Chapter Nine.
How George visited the Holy Inquisition at San Juan.
“A good man, in many respects; a very excellent man, indeed,” observed the alcalde, nodding toward the door by which Don Manuel had just quitted the apartment, “and admirable in the position which he occupies. As a soldier merely, he is all that one could possibly desire, brave to recklessness, and an admirable leader. But after all he is only a soldier fighting is his trade, but he knows nothing whatever about diplomacy; he does not understand that there is not only a time when men should fight but also a time when, if they are wise, they should forbear. It is a fortunate thing for us all, illustrious señor, that I and not he happens to be in authority at the present juncture; and I beg that you will not permit his cavalier-like behaviour to influence you in the slightest degree. And now, noble Capitan, if you have quite completed your business here, I will point out to you the way to the Inquisition, for time is pressing, and I am most anxious that no untoward accident shall occur to interfere with or delay your business in San Juan. And—I know not what may be the nature of your errand with the Holy Office, but, if I may be permitted to offer a suggestion, I would very strongly advise—nay more, I would most earnestly entreat—that you do nothing to wound the religious susceptibilities of the inhabitants, who regard the Inquisition, and all connected with it, with the utmost veneration and dread.”
“Probably with even greater dread than veneration, eh, Don Juan?” remarked George, as he took up his hat and prepared to follow the alcalde out of the building.
“Possibly, señor; possibly,” replied the alcalde, with reservation, as he led the way.
Nothing more was said until the pair reached the street and rejoined Basset and his little band of armed men, who stood placidly facing a crowd of nearly a hundred men principally composed of the more lawless and ruffianly element which is to be found in the lower quarters of every city.
The alcalde regarded this sullen-looking, but as yet merely passively hostile crowd for some moments with an expression of considerable alarm and misgiving; then, moved by the urgency of the occasion, he waved his hand to claim attention, and made a little speech in which he first rebuked the gathering for its discourtesy to the visitors by standing gaping at them as though they were so many wild beasts, after which he commanded them to disperse, warning them at the same time to interfere with the strangers at their peril, informing them that he would very severely punish any person who should dare to do so, and at the same time reminding them that the said strangers, though few, were trained soldiers, fully armed, who would themselves be quick to avenge the slightest interference or insult. He stood there until the last of the surly, scowling ruffians had moved slowly and unwillingly away, their movements finally hastened by the emergence of a party of soldiers from another wing of the building, and then, when they had all vanished, he furtively indicated to George the way to the Inquisition, and hurriedly removed himself from the scene.
The Inquisition was situated at a distance of some ten minutes’ march from the Grand Plaza, and proved to be, when the party of Englishmen reached it, an extensive forbidding-looking, prison-like structure built of massive masonry, and apparently strong enough to withstand anything short of an attack by ordnance. The entrance consisted of an archway some twelve feet wide fitted with a pair of enormously thick iron-studded oaken doors, in one of which was a small wicket fitted with a grille. An iron chain, with a hand grip attached to its lower extremity, depending from a hole in the wall, indicated the means of communication with the interior, and this George tugged at violently, with the result that a loud bell immediately set up a furious clanging somewhere in the interior of the building. After an interval of nearly a minute this summons was replied to by a hooded friar who, having drawn the slide of the grille, peered out through the opening and querulously demanded to know who it was who raised such a clangour, and what was his business, to which George, who was the only person visible from the aperture of the grille, replied that he was a stranger who had urgent business of a strictly private nature with the Father Superior. Whereupon the slide of the grille was sharply closed, and the party faintly heard the shuffling footsteps of the friar receding.
After an absence of nearly ten minutes the friar re-appeared at the grille, with a demand to be informed of the stranger’s name and the precise nature of his business with the Holy Father, to which George replied that it was useless for him to give his name, since it was quite unknown to the Father Superior, and that his business was not only most urgent but was for the Holy Father’s ear alone, and that it was imperative that he should be admitted without an instant’s unnecessary delay. A further and somewhat longer wait then ensued, and Basset was strongly urging the desirability of an attempt to burst the wicket open when the friar appeared for the third time and, shooting certain heavy bolts on the inside of the wicket, flung it open. To push his way in was for George the work of but a moment, when, to the dismay and indignation of the gatekeeper, he was instantly followed by eleven soldiers, armed to the teeth.
“The keys!” exclaimed George, to Basset. “Take his keys from him, lock the gate, and station two men here as sentries, with orders to allow no one to leave the building. That is well,” as his orders were obeyed. “Now, the rest of you, follow me. Lead the way, old man, to the quarters of the Father Superior; I must see him forthwith. Are you the keeper also of the keys which give access to the cells?” to the friar who had admitted them.
“No,” answered the cowering creature. “The gaoler carries those. But what would you with them, thou man of violence? No one is permitted to enter the cells without the permission of the Father Superior.”
“Lead me to him, then,” repeated George. “Captain Basset,” he continued, “I will take two men with me. Take you the remainder and secure every door giving access to the exterior of this building. No man must on any account be allowed to leave it, for if that should happen, they will raise the inhabitants of the town upon us, and there will be bloodshed, which I wish to avoid, if possible. Now, sir,” to the friar, “lead the way.”
While Basset marched off the remaining half-dozen of his men to execute George’s order, the latter, accompanied by two soldiers, followed his unwilling guide into the main building and down a long corridor to a door, at which the friar knocked with a trembling hand.
“Enter!” responded a voice in Spanish, whereupon George, gently pushing his guide aside and beckoning the two soldiers to follow him, threw open the door and passed into the apartment. It was a large and very handsomely furnished room, containing a table, sofa, several lounging chairs, and a large book-case, full of books, facing the two wide and lofty windows which lighted the room and which looked out upon a spacious, beautifully kept garden. On one wall hung a large crucifix, the cross made of ebony while the exquisitely carved figure of the crucified Christ was of ivory, fastened to the cross with golden nails, while the crown of thorns which encircled the drooping head was also made of gold. Two large pictures, one of which represented the Descent from the Cross, and the other the Entombment, hung on either side of the crucifix; and the opposite wall was occupied by a very large and beautiful painting depicting the Apotheosis of the Virgin Mother.
At the entrance of the three armed men a tall and dignified figure clad in priestly garments rose from the table and, with a ringer inserted between the pages of a book which he had been reading, haughtily demanded, in Spanish:
“Who are you, sir; and what is the meaning of this unseemly—this audacious—intrusion upon my privacy?”
George replied to this question by asking another. “Am I right,” he demanded, “in supposing you to be the Right Reverend Father Superior of this institution?”
“And if I am, what then?” demanded the other.
“Only that you are the man I happen to want,” replied George. “I am an Englishman,” he continued, “and the captain of a ship which holds this city at her mercy. I and my companions have come all the way from England to avenge the most foul and treacherous attack made by your Viceroy upon a fleet of English ships in this harbour, last year; and, incidentally, to call you, sir, to account for your treatment of certain of the prisoners taken upon that occasion, who were delivered into your hands. I have here—”
“But—but—” interrupted the Father Superior—for such was the individual upon whose privacy George had so unceremoniously intruded—“I do not understand. Why have you been permitted to come here? Where are our soldiers, and what are they doing—?”
“Have I not already explained that the town is at my mercy?” interrupted George in his turn. “What further enlightenment do you need? As to your soldiers, they dare not interfere with me, for my ship’s guns command the town, and my crew have orders to destroy the place if any attempt is made to resist me. Now, I have a list here”—drawing it from his pocket—“containing the names of sixteen men who, I am told, were claimed by this Inquisition; and my business with you is to demand an account of them. Where are they, and what have you done to them?”
“How, in the name of all the saints, can I possibly answer your question, señor, unless you furnish me with the names of the men you refer to?” demanded the priest, with a valiant attempt to brazen the matter out, but there was a quaver in his voice which betrayed that he was beginning to feel anxious, if not actually apprehensive, concerning the outcome of this astounding business.
“There is the list, señor,” answered George, laying the document on the table. “Take it, I pray you, and let me have an instant reply to my demand.”
The Father Superior took the list and ran his eye over it, ponderingly. Then he laid it down again and said:
“Señor Englishman, I cannot possibly answer your question offhand, for I do not tax my memory to recollect exactly how every person who enters the walls of this building has been dealt with. But if you will suffer me to ring for my secretary I have no doubt that, with his assistance, I can furnish you with the information you require.”
“By all means,” assented George; and the Father Superior thereupon turned to the wall and jerked a bell rope. A slight interval followed, and then a very frightened priest entered.
“Holy Father,” he began, “the building is in the possession of armed men—” and then, catching sight for the first time of George and the two soldiers, who were standing somewhat in the shadow, he stopped short, at the same time making the sign of the Cross.
“Yes, proceed, Fray Matthew,” exhorted the other. “You were saying that the building is in the possession of armed men. What else?”
“They have taken the gaoler, your Eminence, locked him in one of his own cells, and are now liberating the prisoners including one whom they have taken out of the very torture chamber itself.”
“Is this true, señor?” demanded the Father Superior. “And, if so, is this sacrilege being committed by your orders?”
“I know not whether that man’s story is true or not,” said George, “but I think it exceedingly probable; and, if so, it is certainly being done by my orders. As to the sacrilege of the thing—” the young man shrugged his shoulders expressively.
The Holy Father also shrugged his shoulders, as though to say—“Well, if you are struck dead, don’t blame me; it will only be what you richly deserve.” Then he turned to Fray Matthew.
“Fray,” he said, “bring me hither the book containing the record of persons admitted to the Inquisition during the past year, with particulars of the manner in which they have been dealt with.”
The priest, with another frightened glance at George and the two stolid-looking soldiers, hurriedly retired; and as he vanished through the doorway the Father Superior coolly turned his back upon the Englishman and, sauntering to the nearest window, stood gazing contemplatively through it into the garden, which, George observed, was all ablaze with tropical flora. And there he remained, taking not the slightest notice of his self-invited visitors until, after an absence of some ten minutes, the Fray returned, bearing two enormous books under his arm, the which he laid upon the table. Then, sauntering back to the table as leisurely as he had left it, the Holy Father took up the list which George had handed to him, considered it for a moment, opened one of the two books which had been brought to him, referred to an index, and then turned over the pages of the book until he found the one which he wanted. Then he ran his finger down a column, paused, and looked up.
“Here,” he said, looking up and addressing George, “is the entry referring to the first man on your list. It states that, after having been put to the question in various ways, he died, on—such a date, in his cell.”
“Thank you,” said George. “Now, before we go any farther, I must ask you to kindly explain exactly what you mean when you speak of a man being ‘put to the question.’”
For the first time the Father Superior exhibited distinct symptoms of uneasiness. He hesitated perceptibly, and at length replied:
“The expression refers to certain means which are adopted in extreme cases when, for instance, the subject displays great obduracy, to persuade him to renounce his heresy, accept the canons of the true faith, and humbly sue for admission into the bosom of the Catholic Church.”
“But that only partially answers my question,” retorted George. “You speak of ‘certain means which are adopted in extreme cases.’ What, precisely, is the nature of those means to which you refer?”
The Holy Father’s uneasiness visibly increased, and he began to fence with the question.
“I take it,” he said, after some consideration, “that you, my son, are a heretic, otherwise you would not be ignorant of the meaning of the expressions which I have used. That being the case, it seems necessary for me to explain that the Holy Inquisition is an institution which has been established for the especial purpose of saving the souls of heathens and heretics, even at the expense of their bodies, if need be. The human soul is of infinitely greater value than the human body; and it has been found that physical pain exerts a most beneficent influence upon those obdurate ones who evince a disinclination to accept the—the—”
“Thanks,” interrupted George; “I will not trouble you to go on, for I think I now clearly understand what putting a person to the question means. It means, does it not—in plain, unvarnished language—the infliction upon an individual of such excruciating, such diabolical, torment that in most cases the individual will agree to anything you choose to suggest, will accept any kind of doctrine you choose to thrust upon him, rather than submit to further tortures?”
“Well—of course—that is putting the matter very, very crudely,” admitted the Father Superior; “still, regarding the statement broadly, it is—well—in the main—very nearly true. But there is this to be said, this very important—”
“Quite unnecessary, I assure you,” interposed George. “The broad fact is that you convert by means of bodily torment; and in some cases—where, as you say, ‘the subject displays great obduracy,’ the torment is so extreme and so protracted that the unhappy wretch dies under it. Is not that so?”
“Yes—if you choose to so put it,” answered the Father Superior, “that is so. But again I must protest against the extreme crudity, the—”
“And,” interrupted George, “this poor unfortunate fellow, the first on my list, is one of those who so died, is he not?”
“Really, señor,” protested the Holy Father—“you—you—are not—are not giving—this matter—quite—quite fair—”
“Answer me, señor, without equivocation; did, or did not this man, of whom we are now speaking, die as the result of your hellish torments?” rapped out George, suddenly becoming exasperated and heavily smiting the table with his clenched fist.
“Reverend Father,” here interposed Fray Matthew, who could scarcely articulate because of his chattering teeth, “I pray you give me leave to retire. The violence of this heretic, this man of blood, frightens me.”
“No,” answered George, before the other could speak. “Being here, you will remain. It is possible that I may need you to supply me with information which your superior may be unwilling or unable to give. Now, señor”—turning to the Father Superior—“answer me.”
“Then—since you insist,” replied the Father Superior, “I can only reply that the man certainly did die as the result of being put to the question.”
“Very well,” returned George, taking up the list and making a note upon it. “Now, as to the next one?”
And again the long, tedious process of question and equivocation was gone through, over and over, until every name upon the list had been dealt with, when it finally appeared that, of the sixteen unhappy Englishmen who had become involved in the meshes of that terrible institution, the Holy Inquisition, no less than six had been burnt alive at the stake in the last auto-da-fé, seven had died miserably as the result of the torments to which they had been subjected, and a poor residue of three only still languished in their cells!
“And,” demanded George, when he had studied and fully digested the details of this terrible list—“who is responsible for this tremendous accumulation of ghastly human suffering and these hellish murders? You?”
“No, thank God! not I,” asserted the Father Superior, now trembling for his life, and with all his recent arrogance completely evaporated. “I am merely the Head of the strictly ecclesiastical section of the institution; I have nothing whatever to do with the proselytising, which is undertaken by, and is entirely in the hands of, the Grand Inquisitor and his assistants.”
“And where,” asked George, “are these people to be found?”
“They are probably in—the—the—room—where—in which—persons are put to—to—the question,” was the stammered reply.
“Ah!” exclaimed George. “I presume you mean the place which the fray, here, has more briefly designated as the ‘torture chamber.’ Very well; I must see the place, and also the Grand Inquisitor and his assistants; I have something very important to say to those—’m—people. Lead the way, reverend señor, if you please.” Then, turning to the two armed men who guarded the door, he added—“Take charge of these two men. For the present, they are prisoners.”
The Father Superior possessed a certain knowledge of English, for as the last words passed George’s lips the terrified ecclesiastic quavered:
“Prisoners, señor? Prisoners? What—what—do you mean? How dare you interfere with my liberty? This is downright, rank sacrilege; and if you dare to treat any of the inmates of this institution—and especially any members of the Holy Office—otherwise than with the utmost deference, you will—will—suffer severely for it.”
“Pray lead on, señor,” retorted George, waving the agitated man toward the door. “Surely you must realise by this time that the institution and all within it are in my power. And I am what you please to term a ‘heretic’; the thunders of your Church have no terrors for me; I regard you and your associates merely as men who have been guilty of certain most atrocious crimes, and I am here for the express purpose of punishing the guilty ones.”
The Father Superior evidently realised that, after this, there was no more to be said, and, between the two men-at-arms, and closely followed by the shivering fray, he accordingly passed out of the room and down a long corridor, into another, until a small door was reached, which, with evident fear and reluctance, he at length threw open, disclosing a most remarkable scene.
The chamber thus revealed was a very large and lofty one, lighted by three large windows set high in the wall and heavily grated outside. And although the windows were all wide open, the atmosphere was oppressively close, and it was also charged with a very peculiar odour, evidently arising in part at least from the fumes of an ignited charcoal brazier, containing several curious-looking iron instruments thrust deep into its glowing heart. Immediately under the windows, and running the entire width of the chamber, was a platform or dais, some three feet high, the front portion of which was occupied by a long table, behind which were ranged nine chairs, the middle chair being of a much more ornate character than the rest, the carving of it being ecclesiastical in character, and upon the table, before each chair, was a supply of paper, pens and ink. The dais was a wooden structure, and was carpeted with black material; the tablecloth also was black, with the sacred monogram I.H.S. above a cross and surmounted by a crown of thorns embroidered upon it in silver thread. The floor of the remaining part of the chamber was flagged with paving slabs, and was bare, while the walls and ceiling were coloured black. In the centre of the wall behind the dais, between two of the four windows, hung an enormous crucifix, the figure of the Redeemer, very finely carved in wood and realistically painted in the colours of nature, being life-size. At the end of the room opposite the daïs was an engine or machine which even those who had never seen such a thing before might easily have identified as a rack; and there were four chairs, two on either side of the room, of such elaborate and sinister construction that there could be no question as to their being designed for the purpose of inflicting various kinds of ingenious and exquisite agony upon the unhappy occupants; while, in addition to these there was an instrument which clearly betrayed itself as a specimen of the notorious “boot.” Hung here and there upon the walls were other curious-looking instruments, the uses of which were not so readily determinable; and there were also a number of suggestive and sinister-looking ropes and pulleys depending from the ceiling.
Such a room, so furnished, could not possibly fail to fix the attention of any person entering it for the first time, even in the character of a mere spectator, and George Saint Leger gazed about him for quite a minute with a feeling of keen curiosity that rapidly changed to mingled horror and anger as he began to recognise the character and purpose of the several objects that met his gaze; and then he turned to its occupants; for although, in order to present a clear and unconfused picture of the chamber, only its inanimate contents have thus far been referred to, the room was by no means empty of human occupants. On the contrary, in addition to those who had already entered, immediately inside the door, one on either side of it, stood two of Basset’s men-at-arms, with drawn swords and cocked pistols in their hands, while the nine chairs on the dais were occupied by nine motionless figures completely shrouded in garments of black cloth, wearing upon their heads a curious pointed head-dress, also of black cloth, which completely hid their heads and faces, but in which two holes were cut for them to see through. Seated in one of the torture chairs, but with the torturing apparatus now thrown out of gear, was a most dreadful-looking object bearing the semblance of a terribly emaciated man, worn to mere skin and bone by privation and suffering, clad in rags, his hair and beard long and unkempt, his skin and features white and bloodless, his eyes dim with anguish, the sweat of keen protracted agony still pouring out of him, while three ruffianly-looking men clad in scarlet ministered to him under Basset’s supervision. A fourth figure in scarlet lay motionless upon the nagged floor, his attitude proclaiming that death had suddenly overtaken him, while a blue-rimmed puncture in the centre of his forehead, from which blood still trickled, told clearly enough the manner of his death.
For a long minute young Saint Leger gazed about him with fast increasing horror as he realised the diabolical purpose of the several engines that met his eye; then, gaspingly, he spoke.
“So!” he ejaculated. “This is the chamber in which you torture your fellow creatures until in their agony they are fain to say whatever it pleases you that they should say, even to denying their faith, is it, señor?”
“Nay, señor,” answered the Father Superior, “say not that it is I who do these things. I have already repudiated all responsibility for what happens in this chamber. It is the Grand Inquisitor and his Assistant Inquisitors who reign supreme here. There they sit; ask them.”
George stalked across to the middle of the chamber, and wheeled about, facing the row of nine motionless figures occupying the chairs.
“I mean to do so,” he said, tersely. Then, addressing the nine, he said:
“Señors, I have somewhat to say to you. But, first of all, be good enough to remove your hoods, that I may see your faces. I like not to talk with men whose features are hidden from me.”
For a moment there was silence in the room, broken only by the low murmurings of Basset, who was speaking to the unfortunate “subject” in the chair. Then the figure occupying the middle chair on the dais rose to his feet and, stretching forth a long bony arm which projected to beyond the wrist from the loose sleeve of his black robe, said:
“Depart, presumptuous youth! Go hence quickly, and take those misguided men, thy minions, with thee, lest I call down the wrath of Holy Mother Church upon thy sacrilegious head—and theirs. Who art thou, that thou should’st dare to—”
“Reverend señor,” interrupted George, unceremoniously, “a fig for you and your sacrilege”—and he snapped his fingers contemptuously. “The wrath of thy Holy Mother Church has no terrors for me, though—understand me—I can respect any man’s religion, so long as he is sincere, and so long as he is willing to respect that of others and permit them to worship God in their own way. But, enough of this; I am not here to discuss theological questions, but to right a great wrong and to avenge fiendish crime and cruelty perpetrated in the sacred name of Him whose effigy hangs upon yonder cross behind you. Therefore I say once more, uncover,
and let me see your faces—unless indeed you prefer that we should lay our sacrilegious hands upon you and remove your head-coverings ourselves!”
“The Saints forbid!” ejaculated the Grand Inquisitor in horror. “Anything rather than that!”
Then, turning to his companions, right and left, he added—“Uncover, my Brothers, since this heretical Englishman will have it so. It is not meet that we, the pillars of the Holy Catholic Church, unworthy though we be, should submit to insult and indignity at the hands of a pack of godless Lutheran dogs.” And, so saying, he seated himself and proceeded to remove his own head-covering, disclosing lean, ascetic features, cold, cruel, and domineering, crowned by the monk’s tonsure. At the same time the others did the same, and with very similar result, the dominant expression of the faces thus disclosed being that of cold, stern ruthlessness, tempered, it must be confessed, in some cases, with very evident signs of fear.
“So! that is better,” commented George. “Now, señors,” he continued, “I am not going to make a long business of my talk with you, for we have already wasted far too much time in this accursed building. I have but a few questions to ask; and you will do well to answer them briefly and to the point. This chamber, I perceive, is what is usually termed in the outside world, ‘the torture chamber’; and I gather that it is here you subject those whom you stigmatise as heretics to unspeakable torments for the purpose of compelling them to forswear themselves and embrace your religion against their will. Now, which of you is responsible for the hellish suffering that goes on from time to time within these four walls?”
“Since you insist upon our replying to your insolent questions,” answered the Grand Inquisitor, contemptuously, “know, young man, that none is more responsible than another. We whom you see seated here are appointed by our Order to promote the honour and interest of the Church of which we are most humble and unworthy members, by winning souls to her, and converting the heathen and heretics generally to the true faith. We have various methods of doing this. In the first instance we use teaching, persuasion, exhortation; and sometimes these methods suffice. But when they fail—as they do sometimes, in the case of the contumacious, there is a blessed power in bodily suffering which, loath as we are to employ it, we force ourselves to resort to, convinced that, by saving the soul at the cost of the body, we are doing a righteous and merciful thing. But even in inflicting suffering we are merciful, for we regulate the amount and quality of the suffering by the extent of the contumacy of the subject, making it light and transient at the first, and only increasing it in sharpness and duration when we find the other insufficient. And in all cases the character of the punishment is the subject of long and anxious deliberation, in which we all join, and no punishment of any kind is ever inflicted until we all—I and my eight Brothers here—are agreed as to its expediency, character, and amount. Also we are always present upon such occasions, in order that the punishment may be stopped upon the instant that conversion takes place.”
“I see,” said George. “Are you all agreed”—addressing the assistants, “that what your Grand Inquisitor has stated is the exact truth?”
“Si, si; yes, we are all agreed,” came first from one and then another, until all had spoken.
“Then,” continued George, “I am to take it that you are all alike equally responsible for what is done in this chamber?”
It was evident that a large proportion of the Assistant Inquisitors were inclined to jib at the word “responsible”; but the young Captain insisted upon each man giving a categorical reply to the question; and in the end, stimulated further by the stern looks of the Grand Inquisitor, they all replied in the affirmative.
“Very good,” commented George. “Now, I have but one other question to ask. Is it you, as a body, who condemn certain of your victims to the hideous fate of being burnt alive in the auto-da-fé?”
Even the Grand Inquisitor, hitherto in a great measure blinded by his bigotry, and his absolute faith in the sanctity of his office and the complete protection which it afforded him, blanched at the directness and significance of this last question; but still, unable even now to fully realise the awful danger in which he stood, he gave a somewhat rambling and excusatory reply which, however, was a full admission of responsibility for the deed with which George charged him and his associates.
“Good!” said George; “you have now afforded me all the information which I desired to obtain. All that remains for you, señors, is to make your peace with God as best you can; for I have constituted myself the avenger of all the accumulated agony that the walls of this chamber and the stones of the Grand Plaza have witnessed; and within the next half-hour you die!”