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THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM.
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Impia tortorum longas 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 [page 311:] 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, and night were the universe.
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 [page 312:] 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 [page 313:] 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 auto-da-fes, 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 [page
314:] 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, [page
315:] 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 — in 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 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 [page 316:] 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 [page 317:] 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 [page 318:]
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.
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 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 it 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, and I knew that surprise, or entrapment
into
torment, [page 319:]
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 oscillations 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 I 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 [page
320:] heart. It
would
fray the serge of my robe — it would return and repeat its operations —
again — and again. Notwithstanding its 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. [page 321:]
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 razor-like 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, my 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?"
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
[page 322:]
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 fame-work [[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 [page 323:]
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 vapor of heated iron! A suffocating odor 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 [page 324:] 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.
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 endeavored 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 —
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. |
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