France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Fiction
The breach by which one gained access to the ruin was the opening of
a mine. A connoisseur familiar with Errard, Sardi, and Pagan would
have appreciated the skill with which this mine was planned. The
fire-chamber, in the shape of a biretta, was of a size accurately
proportioned to the strength of the keep which it was intended to
destroy. It was capable of containing at least two hundred-weight of
powder. The winding passage which led to it was more effective than
a straight one. The saucisse, laid bare among the broken stones as
the result of the crumbling caused by the mine, was seen to have the
requisite diameter of a hen's-egg. The explosion had made a deep rent
in the wall, by which the assailants were enabled to enter. It was
evident that this tower must have sustained formal sieges from time to
time. It was riddled with balls, and these were not all of the same
epoch; every missile has its own special way of marking a rampart, and
each one, from the stone bullets of the fourteenth century to the iron
ones of the eighteenth, had left a scar upon this donjon-keep.
The breach opened into what must have been the ground-floor; and
directly opposite, in the wall of the tower, was the gateway of a
crypt, cut in the rock and extending under the hall of the lower floor
throughout the foundation of the tower.
This crypt, three-fourths filled up, was cleared out in 1835, under the
direction of Auguste Le Provost, the antiquary of Bernay.
III.
THE OUBLIETTE.
This crypt was the oubliette. Every keep possessed one, and this, like
many other penal dungeons of the same period, had two stories. The
first story, accessible through the gate, consisted of a good-sized
vaulted chamber, on a level with the hall of the ground-floor. On the
walls of this room might be seen two vertical furrows, parallel with
each other, reaching from wall to wall and passing along the vault,
where they had left a deep rut, reminding one of wheel-tracks,--and
such in fact they were; for these two furrows were hollowed out by
two wheels. In old feudal times men had been torn limb from limb here
in this very room, by a process less noisy than that of being drawn
and quartered. They had a pair of wheels so large and powerful that
they filled the entire room, touching both walls and ceiling, and to
each wheel was attached an arm and a leg of the victim; and when these
wheels were turned in opposite directions, the man was torn asunder. It
required great power; hence the ruts worn in the stone by the grazing
of the wheels. A room of this kind may be seen at Vianden.
[Illustration 090]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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