She stops at a certain part of the
flooring. Her great effect is at hand. She waits for the rest.
She darts at the brave Courier, who is explaining something; hits
him a sounding rap on the hat with the largest key; and bids him be
silent. She assembles us all, round a little trap-door in the
floor, as round a grave.
'Voila!' she darts down at the ring, and flings the door open with
a crash, in her goblin energy, though it is no light weight.
'Voila les oubliettes! Voila les oubliettes! Subterranean!
Frightful! Black! Terrible! Deadly! Les oubliettes de
l'Inquisition!'
My blood ran cold, as I looked from Goblin, down into the vaults,
where these forgotten creatures, with recollections of the world
outside: of wives, friends, children, brothers: starved to death,
and made the stones ring with their unavailing groans. But, the
thrill I felt on seeing the accursed wall below, decayed and broken
through, and the sun shining in through its gaping wounds, was like
a sense of victory and triumph. I felt exalted with the proud
delight of living in these degenerate times, to see it. As if I
were the hero of some high achievement! The light in the doleful
vaults was typical of the light that has streamed in, on all
persecution in God's name, but which is not yet at its noon! It
cannot look more lovely to a blind man newly restored to sight,
than to a traveller who sees it, calmly and majestically, treading
down the darkness of that Infernal Well.
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