be
He, it can be no one but Him!' He stops at the steps of the Seville
cathedral at the moment when the weeping mourners are bringing in a little
open white coffin. In it lies a child of seven, the only daughter of a
prominent citizen. The dead child lies hidden in flowers. 'He will raise
your child,' the crowd shouts to the weeping mother. The priest, coming to
meet the coffin, looks perplexed, and frowns, but the mother of the dead
child throws herself at His feet with a wail. 'If it is Thou, raise my
child!' she cries, holding out her hands to Him. The procession halts, the
coffin is laid on the steps at His feet. He looks with compassion, and His
lips once more softly pronounce, 'Maiden, arise!' and the maiden arises.
The little girl sits up in the coffin and looks round, smiling with
wide-open wondering eyes, holding a bunch of white roses they had put in
her hand.

"There are cries, sobs, confusion among the people, and at that moment the
cardinal himself, the Grand Inquisitor, passes by the cathedral. He is an
old man, almost ninety, tall and erect, with a withered face and sunken
eyes, in which there is still a gleam of light. He is not dressed in his
gorgeous cardinal's robes, as he was the day before, when he was burning
the enemies of the Roman Church--at this moment he is wearing his coarse,
old, monk's cassock. At a distance behind him come his gloomy assistants
and slaves and the 'holy guard.' He stops at the sight of the crowd and
watches it from a distance. He sees everything; he sees them set the
coffin down at His feet, sees the child rise up, and his face darkens. He
knits his thick gray brows and his eyes gleam with a sinister fire. He
holds out his finger and bids the guards take Him. And such is his power,
so completely are the people cowed into submission and trembling obedience
to him, that the crowd immediately makes way for the guards, and in the
midst of deathlike silence they lay hands on Him and lead Him away. The
crowd instantly bows down to the earth, like one man, before the old
Inquisitor. He blesses the people in silence and passes on. The guards
lead their prisoner to the close, gloomy vaulted prison in the ancient
palace of the Holy Inquisition and shut Him in it. The day passes and is
followed by the dark, burning, 'breathless' night of Seville. The air is
'fragrant with laurel and lemon.' In the pitch darkness the iron door of
the prison is suddenly opened and the Grand Inquisitor hi