THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM
by Edgar Allan
Poe
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.
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 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.
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 its 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?"
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.
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
--
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.
