in black—in a flood of light, so that they looked
like demons on the borders of Heaven—came
in. The alcaid threw down by my pallet a
heap of clothes, told me to put them on,
and hold myself ready for a second summons.
I had no tongue to answer, as they lighted my
lamp, left me, and locked the door behind
them. Such a trembling seized me for
half-an-hour that I could not rise and look at the
clothes, which seemed to me, shrouds and
winding-sheets. I rose at last, threw myself
down before the black cross I had
smeared with charcoal on the wall, and
committed myself, as a miserable sinner, into
God's hands. I then put on the dress;
which consisted of a tunic with long, loose
sleeves and hose drawers; all of black serge,
striped with white.

At two o'clock in the morning the wretches
came and led me into a long gallery where
nearly two hundred men—draughted from
their various cells, all dressed in black—stood
in a long silent line against the wall of the long
plain, cold vaulted corridor; where, over every
two dozen heads, swung a huge brass lamp.
We stood silent as a funeral-train. The women,
also in black, were in a neighbouring gallery
far out of our sight. By sad glimpses down
a neighbouring dormitory I could see more
men dressed in black; who, from time to
time, paced backward and forward. These,
I afterwards found, were men doomed also
to be burnt, not for murder—no, but for
having a creed unlike that of the Jesuits.
Whether I was to be burnt or not I did not
know; but I took courage, because my dress
was like that of the rest, and the monsters
could not dare to put two hundred men at
once into one fire; though they did hate all
who love doll-idols and lying miracles.

Presently, as we waited sad and silent,
gaolers came round and handed us each a
long yellow taper and a yellow scapular or
tabard, crossed behind and before with red
crosses of Saint Andrew. These were the
Sanbenitos that Jews, Turks, Sorcerers, witches,
Heathen or perverts from the Roman Catholic
Church are compelled to wear. Next
came the gradation of our ranks. Those
who had relapsed, or who were obstinate,
during their accusations, wore the Sambarra;
which is grey, with a man's head burning
on red faggots painted at the bottom, and
all round, reversed flumes, and winged and
armed black devils horrible to behold. I,
and seventy others, wore these; and I lost
all hope. My blood turned to ice. I could
scarcely keep myself from swooning. After
this distribution, they brought us, with hard,
mechanical regularity, pasteboard conical
mitres (carrochas) painted with flames and
devils, with the words SORCERER and HERETIC
written round the rim. Our feet were all
bare; the condemned men, pale as death,
now began to weep, and keep their faces
covered with their hands; round which the
beads were twisted. God only—by speaking

from Heaven—could save them. A rough,
hard voice now told us we might sit on the
ground till our next orders came. The old
men and the boys smiled as they eagerly sat
down; for this small relief came to them
with the refreshment of a pleasure.

At four o'clock they brought us bread and
figs, which some dropped by their sides and
others languidly ate. I refused mine, but a
guard prayed me to put it in my pocket, for I
may yet have had need of it. It was as if an
angel had comforted me. At five o'clock, at
daybreak, it was a ghastly sight to see
shame, fear, grief, despair written on our pale,
livid faces. Yet not one but felt an
undercurrent of joy at the prospect of any
release, even by death.

Suddenly, as we look at each other with
ghastly eyes, the great bell of the Giralda
began to boom, with a funeral knell, long and
slow. It was the signal of the Gala-day of
the Holy Office. It was the signal for the
people to come to the show. We were filed
out one by one. As I passed the gallery in
the great hall I saw the Inquisitor, solemn
and stern, in his black robes, throned at the
gate. Beneath him was his secretary, with a
list of the citizens of Seville in his wiry
twitching hands. The room was full of the
anxious frightened burghers; who, as their
names were called, and a prisoner passed
through, moved to his trembling side to
serve as his Godfather in the Act of Faith.
The honest men shuddered as they took their
place in the horrible death procession; the
time-serving men smiled at the Inquisitor,
and bustled forward. This was thought an
honourable office, and was sought after by
hypocrites, and suspected men afraid of the
Church's sword.

The procession commenced with the
Dominicans, whose founder instituted the
Inquisition. Before them flaunted the banner of
the order, representing in glistening
embroidery that burns in the sun and shines
like a mirror, the frocked Saint, holding a
threatening sword in one hand, and, in the
other, an olive-branch, with the motto Justice
and mercy. God of love, what a mockery of
thy attributes! Behind the banner came the
prisoners, in their yellow scapulars, holding
their lighted torches; their feet bleeding with
the stones, and their less frightened godfathers,
gay in cloak, and sword, and ruff, tripping
along by their side, holding their plumed hats
in their hands. The street, and windows were
crowded with careless eyes. Children were held,
up to execrate us as we passed to our torturing
death. The auto-da-fé was always a holiday
sight to the craftsmen and apprentices: it
drew more than even a bull-fight; because
of the touch of tragedy about it. Our
procession, like a long black snake, wound on,
with its banners and crosses; its shaven
monks and mitred bare-footed prisoners;
through street after street, heralded by
soldiers who ran before to clear a way for