the space between them. Vivenzio shuddered
as he gazed, and as his steps traversed the
narrowed area. But his feelings no longer
vented themselves in frantic wailings. With
folded arms, and clenched teeth, with eyes
that were blood-shot from much watching, and
fixed with a vacant glare upon the ground, with
a hard quick breathing, and a hurried walk,
he strod backwards and forwards in silent
musing for several hours. What mind shall conceive,
what tongue utter, or what pen describe
the dark and terrible character of his thoughts!
Like the fate that moulded them, they had no
similitude in the wide range of this world’s
agony for man. Suddenly he stopped, and
his eyes were riveted upon that part of the wall
which was over his bed of straw. Words are
inscribed here! A human language, traced
by a human hand! He rushes towards them:
but his blood freezes as he reads:
“ I, Ludovica Sforza, tempted by the gold
of the Prince of Tolfi, spent three years in contriving
and executing this accursed triumph of
my art. When it was completed, the perfidious
Tolfi, more devil than man, who conducted
me hither one morning, to be witness as he
said, of its perfection, doomed me to be the
first victim of my own pernicious skill; lest as
he declared; I should divulge the secret, or
repeat the effort of my ingenuity. May God
pardon him, as I hope he will me, that ministered
to his unhallowed purpose! Miserable
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