Read Ebook: The Last Look: A Tale of the Spanish Inquisition by Kingston William Henry Giles

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 250 lines and 29163 words, and 5 pages

The Last Look, A Tale of the Spanish Inquisition, by W.H.G. Kingston.

It is in the middle of the sixteenth century, and in Spain, where the Inquisition, and subsequent torturing and burning to death by the Catholic Church, of those who would not agree to its tenets, is getting under way.

An Archbishop calls at the house of a former friend of his, a woman who had refused him in love. The woman is the widow of a great nobleman. The Archbishop is chatting to his former friend's daughter, and is thinking how like the child is to what she had been. Unfortunately the child artlessly gives away the fact that the family had now adopted Protestantism, due perhaps to her father having met Luther while on visits to Germany.

Some years later the child is now grown up, and has two suitors, one of whom is a rich Catholic, and the other is a much poorer man but a Protestant. She and others are meeting at the house of a woman who often has such clandestine all-Protestant meetings, when they hear that a person they all know has gone mad and has run around telling everyone about these Protestant meetings. The Inquisition of course, with spies everywhere, hears all about it. From then onward the story takes many of them to the jails of the Inquisition, and some are burnt at the auto-da-fe, a ritualised torture ceremony ending in death at the stake.

The book is short, only three hours to read, but very tensely written by this great author. Audiobook recommended.

THE LAST LOOK, A TALE OF THE SPANISH INQUISITION, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON.

AN UNWELCOME VISITOR.

The beauty of Seville is proverbial. "Who has not seen Seville, has not seen a wonder of loveliness," say the Spaniards. They are proud indeed of Seville, as they are of everything else belonging to them, and of themselves especially, often with less reason. We must carry the reader back about three hundred years, to a beautiful mansion not far from the banks of the famed Guadalquiver. In the interior were two courts, open to the sky. Round the inner court were marble pillars richly carved and gilt, supporting two storeys of galleries; and in the centre a fountain threw up, as high as the topmost walls, a bright jet of water, which fell back in sparkling spray into an oval tank below, full of many-coloured fish. In the court, at a sufficient distance from the fountain to avoid its spray, which, falling around, increased the delicious coolness of the air, sat a group of ladies employed in working tapestry, the colours they used being of those bright dyes which the East alone could at that time supply. The only person who was moving was a young girl, who was frolicking round the court with a little dog, enticed to follow her by a coloured ball, which she kept jerking, now to one side, now to the other, laughing as she did so at the animal's surprise, in all the joyousness of innocent youth. She had scarcely yet reached that age when a girl has become conscious of her charms and her power over the sterner sex. The ladies were conversing earnestly together, thinking, it was evident, very little of their work, when a servant appearing announced the approach of Don Gonzales Munebrega, Bishop of Tarragona. For the peculiar virtues he possessed in the eye of the supreme head of his Church, he was afterwards made Archbishop of the same see. Uneasy glances were exchanged among the ladies; but they had scarcely time to speak before a dignified-looking ecclesiastic entered the court, followed by two inferior priests.

One of the ladies, evidently the mistress of the house, advanced to meet him, and after the usual formal salutations had been exchanged, he seated himself on a chair which was placed for him by her side, at a distance from the rest of the party, who were joined, however, by the two priests. The young girl no sooner caught sight of the Bishop from the farther end of the hall, where the little dog had followed her among the orange trees, than all trace of her vivacity disappeared.

"Ah, Dona Mercia, your young daughter reminds me greatly of you at the same age," observed the Bishop, with a sigh, turning to the lady, who still retained much of the beauty for which the young girl was conspicuous.

"You had not then entered the priesthood; and on entering it, and putting off the secular habit, I should have thought, my lord, that you would have put off all thoughts and feelings of the past," answered Dona Mercia calmly.

"Not so easy a task," replied the Bishop. "A scene like this conjures up the recollection of days gone by and never to return. You--you, Dona Mercia, might have saved me from what I now suffer."

"You speak strangely, Don Gonzales," said Dona Mercia. "Why address such words to me? Our feelings are not always under our own control. I know that you offered me your hand, and the cause of my rejecting your offer was that I could not give you what alone would have made my hand of value. I never deceived you, and as soon as I knew your feelings, strove to show you what were mine."

"Indeed, you did!" exclaimed the Bishop, in a tone of bitterness. "You say truly, too, that we cannot always control our feelings. My rival is no more; and did not the office into which I rashly plunged cut me off from the domestic life I once hoped to enjoy, what happiness might yet be mine!"

"Oh, my lord, let me beg you not to utter such remarks," said Dona Mercia, in a voice of entreaty. "The past cannot be recalled. God chasteneth whom He loveth. He may have reserved for you more happiness than any earthly prosperity can give."

A frown passed over the brow of the priest of Rome.

The lady of the mansion, anxious to turn the current of the Bishop's thoughts, and to put a stop to a conversation which was annoying her-- fearing, indeed, from her knowledge of the man, that it might lead to some proposal still more painful and disagreeable--called her young daughter, Leonor de Cisneros, to her. Dona Leonor approached the Bishop with downcast looks.

"You are wonderfully demure now, my pretty maiden," he remarked in a bantering tone, his countenance brightening, however, for an instant as he spoke to her; "but you were gay and frolicking enough just now, when I entered. How is that?"

"It becomes me to be grave in your presence, my lord," was the answer.

"But you are generally happy and joyous, are you not?" asked the Bishop.

"Yes, especially when I think of the good and loving Master I desire to serve," answered the young girl, innocently.

"Who is that?" asked the Romish priest, not guessing whom she could mean.

"The Lord Jesus Christ, who died on Calvary that I might be washed from my sins by His precious blood there shed for me," answered the young girl, promptly.

"Ah! but you love the Holy Virgin, the immaculate Mother of God, too, do you not?" asked the priest.

"Yes, indeed, I do love the Holy Virgin, for she was blessed among women, and nurtured and brought up the dear Jesus, who died for me and for her too, that we might be saved," said Dona Leonor, without hesitation.

"Ah! what! do not you pray to the Holy Virgin, little maiden?" asked the priest, looking at her sternly. "This must be looked to," he muttered to himself.

"Why should I pray to her, when I have the gentle loving Jesus, to whom I may go in prayer at all times and in all places?" she asked with simplicity, and with a tone of surprise that the priest should not agree with her.

"And you do not pray to the saints either, then, perhaps?" he asked, before the girl had finished the last sentence.

"Oh, no! they are dead and cannot hear me. I pray only to the good Jesus, who always is ready to hear me; for He loves me more than my dear father did, or even than my mother can," answered Dona Leonor.

"These are not Catholic doctrines, young lady," said the Bishop in a tone of harshness he had not yet used. "Who taught them to you? They smack strongly of heresy."

"I do not know what heresy means," answered Dona Leonor, in an artless tone. "My dear father taught me what I know about the loving Jesus-- that He is the only friend in whom human beings can really trust. It was the sure knowledge of this which comforted him through his illness, and made his deathbed so happy and glorious. He told us to meet him in heaven, and I do hope to meet him there some day. The thought of that makes me extremely happy, whenever it comes to my mind."

"You hold very strange doctrines, child," said the Bishop, sharply. "Has your mother embraced them?"

"I know nothing about doctrines, my lord," answered Dona Leonor. "I think that my mother must hope to meet our dear father in heaven, or she would be very miserable; and I am sure she cannot hope to get there except through her trust in the blood of Jesus. I hope, my lord Bishop, that you expect to go there by that sure and only way."

"I cannot expect to go there except by the way the Church points out, and I cannot even know that there is a heaven except through what the Church teaches," answered the Bishop, in a voice that sounded somewhat husky. "That is the true Catholic doctrine, maiden, which it behoves all Spaniards to believe, and which they must be compelled to believe. You understand, maiden. Tell your mother what I say. But here she comes."

Dona Mercia, wishing to escape from the remarks of her former admirer, had joined the rest of her guests, and afterwards retired to give some direction for their entertainment, little dreaming of the dangerous turn the conversation between her daughter and the Bishop would take.

"Ah, Dona Mercia, I find that your daughter is a little heretic, and holds in but slight respect the doctrines of the Church. As she tells me she was instructed in them by her late father, and as he must have imbibed such abominable principles during his visits to Germany from that arch-heretic Luther, I trust that they have proceeded no farther. But let me advise you to be cautious, Dona Mercia, and to inculcate Catholic principles into the mind of your daughter. Remember that from henceforth the eyes of the Inquisition will be upon you."

"My lord Bishop, I have ever endeavoured to do my duty to my God, to my child, and to all around me," answered Dona Mercia, meekly, unconsciously placing her hands across her bosom. "I trust that I have no cause to tremble, should the eyes of the whole world be upon me."

"The eyes of the Inquisition are more piercing than those of the whole world combined," answered Don Gonzales, in a low voice, which came hissing forth from between his almost clenched lips, in a tone which was calculated to produce more effect on the mind of the hearer than the loudest outburst of passion.

When the Bishop rose from his seat, he approached the rest of the company with a smiling aspect, and addressed them with that dignified courtesy for which Spaniards have ever been celebrated. Few would have guessed the feelings which were even then agitating his bosom; still, the party felt relieved when he and his softly-spoken, keen-eyed attendants took their departure.

THE INQUISITION.

At the time our story commences, the inquisitors scarcely suspected how far the opinions they so much dreaded had extended. They had satisfied themselves hitherto with burning Jews, Moors, and the poorer class of Christians, whose opinions did not agree with those of the Roman Catholic Church. Thus, when Don Gonzales Munebrega, soon after his arrival at Seville on ecclesiastical business, paid the visit which has been described to Dona Mercia de Cisneros, he was considerably startled at hearing her young daughter utter expressions which showed that she had been taught doctrines of a heretical character. The whole family were in his power. He had once loved Dona Mercia; she had rejected him. How should he now use that power? Tumultuous feelings agitated his bosom as he mounted the richly-caparisoned mule which stood ready to convey him to the convent where he lodged.

This was not the only visit he paid to Dona Mercia; but, though courteous to her guest, she was ever on her guard, and carefully kept Leonor out of his way. For once in his life he was baffled. Whenever he paid his visits the same caution was observed. At length he was compelled to take his departure from Seville. Years rolled on, but he never forgot the remarks made to him by the young Leonor de Cisneros. He had hated her father, he had been rejected by her mother. It is difficult to describe the feelings with which he regarded the daughter, still less those which he had entertained for the mother. Were they holy and pure? The lives of thousands of cardinals, bishops, and priests of all degrees, is the best answer to the question.

Don Gonzales Munebrega was rising in the Church. He had become Archbishop of Tarragona. His heart had become harder and harder; in reality an infidel--an alien from God--a hater of all that was pure and holy, he thought that he was becoming devout. He was resolved that if he was not on the right way to heaven, no one else should get there by any other. The war was now to begin against heresy and schism--terms abused, especially the latter, at the present day almost as much as in the darker days of Popish supremacy. There are to be found clergymen of the Church of England who can, unconcernedly, see many of their flock going over to the Church of Rome, whom they have possibly led half-way there; and yet should any of the rest of their congregation, disgusted with their Ritualistic practices, or fearing the effect of their false teaching on their children, strive to set up an independent place of worship, or to join any already established body of Christians, anathemas are hurled at their heads, and they are told that they are guilty of the heinous crime of schism--schism, in the sense they give it, a figment of sacerdotalism, priestcraft, and imposture. But does the crime of schism not exist? Ay, it does; but it is schism from the true Church of Christ, the Church of which He is the head corner-stone, the beautified in Heaven, the sanctified on earth; from God's people, who are with Him in glory, who are with us here below, who are yet to be born; from the glorious company of the redeemed; from Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, slain for the sins of the whole world, the risen Saviour, the one Intercessor between God and man. Those are guilty of trying to create schism who tell God's people--trusting to the same precious blood shed on Calvary--that it is a crime to worship together, to commemorate the Lord's death together, to put out the right hand of fellowship, to call each other brethren; ay, those are the causers of schism, against whose evil machinations Christian men have cause to pray.

In Spain, in those days, as at present, it was the custom for ladies of rank to receive guests at their houses on certain days of the week. Dona Mercia de Cisneros was holding such a reception one evening. Guests of all opinions came. There were a large number of Protestants; they knew each other to be Protestants, but to the rest of the guests their opinions were unknown. Among the guests were two young men who, though apparently strangers to each other, were attracted by the same object--admiration for Dona Leonor, the youthful daughter of the house. Don Francisco de Vivers, the elder of the two, was an inhabitant of Seville, of considerable wealth and excellent family. He was considered amiable and generous; and was, moreover, handsome and agreeable in his manners, dressed well, and possessed a house and equipages surpassed by few. He was not at all insensible of his own qualifications for winning a young lady's heart, and was, therefore, greatly puzzled at discovering that Dona Leonor seemed insensible to them. Don Francisco loved the world and his wealth far too much to give his heart to God; and Dona Leonor had resolved not to marry any one who would not make up his mind to do so. Possibly too, he might scarcely have heard of the reformed doctrines; he was a firm Roman Catholic. It was a faith which exactly suited him. He found it so easy for a person of his wealth to clear off any sins which might trouble his conscience.

The other young man who has been spoken of seemed to be a stranger in the place, though several affectionate greetings which he received showed that he was not so altogether. He was dressed in black, the usual costume of a lawyer in those days, and though not so handsome as Don Francisco, his broad forehead, clear eye, and firm mouth, showed that he was far his superior in intellect. Dona Leonor no longer turned away her head when he approached her, as she had done when Don Francisco drew near, but received him with a friendly smile, while an acute observer might have discovered that a blush suffused her cheek while he spoke. Don Francisco watched him at a distance, and an expression denoting angry jealousy came over his countenance as he saw the intimate terms which existed between the two. He little dreamed, however, of the cause of the earnest love which one felt for the other: it was the pure holy faith which both enjoyed, the same common trust, the same hope, the same confidence in the one ever-loving Saviour. They believed that they were to be united, not only for a time, but for eternity. Their acquaintance had commenced during a visit Dona Leonor had paid to some relatives residing in the town of Toro, of which place Antonio Herezuelo, the young man who has been described, was an advocate. It soon ripened into affection. No barrier existed between them, for the acute lawyer had already been converted to the truth, and, head and heart alike convinced, held firmly to it as the anchor of his soul. Dona Mercia did not oppose their union, for she perceived that Antonio Herezuelo possessed courage, determination, and a superior intellect, beside a gentle and loving disposition--qualities calculated to secure her daughter's happiness, and which would enable him to protect her during the troublous times which she feared might be coming on Spain. She knew well what had happened, and what was occurring in the Netherlands, as did all the educated persons in Spain; but that did not prevent those who had the Gospel offered to them from accepting its truths, or from endeavouring to make them known among their companions. Those who were in the Church, and whose position enabled them to preach, promulgated Gospel truth openly, while laymen spoke of it to their friends in private, or addressed small assemblies of persons who appeared disposed to receive it.

A NARROW ESCAPE.

The young couple, now formally betrothed, appeared everywhere together in public, and it was understood that before long their marriage would be solemnised. Many of the places, however, frequented by people of their rank, they avoided--the bull-fights and the religious spectacles-- the one tending to brutalise the people, the other to foster the grossest superstition. Among the houses at which they visited at Seville was that of the widow Dona Isabel de Baena. Her guests, however, it was understood, only came by invitation. Most of them approached her house cautiously--sometimes alone, or only two or three together--generally when it grew dusk, and muffled in their cloaks so that their features could not be discerned. Often there was a large assemblage of persons at Dona Isabel's house thus collected, though the spies of the Inquisition had not observed them assembling. Though sedate and generally serious in their manner, they were neither sad nor cast down; indeed, a cheerfulness prevailed among the company not often seen in a Spanish assembly. Dona Leonor was there with her mother. Don Antonio Herezuelo set out from his lodgings with the purpose of going there also. He had not gone far when, suddenly turning his head, he found that he was closely followed. Under ordinary circumstances this would have caused him little concern, but at present he knew the importance of being cautious. He remembered that by going down a lane near at hand he might return home again. This he did, and walking on rapidly, got rid, as he supposed, of his pursuer. After remaining a short time he again sallied forth, and taking a circuitous way to Dona Isabel's house, arrived there safely, and, as he hoped, without being observed. Leonor had become anxious about him. She told him so when he arrived.

"Do not on similar occasions fear, my beloved," he answered, with that brave smile which frequently lighted up his countenance. "God protects those who put their whole trust in Him--not a half trust, but the whole entire trust."

"Yes, I know, and yet surely many of those who were tortured and suffered in the flames in the Low Countries put their trust in Him," answered Leonor. "I shudder when I think of the agonies those poor people must have endured."

Again that smile came over Herezuelo's countenance. "Sometimes He requires those whom He loves best, and who love Him, to suffer for Him here, that He may give them a brighter crown, eternal in the heavens-- the martyr's crown of glory," he answered.

"Ah, yes, I know that thought should sustain a person," she remarked; "yet all tortures must be hard for poor, frail human bodies to bear."

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet