Impia tortorum longos hic turba furores
Sanguinis innocui, non satiata, aluit.
Sospite nunc patria, fracto nunc funeris antro,
Mors ubi dira fuit vita salusque patent.
[Quatrain composed for the gates of a market to be erected upon the site of the Jacobin Club House at Paris.]
I
WAS sick -- sick unto death with that long agony; and when they at
length unbound me, and I was permitted to sit, I felt that my senses
were leaving me. The sentence -- the dread sentence of death -- was the
last of distinct accentuation which reached my ears. After that, the
sound of the inquisitorial voices seemed merged in one dreamy
indeterminate hum. It conveyed to my soul the idea of revolution --
perhaps from its association in fancy with the burr of a mill wheel.
This only for a brief period; for presently I heard no more. Yet, for a
while, I saw; but with how terrible an exaggeration! I saw the lips of
the black-robed judges. They appeared to me white -- whiter than the
sheet upon which I trace these words -- and thin even to grotesqueness;
thin with the intensity of their expression of firmness -- of immoveable
resolution -- of stern contempt of human torture. I saw that the
decrees of what to me was Fate, were still issuing from those lips. I
saw them writhe with a deadly
locution.
I saw them fashion the syllables of my name; and I shuddered because no
sound succeeded. I saw, too, for a few moments of delirious horror, the
soft and nearly imperceptible waving of the sable draperies which
enwrapped the walls of the apartment. And then my vision fell upon the
seven tall candles upon the table. At first they wore the aspect of
charity, and seemed white and slender angels who would save me; but
then, all at once, there came a most deadly nausea over my spirit, and I
felt every fibre in my frame thrill as if I had touched the wire of a
galvanic
battery, while the angel forms became meaningless spectres, with heads
of flame, and I saw that from them there would be no help. And then
there stole into my fancy, like a rich musical note, the thought of what
sweet rest there must be in the grave. The thought came gently and
stealthily, and it seemed long before it attained full appreciation; but
just as my spirit came at length properly to feel and entertain it, the
figures of the judges vanished, as if magically, from before me; the
tall candles sank into nothingness; their flames went out utterly; the
blackness of darkness supervened; all sensations appeared swallowed up
in a mad rushing descent as of the soul into Hades. Then silence, and
stillness, night were the universe.
 |
| "And then my vision fell upon the
seven tall candles upon the table. At first they wore the aspect of
charity, and seemed white and slender angels who would save me..." |
I had swooned; but still will
not say that all of consciousness was lost. What of it there remained I
will not attempt to define, or even to describe; yet all was not lost.
In the deepest slumber -- no! In delirium -- no! In a swoon -- no! In
death -- no! even in the grave all is not lost. Else there is no
immortality for man. Arousing from the most profound of slumbers, we
break the
gossamer web of
some
dream. Yet in a second afterward, (so frail may that web have been) we
remember not that we have dreamed. In the return to life from the swoon
there are two stages; first, that of the sense of mental or spiritual;
secondly, that of the sense of physical, existence. It seems probable
that if, upon reaching the second stage, we could recall the impressions
of the first, we should find these impressions eloquent in memories of
the gulf beyond. And that gulf is -- what? How at least shall we
distinguish its shadows from those of the tomb? But if the impressions
of what I have termed the first stage, are not, at will, recalled, yet,
after long interval, do they not come unbidden, while we marvel whence
they come? He who has never swooned, is not he who finds strange palaces
and wildly familiar faces in coals that glow; is not he who beholds
floating in mid-air the sad visions that the many may not view; is not
he who ponders over the perfume of some novel flower -- is not he whose
brain grows bewildered with the meaning of some musical cadence which
has never before arrested his attention.
Amid frequent and
thoughtful endeavors to remember; amid earnest struggles to regather
some token of the state of seeming nothingness into which my soul had
lapsed, there have been moments when I have dreamed of success; there
have been brief, very brief periods when I have conjured up remembrances
which the lucid reason of a later epoch assures me could have had
reference only to that condition of seeming unconsciousness. These
shadows of memory tell, indistinctly, of tall figures that lifted and
bore me in silence down -- down -- still down -- till a hideous
dizziness oppressed me at the mere idea of the interminableness of the
descent. They tell also of a vague horror at my heart, on account of
that heart's unnatural stillness. Then comes a sense of sudden
motionlessness throughout all things; as if those who bore me (a ghastly
train!) had outrun, in their descent, the limits of the limitless, and
paused from the wearisomeness of their toil. After this I call to mind
flatness and dampness; and then all is madness -- the madness of a
memory which busies itself among forbidden things.
Very suddenly
there came back to my soul motion and sound -- the tumultuous motion of
the heart, and, in my ears, the sound of its beating. Then a pause in
which all is blank. Then again sound, and motion, and touch -- a
tingling sensation pervading my frame. Then the mere consciousness of
existence, without thought -- a condition which lasted long. Then, very
suddenly, thought, and shuddering terror, and earnest endeavor to
comprehend my true state. Then a strong desire to lapse into
insensibility. Then a rushing revival of soul and a successful effort to
move. And now a full memory of the trial, of the judges, of the sable
draperies, of the sentence, of the sickness, of the swoon. Then entire
forgetfulness of all that followed; of all that a later day and much
earnestness of endeavor have enabled me vaguely to recall.
So
far, I had not opened my eyes. I felt that I lay upon my back, unbound. I
reached out my hand, and it fell heavily upon something damp and hard.
There I suffered it to remain for many minutes, while I strove to
imagine where and what I could be. I longed, yet dared not to employ my
vision. I dreaded the first glance at objects around me. It was not that
I feared to look upon things horrible, but that I grew
aghast
lest there should be nothing to see. At length, with a wild desperation
at heart, I quickly unclosed my eyes. My worst thoughts, then, were
confirmed. The blackness of eternal night encompassed me. I struggled
for breath. The intensity of the darkness seemed to oppress and stifle
me. The atmosphere was intolerably close. I still lay quietly, and made
effort to exercise my reason. I brought to mind the inquisitorial
proceedings, and attempted from that point to deduce my real condition.
The sentence had passed; and it appeared to me that a very long interval
of time had since elapsed. Yet not for a moment did I suppose myself
actually dead. Such a supposition, notwithstanding what we read in
fiction, is altogether inconsistent with real existence; -- but where
and in what state was I? The condemned to death, I knew, perished
usually at the autos-da-fe, and one of these had been held on the very
night of the day of my trial. Had I been remanded to my dungeon, to
await the next sacrifice, which would not take place for many months?
This I at once saw could not be. Victims had been in immediate demand.
Moreover, my dungeon, as well as all the condemned cells at Toledo, had stone floors, and light was not altogether excluded.
A
fearful idea now suddenly drove the blood in torrents upon my heart,
and for a brief period, I once more relapsed into insensibility. Upon
recovering, I at once started to my feet, trembling convulsively in
every fibre. I thrust my arms wildly above and around me in all
directions. I felt nothing; yet dreaded to move a step, lest I should be
impeded by the walls of a tomb. Perspiration burst from every pore, and
stood in cold big beads upon my forehead. The agony of suspense grew at
length intolerable, and I cautiously moved forward, with my arms
extended, and my eyes straining from their sockets, in the hope of
catching some faint ray of light. I proceeded for many paces; but still
all was blackness and vacancy. I breathed more freely. It seemed evident
that mine was not, at least, the most hideous of fates.
And now,
as I still continued to step cautiously onward, there came thronging
upon my recollection a thousand vague rumors of the horrors of Toledo.
Of the dungeons there had been strange things narrated -- fables I had
always deemed them -- but yet strange, and too ghastly to repeat, save
in a whisper. Was I left to perish of starvation in this subterranean
world of darkness; or what fate, perhaps even more fearful, awaited me?
That the result would be death, and a death of more than customary
bitterness, I knew too well the character of my judges to doubt. The
mode and the hour were all that occupied or distracted me.
My
outstretched hands at length encountered some solid obstruction. It was a
wall, seemingly of stone masonry -- very smooth, slimy, and cold. I
followed it up; stepping with all the careful distrust with which
certain antique narratives had inspired me. This process, however,
afforded me no means of ascertaining the dimensions of my dungeon; as I
might make its circuit, and return to the point whence I set out,
without being aware of the fact; so perfectly uniform seemed the wall. I
therefore sought the knife which had been in my pocket, when led into
the inquisitorial chamber; but it was gone; my clothes had been
exchanged for a wrapper of coarse serge. I had thought of forcing the
blade in some minute crevice of the masonry, so as to identify my point
of departure. The difficulty, nevertheless, was but trivial; although,
in the disorder of my fancy, it seemed at first insuperable. I tore a
part of the hem from the robe and placed the fragment at full length,
and at right angles to the wall. In groping my way around the prison, I
could not fail to encounter this rag upon completing the circuit. So, at
least I thought: but I had not counted upon the extent of the dungeon,
or upon my own weakness. The ground was moist and slippery. I staggered
onward for some time, when I stumbled and fell. My excessive fatigue
induced me to remain prostrate; and sleep soon overtook me as I lay.
Upon
awaking, and stretching forth an arm, I found beside me a loaf and a
pitcher with water. I was too much exhausted to reflect upon this
circumstance, but ate and drank with avidity. Shortly afterward, I
resumed my tour around the prison, and with much toil came at last upon
the fragment of the serge. Up to the period when I fell I had counted
fifty-two paces, and upon resuming my walk, I had counted forty-eight
more; -- when I arrived at the rag. There were in all, then, a hundred
paces; and, admitting two paces to the yard, I presumed the dungeon to
be fifty yards in circuit. I had met, however, with many angles in the
wall, and thus I could form no guess at the shape of the vault; for
vault I could not help supposing it to be.
I had little object --
certainly no hope these researches; but a vague curiosity prompted me
to continue them. Quitting the wall, I resolved to cross the area of the
enclosure. At first I proceeded with extreme caution, for the floor,
although seemingly of solid material, was treacherous with slime. At
length, however, I took courage, and did not hesitate to step firmly;
endeavoring to cross in as direct a line as possible. I had advanced
some ten or twelve paces in this manner, when the remnant of the torn
hem of my robe became entangled between my legs. I stepped on it, and
fell violently on my face.
In the confusion attending my fall, I
did not immediately apprehend a somewhat startling circumstance, which
yet, in a few seconds afterward, and while I still lay prostrate,
arrested my attention. It was this -- my chin rested upon the floor of
the prison, but my lips and the upper portion of my head, although
seemingly at a less elevation than the chin, touched nothing. At the
same time my forehead seemed bathed in a clammy vapor, and the peculiar
smell of decayed fungus arose to my nostrils. I put forward my arm, and
shuddered to find that I had fallen at the very brink of a circular pit,
whose extent, of course, I had no means of ascertaining at the moment.
Groping about the masonry just below the margin, I succeeded in
dislodging a small fragment, and let it fall into the abyss. For many
seconds I hearkened to its reverberations as it dashed against the sides
of the chasm in its descent; at length there was a sullen plunge into
water, succeeded by loud echoes. At the same moment there came a sound
resembling the quick opening, and as rapid closing of a door overhead,
while a faint gleam of light flashed suddenly through the gloom, and as
suddenly faded away.
 |
| "I put forward my arm, and
shuddered to find that I had fallen at the very brink of a circular pit,
whose extent, of course, I had no means of ascertaining at the moment." |
I saw clearly the doom which had been
prepared for me, and congratulated myself upon the timely accident by
which I had escaped. Another step before my fall, and the world had seen
me no more. And the death just avoided, was of that very character
which I had regarded as fabulous and frivolous in the tales respecting
the
Inquisition. To
the victims of its tyranny, there was the choice of death with its
direst physical agonies, or death with its most hideous moral horrors. I
had been reserved for the latter. By long suffering my nerves had been
unstrung, until I trembled at the sound of my own voice, and had become
in every respect a fitting subject for the species of torture which
awaited me.
Shaking in every limb, I groped my way back to the
wall; resolving there to perish rather than risk the terrors of the
wells, of which my imagination now pictured many in various positions
about the dungeon. In other conditions of mind I might have had courage
to end my misery at once by a plunge into one of these abysses; but now I
was the
veriest of
cowards. Neither could I forget what I had read of these pits -- that
the sudden extinction of life formed no part of their most horrible
plan.
Agitation of spirit kept me awake for many long hours; but
at length I again slumbered. Upon arousing, I found by my side, as
before, a loaf and a pitcher of water. A burning thirst consumed me, and
I emptied the vessel at a draught. It must have been drugged; for
scarcely had I drunk, before I became irresistibly drowsy. A deep sleep
fell upon me -- a sleep like that of death. How long it lasted of
course, I know not; but when, once again, I unclosed my eyes, the
objects around me were visible. By a wild sulphurous lustre, the origin
of which I could not at first determine, I was enabled to see the extent
and aspect of the prison.
In its size I had been greatly
mistaken. The whole circuit of its walls did not exceed twenty-five
yards. For some minutes this fact occasioned me a world of vain trouble;
vain indeed! for what could be of less importance, under the terrible
circumstances which environed me, then the mere dimensions of my
dungeon? But my soul took a wild interest in trifles, and I busied
myself in endeavors to account for the error I had committed in my
measurement. The truth at length flashed upon me. In my first attempt at
exploration I had counted fifty-two paces, up to the period when I
fell; I must then have been within a pace or two of the fragment of
serge; in fact, I had nearly performed the circuit of the vault. I then
slept, and upon awaking, I must have returned upon my steps -- thus
supposing the circuit nearly double what it actually was. My confusion
of mind prevented me from observing that I began my tour with the wall
to the left, and ended it with the wall to the right.
I had been
deceived, too, in respect to the shape of the enclosure. In feeling my
way I had found many angles, and thus deduced an idea of great
irregularity; so potent is the effect of total darkness upon one
arousing from lethargy or sleep! The angles were simply those of a few
slight depressions, or niches, at odd intervals. The general shape of
the prison was square. What I had taken for masonry seemed now to be
iron, or some other metal, in huge plates, whose sutures or joints
occasioned the depression. The entire surface of this metallic enclosure
was rudely daubed in all the hideous and repulsive devices to which the
charnel
superstition of the monks has given rise. The figures of fiends in
aspects of menace, with skeleton forms, and other more really fearful
images, overspread and disfigured the walls. I observed that the
outlines of these monstrosities were sufficiently distinct, but that the
colors seemed faded and blurred, as if from the effects of a damp
atmosphere. I now noticed the floor, too, which was of stone. In the
centre yawned the circular pit from whose jaws I had escaped; but it was
the only one in the dungeon.
All this I saw indistinctly and by
much effort: for my personal condition had been greatly changed during
slumber. I now lay upon my back, and at full length, on a species of low
framework of wood. To this I was securely bound by a long strap
resembling a
surcingle.
It passed in many convolutions about my limbs and body, leaving at
liberty only my head, and my left arm to such extent that I could, by
dint
of much exertion, supply myself with food from an earthen dish which
lay by my side on the floor. I saw, to my horror, that the pitcher had
been removed. I say to my horror; for I was consumed with intolerable
thirst. This thirst it appeared to be the design of my persecutors to
stimulate: for the food in the dish was meat pungently seasoned.
Looking
upward, I surveyed the ceiling of my prison. It was some thirty or
forty feet overhead, and constructed much as the side walls. In one of
its panels a very singular figure riveted my whole attention. It was the
painted figure of Time as he is commonly represented, save that, in
lieu of a scythe,
he held what, at a casual glance, I supposed to be the pictured image of
a huge pendulum such as we see on antique clocks. There was something,
however, in the appearance of this machine which caused me to regard it
more attentively. While I gazed directly upward at it (for its position
was immediately over my own) I fancied that I saw it in motion. In an
instant afterward the fancy was confirmed. Its sweep was brief, and of
course slow. I watched it for some minutes, somewhat in fear, but more
in wonder. Wearied at length with observing its dull movement, I turned
my eyes upon the other objects in the cell.
 |
| "It was the
painted figure of Time as he is commonly represented, save that, in
lieu of a scythe,
he held what, at a casual glance, I supposed to be the pictured image of
a huge pendulum such as we see on antique clocks." |
A slight noise
attracted my notice, and, looking to the floor, I saw several enormous
rats traversing it. They had issued from the well, which lay just within
view to my right. Even then, while I gazed, they came up in troops,
hurriedly, with ravenous eyes, allured by the scent of the meat. From
this it required much effort and attention to scare them away.
It
might have been half an hour, perhaps even an hour, (for in cast my I
could take but imperfect note of time) before I again cast my eyes
upward. What I then saw confounded and amazed me. The sweep of the
pendulum had increased in extent by nearly a yard. As a natural
consequence, its velocity was also much greater. But what mainly
disturbed me was the idea that had perceptibly descended. I now observed
-- with what horror it is needless to say -- that its nether extremity
was formed of a crescent of glittering steel, about a foot in length
from horn to horn; the horns upward, and the under edge evidently as
keen as that of a razor. Like a razor also, it seemed massy and heavy,
tapering from the edge into a solid and broad structure above. It was
appended to a weighty rod of brass, and the whole hissed as it swung
through the air.
I could no longer doubt the doom prepared for me
by monkish ingenuity in torture. My cognizance of the pit had become
known to the inquisitorial agents -- the pit whose horrors had been
destined for so bold a recusant as myself -- the pit, typical of hell, and regarded by rumor as the Ultima Thule
of all their punishments. The plunge into this pit I had avoided by the
merest of accidents, I knew that surprise, or entrapment into torment,
formed an important portion of all the grotesquerie of these dungeon
deaths. Having failed to fall, it was no part of the demon plan to hurl
me into the abyss; and thus (there being no alternative) a different and
a milder destruction awaited me. Milder! I half smiled in my agony as I
thought of such application of such a term.
What boots it to
tell of the long, long hours of horror more than mortal, during which I
counted the rushing vibrations of the steel! Inch by inch -- line by
line -- with a descent only appreciable at intervals that seemed ages --
down and still down it came! Days passed -- it might have been that
many days passed -- ere it swept so closely over me as to fan me with
its acrid breath.
The odor of the sharp steel forced itself into my nostrils. I prayed -- I
wearied heaven with my prayer for its more speedy descent. I grew
frantically mad, and struggled to force myself upward against the sweep
of the fearful scimitar. And then I fell suddenly calm, and lay smiling at the glittering death, as a child at some rare bauble.
There
was another interval of utter insensibility; it was brief; for, upon
again lapsing into life there had been no perceptible descent in the
pendulum. But it might have been long; for I knew there were demons who
took note of my swoon, and who could have arrested the vibration at
pleasure. Upon my recovery, too, I felt very -- oh, inexpressibly sick
and weak, as if through long inanition.
Even amid the agonies of that period, the human nature craved food.
With painful effort I outstretched my left arm as far as my bonds
permitted, and took possession of the small remnant which had been
spared me by the rats. As I put a portion of it within my lips, there
rushed to my mind a half formed thought of joy -- of hope. Yet what
business had I with hope? It was, as I say, a half formed thought -- man
has many such which are never completed. I felt that it was of joy --
of hope; but felt also that it had perished in its formation. In vain I
struggled to perfect -- to regain it. Long suffering had nearly
annihilated all my ordinary powers of mind. I was an imbecile -- an
idiot.
The vibration of the pendulum was at right angles to my
length. I saw that the crescent was designed to cross the region of the
heart. It would fray the serge of my robe -- it would return and repeat
its operations -- again -- and again. Notwithstanding terrifically wide
sweep (some thirty feet or more) and the hissing vigor of its descent,
sufficient to sunder
these very walls of iron, still the fraying of my robe would be all
that, for several minutes, it would accomplish. And at this thought I
paused. I dared not go farther than this reflection. I dwelt upon it
with a pertinacity
of attention -- as if, in so dwelling, I could arrest here the descent
of the steel. I forced myself to ponder upon the sound of the crescent
as it should pass across the garment -- upon the peculiar thrilling
sensation which the friction of cloth produces on the nerves. I pondered
upon all this frivolity until my teeth were on edge.
Down --
steadily down it crept. I took a frenzied pleasure in contrasting its
downward with its lateral velocity. To the right -- to the left -- far
and wide -- with the shriek of a damned spirit; to my heart with the
stealthy pace of the tiger! I alternately laughed and howled as the one
or the other idea grew predominant.
Down -- certainly,
relentlessly down! It vibrated within three inches of my bosom! I
struggled violently, furiously, to free my left arm. This was free only
from the elbow to the hand. I could reach the latter, from the platter
beside me, to my mouth, with great effort, but no farther. Could I have
broken the fastenings above the elbow, I would have seized and attempted
to arrest the pendulum. I might as well have attempted to arrest an
avalanche!
Down -- still unceasingly -- still inevitably down! I
gasped and struggled at each vibration. I shrunk convulsively at its
every sweep. My eyes followed its outward or upward whirls with the
eagerness of the most unmeaning despair; they closed themselves
spasmodically at the descent, although death would have been a relief,
oh! how unspeakable! Still I quivered in every nerve to think how slight
a sinking of the machinery would precipitate that keen, glistening axe
upon my bosom. It was hope that prompted the nerve to quiver -- the
frame to shrink. It was hope -- the hope that triumphs on the rack --
that whispers to the death-condemned even in the dungeons of the Inquisition.
I
saw that some ten or twelve vibrations would bring the steel in actual
contact with my robe, and with this observation there suddenly came over
my spirit all the keen, collected calmness of despair. For the first
time during many hours -- or perhaps days -- I thought. It now occurred
to me that the bandage, or surcingle, which enveloped me, was unique. I was tied by no separate cord. The first stroke of the razorlike crescent athwart
any portion of the band, would so detach it that it might be unwound
from my person by means of my left hand. But how fearful, in that case,
the proximity of the steel! The result of the slightest struggle how
deadly! Was it likely, moreover, that the minions of the torturer had
not foreseen and provided for this possibility! Was it probable that the
bandage crossed my bosom in the track of the pendulum? Dreading to find
my faint, and, as it seemed, in last hope frustrated, I so far elevated
my head as to obtain a distinct view of my breast. The surcingle enveloped my limbs and body close in all directions -- save in the path of the destroying crescent.
Scarcely
had I dropped my head back into its original position, when there
flashed upon my mind what I cannot better describe than as the unformed
half of that idea of deliverance to which I have previously alluded, and
of which a moiety
only floated indeterminately through my brain when I raised food to my
burning lips. The whole thought was now present -- feeble, scarcely
sane, scarcely definite, -- but still entire. I proceeded at once, with
the nervous energy of despair, to attempt its execution.
For many
hours the immediate vicinity of the low framework upon which I lay, had
been literally swarming with rats. They were wild, bold, ravenous;
their red eyes glaring upon me as if they waited but for motionlessness
on my part to make me their prey. "To what food," I thought, "have they
been accustomed in the well?"
 |
| "For many
hours the immediate vicinity of the low framework upon which I lay, had
been literally swarming with rats." |
They had devoured, in spite of all
my efforts to prevent them, all but a small remnant of the contents of
the dish. I had fallen into an habitual see-saw, or wave of the hand
about the platter: and, at length, the unconscious uniformity of the
movement deprived it of effect. In their voracity the vermin frequently
fastened their sharp fangs in my fingers. With the particles of the oily
and spicy viand
which now remained, I thoroughly rubbed the bandage wherever I could
reach it; then, raising my hand from the floor, I lay breathlessly
still.
At first the ravenous animals were startled and terrified
at the change -- at the cessation of movement. They shrank alarmedly
back; many sought the well. But this was only for a moment. I had not
counted in vain upon their voracity. Observing that I remained without
motion, one or two of the boldest leaped upon the frame-work, and smelt
at the surcingle.
This seemed the signal for a general rush. Forth from the well they
hurried in fresh troops. They clung to the wood -- they overran it, and
leaped in hundreds upon my person. The measured movement of the pendulum
disturbed them not at all. Avoiding its strokes they busied themselves
with the anointed bandage. They pressed -- they swarmed upon me in ever
accumulating heaps. They writhed upon my throat; their cold lips sought
my own; I was half stifled by their thronging pressure; disgust, for
which the world has no name, swelled my bosom, and chilled, with a heavy
clamminess, my heart. Yet one minute, and I felt that the struggle
would be over. Plainly I perceived the loosening of the bandage. I knew
that in more than one place it must be already severed. With a more than
human resolution I lay still.
Nor had I erred in my calculations -- nor had I endured in vain. I at length felt that I was free. The surcingle hung in ribands
from my body. But the stroke of the pendulum already pressed upon my
bosom. It had divided the serge of the robe. It had cut through the
linen beneath. Twice again it swung, and a sharp sense of pain shot
through every nerve. But the moment of escape had arrived. At a wave of
my hand my deliverers hurried tumultuously away. With a steady movement
-- cautious, sidelong, shrinking, and slow -- I slid from the embrace of
the bandage and beyond the reach of the scimitar. For the moment, at least, I was free.
Free! -- and in the grasp of the Inquisition!
I had scarcely stepped from my wooden bed of horror upon the stone
floor of the prison, when the motion of the hellish machine ceased and I
beheld it drawn up, by some invisible force, through the ceiling. This
was a lesson which I took desperately to heart. My every motion was
undoubtedly watched. Free! -- I had but escaped death in one form of
agony, to be delivered unto worse than death in some other. With that
thought I rolled my eves nervously around on the barriers of iron that
hemmed me in. Something unusual -- some change which, at first, I could
not appreciate distinctly -- it was obvious, had taken place in the
apartment. For many minutes of a dreamy and trembling abstraction, I
busied myself in vain, unconnected conjecture. During this period, I
became aware, for the first time, of the origin of the sulphurous light
which illumined the cell. It proceeded from a fissure, about half an
inch in width, extending entirely around the prison at the base of the
walls, which thus appeared, and were, completely separated from the
floor. I endeavored, but of course in vain, to look through the aperture.
As
I arose from the attempt, the mystery of the alteration in the chamber
broke at once upon my understanding. I have observed that, although the
outlines of the figures upon the walls were sufficiently distinct, yet
the colors seemed blurred and indefinite. These colors had now assumed,
and were momentarily assuming, a startling and most intense brilliancy,
that gave to the spectral and fiendish portraitures an aspect that might
have thrilled even firmer nerves than my own. Demon eyes, of a wild and
ghastly vivacity, glared upon me in a thousand directions, where none
had been visible before, and gleamed with the lurid lustre of a fire
that I could not force my imagination to regard as unreal.
Unreal!
-- Even while I breathed there came to my nostrils the breath of the
vapour of heated iron! A suffocating odour pervaded the prison! A deeper
glow settled each moment in the eyes that glared at my agonies! A
richer tint of crimson diffused itself over the pictured horrors of
blood. I panted! I gasped for breath! There could be no doubt of the
design of my tormentors -- oh! most unrelenting! oh! most demoniac of
men! I shrank from the glowing metal to the centre of the cell. Amid the
thought of the fiery destruction that impended, the idea of the
coolness of the well came over my soul like balm. I rushed to its deadly
brink. I threw my straining vision below. The glare from the enkindled
roof illumined its inmost recesses. Yet, for a wild moment, did my
spirit refuse to comprehend the meaning of what I saw. At length it
forced -- it wrestled its way into my soul -- it burned itself in upon
my shuddering reason. -- Oh! for a voice to speak! -- oh! horror! -- oh!
any horror but this! With a shriek, I rushed from the margin, and
buried my face in my hands -- weeping bitterly.
 |
| "Even while I breathed there came to my nostrils the breath of the
vapour of heated iron! A suffocating odour pervaded the prison! A deeper
glow settled each moment in the eyes that glared at my agonies!" |
The heat rapidly
increased, and once again I looked up, shuddering as with a fit of the
ague. There had been a second change in the cell -- and now the change
was obviously in the form. As before, it was in vain that I, at first,
endeavoured to appreciate or understand what was taking place. But not
long was I left in doubt. The Inquisitorial vengeance had been hurried
by my two-fold escape, and there was to be no more dallying with the
King of Terrors. The room had been square. I saw that two of its iron
angles were now acute -- two, consequently, obtuse.
The fearful difference quickly increased with a low rumbling or moaning
sound. In an instant the apartment had shifted its form into that of a
lozenge. But the alteration stopped not here-I neither hoped nor desired
it to stop. I could have clasped the red walls to my bosom as a garment
of eternal peace. "Death," I said, "any death but that of the pit!"
Fool! might I have not known that into the pit it was the object of the
burning iron to urge me? Could I resist its glow? or, if even that,
could I withstand its pressure And now, flatter and flatter grew the
lozenge, with a rapidity that left me no time for contemplation. Its
centre, and of course, its greatest width, came just over the yawning
gulf. I shrank back -- but the closing walls pressed me resistlessly
onward. At length for my seared and writhing body there was no longer an
inch of foothold on the firm floor of the prison. I struggled no more,
but the agony of my soul found vent in one loud, long, and final scream
of despair. I felt that I tottered upon the brink -- I averted my eyes
--
 |
| "Fool! might I have not known that into the pit it was the object of the
burning iron to urge me? Could I resist its glow?" |
There was a discordant hum of human voices! There was a loud
blast as of many trumpets! There was a harsh grating as of a thousand
thunders! The fiery walls rushed back! An outstretched arm caught my own
as I fell, fainting, into the abyss. It was that of General Lasalle.
The French army had entered Toledo. The Inquisition was in the hands of its enemies.
