.tre, yet in them was a fixed look of courage and resignation. Now she knelt down on the cold stones before the stool, and lifted up her manacled hands to heaven, towards which her countenance was turned, earnestly imploring strength and resolution to withstand the fearful temptations to which she was exposed. She was not disappointed. While she thus knelt, the door of her dungeon grated on its hinges. Slowly, and not without difficulty, she rose from her knees, and stood prepared to receive her visitor, whoever he might prove to be. She dreaded lest she should see the arch-fiend Munebrega; but instead of him, Don Francisco de Vivers stood before her. He advanced a few paces into the vault, and placed the lantern he bore on a stone shelf projecting from the wall on one side of the cell. He did not speak till the door closed behind him.

He then stood before her with his plumed hat held in his hand, keeping still at the distance of a few paces.

"Dona Leonor," he said, "I come to bid you farewell. The words you spoke to me during my last visits to you sunk deep down in my heart.

The glorious truths you explained took root, and have since by G.o.d's grace been abundantly watered. I obtained a copy of His blessed Word.

I sought for instruction from those able to give it, and I am now ready, if it is His will, to add my testimony to the truth by my blood. I was sent here to win you back to life, and to gain you over to the false faith of Rome. You have been the cause of my becoming a thorough Protestant, and being made willing, if called upon, to suffer death-- such death, that is, as man is able to inflict upon his fellow-man. Yet I am young, and do not desire to die. I have therefore resolved to quit my country for another land, where I may freely worship G.o.d according to the dictates of my conscience. I knew that you would rejoice to hear this. I therefore resolved, at every risk, to seek another interview with you. Dear lady, you will pardon me for the words I spoke to you on my former visits. I uttered them in my ignorance. I thought that I was thus benefiting you, instead of endeavouring to deprive you of that joy unspeakable which is prepared for those who truly love the Lord, and are ready to give up all for Him."

"Oh, believe me, Don Francisco, when I say it, I have nothing to pardon," replied Dona Leonor. "I rejoice to hear of your determination.

Alas! I fear you would not benefit our unhappy countrymen by remaining among them. The spirit of evil has gained the supremacy; and while he reigns, with the sanguinary inquisitors as his ministers, the truth can never make progress in the country. Go, then, Don Francisco; my prayers, day and night, will be offered up to the throne of mercy that you may be protected from the dangers of your journey, and safely reach the haven of rest. It is mockery to speak of joy, but such joy as I am now capable of feeling will be mine when I hear that you have safely reached your destination. And oh, Don Francisco, pray for me, not that my life may be prolonged, but that I may have courage and support in the trials I may be called upon henceforth to bear; and that it may be G.o.d's will that I may, ere long, be emanc.i.p.ated from my bondage, not to go forth into the world, but to be raised on wings of light to join my martyred husband, now singing praises with the heavenly choir before the great white throne of our loving Father."

"Dona Leonor, your wishes shall ever be a law to me," answered Don Francisco. "I shall see you no more on earth. Even should I be successful in escaping from this unhappy country, I believe that I shall never again return to it; and even if I did, I should not be permitted to see you. I hear that many Spanish Protestants are a.s.sembled at Genoa, among whom are several who were once monks at San Isidoro.

Thither I have resolved to bend my steps, that I may worship with them, and gain from them instruction and counsel."

"I thank our Heavenly Father that you have resolved on this step,"

answered Leonor, "and I pray that you may be more successful than were my beloved Herezuelo and myself. Oh, that I had not believed the falsehoods that were told me before that dreadful day when I last met him on earth! Bitterly have I repented my weakness and want of faith.

I should have known that no human power would have induced him to deny his Lord and Master, even for the sake of saving his life and being reunited with me. Ah, how weak and faithless was I! but I thank my G.o.d that, through the influence of the Holy Spirit, I had strength and power given me boldly to declare my faith in the truth, even though my so doing has brought me into this dungeon, and will ere long cast my body amid those flames which consumed the mortal frame of my husband. Oh, believe me, Don Francisco, to that day I look forward with eagerness and joy. My heart will bound with thankfulness when I am told to prepare for going forth to the stake."

Don Francisco stepped forward and raised the manacled hand of the speaker to his lips. Then, casting one more glance of respect and sorrow at that still lovely countenance before him, he hastened from the cell, drawing his hat over his brow to conceal his agitation; then wrapping his cloak around him, he took his way through the narrow pa.s.sages which led to the vaults, guided by one of the familiars of the Inquisition, till he reached the door of an apartment, at which his guide stopped and knocked. A voice desired him to enter. Don Francisco pa.s.sed through the doorway, and stood in the presence of the Archbishop Munebrega.

"Do you expect to move her, Don Francisco?" asked the Archbishop, eyeing him narrowly.

"My lord, I do not," answered Don Francisco, firmly; "yet I warn you that severe treatment will not effect your purpose. For myself, I would beg that I might not be again requested to visit her; but I yet entreat that her chains may be removed, and that she may be placed in a room where the light of day is allowed to enter, and be supplied with food such as her delicate nature requires."

"Don Francisco, you ask what it may be impossible for me to grant,"

answered the Archbishop, again casting a penetrating glance towards him; "but I will make known your request to my coadjutors, and, should they see fit, it may be granted."

Don Francisco was glad when the interview with the Archbishop came to a close. He well knew the character of the man with whom he had to deal, and he dreaded lest any word he might incautiously drop should betray him. He hurried home. Already he had made every preparation which was possible for his journey. As the shades of evening drew on he left his house, and all the comforts and luxuries it contained, feeling that he should never return. Keeping his countenance concealed with his cloak, he pa.s.sed unquestioned through the gates. Now he hurried on at a rapid pace for a league or more from the city. Then, turning on one side, he entered a small wood. He had not gone far when he found, standing under the trees, two horses, held by a short man in the costume of a muleteer.

"Ah! my friend Julianillo, I knew that I could trust you, and I am thankful that you have not failed me. It is time, if I would save my life, that I should leave Valladolid. Already the savage Munebrega suspects me, and I have bidden farewell to her for whose sake alone I should desire to remain in Spain. I could not bear to see her die; and yet, knowing the savage hearts of her persecutors, and her own firm resolve, I feel sure that, ere long, she will add another to the glorious list of martyrs. She has bidden farewell to the world and her fellow-creatures, and places her trust in One who alone can give her strength to undergo the trials she may be called upon to endure."

"True, Don Francisco, true," answered Julianillo; "but we must not delay. A few minutes may make the difference between life and safety, and imprisonment and death. When our brother Don Domingo de Roxas attempted to escape, from a short delay caused by his visit to the n.o.ble De Seso, he fell into the power of the inquisitors. But you, I trust, are not suspected, and we may in safety gain the borders of Spain without impediment. It will be necessary, however, to use caution, and above all things to trust to no one. There are guards on all the roads, and spies at every inn, ready to entrap the unwary."

Saying this Julianillo held the stirrup while Don Francisco threw himself into the saddle. He then mounted his own horse, and together they rode out of the wood, and took the road towards the frontier.

Julianillo knew every part of the country. Each highway and every by-path was as familiar to him as if he had it mapped down before his eyes. Often and often he had travelled those roads, with his bales of goods surrounding the copies of the Bible and the works of Luther and others, which he had brought across the Pyrenees into Spain. He had, of late, however, been compelled to give up bringing any more copies of G.o.d's Word into the country. He had, instead, devoted himself to a.s.sisting Protestants to escape from their persecutors. Those who had trusted themselves entirely to his care and guidance he had never failed to convey safely to their destination.

Their horses were fresh, and they were thus able to gallop in the greater part of the night. When morning broke, Valladolid was many miles behind them. As soon as the horses were rested they again proceeded on their journey. They thus continued till they were within a half-day's journey of the frontier.

"We are now approaching the most dangerous part of the road," observed Julianillo to Don Francisco. "It would be safer for you not to appear to be under my guidance. I may possibly be suspected, and as I am well-known, I should certainly be seized, while you might be allowed to continue your journey. But whatever happens, take no notice of me, and let us appear to be total strangers to each other."

These remarks were made when the travellers were yet some distance from the inn where they intended to stop. Julianillo rode on ahead, Don Francisco following at a distance, so as just to keep him in view.

When Don Francisco entered the common room of the inn, Julianillo was already there, seated among a number of muleteers and other persons, laughing and joking with them. Don Francisco, on entering, took no notice of him, but placed himself at an unoccupied part of the long table, at the other end of the room. The guests were waiting for dinner, and in a short time large dishes of fried beans and pork were placed on the table. Don Francisco could with difficulty partake of the rough fare put before him. He ordered, however, a flagon of wine, and requested the host to partake of it, who, nothing loth, accepted his offer.

The guests had only just seated themselves when a party of mounted alguazils arrived at the inn, and, having stabled their horses, walked in to partake of the dinner going forward. Julianillo appeared in no way to be disconcerted. It was an anxious time for Don Francisco, for he could not help fearing that the alguazils were in search of suspected persons.