APDL Eductation Resources/APDL Eductation Resources.iso/text/authors/poe/pitpendlum/PITPENDLUM

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                        1842
               THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM
                   by Edgar Allen Poe

          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 he 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.

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.


                                 -THE END-