with the world) drove her to dispose of her books; she divided the sum realized among the needy; she left her lyre to gather dust, flung her pen far from her, and, grasping her disciplina, scourged herself; she weakened herself by fasts, opened her veins, signed new vows with her own blood, until, finally, a pestilence, which had invaded the convent, stretched her upon her couch, after she had exercised her Christian charity in ministering to her sisters. She never rose again. Science, in vain, eagerly attempted to help her. Vain were also the clamors for her health which the convent bells clanged forth. Tranquil as a saint, she received her last communion on earth and calmly closed her eyes to open them in heaven.
Sister Juana died aged forty-three years, five months, five days, and five hours, at four in the morning of April 17, 1695.
The funeral was imposing. The Canon Francisco Aguilar conducted the ceremony. The most notable men, the most distinguished ladies, and the government officials were in attendance. ‘The populace,’ says one biographer, ‘crowded about the doors of the church of San Gerónimo. All mourned that loss for letters. Poets sung her praises and Carlos de Sigüenza y Gongora pronounced the eulogy.’
THE INQUISITION.
Thus was installed, November 4, 1571, the tribunal of the Inquisition in the very loyal and very noble City of Mexico.
From that day terror began among its good inhabitants! Woe to heretics, blasphemers, and Jews! Woe to sharpers, witches and sorcerers!
Fear swept over all, and that frightful secrecy with which the tribunal surrounded itself contributed greatly to increase the terror; that mystery with which it proceeded; that impressive pomp which it displayed in its public sentences—which in time were the favorite diversion of the mob and even of the middle and comfortable class.