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Absent in Flanders, I was bid preside
At the great Act of Faith to be performed
In fair Valladolid: at that green age
Quite new to life, nor yet aware of death,
The solemn pomp amused my careless mind.
But when the dismal tragedy began,
How were my feelings changed and clouded! first
Came there a skeleton, upon its head
A cap with painted flames; this thing had been
A lady who throughout her life had borne
A name unsullied; twenty years had past
Since her remains had rested in the ground,
And now by sentence of the Holy Office,
The dull disgusting mass of whitened bone
That once had been her garment, was dug up
To clear some flaw in her theology.
Then came a learned priest, his name Cazalla;
With countenance serene, and calm devotion,
He walked to death, and as he passed me by,
With earnest manner he entreated me
For his poor sister's offspring; she condemned
To prison for her life, and loss of goods,
While twelve unhappy children were bereft
Of parents and of food; I wept, and thought
Of the poor orphans.
You should have rejoiced
To think so many infant souls were saved
Perversion.
How? rejoice! not to have wept
Were then impossible; I sobbed for pity.
But soon a sterner sight braced up my nerves,
Rigid with horror, for the murderous pile
Was lighted for the sacrifice: unmoved,
The Great Inquisitor beheld his victims.
Cazalla too was undisturbed the mind
Might fairly doubt which of the two were judge,
And which the culprit, save that gleams of joy
Like one who sees his haven, spread their light
Upon Cazalla's face. The flames burst forth,
And with slow torture singed the limbs of him,
Who seemed alone amid the multitude
To be unconscious of this earthly hell.
But as we looked amazed, sudden he rushed
From forth the flames, and while by-standers fled
In sudden panic, bore from off a heap
Fresh store of wood, upbraiding the weak wretch
Who stood beside it; this he flung amain
Upon the pile, and raising high his voice,
Exclaimed, "Farewell! thou sinful world, farewell!
Ye earth, and sun, and moon, and stars, farewell!
Welcome my God! welcome eternal life!"
Philip. Blasphemous error !-could this heretic
Have hope of heaven?
Prince, did I hear you right?
You shall know all my thoughts. Cazalla, he
That stood so tall before me in the strength
Of a high soul, was now a cinder, tost
And scattered by the air: but there was more
Of this too dreadful pageant. I beheld
Fourteen of our poor brethren suffer death
From Cain's descendants.
Peace, prince!
I have 'done
My narrative, but that I should have told,
That ere the hecatomb began, Valdéz,
As Great Inquisitor, tendered an oath
Which I unwilling took. I thereby swore
If ever I should see, or hear, or know,
By any means, of aught concerned the faith,
Of friend or stranger, parent, brother, son,
I should reveal the same without delay
Unto the Holy Office; that dark oath
I took, but thanks to heaven, I broke.
• Carlos. More than a thousand times: the horrid glare
Of that dread sacrifice fell on my mind,
And drove the senses from my brain; my thought
Hung on the place where virtue had been slain,
Where I had been a chief of murderers.
Long while I suffered; still by day and night
The features of Cazalla, old and grey,
With mildness mingling somewhat of reproach,
Haunted my couch, nor could I gain relief
Till I sought out the wretched seats of those
Who err in faith, and feel themselves impelled
To seek for heaven by martyrdom on earth.
• Philip. You sought them out! you should have hated them. Carlos. Many of these I have assisted, bade
Them fly this perilous air of Spain, conversed
With several of their leaders, viewed their lives
Pure as the light; their faith etill stedfast worshipped
Christ and the book of life. Forgive me, father,
I could not, can not, will not hate these men.
Philip. You hate them not-you, prince of Spain !
I know how scruples of this hue offend
The eyes of Spanish rulers; I have weighed
Each separate argument, conned one by one
The reasons that our church puts forth to spur
Her sons to persecution.
By that unworthy name, nor is it fit
A child like you should mount the judgment-seat
To censure policy which Spain has deemed
The way of health, by sages pointed out
To Ferdinand the Catholic-approved
By counsellors grown grey in the state's service,
By saints and martyrs of our holy church,
By the pope's wise decree infallible,
Philip. Don Carlos, hold your peace.
King, I have drunk
The stream of revelation at its source:
That book, to common eyes denied, to me
By Osma's reverend bishop, my preceptor,
Was early given; best and dearest gift
That man can give to man, becoming thus
The minister of God, and angel-like
Carrying glad tidings to the immortal soul:
There have I read, assisted by the lore
Of my dear master; there too have I read
Alone and unassisted, late at night,
And early in the morning, words of peace,
Forgiveness ev'n for sin; brotherly love,
And charity that beareth, hopeth all;
I found and wept with joy; but to this hour
Find I no precept that commissions man
To slay his erring brother.
I dread heaven's much more;
And strongly armed with truth, I dare proclaim
The Inquisition murderous tyrant.
Thou bold blasphemer! most unworthy thou
To fill the throne, or even to tread the soil
We must make room for one more extract: it is a conversation between the Chief Inquisitor and another of the Holy Office.
• Lucero. I wonder much how you can forge a scheme
So deadly, so perfidious!-how I shudder!
Have you no feeling for a father's pangs?
A son so young?
Feelings! No, none !-why should I?
Is not each warmer motion of the blood,
Nay, all the innocent and pure affections,
Conjugal tenderness, parental love,
The great command of nature that encircles,
In one dear nest a brood of infant loves,
Beneath a mother's wing; the cherished bonds
That turn mere habitation into home,
To us prohibited? Is it not thus,
And can you hesitate?
List awhile, Lucero ;
I once was human; had a heart as soft
To sensible impressions, tears as quick
To flow for misery, and a spirit as high
To right the injured as a man can have :
My parents chained me to the church; but yet
No oath within my power could bar the way
To natural affections; and I loved-
Spare me the rest. I triumphed o'er a passion,
As pure, as fervent, and as well returned,
As e'er bound heart to heart: I triumphed-yes,
I triumphed; but the fire burnt inwards, till
My soul grew hard with suffering: I became
A being but half human; sense and reason,
Ambition too remained, but kindlier feelings,
Filial, fraternal, friendly, all were dead :
I woke from agony, and found my breast
Of marble.
Your young feelings raged too wildly:
We have our precept, but we have our practice;
And few indeed of our most saintly men
Renounce all worldly pleasures; it is well
If we preserve the outward show of strictness.
Valdéz. And think ye then that I could bear to be
A slave dependant on the idle tongue
Of bawds and chamberwomen? Could I creep
Like a low felon at the dead of night,
Belying by my steps the garb I wore?
Did I not see that our least frailties
Were by the world permitted but to bring
Ourselves in disrepute, and weak subjection
To those who hold the rod in terror o'er us?
If in our body some frail vessel err,
The world declares it suits not with our cloth,
Does not become our holy garb and office:
While this same generous world absolves itself,
As if a sword and cloak might plead in bar
To all impeachment of morality,
And 'twere a strange unnatural circumstance
For priest to sin, or layman to be pure.
• Lucero. It is indeed their custom, yet our brethren
Suffer the raillery, and seek the sin.
Valdéz. That would not I! mine was a soul sent forth To soar or burst: I could not trail along A thing for Scorn to buffet with his foot, Or Pride to glance at with his withering eye: But since I wore the cowl, it was my care To make it honoured: every exercise Of harsh injunction, fasts beyond the rule Of the fantastic saint who built his school Of stoic wisdom 'mid the rocks and wilds, Perpetual meditation, fervent prayer, Self-chastisement, all that a man can do To make himself a spirit, I have done. • Lucero. I know it well: your fame of holiness Was bruited through all Spain.
It was my aim,
And I obtained it not for empty glory;
For as I rooted out the weeds of passion,
One still remained, and grew till its tall plant
Struck root in every fibre of my heart.
It was ambition; not the mean desire
Of rank or title, but great glorious sway
O'er multitudes of minds.
• Valdéz. I have indeed, and why? I'll tell thee why.
The feebleness of common man proceeds
From hosts of appetites that tear the soul
With mingled purpose: his resolves are weak,
His vision clouded; but my appetites
Were in one potent essence concentrate;
I neither loved, nor feasted, nor played dice;
Power was my feast, my mistress, and my game.
Thus have I acted with a will entire,
And wreathed the passions that distracted others
Into a sceptre for myself.
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