All Granada was in agitation on the morning of this dismal day.  The heavy bell of the cathedral continued to utter its clanging tones, that pervaded every part of the city, summoning all persons to the tremendous spectacle that was about to be exhibited.  The streets through which the procession was to pass were crowded with the populace.  The windows, the roofs, every place that could admit a face or a foothold, were alive with spectators.  In the great square, a spacious scaffolding, like an amphitheatre, was erected, where the sentences of the prisoners were to be read, and the sermon of faith to be preached; and close by were the stakes prepared, where the condemned were to be burnt to death.  Seats were arranged for the great, the gay, the beautiful; for such is the horrible curiosity of human nature, that this cruel sacrifice was attended with more eagerness than a theatre, or even a bull-feast.

As the day advanced, the scaffolds and balconies were filled with expecting multitudes; the sun shone brightly upon fair faces and gallant dresses; one would have thought it some scene of elegant festivity, instead of an exhibition of human agony and death.  But what a different spectacle and ceremony was this, from those which Granada exhibited in the days of her Moorish splendour!  “Her galas, her tournaments, her sports of the ring, her fetes of St. John, her music, her Zambras, and admirable tilts of canes!  Her serenades, her concerts, her songs in Generaliffe!  The costly liveries of the Abencerrages, their exquisite inventions, the skill and valour of the Alabaces, the superb dresses of the Zegries, Mazas, and Gomeles!"[10]—­All these were at an end.  The days of chivalry were over.  Instead of the prancing cavalcade, with neighing steed and lively trumpet; with burnished lance, and helm, and buckler; with rich confusion of plume, and scarf, and banner, where purple, and scarlet, and green, and orange, and every gay colour, were mingled with cloth of gold and fair embroidery; instead of this, crept on the gloomy pageant of superstition, in cowl and sackcloth; with cross and coffin, and frightful symbols of human suffering.  In place of the frank, hardy knight, open and brave, with his lady’s favour in his casque, and amorous motto on his shield, looking, by gallant deeds, to win the smile of beauty, came the shaven, unmanly monk, with downcast eyes, and head and heart bleached in the cold cloister, secretly exulting in this bigot triumph.

[Footnote 10:  Rodd’s Civil Wars of Granada.]

The sound of the bells gave notice that the dismal procession was advancing.  It passed slowly through the principal streets of the city, bearing in advance the awful banner of the Holy Office.  The prisoners walked singly, attended by confessors, and guarded by familiars of the inquisition.  They were clad in different garments, according to the nature of their punishments; those who were to suffer death wore the hideous Samarra, painted with flames and demons.  The procession was swelled by choirs of boys, different religious orders and public dignitaries, and above all, by the fathers of the faith, moving “with slow pace, and profound gravity, truly triumphing as becomes the principal generals of that great victory."[11]