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.