the pit and the pendulum

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по эдгар алан edgar allan poe the pit and the pendulum 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 …

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rly 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 …

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ad 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 …

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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 3 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 …

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training 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 …

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по эдгар алан edgar allan poe the pit and the pendulum 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 …

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