Sie ist Philipps Frau, Und Koeniginn, und das ist span' scher Boden. SCHILLERS DON CARLOS. The people say, There is the prince shall reign RUSSELL'S DON CARLOS. GARCI PEREZ. THE Holy Office, or, as it is popularly styled, the Inquisition, exercised, for centuries, a marked influence over the sentiments and actions of the Spaniards of every rank of life. Its great power,the secret and mysterious means by which it was accustomed to proceed, contrasted with the terrible publicity of its acts of faith,—and the deep-seated religious feelings of the people, conspired to render the Holy Office an object of mingled veneration and dread throughout the Peninsula. In general, there is reason to believe, the operations of the Inquisition were conscientiously directed, however tyrannical, bigoted, and cruel they may have been; but still there is no want of well-authenticated cases, wherein its transcendant authority was perverted to purposes of individual vengeance. And although its executions were for the most part a studiously devised ceremony of faith, yet sometimes they were performed within the speechless walls of its dungeons; and sometimes, when public VOL. I. 12 in fact, they were brought about by agency as covert as its ordinary judicial proceedings. Some idea of the corrupt objects, to which its power was occasionally applied, may be gathered from the following incidents, which, although chiefly fictitious in themselves and grouped around a supposititious personage, correspond in their nature with facts recorded in history. There dwelt in Madrid, during the reign of Charles First, a pains-taking Valencian, Gil Cano by name, who successfully exercised upon the persons of the King's lieges the double mystery of barber and surgeon, uniting therewith some occasional practice as a memorialista, or intelligencer. Although Gil Cano had as good a right to his proper Christian and surname as the proudest noble of Castile to either of his two or three hats, yet he was familiarly known by the simple appellation of El Valenciano, and so universally, indeed, that Gil himself had learned to accommodate himself to the popular usage, and to consent to be called 'the Valencian,' as it were par excellence. He occupied, for the multifarious purposes of his calling, two small apartments on the Puerta del Sol, a few doors from the corner of the Calle de la Montera ascending into the Calle de Alcala, one room being within or behind the other, and the latter opening immediately into the public square. The Puerta del Sol, it is well known, is the favorite daily lounge and rendezvous of all the idlers of this idle city, and of the multitudes from the provinces, who seek a livelihood in the court by industriously doing nothing. The great thoroughfares from all quarters of Madrid centre here, just as the circulation of the human system begins and ends in the heart. Here the old militaires, retired from the wars to eke out their days on scanty pensions, meet to fight over their battles anew; and the young officers on furlough, to discuss the ankles of the young Andalusian, who made her first appearance at the theatre in the boleros of the last evening's representation. Here, as many a sprightly fair one, carefully muffled in her mantilla, glides through the press, it is only the glance of her dark eye, or the graceful contour of her form as seen through the close black robe, which prepares the cavalier she approaches for the sly salute of her fan, or perchance the softly whispered assignation for a more unreserved interview. Here the titled courtier and the meanest beggar who sleeps by night in the church door,the priest and the penitent,-the magistrate and the bold robber of the highways,-all jostle each other in the indiscriminate crowd,-while the rattling of calesas and coaches, and the shrill cries of fruitwomen and water-sellers, are heard above the loud hum of a thousand voices earnestly engaged in animated converse, in this great popular exchange of Madrid. In short, the little shop of El Valenciano was the most public spot in the whole city. The hour of siesta had passed, and the multi tudes, which for a short space had left the Puerta del Sol to comparative solitude and quiet, were again thronging its pavements. El Valenciano was busily plying his trade, standing under the significant basin which constituted the sign over his door, or passing in and out to receive an order from one or communicate a message to another of the numerous passers by, and disappearing occasionally for a few minutes to open a vein or trim a chin; when suddenly the confused murmurs of the Puerta del Sol seemed to acquire unity of object, and the crowd to gather in a dense mass around the door of Gil Cano. The cry arose that the poor wretch, whose life and character had been entirely inoffensive, had been barbarously murdered in his own shop. It was some time before the alguazils could penetrate the noisy mob, so as to reach the scene of interest, and obtain a connected account of the circumstances; but when this was at last accomplished, the whole affair seemed sufficiently mysterious. El Valenciano was found lying extended on his back along the floor of his inner apartment, entirely dead, although still warm with recent life, his body being stretched out and his limbs composed, as it were, with some degree of care; and as no mark of violence caught the eye on a cursory inspection of his person, it was for a moment supposed that he might have died of a disease of the heart, or of some other ordinary natural cause of sudden death. But on partly removing his dress and examining his |