Spain for the Sovereigns - Plaidy Jean - Страница 26

It often occurred to Tomas de Torquemada that the opportunity must soon arise.

Torquemada had kept the esteem of the Queen. She admired his piety; she respected his motives; in a Court where she was surrounded by men who sought temporal power, this ascetic monk stood out as a man of deep sincerity.

As Torquemada prayed there was a thought at the back of his mind: now that Castile had ceased to be tormented by civil war, the time had come when the religious life of the country should be examined, and to him it seemed that the best way of doing this was to reintroduce the Inquisition into Castile, a new form of the Inquisition which he himself would be prepared to organise, an Inquisition which should be supervised by men like himself – monks of great piety, of the Dominican and Franciscan orders.

But another little matter had intruded into Torquemada’s schemes, and he had been diverted. It was because of this that he now prayed so earnestly. He had allowed himself to indulge in pleasure rather than duty.

A certain Hernan Nunez Arnalt had recently died, and his will had disclosed that he had named Tomas de Torquemada as its executor. Arnalt had been a very rich man, and had left a considerable sum for the purpose of building a monastery at Avila which should be called the Monastery of Saint Thomas.

To Tomas de Torquemada had fallen the task of carrying out his wishes and he found great joy in this duty. He spent much time with architects and discovered a great love of building; but so great was this pleasure that he began to be doubtful about it. Anything that made a man as happy as the studying of plans for this great work made him, must surely have an element of sin in it. He was suspicious of happiness; and as he looked back to that day when he had first heard of the proposed endowment, and that he had been entrusted to see the work carried out, he was alarmed.

He had neglected his duties at Santa Cruz; he had thought only occasionally of the need to force Christianity on every inhabitant of Castile; he had ceased to consider the numbers who, while calling themselves Christians, were reverting to the Jewish religion in secret. These sinners called for the greatest punishment that could be devised by the human mind; and he, the chosen servant of God and all his saints, had been occupying himself by supervising the piling of stone on stone, by deciding on the exquisite line of the cloisters, by taking sensuous enjoyment in planning with sculptors the designs for the chapel.

Torquemada beat his hands on his breast and cried: ‘Holy Mother of God, intercede for this miserable sinner.’

He must devise some penance. But long austerity had made him careless of what his body suffered. ‘Yet,’ he said, ‘the Monastery will be dedicated to the glory of God. Is it such a sin to erect a building where men will live as recluses, a spiritual life, in great simplicity and austerity, and so come close to the Divine presence? Is that sin?’

The answer came from within. ‘It is sin to indulge in any earthly desire. It is sin to take pleasure. And you, Tomas de Torquemada, have exulted over these plans; you have made images of stone, works of exquisite sculpture; and you have lusted for these earthly baubles as some men lust for women.’

‘Holy Mother, scourge me,’ he prayed. ‘Guide me. Show me how I can expiate my sin. Shall I cut myself off from the work on the monastery? But it is for the glory of God that the monastery will be built. Is it such a sin to find joy in building a house of God?’

He would not visit the site of Avila for three weeks; he would look at no more plans. He would say: ‘My work at Santa Cruz demands all my energy. Castile is an unholy land, and I must do all in my power to bring sinners back to the Church.’

He rose from his knees. He had decided on the penance. He would shut his beautiful monastery from his mind for three weeks. He would live on nothing but dry bread and water; and he would increase his hours of prayer.

As he left his cell a monk came to him to tell him that two Dominicans from Seville had arrived at Santa Cruz, and they had come to speak with the Sacred Prior, Tomas de Torquemada.

Torquemada received the visitors in a cell which was bare of all furniture except a wooden table and three stools. On a wall hung a crucifix.

‘My brothers,’ said Torquemada in greeting, ‘welcome to Santa Cruz.’

‘Most holy Prior,’ said the first of the monks, ‘you know that I am Alonso de Ojeda, Prior of the monastery of Saint Paul. I would present our fellow Dominican, Diego de Merlo.’

‘Welcome, welcome,’ said Torquemada.

‘We are disturbed by events in Seville and, knowing of your great piety and influence with the Queen, we have come to ask your advice and help.’

‘I shall be glad to give it, if it should be in my power,’ was the answer.

‘Evil is practised in Seville,’ said Ojeda.

‘What evil is this, brother?’

‘The evil of those who work against the Holy Catholic Church. I speak of the Marrams.’

Torquemada’s face lost its deathlike pallor for an instant, and his blood showed pale pink beneath his skin; his eyes flashed momentarily with rage and hatred.

‘These Marrams,’ cried Diego de Merlo, ‘they abound in Seville . . . in Cordova . . . in every fair city of Castile. They are the rich men of Castile. Jews! Jews who feign to be Christians. They are Conversos. They are of the true faith; so they would imply. And in secret they practise their foul rites.’

Torquemada clenched his fists tightly and, although his face was bloodless once more, his eyes continued to gleam with fanatical hatred.

Ojeda began to speak rapidly. ‘Alonso de Spina warned us some years ago. They are here among us. They jeer at all that is sacred . . . in secret, of course. Jeer! If that were all! They are the enemies of Christians. In secret they practise their hideous rites. They spit upon holy images. You remember what Spina wrote of them?’

‘I remember,’ said Torquemada quietly.

But Ojeda went on as though Torquemada had not spoken: ‘They cook their food in oils, and they stink of rancid food. They eat kosher food. You can tell a Jew by his stink. Should we have these people among us? Only if they renounce their beliefs. Only if they are purified by their genuine acceptance of the Christian faith. But they cheat, I tell you.’

‘They are cheats and liars,’ echoed Diego de Merlo.

‘They are murderers,’ went on Ojeda. ‘They poison our wells; and worst of all they show their secret scorn of the Christian faith by committing hideous crimes. Only recently a little boy was missing from his home . . . a beautiful little boy. His body was discovered in a cave. He had been crucified, and his heart cut out.’

‘So these outrages continue,’ said Torquemada.

‘They continue, brother; and nothing is done to put an end to them.’

‘Something must be done,’ said de Merlo.

‘Something shall be done,’ replied Torquemada.

‘There should be a tribunal set up to deal with heretics,’ cried Ojeda.

‘The Inquisition is the answer,’ replied Torquemada; ‘but a new Inquisition . . . an efficient organization which would in time rid the country of heresy.’

‘There is no Inquisition in Castile at this time,’ went on Ojeda. ‘And why? Because, brother, it is considered that there are not enough cases of heresy existing in Castile to warrant the setting up of such an institution.’

Torquemada said: ‘There are Inquisitors in Aragon, in Catalonia and in Valencia. It is high time there were Inquisitors in Castile.’

‘And because of this negligence,’ said Ojeda, ‘in the town of Seville these knaves flourish. I would ask for particular attention to the men of Seville. Brother, we have come to ask your help.’