May 10, 1845

The Bravo

Who can depict the grief of Dolorez when she found that the tremendous power of the Inquisition had at length crushed her much-beloved father? The Apostle did not speak to her: at that terrible moment, all idea of consoling her would have been absurd, and even indecent. He took her gently by the hand, and, leading her away from the gate of the paternal dwelling—that dwelling which was now deserted,—resumed the path towards his own abode.

The unhappy girl did not even cast a glance behind her to take a last farewell of the mansion in which she had passed the greater portion of her life: she suffered her head to fall upon her bosom, and followed in silence her kind-hearted guide.

Scarcely had they advanced twenty steps along the street, when they came up to a man who was defending himself against the attack of another. Both were armed, and the struggle seemed to be a desperate one.

Roused from her lethargy, the governor’s daughter altered a piercing cry—for she had recognised the first mentioned combatant.

“Stephen!” she exclaimed.

“Dolorez!” cried the young man.

These words were pronounced almost at the same moment, so irresistible is that power of attraction—that invisible and magnetic fluid which circles around us at the mere approach of some much-loved object, whom the air which vibrates around us causes us immediately to recognise.⁴⁵

Dolorez threw herself into the arms of Stephen.

The struggle between the two combatants ceased for a few moments; for while Dolorez embraced her lover, a young woman rushed up to the spot, and, clinging to the individual who had attacked him, endeavoured to wrest the poniard from his hand. At the same time she implored him in the most touching manner not to threaten the life of Don Stephen de Vargas.

“I must do my duty, Culevrina,” ejaculated Manofina—for it was he: “I have promised to kill him, and he must die.”

At that moment the light of a lamp fell upon the countenance of the Apostle, whose presence was thus suddenly revealed to the Garduno and his mistress. Culevrina immediately exclaimed, “Oh! holy father, prevent Manofina from killing that young man! Have we not enough crimes upon our consciences without this?”

“The Apostle!” ejaculated the bravo; and he bowed respectfully to the man of God.

“Manofina,” said the priest, who knew all those men by their names, “who gave thee thy mission to kill?”

“The Order of the Garduna, holy father—that Order to which I belong, body and soul, and whose commands I dare not disobey. It is my business to kill as much as it is your business to preach or confess. Let me then do my duty; and do not seek to deprive me of the money which has been promised as my recompense.”

“Manofina,” said the Apostle, “do you believe in Jesus Christ?”

The bravo bent his head at the mention of his holy name.

“No doubt, reverend father: I am a good Catholic—and it is for this reason that I am anxious to do my duty in a conscientious manner. Justice before all: I have promised to kill—and kill I must.”

“He who strikes with the sword shall be himself struck by the sword,” answered the Apostle. “Manofina, your avocation is ruthlessness and blood; and Jesus abhors cruelty of all kinds, my son.”

“And if I give up that avocation, holy father, the Inquisition, which I should thus refuse to serve in future, would have me burnt as a heretic, or would order me to quit Spain, as it has exiled those poor persons who have Moorish blood in their veins, by thousands and thousands, from Seville.⁴⁶ Then, what would become of this woman who loves me, and who is dependent upon me?”

“It would be better to die at once than to live in this manner,” said the serena, affected by the manner in which Manofina spoke.

“But can I abandon my brethren?” demanded the bravo.

“No,” said the priest, who knew the human heart too well to suppose that he could in one moment convert the iron soul of that ruffian; “no—you shall not leave your Order; but as a good deed procures the forgiveness of heaven for many crimes, you must only employ yourself in future in saving the victims of the Inquisition.”

“And then I shall become a traitor,” cried the bravo, who clung devotedly to the chivalrous laws of his Order.

“The intention is everything,” replied the priest: “wilt thou not have the intention to act well? and shalt thou not be engaged in good works?”

It was at variance with his own openness of heart that the Apostle, that zealous and brave defender of the Gospel, employed this subtlety—a subtlety which has since become the weapon of that celebrated Order, the Jesuits, and by the aid of which they have changed the aspect of the Catholic world, everywhere instilling the venom of hypocrisy,⁴⁷—but, certainly, if ever such subtlety were right and lawful, it never was more so than at that moment when the man of God combined all his persuasive powers to redeem that one great sinner from the evil of his ways.

The bravo listened with deep emotion: still a doubt oppressed his soul.

“And will you, holy father, absolve me from all the treachery of which I shall be guilty towards my brethren? At that price I will obey your Reverence in all shapes and ways, for you alone will then be responsible for the safety of my soul; and it cannot be better off than in your hands.”

“I will bless you every time you save a victim, and I will absolve you from all the murders which you do not commit,” answered John of Avila, in the same sophistical manner. “Go in peace, my son, and may God guide thee.”

The bravo fell at the feet of the Apostle, and the serena also knelt before that holy man. He raised his hands and blessed them.

“He has blessed our union,” whispered the serena; and that vagrant gipsey girl, reared like the bird in the woods, without any other guide than the instincts of her savage nature, felt an emotion of ineffable pleasure as this idea occupied her mind. She had already learnt to appreciate the happiness of virtue!

“And now, Manofina,” she exclaimed aloud, “think how wretched it would have made us, had you been the means of depriving that charming young lady of him whom she loves so well!”

“Culevrina,” said the bravo, “it seems to me that the voice of the Apostle has given me new life, and that I am not the same man as I was this morning. But, oh! how many lives must I save in order to wipe away the stains of all the blood that I have shed! I see that there is no alternative save to quit the Society of Garduna for ever!”

“The Apostle told us that one good action redeemed numerous crimes,” answered the serena: “do not therefore alarm yourself for the safety of your soul. The holy priest will take care of that; and God, who feeds the animals, will not abandon two poor penitent Christians like us.”

The bravo and his mistress departed.

Stephen and Dolorez had found some solace in weeping in concert.

“Come, my children,” said the Apostle; “we will consult to-morrow upon the choice of a retreat for Dolorez.”

“Holy father,” returned Stephen, “it would be more prudent to consult upon the best means of flying from the unhappy soil of Spain.”

“Fly, while my father is a captive!” ejaculated Dolorez. “Stephen, could you think of such a thing?”

“But you will yourself be involved in his ruin, without benefit to him,” said Stephen. “You can fly from Spain, while I remain behind to employ all possible means to rescue your father. My influence and fortune—neither of which is inconsiderable—shall be exerted to obtain that end.”

“Save the living!” ejaculated the priest; “what—when the Inquisition does not even respect the ashes of the dead?”

“Silence, holy father,” whispered Stephen: “let us not deprive this unhappy girl of all hope!”

“I will never leave Spain, unless it be with my father,” said the governor’s daughter.

“Poor child!” thought the Apostle, deeply affected: “thou hast also one of those self-denying souls which invariably terminate their sorrows on Mount Calvary!”

“Stephen,” said Dolorez, in a low tone; “take care of thyself—the Inquisition has its eyes on thee!”

They had now reached the dwelling of the Apostle. Dolorez entered first: Stephen remained without, not daring to cross the threshold.

“Come with us, my son,” said the Franciscan. “We will pass the night together in prayer. Come—for to-morrow ye must part!”

Stephen followed the holy man in silence.

A Single Combat

Let us now return to Manofina, whom we left under the impression of penitence and conversion.

The bravo and his companion took the road towards the old building which formed the head-quarters of the Gardunos. They proceeded in silence; but from time to time Manofina ardently pressed the arm of the serena, who leant upon him; and thus did he convey to her his mute determination to persevere in the path of penitence already entered upon.

When they reached the old palace, a feeble light was burning in the vast apartment before noticed. None of the members of the Order, save themselves, had yet returned from their nocturnal expeditions. The Master, seated, alone, upon the ruins of a marble column, was occupied in counting a handful of doubloons. Here and there some of the old women of the band were stretched upon the floor, sleeping as tranquilly as if they had no crimes to trouble their repose. The moment Mandamiento saw the young couple approaching, he exclaimed in a joyous tone, “Ah! it is Manofina. Always the first home! What of Don Stephen de Vargas?”

“He is as well as you or I,” replied the Garduno in a sombre tone.

“By Saint James!” ejaculated Mandamiento, “have the sorcerers broken the blade of thy poniard in its sheath, my brave fellow? or does Don Stephen possess a talisman which gives him a charmed life?”

“Neither one, nor the other, Master. I have come to tell you that I am tired of this sanguinary life, and that I will no longer belong to the Society. Here is the money you gave me:” and he threw a purse at the feet of the irritated Mandamiento.

“Ten thousand demons!” cried the Master; “is it really you who speak, Manofina? or has the Evil One taken thy form to deceive me to your prejudice!”

“It is really myself in flesh and blood, Master,” avowed the Bravo,—“myself, who am here to demand my dismissal from the band, and to thank you for the especial protection which you have accorded me.”

Mandamiento bent his brows in a menacing manner; and turning towards the serena, who stood behind the bravo with a humble air and downcast eyes, he said, “And you, Culevrina, are you also disposed to renounce the pleasures and advantages of the occupation of serena, to follow this madman, who in a short time will have no bread to give thee?”

“I shall follow him,” answered Culevrina.

“Fools—idiots!” murmured the Master.

Manofina made no reply; and Mandamiento, rising from his rude seat, walked up and down the room with, uneven steps. In a short time the other members began to pour in, and hastened to render an account to their chief of their various proceedings. In a little space the vast apartment was nearly filled with people; and the Master was still absorbed in deep thought. Presently Hierro advanced towards him, and said, “Master, all thy children are present, and have fulfilled thy commands.”

“Not all,” ejaculated Mandamiento, casting a severe glance upon Manofina, who kept himself aloof, with the serena.

All eyes were directed towards the apostate bravo.⁴⁸ Manofina cast a glance around, and regarded his companions with dignified composure.

“What does the Master mean?” demanded the Gardunos of each other. “Is it possible that any one has disobeyed his command?”

“Yes,” answered Mandamiento, in a voice ridiculously solemn. “A Garduno has failed in his mission: the society is about to lose at the same moment, two of its best and bravest supporters; and that cowardly desertion is pregnant with evils for us.”

He paused for a moment, then, pointing towards Manofina and Culevrina, said, “Yes—the Order loses in them its very best adherents. But that is not all! It loses its probity—its hitherto stainless reputation—its fame, acquired by long and brilliant services. What will be said by the noble lords who support us? what will be said by the fair ladies who employ us? what will be said by the clergy, our very best patrons? what will be said by the Dominicans, who fill our purses with doubloons? We shall henceforth pass, throughout the kingdom of Andalusia, as miserable scamps who take money to kill and do not kill! We shall be compared to the vile alguazils who are paid to arrest robbers, but who in reality only arrest honest men; or to those shameless monks who take payment for ten masses, and say only one!”

Another pause.

“Do you perceive, my brothers,” continued the Master, “that the Grand Inquisidor will overwhelm us with his wrath when he finds that the murder which he commanded has not taken place? O Manofina—Manofina! reflect well, and repent of this moment of weakness.”

The assembly had listened to this strange discourse with profound stupefaction. When Mandamiento had ceased to speak, several of the females approached Manofina, and said, “Brother, is it true that you will leave us?’

“True,” answered Manofina abruptly.

“Manofina is a villain,” cried one of the band.

“Villain in your teeth!” said Manofina: “I am no villain, I have restored the money which was given to me.”

“Hand him over to the criminal tribunals,” cried several voices.

“No,” said the Master; “the Society of Garduna does not deliver up to the police even the most guilty of its brethren. If they be weak, idle, or cowardly, the Society degrades them and expels them.”

“And if the Society does not deliver up its brethren, one of its late brethren does not betray the others,” said Manofina proudly.

“Why will you abandon us, my dear brother!” cried Mandamiento. “Have you aught to complain of? You can still repair your fault.”

“No,” answered Manofina; “I am resolved.”

“Do you know that every unworthy brother deserves punishment?”

“Every unworthy member may be degraded. Degrade me, and let me depart.”

“And there are certain cases in which the unworthy brother is put to death,” answered Mandamiento severely.

“Traitors alone are put to death; and I am not a traitor.”

“But——”

“But you are afraid that I should become one you would say; and then you would have me put to death?” exclaimed the bravo, with an air of defiance. “Well—let him who dares act as your executioner say his prayers, and confess, ere he approach me; for by the King’s beard, he will meet with a rough reception!”

The defiance of Manofina wounded the pride of several of the brethren, who placed their hands upon their poniards. The serena whom this movement had not escaped, convulsively clutched the hilt of her sharp Andalusian dagger.

“I never thought that Manofina was afraid,” said Garabato, in an aggravating tone.

The penitent smiled disdainfully.

“What do you say?” demanded the Master.

“I say that Manofina is a coward, and fears to do the work allotted to him,” repeated the Garduno who had been admitted into the Society on the previous evening, and whose name, it will be recollected, was Garabato.

But scarcely had he pronounced those words, when the hand of Manofina struck him a violent blow on the face, and felled him in a moment.

Twenty poniards glittered over the head of Manofina. But he, nothing disconcerted, rolled his cloak around his left arm, seized his own dagger in his right hand, and assumed an imposing attitude of defence.

The serena, beholding him thus menaced, also formed a shield of her mantilla, and placing herself back to back with the bravo, awaited those who might venture to attack her lover behind. No one dared to move. “Well,” said Manofina; “is this all?”

“Race of cowards!” ejaculated Culevrina, her eyes glittering like those of a tigress; “advance, and prove whether we be cowards or not.”

Mandamiento took no share in the proceeding. Garabato had in the meantime risen from the ground; and he now rushed upon Manofina; but, to the great disappointment of the Society, the newly-elected Garduno again rolled upon the floor.

“You are all cowards!” ejaculated Manofina, “You urge that young man on, and you know that he will meet his death at my hands!”

“Manofina,” said the Master, “that young man as you call him, has a right to satisfaction; and you are too brave to refuse it.”

“I am ready to give him satisfaction; but according to custom—each to each!”

“The Culevrina will help you,” said the others ironically.

“The Culevrina will remain tranquil as the dead,” answered the bravo. “Do as she does—and leave that young man and me to settle our disputes in peace.”

“Order! order!” ejaculated Mandamiento; “and let every dagger be returned to its scabbard.” Then, turning towards Garabato, he said, “And you, young man, do your duty.”

The Gardunos now formed a circle round the combatants, who, each armed with his dagger, and using his cloak as a shield, brandished their long blades of Albaceta, and advanced towards each other. But, before the duel commenced, the two adversaries measured their weapons to ascertain that neither had the advantage.

They then retreated a few paces, took their posts, and awaited the signal.

“On!” cried the Master.

The two men rushed upon each other, twisting themselves, stooping, and then rising again, with the agility of snakes:—now throwing themselves back, in order to bound forward with greater violence; now pausing for a few moments, and eagerly watching each other’s eyes.

But in all these manœuvres Manofina had the advantage by means of superior skill, agility, and experience. The young Garduno a prey to unbounded rage, and furious in his pursuit of a shadow which seemed perpetually escaping him, precipitated himself upon the adroit Manofina—neglecting to defend himself when attacked, and twenty times presenting his breast to the murderous poniard.

The Culevrina followed with eagle glance, and with palpitating bosom, the various details of that atrocious duel, which kept every spectator in profound suspense. Some of the spectators prayed silently for the safety of their younger brother, whose death appeared imminent.

The Master remained a passionless witness of the scene: his countenance expressed no emotion of any kind.

The young Garduno, already wearied, was soon literally out of breath in the pursuit of his imprudent mode of fighting. Twenty times the poniard of Manofina had touched his chest; but Manofina, who did not seek to kill him, seized an opportunity when his opponent precipitated himself upon him, and dashed the young man’s dagger from his hand. The weapon fell at the feet of the master.

“Bravo! bravo!” echoed from all sides: “bravo, Manofina! Thou art worthy of being one of us.”

“Thank you, brethren,” said the bravo, “thank you. Your approbation is sufficient for me.”

“You are really a very brave man, Manofina,” said the vanquished, extending his hand to his conqueror.

Manofina cordially grasped the hand thus held out to him; then, advancing towards Mandamiento, he said, “Now, Master, terminate this ceremony and dismiss me.”

Mandamiento saw that all attempts to change the Garduno’s resolution would be vain: he accordingly drew his poniard from the sheath, placed the point upon the ground, bent it forcibly and broke it into two pieces. He then handed Manofina these pieces, and received his dagger in return.

By this exchange, the bravo was degraded, and remained incompetent to share in the exploits of the Gardunos, or partake of their glory.

Mandamiento then took the bravo by the hand, and conducting him before an image of the Virgin, said, “By all that you deem sacred, you swear never to betray any or all of the members of the Garduna?”

“I swear,” answered Manofina.

“Amen!” cried all present.

This ceremony being accomplished, Manofina took the hand of his companion, Culevrina, and, bidding his late brethren farewell, departed from the palace of the Garduna.

“Brethren,” said Mandamiento, when Manofina had disappeared, “let us pray that the Virgin will speedily send us a worthy successor of that lost sheep.”

Stephen de Vargas

Long previous to the time when the Cardinal Alphonso Manrico, Archbishop of Seville, was raised to the eminent post of Inquisidor General of Castille, the hatred of the Spaniards against the Holy Office had burst forth in daring conspiracies, continual revolts, and vehement complaints; and these murmurs had even reached the throne of the Popes, whose cowardly complaisance and private interest, aided by the selfish weakness of the Spanish Kings, had rather encouraged than repressed the audacity of the Inquisition.

This fearful tribunal covered the entire land with funereal pyres, depopulated the country, rendered the soil sterile by depriving it of the hands which tilled it, and converted a rich, chivalrous, and glorious nation into a suspicious, demoralized, or timid people, at the same time that it made a productive clime a vast catacomb where the aspect of the dead terrified the living. Spain was a hideous arena where men fell without fighting; where the infamous hand of the executioner disgraced the honor of the most noble and virtuous; and where the demon of denunciation was a hideous despot who wore a crown of flames and bore a sceptre of iron!

But while the cowardly policy of the Kings of Spain thus allowed those monsters of the Inquisition to decimate the people, many noble Spaniards, of generous hearts, and inspired with the ardent love of liberty, protested aloud, at the peril of their lives, against those iniquities of the inquisitorial tribunal.

Amongst the number of these heroic defenders of the rights of humanity were many noble Castillians, learned and holy Bishops, and even members of the Council of Castille. Spain was then in a state of permanent insurrection; but that generous crusade against the Inquisition not being supported by the sovereigns, and not being ably seconded by a people bending beneath the yoke of fanaticism, was incompetent to cope with the devouring hydra.⁴⁹ Every effort was therefore circumscribed to a few ineffectual measures; and the utmost that was gained was the occasional dismissal, with now and then the punishment of a few of the most audacious Inquisidors.

Amongst the Spanish nobles who were hostile to the Inquisition, Stephen de Vargas had rendered himself remarkable by the bitterness of his indignation. He was descended from one of those illustrious Moorish families, who, previous to the conquest of Grenada, had voluntarily embraced Christianity.

Young, ardent, and impassioned, Stephen possessed that masculine and poetic beauty which rather belongs to the energy of intellect than the strength of the body. His dark complexion, on which however were the roses of health, denoted the rapid circulation in his veins of a current generous, rich, and warm.

His black eyes, usually of a sweet and calm expression, sparkled with the least emotion of his soul. He moreover possessed that fine tall figure, supple and graceful, which was the heritage of the Moorish race; and on his high and open brow the jet black hair flowed in rich undulations—overshadowing a head fit to wear a crown of gold, or rather of laurel: for Stephen possessed that poetic feeling which charms, that eloquence which persuades and leads, and that philosophy which taught him a pure and holy worship.

Without belonging to any particular sect—without adopting the doctrines of Luther or Melanchthon,—without becoming an Anabaptist or a sophist,⁵⁰ Stephen regulated his life according to the pure and wholesome doctrines of Christianity. His philosophy was charity—and that charity was excessive. His worship was God—God great and pure—God detached from all human passions—God the source of life!

Animated by his voice, the people would have risen as it were by magic, and would have made the Inquisition tremble. His father, a member of the council of Castille in 1502, had, by his courageous opposition, favoured the establishment of that junta which was known by the name of the Catholic Congregation,⁵¹ and which was formed to repress the indignities perpetrated upon the inhabitants of Cordova by the Grand Inquisidor Lucero.⁵² This monster in human shape was dismissed and punished; but from that moment the family of De Vargas became marked out for the vengeance of the Inquisition!

What empire was not such a man as Don Stephen capable of acquiring over such a mind as that of Dolorez? Love the most pure—the most tender, existed between that adorable girl and that fine young noble.

During the day which Dolorez had passed in the house of the Apostle, she had narrated to him all the events of her life;—her pious infancy—her pure and enlightened life, and her love for the noble Stephen, were all unveiled to that man of God. Thus was it that the Apostle had said to the young man, “Come, and let us pass the night in prayer.”

And when they were all three united in that humble dwelling whose white walls had no other ornament than the image of Him who died upon Mount Calvary, the Apostle said, “My dear children, bless God who has visited you with misfortunes: the persecutions of the wicked are so many crowns in store for hereafter! Oh! happy are they who pass through life praying and weeping!”

“Holy father,” said the young man “your words are holy and consoling; and I adore, as you do, the hand that weighs upon us. But, alas! I am a Spanish noble—a scion of a lordly race, and I cannot endure without repining the odious yoke which the accursed Inquisition has imposed upon my country.”

The Apostle remained some moments without replying: he seemed to reflect profoundly.

“My son,” at length he observed, “I think that the Inquisition is an abuse which must be combatted by means of the two-edged sword of speech—with logic, argument, and reasoning, and not with insurrection, which is the offspring of anger and hatred, and whose career is pursued without rein, without compunction, without moderation.”

“Yes,” said Stephen; “but in the eloquent mouth the Inquisidors place a gag.”

“The people suffer much—very much,” answered the Apostle. “But, alas! when they change their masters by force they only obtain one tyrant instead of another; and the people still remain ever suffering—ever enslaved!”

“When the chiefs are honourable and virtuous, the people are happy, holy father,” said Stephen. “You teach us resignation now; but I have heard you in our churches, raise your eloquent voice against the Scribes and Pharisees of the present day. Tell me, holy father, are you an apostle of that illustrious Reformer called Luther, who has converted to his new doctrines so many learned theologians, so many princes, and so many bishops?”

“I am a Christian,” answered the priest meekly. “All controversy appears to me to be a sacrilege towards that law so simple, so humble, so united, and so humane, which Jesus gave unto us!”

Dolorez listened with deep attention to those two men of a faith so pure; and the fear of the Inquisition which had so much tormented her, became partially effaced in the presence of those sublime sentiments which animated her courage.

Thus passed a considerable portion of the night: at length Dolorez retired to snatch a brief repose; but Stephen de Vargas and John of Avila continued their discourse until the morning’s sun stole through the lattices of the Apostle’s dwelling.

Dolorez re-appeared in the room when the bell of the Church of Saint Angelus rang for matins.

“My dear children,” said the Apostle, “you must now say adieu. I shall forthwith conduct this young lady to a convent, where she will await in peace the will of heaven. As for you, young noble, you know my retreat: I repeat to you what I said yesterday to your affianced bride, ‘It is always open to those who suffer!’”

Dolorez raised her eyes to heaven with an expression of sorrowful resignation.

Stephen did not speak: the pallor of his countenance alone betrayed the warfare that was taking place in his soul. He conveyed the hand of Dolorez to his lips, then gratefully pressed that of the Apostle, and retreated precipitately from the house, exclaiming “Courage and Hope!”

A single tear shone on the pale countenance of the governor’s daughter. The Apostle turned towards her, and said, “Daughter, we must depart!”

“Father, I am ready to accompany you,” was the resigned reply.