CHAPTER XIX. No light, save yon faint gleam, which shews me walls, THE TWO FOSCARI. As Pudens's crime was considered a concentration of all that was atrocious, it was determined that his punishment should be exemplary; and he was therefore removed to a place, at the name of which humanity recoils -the Mamertine prison, or, as it was styled by one of the ancient poets, "the cell of groans!" This dreary edifice was built in the descent of the Capitoline hill, overhanging the Forum, and nearly in the centre of the Capitol; the rude remains of which still exist attest its antiquity and durability. It is supposed to have been built by Ancus Martius, the fourth king of Rome, and was constructed of enormous masses of stone, averaging about nine feet in length, and three in thickness, laid one upon another without cement. The principal apartments, in this mansion of sorrow, were two cells, an upper and a lower one; the former used as a place of confinement, the latter of execution. The entrance to the upper cell was by a hole in the vaulted roof, through which it was usual to thrust the prisoner: and immediately under this aperture was another opening of a similar character in the floor, which was covered by a loose pavement, and afforded access to the lower cell, called the Tullianum. This chamber of death communicated with the gemoniæ, or stairs of groans, on which the bodies of criminals, when executed, were exposed, and from whence they were dragged by hooks into the Forum, and thence to the Tiber. * Such was the place to *There is a very good description of the Mamertine prisons, as well as other remarkable edifices in Rome, in the Saturday Magazine, No. 283, &c.; also in Madame de Staël's Corinne, which I take this opportunity of strongly recommending to the classical student, as replete with interesting descriptions of the ruins and historical associations of Rome. which Pudens was hurried, and brutally thrust into, through the aperture in the roof; and there he lay for some time, almost stunned by his fall, the ceiling being fourteen feet in height from the pavement! Bruised and hurt as he was, however, he was not insensible; and the anguish of his mind soon obliterated the pains of his body. It is not for pen to describe the bitterness of the cup which he was now called on to drain. The transition from the bright sunshine made his dungeon at first appear perfectly dark; but as his eyes gradually accommodated themselves to the gloom, the darkness seemed to diminish, and the horrors proportionably to increase; while the filth of the floor, the humidity of the walls, and other disgusting objects, revealed themselves. It was some time before he ventured to explore very minutely the spacious, dismal apartment; but one of the first objects which. he beheld was an imperfect skeleton, lying near that terrible instrument of torture, called the equuleus. As these appalling objects met his glance, an involuntary shudder crept over his frame, and seemed to pass through his very hair, as though some noisome reptile was crawling over him; nor could he seem to efface them from his sight, although he closed his eyes, and put his hands before his face, and even bent his head towards the ground to avoid the possibility of encountering them. In this posture he remained for a considerable time; till, as he expressed it, his guardian angel recalled to his memory the sacred story of Daniel in the den of lions, of which St. Peter had lately told him. "Ah!" said he to himself, despondingly, "I would not ask that the lions' mouths might be closed, were lions here!" The recollection of Daniel's deliverance, however, somewhat mitigated his sufferings; and at length he began to think that the same God who had delivered Daniel, was now his God, and to Him, therefore, he prayed in an agony of earnestness. His heart felt lightened by this exercise; and for a moment he so far recovered, as to reproach himself with want of faith, and to endeavour to animate his confidence and courage by reflecting on the examples of St. Peter and his companion, who had sung hymns in the prison; but the effect was tran sient: human nature would not be controlled. St. Peter's situation did not appear to him, as he meditated on it, half so trying as his own. "St. Peter," said he, "had a companion; and St. Peter had not been snatched from Claudia!" At the thought of Claudia, he smote his hands together in silent anguish; and despair almost overcame him. It seemed to him, indeed, as though The cup of bliss Had ever shunned him when he thought to kiss ;— and that now, when he was raising it to his lips, almost overflowing with happiness, it was dashed for ever from his hand! As the sun approached its zenith, it afforded him a better opportunity of exploring the dreary confines of his cell, which was indeed to him the cave of despondency! The enormous masses of stone, which formed its rude and ill-constructed walls, rendered the very thought of escape preposterous; but as the rays of the sun became more perpendicular, they streamed through the crevice in the imperfectly closed |