Chapter 8. The Stake

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_ CHAPTER EIGHT. THE STAKE

It was midnight. Eighteen days had passed since Antonio Herezuelo had been stretched on the rack. His lacerated flesh had healed, his stretched sinews had recovered somewhat of their original strength. His cheeks were still pale, his voice, when he spoke to himself, was hollow, his eye had lost its brightness, yet his mind retained much of its usual vigour; his spiritual life had never flagged nor had his faith grown dim. He was pacing slowly and still painfully up and down his cell, when the door silently opened, and a friar stood before him.

A harsh voice uttered these words: "Antonio Herezuelo, I have come to announce to you that unless you renounce your errors, and are forthwith reconciled to the Church, you will to-morrow suffer the just punishment of your infidelity, your blasphemies, your crimes."

"I have confessed myself to God, who can alone forgive sins, as a lost, undone sinner, though washed in the precious blood of Jesus, and redeemed through faith in His perfect and complete sacrifice. I have, therefore, become one of the Church of the first-born. I am reconciled to God, from whom I was once separated," answered Herezuelo. "What more would you have me do?"

"The Church knows nothing of the expressions you utter. Be reconciled to her; that is what you have to do, or you and your errors will be burnt together."

"I cannot abandon the faith I hold, even to escape the cruel death you threaten," answered the advocate.

"Prepare, then, obstinate heretic, to meet it!" answered the friar, savagely. "Be assured that there will be no mitigation of your sentence unless you recant; and then, in her loving mercy and kindness, if you are reconciled and confess, you will enjoy the privilege of being strangled before the flames reach your body."

A scornful smile came over the features of the prisoner.

"A gracious boon, forsooth! And this Church calls itself after the name of the gentle, loving Saviour, who went about doing acts of kindness and mercy, and saving from physical suffering all who came to Him desiring to be cured!"

"I came not to bandy words with you," cried the monk; "the flames which you will feel to-morrow will give you a foretaste of those you will have to endure throughout eternity as the consequence of your obduracy."

"Our blessed Lord says, 'I say unto you, My friends, be not afraid of them which kill the body, and after that have no more than that they can do. But I will forewarn you whom ye shall fear: Fear Him, which after He hath killed hath power to cast into hell; yea, I say unto you, fear Him.'" Herezuelo spoke these words calmly, and added, "Now, friar, I own that you and those you serve can kill my body, but you can do no more: my soul is in the keeping of my loving Saviour; neither the powers of earth nor hell can prevail against it; therefore I am fearless."

With a curse, the friar turned and left the cell. Herezuelo sought strength in prayer for the fiery trial he was to go through. "It will endure but for a few minutes, and oh, then the eternity of bliss which will follow!" he ejaculated. "Why should I fear? why should I tremble? My trust is in God."

Ere the sun, rising in a cloudless sky, gilded the spires of the numerous churches of Valladolid, on the 21st of May, 1559, their bells began to toll solemnly, and crowds to assemble in vast numbers in the streets. It was Trinity Sunday; but it was not because it was the Sabbath that the citizens were so early afoot, but there was to be a grand spectacle, looked for with almost the same eagerness as a bull-fight. The first grand _auto-da-fe_ of Protestants was to take place that day, and all the people were eager to gaze at it--most of them for the sake of seeing so many lost and abandoned monsters put out of the world.

For this it was that the people came from all parts of the city and surrounding country into the grand square of Valladolid to witness the spectacle which had been prepared for them by those who impiously called themselves ministers of the loving Jesus. In a short time the whole of the grand square was filled with impatient spectators, except that space occupied by two large platforms between the church of Saint Francis and the house of the Consistory. In front of the town-house, and close to the platform intended for the inquisitors, a large box or deep-covered balcony had been erected for the use of the Royal Family, which they could enter without interruption from the crowd, and from whence they could enjoy a full view of the prisoners. Near it was a high altar, with the usual crucifixes, candlesticks, vases, and other ornaments of the Romish worship, made on this occasion as imposing as possible. In the box sat Dona Juana, Queen-Dowager of Portugal, and governess of the kingdom during the absence of her brother, Philip the Second, in the Netherlands. She was accompanied by her unhappy nephew, Don Carlos, heir-apparent to the throne, then a lad only of fourteen. It is said that on that occasion he vowed an implacable hatred to the Inquisition. To that fell tribunal, there can be little doubt, he became a helpless victim. Intimation of the intended festival had publicly been made in all the churches and religious houses in the neighbourhood. The attendance of the civil authorities and of the clergy was requested; and that the multitude might be encouraged to come, an indulgence of forty days was proclaimed to all who should witness the ceremonies of the act.

While outside preparations were going forward, the officials of the Inquisition were busy within the walls of the prison. The prisoners, being assembled, were clothed in the several dresses in which they were to make their appearance in public. Those who had erred only in a slight degree were clothed simply in black. The other prisoners wore a san-benito, a loose garment of yellow cloth, called in Spanish _zamara_, and on their heads was placed a high conical pasteboard cap, called _coroza_. On the dresses of those who were to be strangled were painted flames burning downwards, called _fuego revolto_, to intimate that they had escaped the fire; while the san-benito and coroza of those doomed to be burnt alive were covered with flames burning upwards, around which were painted devils carrying the faggots or fanning the fire.

Now, on that bright May morning, a procession was to be seen moving forth from the Inquisition of Valladolid. First marched a band of soldiers to clear the way, and then came a number of priests in their gaudy robes--alb, chasuble, tunic, and other garments, the names of which are familiar to modern ears. They were attended by acolytes and boys of various theological colleges, chanting the Litany in alternate choruses. Then came the mournful band of prisoners--those in black first, those marked with the _fuego revolto_ following, and those destined to the flames walking last. Each prisoner was attended by two familiars of the Inquisition, and each of those destined to die, in addition, was accompanied by two friars, who employed all the arguments they could bring forward, all the eloquence they could command, in endeavouring to induce the prisoners to recant and confess their errors. Among the last of the sad band came Antonio Herezuelo. Though his face was pale, he walked with a firm step, and he replied now with a smile, now with a few gentle words, to the exhortations of the two friars. He, as was the case with his companions, had a halter round his neck, and in his hand he carried an extinguished torch, while his companions destined to the stake also carried extinguished torches or crosses. Many trembled and tottered as they moved along; indeed, no one bore himself more bravely than the young advocate. After the prisoners came the local magistrates, the judges, and officers of state, accompanied by a train of nobility on horseback. Then came the secular and monastic clergy; and at some distance, as if they were too great and important to mingle with ordinary people, rode in slow and solemn pomp the members of the Holy Office, preceded by their fiscal, bearing the standard of the Inquisition. That accursed bloodstained banner was composed of red silk damask, on which the names and insignia of Pope Sextus the Fourth, and Ferdinand the Catholic, the founders of the hellish tribunal, were conspicuous; and it was surmounted by a crucifix of massive silver overlaid with gold, which the ignorant populace had been taught to hold in the highest veneration. These were the persons who were to take the chief part in the performances of the day; they were followed by their familiars on horseback, who, with many of the principal gentry of the country, formed their body-guard.

With a few years' judicious educating by the Jesuits, and a continuance of supineness and incredulity as to Rome's designs on the part of British Protestants, of which all denominations are guilty, it is not at all impossible that similar scenes may be enacted in England. Ritualistic forms and ceremonies, and public processions, and, still more, the insidious teaching of numbers professing to be ministers of religion, are accustoming the people to a system which must end in their subjugation to sacerdotal despotism.

An immense concourse of people of the lower ranks closed the procession, vociferating to one another, with open eyes and necks stretched out eager to catch a sight of the condemned prisoners and the grand inquisitors as they ascended their respective platforms. The latter took their places, and then the Queen-Regent and the young prince took their places in the royal box, or bed of state, as it was called, surrounded by a number of the chief nobility of the kingdom.

It was six o'clock in the morning, and the sun was already glittering on the gilded crosses and other devices on the tops of the banners, when, the company having taken their places, Francisco Baca, the presiding inquisitor, was seen advancing to the bed of state on which the Regent and her nephew were seated; and then, in an authoritative tone, he proffered to them an oath to support the Holy Office, and to reveal to it everything contrary to the faith which might come to their knowledge. The Prince was seen to hesitate, and not till urged by his aunt would he consent to take the oath. It was the first time such an oath had been exacted from any of the Royal Family. Poor Prince! that look of his sealed his fate!

Antonio Herezuelo, from the moment he saw his wife dragged off by the familiars of the Inquisition, had been kept in utter ignorance of what had become of her. Not a reply could he get from any of the stern familiars who attended him. It vain he petitioned to be told whether she was in their power--whether she was well in health--whether she had been placed under examination. A sinister look was the only answer he received.

"Ay, I must trust in God!" Yes, Antonio, you--all who are in trouble, sickness, or any other adversity--may trust in Him with confidence, assured that He in His good time will bring you out of all your troubles.

As the familiars were clothing the prisoners in their habits of infamy, Herezuelo thought to himself, "How can I more advantageously employ the last moments of my life than by declaring to the misguided people the glad tidings of salvation, by telling them of the Saviour's love, and that they require no other priest, no other intercessor than He?" Thus resolved to speak, he walked firmly onward to death, like a soldier to the fatal breach; but ere he reached the platform, at a sign from the monks, who had in vain, with all the sophistries they could utter, been endeavouring to shake his faith, one of the familiars thrust a gag into his mouth, which the other secured, and he was rendered speechless. Bitter for an instant was the anguish he felt, but prayer quickly restored to him his serenity.

"See! see! there is his lordship Melchior Cano, Bishop of the Canaries, mounting the pulpit. Listen! he is to preach the sermon," was repeated by many in the crowd.

In flowing language and sonorous tones the Bishop put forth the claims of the Church of Rome to infallibility. He spoke of the importance of unity, of the crime of heresy and schism; and, finally, he enlarged on the duty of all Catholics to deliver over to justice all who were in the slightest degree guilty of those crimes. The sermon concluded, the clerk of the tribunal read the sentence of the penitents, who, on their knees, and with their hands laid on the Missal, repeated the confession. Those around them stood aside as the presiding inquisitor, descending from his throne, advances to the altar, and absolves the penitents _a culpa_ under the obligation to bear the several punishments which have been awarded, whether banishments, penances, whipping, hard labour, or imprisonment--the deprivation of property being in all cases rigidly enforced, to the great advantage of the inquisitors. The Bishop, then, in a loud voice, administered to all present on the platform, as well as to the surrounding multitude, an oath binding them to live and die in the communion of the Roman Church, and to uphold and defend against all adversaries the tribunal of the Holy Inquisition.

As he spoke the multitude fell on their knees, lowly bowing their heads. Of the vast assemblage two men only were standing, with heads erect and arms folded on their bosoms. They were the martyrs resolved to undergo the fiery trial of the stake rather than disavow one article of their holy faith. They were Antonio Herezuelo, the advocate, and Francisco de Vibero Cazalla, parish priest of Hermigos, who was likewise gagged. There were twelve other unhappy persons condemned to death, but, having confessed, they were allowed the poor favour of being strangled before their bodies were committed to the flames. They, less courageous than the advocate and Francisco Cazalla, were compelled to kneel. But why does Antonio Herezuelo start and cast an inquiring look towards the group of black penitents kneeling near the altar? Before he could cast a second look they were hid from his sight; and now the Bishop of Placencia advances towards the group of those sentenced to death, and with a knife commences the operation of degrading the priests by scraping off the crown of the head the part which was supposed to have received the holy oil at their consecration. Then garment after garment was torn from them, the Bishop pronouncing all the time terrible curses on their heads. This done, the secular judges were summoned to receive the prisoners, and the Inquisitor formally delivered them over into their hands, saying, as he did so, in a hypocritical tone of compassion, "We beseech you to treat these poor people with the utmost commiseration--not to break a bone of their bodies, nor to shed a drop of their blood." He said this, not only knowing that the prisoners were to be executed, but having especially arranged that they should be so-- having, indeed, a few days before, acquainted the judge with the number of prisoners to be delivered over to him, in order that the required quantity of stakes, faggots, and other things necessary for the execution might be in readiness. The canons of the Romish Church, however, denounced against ecclesiastics who should be accessory to the inflicting of any bodily injury, and the above-mentioned expressions were used to avoid the censure of irregularity. The magistrates, on their part, swore that they would faithfully execute the sentences against the persons of the heretics delivered over to them.

All these ceremonies--audacious mockery of justice--occupied several hours; and now the condemned prisoners were compelled to march in front of the royal box, and pass those who had by recanting escaped the extreme penalty of the law. Again Antonio Herezuelo looked eagerly at the black penitents. What an expression of agony was seen to rise on his countenance as he beheld among them his beloved Leonor, the wife of his bosom, formerly united to him, as he supposed, in the one blessed faith and hope which animated his own soul. Who could paint the feelings which passed through his swelling heart? He would have given worlds to have been able to utter a loving entreaty to her again to take hold of the blessed truths of which he was even then reaping the fruition; but the gag prevented him. One prayer he breathed from the depths of his soul for her, and as he passed he cast at her a look of such unutterable agony, yet of such loving reproof and regret, that, like the lightning's flash, it went to her heart. Well she understood its meaning. "Oh, my beloved Leonor," it seemed to say, "why did you not seek for grace to hold fast to the truth, and for strength to go through the fiery trial, that, as we have lived happily together on earth, we might have ascended together to be ever with our risen Lord and Saviour?"

Full well she understood that silent appeal. It sunk into her heart. "Yes, yes, my Antonio, I will join you," she exclaimed, stretching out her hands towards him. In vain she made the attempt to rush into his arms, for the cruel familiars held her back. In vain she struggled. She saw that to join her beloved lord in life was hopeless. She drew herself up with dignity. "Inquisitors, I will die with my husband," she exclaimed. "I renounce for ever the gross errors of the Romish faith, which I have been induced to assume. I am ready to die as a true Protestant--a believer in the simple truths of the Gospel."

"Away with her! Away with her to prison!" cried the Inquisitor. "She is mad; she is beside herself!"

"I am a Protestant. I will die with my husband," exclaimed Leonor; but before she could say more a gag was thrust into her mouth, and she was surrounded by friars and familiars, so as to conceal her from the public view.

The look Herezuelo cast towards Leonor was the last he gave her on earth. Not another was allowed him. He was hurried off by the stony-hearted familiars, with his brother martyrs and their companions in affliction. The first part of the exhibition had been a cruel, a blasphemous mockery--that which was to follow was to be a diabolical reality.

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 principal 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 faggots 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 compassion, mingled with contempt, which at once silenced the recreant from the truth. Herezuelo's calmness seemed to excite the rage and all the evil passions 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 hell with your associate, 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 faggots 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 assembled 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 assure 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 assured, 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 assured 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 ejaculation 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 ambassadors from France, and a numerous assembly of prelates and nobility of both sexes.

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 noble-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 noble 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 passed away, and the same horrors continued to be enacted; the bloody-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. _

Read next: Chapter 9. Freedom

Read previous: Chapter 7. The Torture

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