Consuelo did not hesitate, but went to the right. One of the doors opened as if of itself, and she went into a vast room, lighted with many lamps. She was alone, and at first could not distinguish the strange objects around her. They were machines of wood, iron, and bronze, the use of which she knew not. Strange arms were displayed on the table, or hung on the wall. For one moment she fancied herself in some museum of weapons, for she saw muskets, cannons, culverins, and a perfect array of the weapons on which those now used are improvements. Care had been taken to collect all the instruments men use in immolating each other. When the neophyte had passed once or twice through the room, she saw others of a more refined character and some more barbarous—collars, wheels, saws, pulleys, hooks—a perfect gallery of instruments of torture—and, above all, a scroll supported by maces, hooks, dentated knives, and other torturing irons. The scroll read—
"They are all precious.—They have been used."
Consuelo felt her strength give way. A cold perspiration rolled down her hair, and her heart ceased to beat. Incapable of shaking off the feeling of horror and the terrible visions that crowded around her, she examined all that stood before her with that stupid curiosity which, when we are terrified, takes possession of us. Instead of closing her eyes, she looked at a kind of bronze bell, the cap of which was immense, and rested on a large body without limbs, yet which reached as low as the knees. It was not unlike a colossal statue, coarsely carved, intended for a tomb. Gradually, Consuelo overcame her torpor, and comprehended that the victim was to be placed beneath this bell. Its weight was so vast that it was impossible to lift it up. The internal body was so immense that motion was impossible. There was no intention of stifling the person put within, for the vizor of the helmet was open at the face, and all the circumference was pierced with little holes, in some of which stilettoes were yet pierced. By means of these cruel wounds they sought to torment the victim so as to wrest from him charges against his relations or friends, or confessions of political or religious faith.[14] On the top of the casque was carved, in the Spanish language—
"Viva la Santa Inquisicion!"
Beneath was a prayer, which seemed dictated by savage compassion, but which perhaps emanated from the hand of the poor mechanic ordered to make the instrument of torture—
"Holy mother of God, have mercy on the sinner!"
A lock of hair, torn out by torture, and which doubtless had been stained with blood, was below this inscription. It had, perhaps, come through one of the orifices which had been enlarged by the daggers. The hairs were grey.
All at once Consuelo saw nothing, and ceased to suffer. Without being informed by any sentiment of physical suffering, she was about to fall cold and stiff on the pavement, as a statue thrown from its pedestal, but, as her head was coming in contact with the infernal machine, she was caught in the arms of a man. This was Leverani.
[14]Any one may see an instrument of this kind, and also a hundred others no less ingeniously constructed, in the arsenal of Venice. Consuelo never saw it, for the interior of the prisons of the Inquisition and the PIOMBE of the ducal palace were never open to the people until the occupation of the city by troops of the French Republic.