a tale of 1755.
“dark lowers our fate,
and terrible the storm that gathers o’er us;
but nothing, till that latest agony
which severs thee from nature shall unloose
this fixed and sacred hold. in thy dark prison-house;
in the terrific force of armed law;
yea! on the scaffold, if it needs must be,
i never will forsake thee.”—joanna baillie.
about the middle of the eighteenth century, the little town of montes, situated some forty or fifty miles from lisbon, was thrown into most unusual excitement by the magnificence attending the nuptials of alvar rodriguez and almah diaz; an excitement which the extraordinary beauty of the bride, who, though the betrothed of alvar from her childhood, had never been seen in montes before, of course not a little increased. the little church of montes looked gay and glittering, for the large sums lavished by alvar on the officiating priests, and in presents to their patron saints, had occasioned every picture, shrine, and image to blaze in uncovered gold and jewels, and the altar to be fed with the richest incense, and lighted with tapers of the finest wax, to do him honour.
the church was full; for, although the bridal party did not exceed twenty, the village appeared to have emptied itself there; alvar’s munificence to all classes, on all occasions, having rendered him the universal idol, and caused the fame of that day’s rejoicing to extend many miles around.
there was nothing remarkable in the behaviour of either bride or bridegroom, except that both were decidedly more calm than such occasions usually warrant. nay, in the fine, manly countenance of alvar, ever and anon an expression seemed to flit, that in any but so true a son of the church would have been accounted scorn. in such a one, of course, it was neither seen nor regarded, except by his bride; for at such times her eyes met his with an earnest and entreating glance, that the peculiar look was changed into a quiet, tender seriousness which reassured her.
from the church they adjourned to the lordly mansion of rodriguez, which, in the midst of the flowering orange and citron trees, stood about two miles from the town.
the remainder of the day passed in festivity. the banquet and dance and song, both within and around the house, diversified the scene and increased hilarity in all. by sunset, all but the immediate friends and relatives of the newly wedded had departed. some splendid and novel fireworks from the heights having attracted universal attention, alvar, with his usual indulgence, gave his servants and retainers permission to join the festive crowds; liberty, to all who wished it, was given for the next two hours.
in a very brief interval the house was cleared, with the exception of a young moor, the secretary or book-keeper of alvar, and four or five aged" target="_blank">middle-aged domestics of both sexes.
gradually, and it appeared undesignedly, the bride and her female companions were left alone, and for the first time the beautiful face of almah was shadowed by emotion.
“shall i, oh, shall i indeed be his?” she said, half-aloud. “there are moments when our dread secrets are so terrible; it seems to forbode discovery at the very moment it would be most agonizing to bear.”
“hush, silly one!” was the reply of an older friend; “discovery is not so easily or readily accomplished. the persecuted and the nameless have acquired wisdom and caution at the price of blood—learned to deceive, that they may triumph—to conceal, that they may flourish still. almah, we are not to fall!”
“i know it, inez. a superhuman agency upholds us; we had been cast off, rooted out, plucked from the very face of the earth long since else. but there are times when human nature will shrink and tremble—when the path of deception and concealment allotted for us to tread seems fraught with danger at every turn. i know it is all folly, yet there is a dim foreboding, shadowing our fair horizon of joy as a hovering thunder-cloud. there has been suspicion, torture, death. oh, if my alvar—”
“nay, almah; this is childish. it is only because you are too happy, and happiness, in its extent is ever pain. in good time comes your venerable guardian, to chide and silence all such foolish fancies. how many weddings have there been, and will there still be, like this? come, smile, love, while i re-arrange your veil.”
almah obeyed, though the smile was faint, as if the soul yet trembled in its joy. on the entrance of gonzolas, her guardian (she was an orphan and an heiress), her veil was thrown around her, so as completely to envelope face and form. taking his arm, and followed by all her female companions, she was hastily and silently led to a sort of ante-room or cabinet, opening, by a massive door concealed with tapestry, from the suite of rooms appropriated to the private use of the merchant and his family. there alvar and his friends awaited her. a canopy, supported by four of the youngest males present, was held over the bride and bridegroom as they stood facing the east. a silver salver lay at their feet, and opposite stood an aged man, with a small richly-bound volume in his hand. it was open and displayed letters and words of unusual form and sound. another of alvar’s friends stood near, holding a goblet of sacred wine; and to a third was given a slight and thin venetian glass. after a brief and solemn pause, the old man read or rather chanted from the book he held, joined in parts by those around; and then he tasted the sacred wine, and passed it to the bride and bridegroom. almah’s veil was upraised, for her to touch the goblet with her lips, now quivering with emotion, and not permitted to fall again. and alvar, where now was the expression of scorn and contempt that had been stamped on his bold brow and curling lip before? gone—lost before the powerful emotion which scarcely permitted his lifting the goblet a second time to his lips. then, taking the venetian glass, he broke it on the salver at his feet, and the strange rites were completed.
yet no words of congratulation came. drawn together in a closer knot, while alvar folded the now almost fainting almah to his bosom, and said, in the deep, low tones of intense feeling, “mine, mine for ever now—mine in the sight of our god, the god of the exile and the faithful; our fate, whatever it be, henceforth is one;” the old man lifted up his clasped hands, and prayed.
“god of the nameless and homeless,” he said, and it was in the same strange yet solemn-sounding language as before, “have mercy on these thy servants, joined together in thy holy name, to share the lot on earth thy will assigns them, with one heart and mind. strengthen thou them to keep the secret of their faith and race—to teach it to their offspring as they received it from their fathers. pardon thou, them and us, the deceit we do to keep holy thy law and thine inheritance. in the land of the persecutor, the exterminator, be thou their shield, and save them for thy holy name. but if discovery and its horrible consequences—imprisonment, torture, death—await them, strengthen thou them for their endurance—to die as they would live for thee. father, hear us! homeless and nameless upon earth, we are thine own!”
“aye, strengthen me for him, my husband; turn my woman weakness into thy strength for him, almighty father,” was the voiceless prayer with which almah lifted up her pale face from her husband’s bosom, where it had rested during the whole of that strange and terrible prayer; and in the calmness stealing on her throbbing heart, she read her answer.
it was some few minutes ere the excited spirits of the devoted few then present, male or female, master or servant, could subside into their wonted control. but such scenes, such feelings were not of rare occurrence; and ere the domestics of rodriguez returned, there was nothing either in the mansion or its inmates to denote that anything uncommon had taken place during their absence.
the portuguese are not fond of society at any time, so that alvar and his young bride should, after one week of festivity, live in comparative retirement, elicited no surprise. the former attended his house of business at montes as usual; and whoever chanced to visit him at his beautiful estate, returned delighted with his entertainment and his hosts; so that, far and near, the merchant alvar became noted alike for his munificence and the strict orthodox catholicism in which he conducted his establishment.
and was alvar rodriguez indeed what he seemed? if so, what were those strange mysterious rites with which in secret he celebrated his marriage? for what were those many contrivances in his mansion, secret receptacles even from his own sitting-rooms, into which all kinds of forbidden food were conveyed from his very table, that his soul might not be polluted by disobedience? how did it so happen that one day in every year alvar gave a general holiday—leave of absence for four and twenty hours, under some well-arranged pretence, to all save those who entreated permission to remain with him? and that on that day, alvar, his wife, his moorish secretary, and all those domestics who had witnessed his marriage, spent in holy fast and prayer—permitting no particle of food or drink to pass their lips from eve unto eve; or if, by any chance, the holiday could not be given, their several meals to be laid and served, yet so contriving that, while the food looked as if it had been partaken of, not a portion had they touched? that the saturday should be passed in seeming preparation for the sunday, in cessation from work of any kind, and in frequent prayer, was perhaps of trivial importance; but for the previous mysteries—mysteries known to alvar, his wife, and five or six of his establishment, yet never by word or sign betrayed; how may we account for them? there may be some to whom the memory of such things, as common to their ancestors, may be yet familiar; but to by far the greater number of english readers, they are, in all probability, as incomprehensible as uncommon.
alvar rodriguez was a jew. one of the many who, in portugal and spain, fulfilled the awful prophecy of their great lawgiver moses, and bowed before the imaged saints and martyrs of the catholic, to shrine the religion of their fathers yet closer in their hearts and homes. from father to son the secret of their faith and race descended, so early and so mysteriously taught, that little children imbibed it—not alone the faith, but so effectually to conceal it, as to avert and mystify all inquisitorial questioning, long before they knew the meaning or necessity of what they learned.
how this was accomplished, how the religion of god was thus preserved in the very midst of persecution and intolerance, must ever remain a mystery, as, happily for israel such fearful training is no longer needed. but that it did exist, that jewish children, in the very midst of monastic and convent tuition, yet adhered to the religion of their fathers, never by word or sign betrayed the secret with which they were intrusted; and, in their turn, became husbands and fathers, conveying their solemn and dangerous inheritance to their posterity—that such things were, there are those still amongst the hebrews of england to affirm and recall, claiming among their own ancestry, but one generation removed, those who have thus concealed and thus adhered. it was the power of god, not the power of man. human strength had been utterly inefficient. torture and death would long before have annihilated every remnant of israel’s devoted race. but it might not be; for god had spoken. and, as a living miracle, a lasting record of his truth, his justice, aye, and mercy, israel was preserved in the midst of danger, in the very face of death, and will be preserved for ever.
it was no mere rejoicing ceremony, that of marriage, amongst the disguised and hidden israelites of portugal and spain. they were binding themselves to preserve and propagate a persecuted faith. they were no longer its sole repositors. did the strength of one waver, all was at end. they were united in the sweet links of love—framing for themselves new ties, new hopes, new blessings in a rising family—all of which, at one blow, might be destroyed. they existed in an atmosphere of death, yet they lived and flourished. but so situated, it was not strange that human emotion, both in alvar and his bride, should, on their wedding-day, have gained ascendency; and the solemn hour which made them one in the sight of the god they worshipped, should have been fraught with a terror and a shuddering, of which jewish lovers in free and happy england can have no knowledge.
alvar rodriguez was one of those high and noble spirits, on whom the chain of deceit and concealment weighed heavily; and there were times when it had been difficult to suppress and conceal his scorn of those outward observances which his apparent catholicism compelled. when united to almah, however, he had a stronger incentive than his own safety; and as time passed on, and he became a father, caution and circumspection, if possible, increased with the deep passionate feelings of tenderness towards the mother and child. as the boy grew and flourished, the first feelings of dread, which the very love he excited called forth at his birth, subsided into a kind of tranquil calm, which even almah’s foreboding spirit trusted would last, as the happiness of others of her race.
though alvar’s business was carried on both at montes and at lisbon, the bulk of both his own and his wife’s property was, by a strange chance, invested at badajoz, a frontier town of spain, and whence he had often intended to remove it, but had always been prevented. it happened that early in the month of june, some affairs calling him to lisbon, he resolved to delay removing it no longer, smiling at his young wife’s half solicitation to let it remain where it was, and playfully accusing her of superstition, a charge she cared not to deny. the night before his intended departure his young moorish secretary, in other words, an israelite of barbary extraction, entered his private closet, with a countenance of entreaty and alarm, earnestly conjuring his master to give up his lisbon expedition, and retire with his wife and son to badajoz or oporto, or some distant city, at least for a while. anxiously rodriguez inquired wherefore.
“you remember the senor leyva, your worship’s guest a week or two ago?”
“perfectly. what of him?”
“master, i like him not. if danger befall us it will come through him. i watched him closely, and every hour of his stay shrunk from him the more. he was a stranger?”
“yes; benighted, and had lost his way. it was impossible to refuse him hospitality. that he stayed longer than he had need, i grant; but there is no cause of alarm in that—he liked his quarters.”
“master,” replied the moor, earnestly, “i do not believe his tale. he was no casual traveller. i cannot trust him.”
“you are not called upon to do so, man,” said alvar, laughing. “what do you believe him to be that you would inoculate me with your own baseless alarm?”
hassan ben ahmed’s answer, whatever it might be, for it was whispered fearfully in his master’s ear, had the effect of sending every drop of blood from alvar’s face to his very heart. but he shook off the stagnating dread. he combated the prejudices of his follower as unreasonable and unfounded. hassan’s alarm, however, could only be soothed by the fact, that so suddenly to change his plans would but excite suspicion. if leyva were what he feared, his visit must already have been followed by the usual terrific effects.
alvar promised, however, to settle his affairs at lisbon as speedily as he could, and return for almah and his son, and convey them to some place of greater security until the imagined danger was passed.
in spite of his assumed indifference, however, rodriguez could not bid his wife and child farewell without a pang of dread, which it was difficult to conceal. the step between life and death—security and destruction—was so small, it might be passed unconsciously, and then the strongest nerve might shudder at the dark abyss before him. again and again he turned to go, and yet again returned; and it was with a feeling literally of desperation he at length tore himself away.
a fearful trembling was on almah’s heart as she gazed after him, but she would not listen to its voice.
“it is folly,” she said, self-upbraidingly. “my alvar is ever chiding this too doubting heart. i will not disobey him, by fear and foreboding in his absence. the god of the nameless is with him and me,” and she raised her eyes to the blue arch above her, with an expression that needed not voice to mark it prayer.
about a week after alvar’s departure, almah was sitting by the cradle of her boy, watching his soft and rosy slumbers, with a calm, sweet thankfulness that such a treasure was her own. the season had been unusually hot and dry, but the apartment in which the young mother sat opened on a pleasant spot, thickly shaded with orange, lemon, and almond trees, and decked with a hundred other richly-hued and richly-scented plants; in the centre of which a fountain sent up its heavy showers, which fell back on the marble bed, with a splash and coolness peculiarly refreshing, and sparkled in the sun as glittering gems.
a fleet yet heavy step resounded from the garden, which seemed suddenly and forcibly restrained into a less agitated movement. a shadow fell between her and the sunshine, and, starting, almah looked hastily up. hassan ben ahmed stood before her, a paleness on his swarthy cheek, and a compression on his nether lip, betraying strong emotion painfully restrained.
“my husband! hassan. what news bring you of him? why are you alone?”
he laid his hand on her arm, and answered in a voice which so quivered that only ears eager as her own could have distinguished his meaning.
“lady, dear, dear lady, you have a firm and faithful heart. oh! for the love of him who calls on you to suffer, awake its strength and firmness. my dear, my honoured lady, sink not, fail not! o god of mercy support her now!” he added, flinging himself on his knees before her, as almah one moment sprang up with a smothered shriek, and the next sank back on her seat rigid as marble.
not another word she needed. hassan thought to have prepared, gradually to have told his dread intelligence; but he had said enough. called upon to suffer, and for him, her god—her doom was revealed in those brief words. one minute of such agonized struggle, that her soul and body seemed about to part beneath it; and the wife and mother roused herself to do. lip, cheek, and brow vied in their ashen whiteness with her robe; the blue veins rose distended as cords; and the voice—had not hassan gazed upon her, he had not known it as her own.
she commanded him to tell her briefly all, and even while he spoke, seemed revolving in her own mind the decision which not four and twenty hours after hassan’s intelligence she put into execution.
it was as ben ahmed had feared. the known popularity and rumoured riches of alvar rodriguez had excited the jealousy of that secret and awful tribunal, the inquisition, one of whose innumerable spies, under the feigned name of leyva, had obtained entrance within alvar’s hospitable walls. one unguarded word or movement, the faintest semblance of secrecy or caution, were all-sufficient; nay, without these, more than a common share of wealth or felicity was enough for the unconscious victims to be marked, tracked, and seized, without preparation or suspicion of their fate. alvar had chanced to mention his intended visit to lisbon; and the better to conceal the agent of his arrest, as also to make it more secure, they waited till his arrival there, watched their opportunity, and seized and conveyed him to those cells whence few returned in life, propagating the charge of relapsed judaism as the cause of his arrest. it was a charge too common for remark, and the power which interfered too mighty for resistance. the confusion of the arrest soon subsided; but it lasted long enough for the faithful hassan to escape, and, by dint of very rapid travelling, he reached montes not four hours after his master’s seizure. the day was in consequence before them, and he ceased not to conjure his lady to fly at once; the officers of the inquisition could scarcely be there before nightfall.
“you must take advantage of it, hassan, and all of you who love me. for my child, my boy,” she had clasped him to her bosom, and a convulsion contracted her beautiful features as she spoke, “you must take care of him; convey him to holland or england. take jewels and gold sufficient; and—and make him love his parents—he may never see either of them more. hassan, hassan, swear to protect my child!” she added, with a burst of such sudden and passionate agony, it seemed as if life or reason must bend beneath it. bewildered by her words, as terrified by her emotion, ben ahmed gently removed the trembling child from the fond arms that for the first time failed to support him, gave him hastily to the care of his nurse, who was also a jewess, said a few words in hebrew, detailing what had passed, beseeching her to prepare for flight, and then returned to his mistress. the effects of that prostrating agony remained, but she had so far conquered, as to seem outwardly calm; and in answer to his respectful and anxious looks, besought him not to fear for her, nor to dissuade her from her purpose, but to aid her in its accomplishment. she summoned her household around her, detailed what had befallen, and bade them seek their own safety in flight; and when in tears and grief they left her, and but those of her own faith remained, she solemnly committed her child to their care, and informed them of her own determination to proceed directly to lisbon. in vain hassan ben ahmed conjured her to give up the idea; it was little short of madness. how could she aid his master? why not secure her own safety, that if indeed he should escape, the blessing of her love would be yet preserved him?
“do not fear for your master, hassan,” was the calm reply; “ask not of my plans, for at this moment they seem but chaos, but of this be assured, we shall live or die together.”
more she revealed not; but when the officers of the inquisition arrived, near nightfall, they found nothing but deserted walls. the magnificent furniture and splendid paintings which alone remained, of course were seized by the holy office, by whom alvar’s property was also confiscated. had his arrest been deferred three months longer, all would have gone—swept off by the same rapacious power, to whom great wealth was ever proof of great guilt—but as it was, the greater part, secured in spain, remained untouched; a circumstance peculiarly fortunate, as almah’s plans needed the aid of gold.
we have no space to linger on the mother’s feelings, as she parted from her boy; gazing on him, perhaps, for the last time. yet she neither wept nor sighed. there was but one other feeling strong in that gentle bosom—a wife’s devotion—and to that alone she might listen now.
great was old gonzalos’ terror and astonishment when almah, attended only by hassan ben ahmed, and both attired in the moorish costume, entered his dwelling and implored his concealment and aid. the arrest of alvar rodriguez had, of course, thrown every secret hebrew into the greatest alarm, though none dared be evinced. gonzalos’ only hope and consolation was that almah and her child had escaped; and to see her in the very centre of danger, even to listen to her calmly proposed plans, seemed so like madness, that he used every effort to alarm her into their relinquishment. but this could not be; and with the darkest forebodings, the old man at length yielded to the stronger, more devoted spirit with whom he had to deal.
his mistress once safely under gonzalos’ roof, ben ahmed departed, under cover of night, in compliance with her earnest entreaties, to rejoin her child, and to convey him and his nurse to england, that blessed land, where the veil of secrecy could be removed.
about a week after the incarceration of alvar, a young moor sought and obtained admission to the presence of juan pacheco, the secretary of the inquisition, as informer against alvar rodriguez. he stated that he had taken service with him as clerk or secretary, on condition that he would give him baptism and instruction in the holy catholic faith; that alvar had not yet done so; that many things in his establishment proclaimed a looseness of orthodox principles, which the holy office would do well to notice. meanwhile he humbly offered a purse containing seventy pieces of gold, to obtain masses for his salvation.
this last argument carried more weight than all the rest. the young moor, who boldly gave his name as hassan ben ahmed (which was confirmation strong of his previous statement, as in leyva’s information of alvar and his household the moorish secretary was particularly specified), was listened to with attention, and finally received in pacheco’s own household, as junior clerk and servant to the holy office.
despite his extreme youthfulness and delicacy of figure, face, and voice, hassan’s activity and zeal to oblige every member of the holy office, superiors and inferiors, gradually gained him the favour and goodwill of all. there was no end to his resources for serving others; and thus he had more opportunities of seeing the prisoners in a few weeks, than others of the same rank as himself had had in years. but the prisoner he most longed to see was still unfound, and it was not till summoned before his judges, in the grand hall of inquisition and of torture, hassan ben ahmed gazed once more upon his former master. he had attended pacheco in his situation of junior clerk, but had seated himself so deeply in the shade that, though every movement in both the face and form of alvar was distinguishable to him, hassan himself was invisible.
the trial, if trial such iniquitous proceedings may be called, proceeded; but in nought did alvar rodriguez fail in his bearing or defence. marvellous and superhuman must that power have been which, in such a scene and hour, prevented all betrayal of the true faith the victims bore. once judaism confessed, the doom was death; and again and again have the sons of israel remained in the terrible dungeons of the inquisition—endured every species of torture during a space of seven, ten, or twelve years, and then been released, because no proof could be brought of their being indeed that accursed thing—a jew. and then it was that they fled from scenes of such fearful trial to lands of toleration and freedom, and there embrace openly and rejoicingly that blessed faith, for which in secret they had borne so much.
alvar rodriguez was one of these—prepared to suffer, but not reveal. they applied the torture, but neither word nor groan was extracted from him. engrossed with the prisoner, for it was his task to write down whatever disjointed words might escape his lips, pacheco neither noticed not even remembered the presence of the young moor. no unusual paleness could be visible on his embrowned cheek, but his whole frame felt to himself to have become rigid as stone; a deadly sickness had crept over him, and the terrible conviction of all which rested with him to do alone prevented his sinking senseless on the earth.
the terrible struggle was at length at an end. alvar was released for the time being, and remanded to his dungeon. availing himself of the liberty he enjoyed in the little notice now taken of his movements, hassan reached the prison before either alvar or his guards. a rapid glance told him its situation, overlooking a retired part of the court, cultivated as a garden. the height of the wall seemed about forty feet, and there were no windows of observation on either side. this was fortunate, the more so as hassan had before made friends with the old gardener, and pretending excessive love of gardening, had worked just under the window, little dreaming its vicinity to him he sought.
a well-known hebrew air, with its plaintive hebrew words, sung tremblingly and softly under his window, first roused alvar to the sense that a friend was near. he started, almost in superstitious terror, for the voice seemed an echo to that which was ever sounding in his heart. that loved one it could not be, nay, he dared not even wish it; but still the words were hebrew, and, for the first time, memory flashed back a figure in moorish garb who had flitted by him on his return to his prison, after his examination.
hassan, the faithful hassan! alvar felt certain it could be none but he; though, in the moment of sudden excitement, the voice had seemed another’s. he looked from the window; the moor was bending over the flowers, but alvar felt confirmed in his suspicions, and his heart throbbed with the sudden hope of liberty. he whistled, and a movement in the figure below convinced him he was heard.
one point was gained; the next was more fraught with danger, yet it was accomplished. in a bunch of flowers, drawn up by a thin string which alvar chanced to possess, ben ahmed had concealed a file; and as he watched it ascend, and beheld the flowers scattered to the winds, in token that they had done their work, for alvar dared not retain them in his prison, hassan felt again the prostration of bodily power which had before assailed him for such a different cause, and it was an almost convulsive effort to retain his faculties; but a merciful providence watched over him and alvar, making the feeblest and the weakest, instruments of his all-sustaining love.
we are not permitted space to linger on the various ingenious methods adopted by hassan ben ahmed to forward and mature his plans. suffice it that all seemed to smile upon him. the termination of the garden wall led, by a concealed door, to a subterranean passage running to the banks of the tagus. this fact, as also the secret spring of the trap, the old gardener in a moment of unwise conviviality imparted to ben ahmed, little imagining the special blessing which such unexpected information secured.
an alcayde and about twenty guards did sometimes patrol the garden within sight of alvar’s window; but this did not occur often, such caution seeming unnecessary.
it had been an evening of unwonted festivity among the soldiers and servants of the holy office, which had at length subsided into the heavy slumbers of general intoxication. hassan had supped with the gardener, and plying him well with wine, soon produced the desired effect. four months had the moor spent within the dreaded walls, and the moment had now come when delay need be no more. at midnight all was hushed into profound silence, not a leaf stirred, and the night was so unusually still that the faintest sound would have been distinguished. hassan stealthily crept round the outposts. many of the guards were slumbering in various attitudes upon their posts, and others, dependent on his promised watchfulness, were literally deserted. he stood beneath the window. one moment he clasped his hands and bowed his head in one mighty, piercing, though silent prayer, and then dug hastily in the flower-bed at his feet, removing from thence a ladder of ropes, which had lain there some days concealed, and flung a pebble with correct aim against the bars of alvar’s window. the sound, though scarcely loud enough to disturb a bird, reverberated on the trembling heart which heard, as if a thousand cannons had been discharged.
a moment of agonized suspense, and alvar rodriguez stood at the window, the bar he had removed, in his hand. he let down the string, to which hassan’s now trembling hands secured the ladder and drew it to the wall. his descent could not have occupied two minutes, at the extent; but to that solitary watcher what eternity of suffering did they seem! alvar was at his side, had clasped his hands, had called him “hassan! brother!” in tones of intense feeling, but no word replied. he sought to fly, to point to the desired haven, but his feet seemed suddenly rooted to the earth. alvar threw his arm around him, and drew him forwards. a sudden and unnatural strength returned. noiselessly and fleetly as their feet could go, they sped beneath the shadow of the wall. a hundred yards alone divided them from the secret door. a sudden sound broke the oppressive stillness. it was the tramp of heavy feet and the clash of arms; the light of many torches flashed upon the darkness. they darted forward in the fearful excitement of despair; but the effort was void and vain. a wild shout of challenge—of alarm—and they were surrounded, captured, so suddenly, so rapidly, alvar’s very senses seemed to reel; but frightfully they were recalled. a shriek, so piercing, it seemed to rend the very heavens, burst through the still air. the figure of the moor rushed from the detaining grasp of the soldiery, regardless of bared steel and pointed guns, and flung himself at the feet of alvar.
“o god, my husband—i have murdered him!” were the strange appalling words which burst upon his ear, and the lights flashing upon his face, as he sank prostrate and lifeless on the earth, revealed to alvar’s tortured senses the features of his wife.
how long that dead faint continued almah knew not, but when sense returned she found herself in a dark and dismal cell, her upper garment and turban removed, while the plentiful supply of water, which had partially restored life, had removed in a great degree the dye which had given her countenance its moorish hue. had she wished to continue concealment, one glance around her would have proved the effort vain. her sex was already known, and the stern dark countenances near her breathed but ruthlessness and rage. some brief questions were asked relative to her name, intent, and faith, which she answered calmly.
“in revealing my name,” she said, “my intention must also be disclosed. the wife of alvar rodriguez had not sought these realms of torture and death, had not undergone all the miseries of disguise and servitude, but for one hope, one intent—the liberty of her husband.”
“thus proving his guilt,” was the rejoinder. “had you known him innocent, you would have waited the justice of the holy office to give him freedom.”
“justice!” she repeated, bitterly. “had the innocent never suffered, i might have trusted. but i knew accusation was synonymous with death, and therefore came i here. for my faith, mine is my husband’s.”
“and know you the doom of all who attempt or abet escape? death—death by burning! and this you have hurled upon him and yourself. it is not the holy office, but his wife who has condemned him,” and with gibing laugh they left her, securing with heavy bolt and bar the iron door. she darted forwards, beseeching them, as they hoped for mercy, to take her to her husband, to confine them underground a thousand fathoms deep, so that they might but be together; but only the hollow echo of her own voice replied, and the wretched girl sunk back upon the ground, relieved from present suffering by long hours of utter insensibility.
it was not till brought from their respective prisons to hear pronounced on them the sentence of death, that alvar rodriguez and his heroic wife once more gazed upon each other.
they had provided almah, at her own entreaty, with female habiliments; for, in the bewildering agony of her spirit, she attributed the failure of her scheme for the rescue of her husband to her having disobeyed the positive command of god, and adopted a male disguise, which in his eyes was abomination, but which in her wild desire to save alvar she had completely overlooked, and she now in consequence shrunk from the fatal garb with agony and loathing. yet despite the haggard look of intense mental and bodily suffering, the loss of her lovely hair, which she had cut close to her head, lest by the merest chance its length and luxuriance should discover her, so exquisite, so touching, was her delicate loveliness, that her very judges, stern, unbending as was their nature, looked on her with an admiration almost softening them to mercy.
and now, for the first time, alvar’s manly composure seemed about to desert him. he, too, had suffered almost as herself, save that her devotedness, her love, appeared to give him strength, to endow him with courage, even to look upon her fate, blended as it now was with his own, with calmness in that merciful god who called him thus early to himself. almah could not realize such thoughts. but one image was ever present, seeming to mock her very misery to madness. her effort had failed; had she not so wildly sought her husband’s escape—had she but waited—they might have released him; and now, what was she but his murderess?
little passed between the prisoners and their judges. their guilt was all-sufficiently proved by their endeavours to escape, which in itself was a crime always visited by death; and for these manifold sins and misdemeanours they were sentenced to be burnt alive, on all saints’ day, in the grand square of the inquisition, at nine o’clock in the morning, and proclamation commanded to be made throughout lisbon, that all who sought to witness and assist at the ceremony should receive remission of sins, and be accounted worthy servants of jesus christ. the lesser severity of strangling the victims before burning was denied them, as they neither repented nor had trusted to the justice and clemency of the holy office, but had attempted to avert a deserved fate by flight.
not a muscle of alvar’s fine countenance moved during this awful sentence. he stood proudly and loftily erect, regarding those that spake with an eye, bright, stern, unflinching as their own; but a change passed over it as, breaking from the guard around, almah flung herself on her knees at his feet.
“alvar! alvar! i have murdered—my husband, oh, my husband, say you forgive—forgive—”
“hush, hush, beloved! mine own heroic almah, fail not now!” he answered, with a calm and tender seriousness, which seeming to still that crushing agony, strengthened her to bear; and raising her, he pressed her to his breast.
“we have but to die as we have lived, my own! true to that god whose chosen and whose firstborn we are, have been, and shall be unto death, aye, and beyond it. he will protect our poor orphan, for he has promised the fatherless shall be his care. look up, my beloved, and say you can face death with alvar, calmly, faithfully, as you sought to live for him. god has chosen for us a better heritage than one of earth.”
she raised her head from his bosom; the terror and the agony had passed from that sweet face—it was tranquil as his own.
“it was not my own death i feared,” she said, unfalteringly, “it was but the weakness of human love; but it is over now. love is mightier than death; there is only love in heaven.”
“aye!” answered alvar, and proudly and sternly he waved back the soldiers who had hurried forward to divide them. “men of a mistaken and bloody creed, behold how the scorned and persecuted israelites can love and die. while there was a hope that we could serve our god, the holy and the only one, better in life than in death, it was our duty to preserve that life, and endure torture for his sake, rather than reveal the precious secret of our sainted faith and heavenly heritage. but now that hope is at an end, now that no human means can save us from the doom pronounced, know ye have judged rightly of our creed. we are those chosen children of god, by you deemed blasphemous and heretic. do what ye will, men of blood and guile, ye cannot rob us of our faith.”
the impassioned tones of natural eloquence awed even the rude crowd around; but more was not permitted. rudely severed, and committed to their own guards, the prisoners were borne to their respective dungeons. to almah, those earnest words had been as the voice of an angel, hushing every former pang to rest; and in the solitude and darkness of the intervening hours, even the thought of her child could not rob her soul of its calm, or prayer of its strength.
the first of november, 1755, dawned cloudless and lovely, as it had been the last forty days. never had there been a season more gorgeous in its sunny splendour, more brilliant in the intense azure of its arching heaven than the present. scarcely any rain had fallen for many months, and the heat had at first been intolerable, but within the last six weeks a freshness and coolness had infused the atmosphere and revived the earth.
as it was not a regular auto da fé (alvar and his wife being the only victims), the awful ceremony of burning was to take place in the square, of which the buildings of the inquisition formed one side. mass had been performed before daybreak, in the chapel of the inquisition, at which the victims were compelled to be present, and about half-past seven the dread procession left the inquisition gates. the soldiers and minor servitors marched first, forming a hollow square, in the centre of which were the stakes and huge faggots piled around. then came the sacred cross, covered with a black veil, and its body-guard of priests. the victims, each surrounded by monks, appeared next, closely followed by the higher officers and inquisitors, and a band of fifty men, in rich dresses of black satin and silver, closed the procession.
we have no space to linger on the ceremonies always attendant on the burning of inquisitorial prisoners. although, from the more private nature of the rites, these ceremonies were greatly curtailed, it was rather more than half an hour after nine when the victims were bound to their respective stakes, and the executioners approached with their blazing brands.
there was no change in the countenance of either prisoner. pale they were, yet calm and firm; all of human feeling had been merged in the martyr’s courage, and the martyr’s faith.
one look had been exchanged between them—of love spiritualized to look beyond the grave—of encouragement to endure for their god, even to the end. the sky was still cloudless, the sun still looked down on that scene of horror; and then was a hush—a pause—for so it felt in nature, that stilled the very breathing of those around.
“hear, o israel, the lord our god, the lord is one—the sole and holy one; there is no unity like his unity!” were the words which broke that awful pause, in a voice distinct, unfaltering, and musical as its wont; and it was echoed by the sweet tones from woman’s lips, so thrilling in their melody, the rudest nature started. it was the signal of their fate. the executioners hastened forward, the brands were applied to the turf of the piles, the flames burst up beneath their hand—when at that moment there came a shock as if the very earth were cloven asunder, the heavens rent in twain. a crash so loud, so fearful, so appalling, as if the whole of lisbon had been shivered to its foundations, and a shriek, or rather thousands and thousands of human voices, blended in one wild-piercing cry of agony and terror, seeming to burst from every quarter at the self-same instant, and fraught with universal woe. the buildings around shook, as impelled by a mighty whirlwind, though no sound of such was heard. the earth heaved, yawned, closed, and rocked again, as the billows of the ocean were lashed to fury. it was a moment of untold horror. the crowd assembled to witness the martyr’s death fled, wildly shrieking, on every side. scattered to the heaving ground, the blazing piles lay powerless to injure; their bonds were shivered, their guards were fled. one bound brought alvar to his wife, and he clasped her in his arms. “god, god of mercy, save us yet again! be with us to the end!” he exclaimed, and faith winged the prayer. on, on he sped; up, up, in direction of the heights, where he knew comparative safety lay; but ere he reached them, the innumerable sights and sounds of horror that yawned upon his way! every street, and square, and avenue was choked with shattered ruins, rent from top to bottom; houses, convents, and churches presented the most fearful aspect of ruin; while every second minute a new impetus seemed to be given to the convulsed earth, causing those that remained still perfect to rock and rend. huge stones, falling from every crack, were crushing the miserable fugitives as they rushed on, seeking safety they knew not where. the rafters of every roof, wrenched from their fastenings, stood upright a brief while, and then fell in hundreds together, with a crash perfectly appalling. the very ties of nature were severed in the wild search for safety. individual life alone appeared worth preserving. none dared seek the fate of friends—none dared ask, “who lives?” in that one scene of universal death.
on, on sped alvar and his precious burden, on, over the piles of ruins; on, unhurt amidst the shower of stones, which, hurled in the air as easily as a ball cast from an infant’s hand, fell back again laden with a hundred deaths; on, amid the rocking and yawning earth, beholding thousands swallowed up, crushed and maimed, worse than death itself, for they were left to a lingering torture—to die a thousand deaths in anticipating one; on, over the disfigured heaps of dead, and the unrecognised masses of what had once been magnificent and gorgeous buildings. his eye was well-nigh blinded with the shaking and tottering movement of all things animate and inanimate before him; and his path obscured by the sudden and awful darkness, which had changed that bright glowing blue of the sunny sky into a pall of dense and terrible blackness, becoming thicker and denser with every succeeding minute, till a darkness which might be felt, enveloped that devoted city as with the grim shadow of death. his ear was deafened by the appalling sounds of human agony and nature’s wrath; for now, sounds as of a hundred water-spouts, the dull continued roar of subterranean thunder, becoming at times loud as the discharge of a thousand cannons; at others, resembling the sharp grating sound of hundreds and hundreds of chariots driven full speed over the stones; and this, mingled with the piercing shrieks of women, the hoarser cries and shouts of men, the deep terrible groans of mental agony, and the shriller screams of instantaneous death, had usurped the place of the previous awful stillness, till every sense of those who yet survived seemed distorted and maddened. and nature herself, convulsed and freed from restraining bonds, appeared about to return to that chaos whence she had leaped at the word of god.
still, still alvar rushed forwards, preserved amidst it all, as if the arm of a merciful providence was indeed around him and his almah, marking them for life in the very midst of death. making his rapid way across the ruins of st. paul’s, which magnificent church had fallen in the first shock, crushing the vast congregation assembled within its walls, alvar paused one moment, undecided whether to seek the banks of the river or still to make for the western heights. there was a moment’s hush and pause in the convulsion of nature, but alvar dared not hope for its continuance. ever and anon the earth still heaved, and houses opened from base to roof and closed without further damage. with a brief fervid cry for continued guidance and protection, scarcely conscious which way in reality he took, and still holding almah to his bosom—so supernaturally strengthened that the weakness of humanity seemed far from him, rodriguez hurried on, taking the most open path to the estrella hill. an open space was gained, half-way to the summit, commanding a view of the banks of the river and the ruins around. panting, almost breathless, yet still struggling with his own exhaustion to encourage almah, alvar an instant rested, ere he plunged anew into the narrower streets. a shock, violent, destructive, convulsive as the first, flung them prostrate; while the renewed and increased sounds of wailing, the tremendous and repeated crashes on every side, the disappearance of the towers, steeples, and turrets which yet remained, revealed the further destructiveness which had befallen. a new and terrible cry added to the universal horror.
“the sea! the sea!” alvar sprung to his feet, and, clasped in each other’s arms, he and almah gazed beneath. not a breath of wind stirred, yet the river (which being at that point four miles wide appeared like the element they had termed it) tossed and heaved as impelled by a mighty storm—and on it came, roaring, foaming tumbling, as if every bound were loosed; on, over the land to the very heart of the devoted city, sweeping off hundreds in its course, and retiring with such velocity, and so far beyond its natural banks, that vessels were left dry which had five minutes before ridden in water seven fathoms deep. again and again this phenomenon took place; the vessels in the river, at the same instant, whirled round and round with frightful rapidity, and smaller boats dashed upwards, falling back to disappear beneath the booming waters. as if chained to the spot where they stood, fascinated by this very horror, alvar and his wife yet gazed; their glance fixed on the new marble quay, where thousands and thousands of the fugitives had congregated, fixed, as if unconsciously foreboding what was to befall. again the tide rushed in—on, on, over the massive ruins, heaving, raging, swelling, as a living thing; and at the same instant the quay and its vast burthen of humanity sunk within an abyss of boiling waters, into which the innumerable boats around were alike impelled, leaving not a trace, even when the angry waters returned to their channel, suddenly as they had left it, to mark what had been.
“’twas the voice of god impelled me hither, rather than pausing beside those fatal banks. almah, my best beloved, bear up yet a brief while more—he will spare and save us as he hath done now. merciful providence! behold another wrathful element threatens to swallow up all of life and property which yet remains. great god, this is terrible!”
and terrible it was: from three several parts of the ruined city huge fires suddenly blazed up, hissing, crackling, ascending as clear columns of liquid flame; up against the pitchy darkness, infusing it with tenfold horror—spreading on every side—consuming all of wood and wall which the earth and water had left unscathed; wreathing its serpent-like folds in and out the ruins, forming strange and terribly beautiful shapes of glowing colouring; fascinating the eye with admiration, yet bidding the blood chill and the flesh creep. fresh cries and shouts had marked its rise and progress; but, aghast and stupefied, those who yet survived made no effort to check its way, and on every side it spread, forming lanes and squares of glowing red, flinging its lurid glare so vividly around, that even those on the distant heights could see to read by it; and fearful was the scene that awful light revealed. now, for the first time, could alvar trace the full extent of destruction which had befallen. that glorious city, which a few brief hours previous lay reposing in its gorgeous sunlight—mighty in its palaces and towers—in its churches, convents, theatres, magazines, and dwellings—rich in its numberless artizans and stores—lay perished and prostrate as the grim spectre of long ages past, save that the fearful groups yet passing to and fro, or huddled in kneeling and standing masses, some bathed in the red glare of the increasing fires, others black and shapeless—save when a sudden flame flashed on them, disclosing what they were—revealed a strange and horrible present, yet lingering amid what seemed the shadows of a fearful past. nor was the convulsion of nature yet at an end;—the earth still rocked and heaved at intervals, often impelling the hissing flames more strongly and devouringly forward, and by tossing the masses of burning ruin to and fro, gave them the semblance of a sea of flame. the ocean itself, too, yet rose and sunk, and rose again; vessels were torn from their cables, anchors wrenched from their soundings and hurled in the air—while the warring waters, the muttering thunders, the crackling flames, formed a combination of sounds which, even without their dread adjuncts of human agony and terror, were all-sufficient to freeze the very life-blood, and banish every sense and feeling, save that of stupefying dread.
but human love, and superhuman faith, saved from the stagnating horror. the conviction that the god of his fathers was present with him, and would save him and almah to the end, never left him for an instant, but urged him to exertions which, had he not had this all-supporting faith, he would himself have deemed impossible. and his faith spake truth. the god of infinite mercy, who had stretched out his own right hand to save, and marked the impotence of the wrath and cruelty of man, was with him still, and, despite of the horrors yet lingering round them, despite of the varied trials, fatigues, and privations attendant on their rapid flight, led them to life and joy, and bade them stand forth the witnesses and proclaimers of his unfailing love, his everlasting providence!
with the great earthquake of lisbon, the commencement of which our preceding pages have faintly endeavoured to portray, and its terrible effects on four millions of square miles, our tale has no further connection. the third day brought our poor fugitives to badajoz, where alvar’s property had been secured. they tarried there only long enough to learn the blessed tidings of hassan ben ahmed’s safe arrival in england with their child; that his faithfulness, in conjunction with that of their agent in spain, had already safely transmitted the bulk of their property to the english funds; and to obtain ben ahmed’s address, forward tidings of their providential escape to him, and proceed on their journey.
an anxious but not a prolonged interval enabled them to accomplish it safely, and once more did the doubly-rescued press their precious boy to their yearning hearts, and feel that conjugal and parental love burned, if it could be, the dearer, brighter, more unspeakably precious, from the dangers they had passed; and not human love alone. the veil of secrecy was removed, they were in a land whose merciful and liberal government granted to the exile and the wanderer a home of peace and rest, where they might worship the god of israel according to the law he gave; and in hearts like those of alvar and his almah, prosperity could have no power to extinguish or deaden the religion of love and faith which adversity had engendered.
the appearance of old gonzalos and his family in england, a short time after alvar’s arrival there, removed their last remaining anxiety, and gave them increased cause for thankfulness. not a member of the merchant’s family, and more wonderful still, not a portion of his property, had been lost amid the universal ruin; and to this very day, his descendants recall his providential preservation by giving, on every returning anniversary of that awful day, certain articles of clothing to a limited number of male and female poor.