Creature, nursed in the black mud of the
Bastile moats and dungeons, and necessarily betraying many
evidences of its unwholesome bringing-up--but the Inquisition used
it in the name of Heaven.
Goblin's finger is lifted; and she steals out again, into the
Chapel of the Holy Office. 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.
