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 pres- sure; 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,
side- long, 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, com-
pletely 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 fear- ful
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 pres- sure 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 thun- ders! 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.