His daughters talking in the dead of night In their own chamber, and without a light, Listening, as he was wont, he overheard, And learned the dreadful secret, word by word;And hurrying from his castle, with a cry He raised his hands to the unpitying sky, Repeating one dread word, till bush and tree Caught it, and shuddering answered, "Heresy!"Wrapped in his cloak, his hat drawn o'er his face, Now hurrying forward, now with lingering pace, He walked all night the alleys of his park, With one unseen companion in the dark, The Demon who within him lay in wait, And by his presence turned his love to hate, Forever muttering in an undertone, "Kill! kill! and let the Lord find out his own!"Upon the morrow, after early Mass, While yet the dew was glistening on the grass, And all the woods were musical with birds, The old Hidalgo, uttering fearful words, Walked homeward with the Priest, and in his room Summoned his trembling daughters to their doom.
When questioned, with brief answers they replied, Nor when accused evaded or denied;Expostulations, passionate appeals, All that the human heart most fears or feels, In vain the Priest with earnest voice essayed;In vain the father threatened, wept, and prayed;Until at last he said, with haughty mien, "The Holy Office, then, must intervene!"And now the Grand Inquisitor of Spain, With all the fifty horsemen of his train, His awful name resounding, like the blast Of funeral trumpets, as he onward passed, Came to Valladolid, and there began To harry the rich Jews with fire and ban.
To him the Hidalgo went, and at the gate Demanded audience on affairs of state, And in a secret chamber stood before A venerable graybeard of fourscore, Dressed in the hood and habit of a friar;Out of his eyes flashed a consuming fire, And in his hand the mystic horn he held, Which poison and all noxious charms dispelled.
He heard in silence the Hidalgo's tale, Then answered in a voice that made him quail:
"Son of the Church! when Abraham of old To sacrifice his only son was told, He did not pause to parley nor protest But hastened to obey the Lord's behest.
In him it was accounted righteousness;
The Holy Church expects of thee no less!"A sacred frenzy seized the father's brain, And Mercy from that hour implored in vain.
Ah! who will e'er believe the words I say?
His daughters he accused, and the same day They both were cast into the dungeon's gloom, That dismal antechamber of the tomb, Arraigned, condemned, and sentenced to the flame, The secret torture and the public shame.
Then to the Grand Inquisitor once more The Hidalgo went, more eager than before, And said: "When Abraham offered up his son, He clave the wood wherewith it might be done.
By his example taught, let me too bring Wood from the forest for my offering!"And the deep voice, without a pause, replied:
"Son of the Church! by faith now justified, Complete thy sacrifice, even as thou wilt;The Church absolves thy conscience from all guilt!"Then this most wretched father went his way Into the woods, that round his castle lay, Where once his daughters in their childhood played With their young mother in the sun and shade.
Now all the leaves had fallen; the branches bare Made a perpetual moaning in the air, And screaming from their eyries overhead The ravens sailed athwart the sky of lead.
With his own hands he lopped the boughs and bound ***ots, that crackled with foreboding sound, And on his mules, caparisoned and gay With bells and tassels, sent them on their way.
Then with his mind on one dark purpose bent, Again to the Inquisitor he went, And said: "Behold, the fagots I have brought, And now, lest my atonement be as naught, Grant me one more request, one last desire,--With my own hand to light the funeral fire!"And Torquemada answered from his seat, "Son of the Church! Thine offering is complete;Her servants through all ages shall not cease To magnify thy deed.Depart in peace!"Upon the market-place, builded of stone The scaffold rose, whereon Death claimed his own.
At the four corners, in stern attitude, Four statues of the Hebrew Prophets stood, Gazing with calm indifference in their eyes Upon this place of human sacrifice, Round which was gathering fast the eager crowd, With clamor of voices dissonant and loud, And every roof and window was alive With restless gazers, swarming like a hive.
The church-bells tolled, the chant of monks drew near, Loud trumpets stammered forth their notes of fear, A line of torches smoked along the street, There was a stir, a rush, a tramp of feet, And, with its banners floating in the air, Slowly the long procession crossed the square, And, to the statues of the Prophets bound, The victims stood, with fagots piled around.
Then all the air a blast of trumpets shook, And louder sang the monks with bell and book, And the Hidalgo, lofty, stern, and proud, Lifted his torch, and, bursting through the crowd, Lighted in haste the fagots, and then fled, Lest those imploring eyes should strike him dead!
O pitiless skies! why did your clouds retain For peasants' fields their floods of hoarded rain?
O pitiless earth! why open no abyss To bury in its chasm a crime like this?
That night a mingled column of fire and smoke Prom the dark thickets of the forest broke, And, glaring o'er the landscape leagues away, Made all the fields and hamlets bright as day.
Wrapped in a sheet of flame the castle blazed, And as the villagers in terror gazed, They saw the figure of that cruel knight Lean from a window in the turret's height, His ghastly face illumined with the glare, His hands upraised above his head in prayer, Till the floor sank beneath him, and he fell Down the black hollow of that burning well.
Three centuries and more above his bones Have piled the oblivious years like funeral stones;His name has perished with him, and no trace Remains on earth of his afflicted race;But Torquemada's name, with clouds o'ercast, Looms in the distant landscape of the Past, Like a burnt tower upon a blackened heath, Lit by the fires of burning woods beneath!
INTERLUDE
