A deep groan burst from Vivenzio. He stood, like one transfixed, with
dilated eyes, expanded nostrils, and quivering lips, gazing at this
fatal inscription. It was as if a voice from the sepulchre had sounded
in his ears, "Prepare!" Hope forsook him. There was his sentence,
recorded in those dismal words. The future stood unveiled before him,
ghastly and appalling. His brain already feels the descending
horror--his bones seem to crack and crumble in the mighty grasp of the
iron walls! Unknowing what it is he does, he fumbles in his garment
for some weapon of self-destruction. He clenches his throat in his
convulsive gripe, as though he would strangle himself at once. He
stares upon the walls, and his warring spirit demands, "Will they not
anticipate their office if I dash my head against them?" An hysterical
laugh chokes him as he exclaims, "Why should I? He was but a man who
died first in their fierce embrace; and I should be less than man not
to do as much!"
The evening sun was descending, and Vivenzio beheld its golden beams
streaming through one of the windows. What a thrill of joy shot
through his soul at the sight! It was a precious link, that united
him, for the moment, with the world beyond. There was ecstasy in the
thought. As he gazed, long and earnestly, it seemed as if the windows
had lowered sufficiently for him to reach them. With one bound he was
beneath them--with one wild spring he clung to the bars. Whether it
was so contrived, purposely to madden with delight the wretch who
looked, he knew not; but, at the extremity of a long vista, cut
through the solid rocks, the ocean, the sky, the setting sun, olive
groves, shady walks, and, in the farthest distance, delicious glimpses
of magnificent Sicily, burst upon his sight. How exquisite was the
cool breeze as it swept across his cheek, loaded with fragrance! He
inhaled it as though it were the breath of continued life. And there
was a freshness in the landscape, and in the rippling of the calm
green sea, that fell upon his withering heart like dew upon the
parched earth. How he gazed, and panted, and still clung to his hold!
sometimes hanging by one hand, sometimes by the other, and then
grasping the bars with both, as loth to quit the smiling paradise
outstretched before him; till exhausted, and his hands swollen and
benumbed, he dropped helpless down, and lay stunned for a considerable
time by the fall.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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