The Story of Don John of Austria by Luis Coloma (ereader manga .txt) 📗

When the Princess passed Doña Magdalena in the narrow passage, she stopped for a moment and held out her hand; the lady kissed it kneeling, then the Princess said quickly and softly, "Where is the wrapped-up one?"

Then Doña Magdalena opened the shawl and Jeromín appeared, cap in hand, the fair hair all untidy from the shawl, and with an attractive look of annoyance on the pretty face which added to his natural charm. A ray of tenderness illuminated the Princess's beautiful face, and, without remembering who she was or where she was, she embraced him, kissing him several times on both cheeks.

Prince Carlos had also stopped, and looked with astonishment at the little peasant his aunt was kissing, but when he saw the Princess make as if she would take the child with her to the throne, he reproved her harshly and angrily, according to his usual bad habit.

Jeromín, on hearing him, abruptly left the Princess, and clinging on to Doña Magdalena's skirt said, much ruffled, "I prefer to stay with my aunt."

The Princess insisted; D. Carlos began again to chide her, and Jeromín, looking him up and down from head to foot, said again with greater firmness, "I prefer to stay with my aunt."

All this took less time to happen than it takes to tell, but it was long enough for many people to understand, and for the gossips to guess the riddle. From one end to the other of the balcony, and then into the square, the news spread that a son of the dead Emperor was there in the Consistory, in one of the Court seats.

The arrival of the prisoners completely distracted everyone's attention, and so absorbed were they that it seemed as if that dense crowd hardly breathed.

Then clearly were heard the bells of the Holy Office, which tolled sadly to announce that the prisoners had started, and the first thing to appear in the square was the parochial cross of Salvador, with a black handle, and two acolytes with candlesticks. Then came two long rows of devout penitents with lighted torches, among whom were noble gentlemen and a few Grandees. Between these two lines, and about thirty paces from the parochial cross, came the Attorney-General of the Holy Office, Jerónimo de Ramírez, carrying the standard of the Holy Inquisition, of crimson damask with the black and white shield of the Order of St. Dominic and the Royal Arms embroidered in gold; on its two extremities these inscriptions could be read: Exsurge Domine, et judica causam tuam—Ad deripiendos inimicos fidei.

Behind the standard followed the prisoners, about a dozen steps one from the other, and guarded each by two familiars of the Holy Office and four soldiers. The first was D. Augustin Cazalla, cleric, preacher and chaplain to His Majesty; a man of about fifty, now weak and shrunken, and stooping forward as if overcome by the weight of his sorrow and shame. He was wearing the ignominious "sanbenito," a sort of chasuble made of yellow baize, with a vivid green cross on the chest; on his head the ignoble "coroza" painted with flames and devils, and a lighted taper of green wax in his hand.

Behind him came in the following order, his brother Francisco de Vibero, also a cleric, who did not repent until the last moment, and who was gagged to silence his dreadful blasphemies; their sister Doña Beatriz de Vibero, a devout woman of rare beauty; the master Alonso Pérez, cleric of Palencia, the silversmith Juan García, Cristóbal de Campo, the Bachelor of Arts Antonio Herrezuelo, also gagged, and impenitent to the last, and for this the only one to perish in the flames; Cristóbal de Padilla, a native of Zamora, Doña Catalina de Ortega, widow of the captain Loaysa, the licentiate Calahorra, Alcalde Mayor in the employment of the Bishop, Catalina Román, Isabel Estrada, Juan Velásquez, and Gonzalo Baez, a Portuguese, and not a Lutheran heretic, but a Jew.

These were all condemned to be garrotted and their corpses burnt, and for this reason they had flames painted on their sanbenitos and corozas. Behind them two familiars of the Holy Office carried on a stretcher the shapeless figure of a woman, also dressed with a coroza and sanbenito, the bones of Doña Leonor de Vibero, mother of the Cazallas, exhumed from the monastery of San Benito, to be burnt with her effigy. Behind this first group came, guarded in the same manner, another sixteen prisoners, men and women, condemned to various punishments, but not to death, for which reason they did not wear the corozas or flames on their sanbenitos; the men went bareheaded, and the women with a piece of linen on their head to hide their shame. The most noteworthy among them were D. Pedro Sarmiento, Commander of the Order of Alcantara, and a relation of the Admiral, and his wife Doña Mencia de Figueroa, who had been a lady of the Court; he was condemned to forfeit the robes of his Order and Commandery, to perpetual prison and the sanbenito, with the necessity of hearing mass and a sermon on Sunday, and to communicate on the three great feasts, and forbidden to use silk, gold, silver, horses, and jewels; she was only condemned to perpetual prison and the wearing of the sanbenito.

When Doña Mencia mounted the platform the ladies of the Court burst into tears, and the Princess herself hurriedly left and went inside, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. The Marqués de Poza, D. Luis de Rojas, also inspired deep pity, a gay boy, exiled for ever from the Court, and deprived of all the honours of a gentleman; and even more Doña Ana Enriquez, daughter of the Marqués de Alcañices, a girl of great beauty, who was sentenced to leave the platform with sanbenito and taper, to fast for three days, to return with her dress to the prison, and then go free. Such was the repentance and confusion of this lady that, mounting the tribune to hear her sentence, her strength left her, and she would have fallen from the platform, had not a son of the Duque de Gandia, who was there as a devout penitent, supported her.

The prisoners were placed on the steps in the order arranged, those condemned to death separated from the others, and the Auto was begun by a young Dominican brother, of ruddy complexion, and rapid and violent in his marvellous eloquence, mounting the centre pulpit. It was the celebrated Maestro Fr. Melchor Cano, one of the most learned men of his time, and he preached for more than an hour on the text of St. Matthew, "Flee from false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves."

The sermon ended, the Archbishop of Seville, Valdéz, the Inquisitor of Valladolid, Vaca, and his secretary mounted the throne to submit the oath to the Prince and Princess. The Archbishop carried a beautiful cross of gold and jewels, the Inquisitor a missal, and the secretary the form of the oath written on parchment. Standing up, the Prince and Princess, D. Carlos cap in hand, swore by the cross and missal in these words, which the secretary read: "That as Catholic Princes they would defend with all might and life the Catholic faith as held and believed by the Holy Mother Church Apostolic of Rome, and its conservation and increase; that they would give all the necessary favour and help to the Holy Office of the Inquisition and its ministers, that heretics, disturbers of the Christian religion which they professed, should be punished according to the Apostolic decrees and sacred canons, without omission on their part or making any exception." "El Relator" Juan de Ortega then read this same formula to the people from one of the tribunes of the lower platform, crying first three times, "Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!"

And the people, with the vehemence of conviction and the haste of those who have received a warning, answered with one voice, with one cry of fear and conviction, "Yes, we swear."

Then the same "Relator," Juan de Ortega, and the clerk of Toledo, Juan de Vergara, ascended the two tribunes on the platform, and began to read alternately, the trials and convictions of the prisoners beginning with Dr. Cazalla. From a high pulpit each heard his own sentence read, and remained all the time with a lighted taper of green wax in his hand, exposed to public shame. Then it was that Doña Ana de Enriquez nearly fell out of the pulpit overwhelmed with confusion.

At four o'clock in the afternoon the reading was ended. Then the Archbishop of Seville put on his pontifical vestments, and solemnly absolved and restored to the bosom of the Church the sixteen reconciled prisoners, who were then taken back to their respective cells. The other fourteen, who were condemned to death, left at the same time, some walking, others riding on donkeys, to be garrotted, and afterwards burnt on the Parade Ground.

Such was then an Auto da Fe, certainly a sad and sorrowful sight, but still, perhaps not so emotional as the sight of certain trials to which in our day the public flock, not to sanction by their presence the judgment and justice nor as a warning lesson, but greedy to see the seamy side of sorrow and crime. As to the horrible scenes of the "Quemadero" (the burning), no one attended them but those obliged by their office, and a public low and ignorant, no doubt, and for this reason much more blameless than those who nowadays attend our executions, full of unhealthy curiosity or cold indifference. There is no doubt, says the profound thinker Balmes, that, if the doctrine of those who wish to abolish the death penalty should ever become effective, when posterity reads of the executions of our days, they will be as horrified as we are over those of the past. The gallows, garrotte and the guillotine will be placed on a par with the ancient "Quemaderos."

Tired by the long wait and the dull reading, Jeromín ended by falling asleep, his head leaning against Doña Magdalena's knees, but he woke up in the midst of a strange tumult, of which he was far from knowing that he was the cause. This is how Vander Hammen describes the scene: "At it (the Auto) the greater part of Old Castille was present, and a great number of Andalucians and those from New Castille, and as the news spread about everywhere of the new son of Charles V, a little more and there would have been a serious disaster, as everyone wanted to see him and the guards could not check them.

"The people threw themselves on each other without minding the halberds, javelins or arquebuses. It came to this, that the Conde de Osorno had to carry him in his arms to the Princess's carriage, because everyone liked him. In it the sister took him to the Palace (the house of the Conde de Benavente), followed by a crowd of people, and from there he went back with Doña Magdalena to her Villagarcia."

All the same, Vander Hammen is wrong in what he says about the Princess and other things. The Conde de Osorno did, it is true, take Jeromín and lift him up to show him to the people, but he did not give him into the Princess's charge, nor did she commit the imprudence of taking him with her to the Palace. He gave him into Doña Magdalena's care, from whom he had got separated in the confusion, and this lady took him back the same night to Villagarcia.

The child, frightened by the tumult, whose cause he did not suspect, asked with rather timid anxiety whether the heretics had escaped.

After an absence of five years Philip II at last returned to Spain and disembarked at Laredo on the 8th of September, 1559. Six days later he made his entry into Valladolid, and the following day his sister Princess Juana made over to him the government of the kingdom, and retired to the convent of Abrojo, about a league away. She and Philip were not long separated, as on the 21st, the first anniversary of the Emperor's death, he caused solemn services for the eternal repose of the Emperor's soul to be celebrated in the same convent.

Meanwhile Luis Quijada awaited at Villagarcia with real anxiety the King's promised decision about Jeromín, which would so much affect the whole family. But the King settled nothing, and the former steward, accustomed to the promptness of the Emperor, who with the inspiration of genius saw, ordered, thought and resolved all in a second, that which more common intelligence would require months to decide, began to despair and could not reconcile himself to D. Philip's slow parsimony.

Philip, however, had not forgotten his brother, as is proved by the famous state council of which Antonio Pérez