The Pit and the Pendulum

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 be erected upon the site of the Jacobin Club House at Paris.)

I WAS SICK—sick unto death with that long agony; and when they at length unbound me, and I was permitted to sit, I felt that my senses were leaving me. The sentence—the dread sentence of death—was the last of distinct accentuation which reached my ears. After that, the sound of the inquisitorial voices seemed merged in one dreamy indeterminate hum. It conveyed to my soul the idea of revolution—perhaps from its association in fancy with the burr of a mill wheel. This only for a brief period; for presently I heard no more. Yet, for a while, I saw; but with how terrible an exaggeration! I saw the lips of the black-robed judges. They appeared to me white—whiter than the sheet upon which I trace these words—and thin even to grotesqueness; thin with the intensity of their expression of firmness—of immoveable resolution—of stern contempt of human torture. I saw that the decrees of what to me was Fate, were still issuing from those lips. I saw them writhe with a deadly locution. I saw them fashion the syllables of my name; and I shuddered because no sound succeeded. I saw, too, for a few moments of delirious horror, the soft and nearly imperceptible waving of the sable draperies which enwrapped the walls of the apartment. And then my vision fell upon the seven tall candles upon the table. At first they wore the aspect of charity, and seemed white and slender angels who would save me; but then, all at once, there came a most deadly nausea over my spirit, and I felt every fibre in my frame thrill as if I had touched the wire of a galvanic battery, while the angel forms became meaningless spectres, with heads of flame, and I saw that from them there would be no help. And then there stole into my fancy, like a rich musical note, the thought of what sweet rest there must be in the grave. The thought came gently and stealthily, and it seemed long before it attained full appreciation; but just as my spirit came at length properly to feel and entertain it, the figures of the judges vanished, as if magically, from before me; the tall candles sank into nothingness; their flames went out utterly; the blackness of darkness supervened; all sensations appeared swallowed up in a mad rushing descent as of the soul into Hades. Then silence, and stillness, and night were the universe.

I had swooned; but still will not say that all of consciousness was lost. What of it there remained I will not attempt to define, or even to describe; yet all was not lost. In the deepest slumber—no! In delirium—no! In a swoon—no! In death—no! even in the grave all is not lost. Else there is no immortality for man. Arousing from the most profound of slumbers, we break the gossamer web of some dream. Yet in a second afterward, (so frail may that web have been) we remember not that we have dreamed. In the return to life from the swoon there are two stages; first, that of the sense of mental or spiritual; secondly, that of the sense of physical, existence. It seems probable that if, upon reaching the second stage, we could recall the impressions of the first, we should find these impressions eloquent in memories of the gulf beyond. And that gulf is—what? How at least shall we distinguish its shadows from those of the tomb? But if the impressions of what I have termed the first stage, are not, at will, recalled, yet, after long interval, do they not come unbidden, while we marvel whence they come? He who has never swooned, is not he who finds strange palaces and wildly familiar faces in coals that glow; is not he who beholds floating in mid-air the sad visions that the many may not view; is not he who ponders over the perfume of some novel flower—is not he whose brain grows 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 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 its terrifically wide sweep (some thirty feet or more) and the hissing vigor of its descent, sufficient to sunder these very walls of iron, still the fraying of my robe would be all that, for several minutes, it would accomplish. And at this thought I paused. I dared not go farther than this reflection. I dwelt upon it with a pertinacity of attention—as if, in so dwelling, I could arrest here the descent of the steel. I forced myself to ponder upon the sound of the crescent as it should pass across the garment—upon the peculiar thrilling sensation which the friction of cloth produces on the nerves. I pondered upon all this frivolity until my teeth were on edge.

Down—steadily down it crept. I took a frenzied pleasure in contrasting its downward with its lateral velocity. To the right—to the left—far and wide—with the shriek of a damned spirit; to my heart with the stealthy pace of the tiger! I alternately laughed and howled as the one or the other idea grew predominant.

Down—certainly, relentlessly down! It vibrated within three inches of my bosom! I struggled violently, furiously, to free my left arm. This was free only from the elbow to the hand. I could reach the latter, from the platter beside me, to my mouth, with great effort, but no farther. Could I have broken the fastenings above the elbow, I would have seized and attempted to arrest the pendulum. I might as well have attempted to arrest an avalanche!

Down—still unceasingly—still inevitably down! I gasped and struggled at each vibration. I shrunk convulsively at its every sweep. My eyes followed its outward or upward whirls with the eagerness of the most unmeaning despair; they closed themselves spasmodically at the descent, although death would have been a relief, oh! how unspeakable! Still I quivered in every nerve to think how slight a sinking of the machinery would precipitate that keen, glistening axe upon my bosom. It was hope that prompted the nerve to quiver—the frame to shrink. It was hope—the hope that triumphs on the rack—that whispers to the death-condemned even in the dungeons of the Inquisition.

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 seesaw, 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 eyes 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 twofold 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.

Footnotes

  1. General Antoine Charles Louis Lasalle (1775–1809) served as a general under Napoleon during the Peninsula Wars, years following the height of the Spanish Inquisition. The inclusion of Lasalle into the narrative is not historically accurate, since Lasalle was not involved in the battle of Toledo.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  2. Poe’s use of auditory imagery, which pervades and controls the entire story, concludes with the sound of trumpets, a symbol of triumph and liberation. Against the sounds of rats gnawing at surcingles and the hissing of a pendulum, the sound of the trumpets comes as a welcome reprieve and signals the narrator’s victory out of the pit.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  3. As the narrator concedes earlier, the pit is a representation of hell. Now, the moving walls symbolize the unknown horrors of the Spanish Inquisition. As the pit morphs and the red-hot walls close in, the narrator is physically and psychologically paralyzed—the unknown, wanton terrors imposed by the inquisition have left him in a state of shock.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  4. In this context, the word “lozenge” refers to a diamond shape of four equal sides with two acute and two obtuse angles. The square dungeon begins to shapeshift, growing in length and shrinking in width, thus compressing and crushing the narrator.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  5. In an allusion the biblical book of Job 18:14, the narrator describes death as the “King of Terrors.” Like Job, who endures undeserved physical and mental torment, the narrator suffers plight after plight in order to evade death and survive the Spanish Inquisition.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  6. The word “ague” refers to a fever that is marked by symptoms such as chills and sweating. As the heat from the bottom of the pit rises, the narrator erupts into sudden violent attacks, or paroxysms.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  7. In a medley of visual and olfactory imagery, the narrator describes the pit as it heats up. The smell of “heated iron” pollutes the space; the light of the bottom of the pit encompasses the area like a “tint of crimson.” The culmination of these different forms of imagery create a sense of panic—seen in the narrator’s use of frantic exclamations.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  8. As the pit begins to glow from the increasing temperature in the pit, the characters on the wall take on a new, terrifying appearance. The adjective “spectral” describes something as shadowy and ghost-like; “fiendish,” as wicked and malevolent. The faces on the walls of the pit torment the narrator, who sees their “demon eyes” glaring at him “in a thousand directions.”

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  9. This exclamation—”Free!”—followed by a dash and phrase pivots the narrator back into reality, and this phrase—”I had but escaped death...to be delivered unto worse death”—creates a sense of claustrophobia. At this point, the narrator has been freed, but he is still trapped within the pit, as illustrated by the structure of this sentence.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  10. Poe’s diction and use of the alliterative f sound create rhythm, which in turn mimics the sounds of the rats. Poe’s use of “fresh troops” of rats also suggests that the narrator has been overtaken by an organized military infantry.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  11. The noun “voracity” refers to the state of being ravenous. This word, alongside the repeated alliteration of the v and f sounds in this phrase, contribute to the persistent and indefatigable nature of the rats as they lunge at the narrator’s bindings and tear them apart.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  12. The word “moiety” refers to one of two parts from an original. The narrator returns to the idea of a “half formed” idea and states that one portion of this idea has returned to taunt him. Eventually, his whole escape plan takes form in his brain as he attempts to carry it out.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  13. The phrase “keen, collected calmness of despair” describes how, amid the terror, the narrator finds comfort in distress. He is so terrified, that death would almost be more welcome than continued torture. However, readers know that despite his wish to die, he will survive his torture, as the narrator lays out in the beginning of the story. The potential of death, nevertheless, creates an ominous, foreboding tone.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  14. These metaphors imprint two images into readers’ minds: first, the sound of the pendulum is the “shriek of a damned spirit”; second, the movement of the pendulum is the “stealthy pace of the tiger.” Both metaphors highlight the terrifying nature of the pendulum as it violently, savagely howls through the air while also displaying accuracy and prowess.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  15. Throughout the next three paragraphs, the narrator becomes intoxicated with terror, as revealed through the use of the literary technique anaphora, the repetition of the first word or phrase in successive phrases. Here, the narrator vividly describes as the pendulum’s plunging downward by beginning each of these three paragraphs with the word “down.” In the first paragraph, the pendulum creeps; in the second, it descends “certainly, relentlessly”; finally, it descends “still unceasingly—still inevitably.” The closer the pendulum gets, the more frantic and urgent the diction becomes, the more vivid and terrifying the imagery transforms.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  16. Following the auditory imagery of “hissing,” Poe employs repetitive alliteration of the s consonant to mimic the sound of the pendulum as it draws closer to the narrator. The verb “to sunder” means to separate violently and intimates the potential trajectory of the pendulum. The narrator foresees the pendulum’s splitting the dungeon in two and violently cleaving his robe.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  17. The verb “hissing” means to make a sharp, sibilant sound, and connotes the sound a snake or serpent might make; the noun “vigor” refers to an intense action. This combination of words conjures auditory imagery that characterizes the pendulum as a serpent careening powerfully towards the narrator.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  18. This simile intimates the narrator’s thought process: at first petrified of his impending death, he now accepts it like a child admiring a “bauble,” or a trinket. The pendulum, which moments ago resembled a menacing, ominous “scimitar,” now transforms before the narrator’s eyes into a harmless knickknack.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  19. The narrator compares the “sharp steel” of the pendulum edge to the curved, concave edge of the “scimitar,” a cavalry sword historically used by Arabs and Turks. Poe’s sword descriptions reference Toledo, Spain, which has been one of the major epicenters for steel weaponry and sword-making since about 500 BCE.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  20. The adjective “acrid” refers to an unpleasant or pungent taste or odor. As the pendulum descends closer and closer to the narrator’s body, the narrator personifies the pendulum as a creature that “fans” him with “its acrid breath,” invoking olfactory imagery to demonstrate its diabolical qualities.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  21. In ancient Greek and Roman cartography and literature, the phrase “Ultima Thule” referred to a northernmost location. This was an imaginative extension of “Thule,” a mysterious island north of England. Later, in medieval literature, the phrase came to mean a distant location beyond the known world. The pit, according to the narrator, is a form of punishment beyond the known world; he even explicitly outlines the way in which the pit is a symbol for hell: “the pit, typical of hell.”

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  22. The pendulum—described in menacing metaphorical language in phrases like “glittering steel,” “horns upward,” and “keen as that of a razor”—represents the inexorable passage of time. Shaped like Father Time’s scythe, the rhythm of the pendulum mimics the narrator’s heartbeat and brings him closer and closer to death with each passing swing.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  23. A “scythe” is a farming tool with a curved blade used to mow grass and cut grain with sweeping strokes. The narrator describes how the figure of Time does not carry a scythe; instead he holds a pendulum, which in this case bears an uncanny likeness to a guillotine.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  24. The word “surcingle” describes a girth used to keep a bag or saddle in place on a horse or other animal’s back. By using this sort of strap to secure the narrator onto a piece of wood, Poe hints at the inhumane treatment of heretics during the Inquisition.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  25. A “charnel,” or “charnel house” is a building in which dead bodies and bones are placed. Here, the narrator metaphorically likens his surroundings, including the “metallic enclosure” of the pit, to the monastic charnel houses which emtomb the dead. To the narrator, the pit is akin to his final resting place.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  26. The narrator, in his confused and dilapidated state, had incorrectly measured the space of his dungeon. After he fell the first time, he recounted the same circumference twice. As the narrator becomes more and more oriented with the space and with himself, he begins to see all the ways in which he mistook his surroundings. He now understands that the black-robed judges and the white candles he envisioned were just figments of his imagination.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  27. Through the dual definitions of the word “sulphurous,” Poe employs a double entendre. “Sulphurous” can mean both resembling burning sulfur as well as relating to the fire of hell. Describing the “lustre,” or light created by the reflection off the chasm, as sulphurous intimates the hellish nature of the pit.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  28. Through repetitive language and simile, the narrator once again describes how he falls into a deep slumber. By comparing his sleep to “that of death,” the narrator demonstrates how weak he has become.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  29. The Spanish Inquisition, which spanned from the 15th to the 17th centuries, was an institution established to forcibly convert and maintain Catholic Orthodoxy throughout Spain and its territories. Those who refused to convert to Catholicism were brutally tortured and killed. During the time of the Inquisition, 150,000 heretics were prosecuted and between 3,000 and 5,000 among them were killed.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  30. The word “chasm” refers to a cleft or fissure in a surface of terrain, mountain, or rock. More recently, it has come to mean a wide crack in any structure, natural or manmade. Here, the narrator drops a stone into the abyss to measure the distance to the bottom of the chasm.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  31. The narrator falls short of plunging into the abyss. As he falls forward, his head suspended above the void, he senses a “clammy vapor” and smells “decayed fungus.” Here, the narrator provides both tactile and olfactory imagery: readers can envision the feeling of the damp air and the putrid smell of death arising out of the abyss.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  32. The word “prostrate” has two definitions: first, it can refer to the act of lying submissively with one’s face on the ground; second, it can refer to the state of being completely overcome. The narrator, so weak and infirm, falls to the ground, physically as well as emotionally prostrate.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  33. The word “insuperable” means incapable of being overcome or solved. Here, the narrator tries to measure the circumference of the vault, a seemingly simple task. He takes his clothes and wraps them along the wall to measure the dimensions of the space. However, because he is so feeble, he describes this task as “insuperable,” or difficult to overcome.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  34. The word “subterranean” refers to something that lies beneath the surface of the earth. However, it also conjures a more negative subtext because it can refer to something working in secret or something that is, in a metaphorical sense, characteristic of the underworld. The narrator describes the pit in which he is confined as a “subterranean world of darkness,” a phrase which describes not only its location below the surface of the earth, but also its hellish or infernal connotations.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  35. Kinesthesia, or kinesthetic imagery, is a literary device whereby the narrator describes physical bodily movement or action. Poe uses this technique frequently to detail how the narrator is physically incapacitated. Here, readers gather a sense of the frenzy of the narrator, whose perspiration bursts uncontrollably “from every pore.”

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  36. The adverb “convulsively” means resembling a convulsion or a seizure-like fit of involuntary contractions. As the narrator tries to stand up, his body is thrown into violent and spasmodic convulsions, an image which highlights his physical incapacitation.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  37. The term “autos-da-fe,” which stems from the Portuguese auto da fé or “act of faith,” refers to a heretic’s judgement ceremony during the Spanish Inquisition. The ceremony was followed immediately by an execution, usually a burning. The first autos-da-fe was held in Seville in 1481, when six people were burned alive. Due to the threat of terror by the tribunals, by 1492 the Inquisition had taken hold of much of the Kingdom of Castile, including the capital city of Toledo, where the narrator is located.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  38. After the narrator opens his eyes, he sees that he is enveloped in darkness. Through personification, the narrator writes that the blackness encompasses, oppresses, and stifles him; the atmosphere, he writes, is “intolerably close.” This technique creates a sense of claustrophobia and confinement—the narrator fears the nothingness that surrounds and traps him.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  39. One of the ways Poe induces terror throughout his story is through the unknown. The narrator dreads opening his eyes and seeing what might be before him. Instead of fearing the tangible, he fears “nothing,” and when he opens his eyes, he confirms his worst fears when he sees that he is trapped in an empty abyss.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  40. Up until this point in the story, the narrator has used auditory and tactile imagery to describe what he has witnessed in the pit—the strange sounds he overhears and the feeling of the sable drapes or the darkness that overcomes him. Sporadically, he has peppered the text with visual imagery to describe the the whiteness of the judge’s lips or the blackness of the pit. However, as the narrator readily admits, “so far, I had not opened my eyes.” The visual imagery, the narrator concedes, has been entirely fabricated in his mind, further eroding his credibility as a reliable, sane narrator.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  41. The word “swoon” means to lose consciousness. Through alliteration of the s sound in this sentence, the narrator creates rhythmic language that bookends his final descent into the pit and his loss of all consciousness. Notice throughout the story how Poe will create rhythms by repeating words that begin with the same sound to create emphasis and finality.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  42. As the narrator wades in and out of consciousness, his hearing becomes affected. At one moment he is enveloped in sound, and at the next, he is surrounded in silence. The narrator portrays this oscillation in sound through evocative language that builds on itself through anaphora, the repetitive use of a phrase or word at the beginning of a sentence. Throughout this passage, the narrator repeats the word “then” at the beginning of each line to switch imperceptibly from moments of loud commotion to moments of utter silence.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  43. The narrator constantly uses repetitive language to highlight his diminishing grip on reality. For example, in the first paragraph, the narrator phrases the opening line as “I was sick—sick” and explains that the lips of the black-robed judges are “white—whiter than the sheets upon which I trace these words.” In this passage, the narrator employs the same repetitive language, stating that the tall figures “bore me in silence down—down—still down,” an image which eerily resembles the process of entombment. Here, the narrator employs the literary tool anadiplosis, whereby the narrator repeats the last word from the previous clause to begin the next. Such a tool functions to exacerbate the narrator’s condition because it often adds a sense of greater despair.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  44. The word “gossamer” refers to a delicate film of cobwebs that float in the air. Here, the narrator describes the process of awakening as breaking “the gossamer web of some dream.” This image suggests that he enjoys slumber because his dreams are lighthearted and delicate. However, this sense of reverie dissipates as soon as the harshness of reality sets in. Once the narrator awakes, he must face reality, or the “gulf,” as he later describes in the passage.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  45. With erratic punctuation in the form of exclamation points and em dashes, the narrator breaks the narrative flow. As the narrator describes how he wades in and out of sleep, he is suddenly jolted awake with this exclamation. The contradictory language, highlighted with the repetition of “no!”, suggests that the narrator cannot maintain a steady stream of consciousness and is on the brink of insanity.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  46. Throughout these lines, Poe employs alliteration and consonance of the s sound in words like “sank,” “supervened, “sensations,” swallowed,” “rushing descent,” “soul,” “silence,” and “stillness.” This continuous barrage of s sounds suggests the rapidity of darkness as it descends and engulfs and swarms the narrator’s surroundings.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  47. In Greek mythology, "Hades" was both the name of the god of the underworld and hell, the final resting place for evil souls. As darkness overcomes the narrator, all of his senses vanish, a sensation which he likens to how souls descend and become engulfed into the underworld.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  48. Here, the narrator notes how the candles vanish and how the “blackness of darkness supervened.” To highlight the utter darkness of the scene, the narrator redundantly pairs the words blackness and darkness together. Both words suggest complete and pervasive nothingness, and when combined compound this overall sense. The word “supervened” means to result as an additional development, suggesting that as the candles extinguish, the blackness enters and envelops the scene.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  49. The narrator, so petrified of the situation he finds himself in, wishes desperately for death. Using simile, the narrator claims that the prospect of “sweet rest” appeals to him as a “rich musical note.” He wishes for death, because to him, it is sweeter, gentler, and more welcoming than of the torture he imagines he will face.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  50. The word “spectre” describes a disembodied spirit or ghost. Here, the candles, once emblems of hope, now transform into “meaningless spectres.” The sudden change in appearance of the candles from angels to phantoms foreshadows the narrator’s vanishing sense of hope.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  51. A “galvanic battery” is a device consisting of several cells that produces electricity. The narrator undergoes a sudden change—he jolts awake—which he likens to feeling like he touched the raw end of a battery. This simile conjures a sensation of electricity running through and shocking the body.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  52. Contrasted against the darkness that pervades much of the imagery in this first paragraph, the seven candles—a number which signifies completeness in literary and biblical texts—stand out starkly. The white candles which Poe metaphorically likens to “slender angels,” provide the narrator and reader with a sense of hope and wholeness in spite of the chaos surrounding him.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  53. The adjective “sable” may refer to two definitions: the color black or the black clothes worn during the mourning process. These definitions conjure images of death and mourning. Here, the narrator momentarily glimpses his surroundings and notices the draperies around him, which are as dark as funerary clothing.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  54. The verb “to writhe” refers to the action of twisting and distorting oneself out of pain. As the judges mandate the narrator’s torture, he notices that their grotesque lips “writhe with a deadly locution.” The verb conjures an image of convolution and twisting. As they utter his name, the lips twist and furl into terrifying contortions, intimating the punishments their words foretell.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  55. The second image readers encounter is that of the “black-robed judges” whose lips are lifelessly, ghoulishly white. The narrator compares the judges’ lips to the whiteness of the pages on which he now writes this story, in turn foreshadowing the outcome: he will survive the torture.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  56. The word “accentuation” describes an emphasized sound. As the narrator loses most of his senses—his ability to see, smell, taste, or touch—he retains his capability to hear. The first imagery readers encounter is the auditory imagery of the inquisitorial notice, which the narrator describes as the “dread sentence of death.” The sounds meld together throughout the following lines as the narrator moves in and out of consciousness and the sounds coalesce into “one dreamy indeterminate hum.”

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  57. “The Pit and the Pendulum” is told from a first-person point of view. In effect, the reader experiences the horror the protagonist endures from a firsthand perspective, allowing the reader to witness the torture on a much more intimate level. This opening line also sheds light on the narrator’s mental and physical state. Throughout the story, neither the narrator nor the reader ever find out what crime he committed, or if he is even aware of what crime he is being punished for. Poe creates a narrator who is teetering on the brink of insanity. As the story opens, we encounter a narrator who is sick “unto death,” meaning that he is both physically and mentally enfeebled. His mental and physical precariousness causes the reader to consider his reliability.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  58. The Latin epigraph which opens Poe’s short story translates as:

    Here the wicked mob, unappeased, long cherished a hatred of innocent blood. Now that the fatherland is saved, and the cave of death demolished, where grim death has been, life and health appear.

    This Latin epigraph—a quoted introduction for pieces of literature—refers to members of the French Jacobin Club who led the “Reign of Terror” during the French Revolution. One of the most recognizable groups during the Revolution, the Jacobins came to power in the 1790s and led the “Reign of Terror” by sending their enemies to the guillotine. Following their defeat in 1794, their old meeting house became the Saint-Honoré market. Although Poe’s story concerns itself with the torture inflicted by judges of the Spanish Inquisition, the epigraph sets the mood for a story replete with danger and torture.

    — Tess, Owl Eyes Staff
  59. In this selection, Edgar Allan Poe creates a tonal shift, going from utter despair and horror to a sense of peace, restoration, and salvation. There is also, however, a great deal of irony in the statement considering the fact that the only place he believes he will find sweet rest is in death, possibly foreshadowing suicide.

    — Arianna Fernandes
  60. The subject feels moments of horror and fear flow from the lips of the judges, who are covered in black robes, contrasting to the color of their white lips. This evokes a sense of fear within the reader as well, allowing them to relate to the subject who is actually hearing the sounds succeeded. These examples of repetition and symbolism - of the contradicting personalities of the judges - are significant in allowing the reader to feel just how the subject of the selection feels.

    — Arianna Fernandes
  61. This sets the tone of the story. Sick can mean many things. Poe's choice of words show that he means sickness due to sadness.

    — JaydahB
  62. Imagery heightens the intensity of this climactic moment within the short story; the reader can clearly picture the narrator's final struggle against the shrinking walls and growing pit. The pit is symbolic of the depths of hell- the ultimate punishment. The fact that the narrator is saved at his last moment bolsters the theme that hope prevails above all else.

    — Cassie Garza
  63. In this selection, Edgar Allan Poe so distinctly uses repetition of the phrase "I saw" at the beginning of this quatrain of sentences to illuminate the fact that the subject of the short story feels a sense of malice and darkness creep up on him through the use of the black-robed judges.

    — Arianna Fernandes
  64. Even when faced with that "glistening axe" that will surely bring about his imminent demise, the narrator dares to hope. When confronted with mental and physical suffering-- as elucidated in motifs-- he clings to hope of survival. This points to the theme that it is human nature to hope, as inherent as the human will to survive.

    — Cassie Garza
  65. The use of figurative language in the form of a metaphor ("the stealthy pace of the tiger") emphasizes the immensely threatening nature of the pendulum. The purpose of this pendulum is ostensibly to inspire as much fear and terror in the heart of the narrator as possible whilst dragging out his death to excruciating lengths; evidently he is panicked as he hysterically alternates between laughing and howling, once again bringing to light the motif of suffering.

    — Cassie Garza
  66. The pendulum is a major symbol in this story as indicated rather obviously by the title; its descent by degrees upon the narrator represents the inescapability of death. "Inch by inch" and "line by line" are significant phrases as they signal how minute or minuscule the "descent" of death may seem, yet it is always invariably present. The motif of torment or suffering underlies this passage as well, quite graphically in the form of a razor sharp pendulum slowly bearing down upon the narrator.

    — Cassie Garza
  67. "Ultima Thule" is an allusion (figurative language) to unknown realms; hence its use in the context of the pit and hell. Also, the pit is symbolic of hell, the ultimate and eternal punishment. Its black, never-ending abyss signifies the depths of the classic image of hell, wherein the narrator is apparently being condemned for his crimes in radicalism.

    — Cassie Garza
  68. The author's use of imagery helps portray the narrator's onslaught of panic and terror; the "crescent of glittering steel" is vivid enough so as to create a clear image of the narrator's predicament. This homicidal pendulum is symbolic of the unavoidable nature of accountability and suffering- everyone must be held accountable eventually for his or her actions. In this case, it appears that the narrator is being punished for participation with Jacobins.

    — Cassie Garza
  69. The powerful connotations of words like "victims," "tyranny," "agonies," and "horrors" create a pained, almost hysteric tone. Overall, the narrator appears to be disillusioned to the fact that certain tortures await him, and the dramatic tone makes his acceptance of the fact all the more unsettling and intense.

    — Cassie Garza
  70. Epistrophe makes the narrator's passionate voice all the more poignant with the repetition of "no!" In his revelings, the narrator also relays a metaphor in which dreams are "gossamer webs"; both are delicate, intricate, and beautiful in the way that intricate things are.

    — Cassie Garza
  71. Figurative language in the form of a simile - "descent as of the soul into Hades"- best portrays the narrator's feelings of helplessness and confusion at this point in the story.

    — Cassie Garza
  72. The author's use of imagery provides stark contrast between the "whiter than the sheet" inquisitors and his pitch black prison cell. The "grotesque" figures make for an intense introduction, setting a surreal, deeply perturbed tone for the passage as a whole.

    — Cassie Garza