Then he swings the knout
anew, with the same accuracy and the same result. In a few moments her
skin hangs in shreds over her girdle, her whole form is dripping with
blood, and the shuddering spectators venture not a single bravo for this
dexterous executioner.
The work is finished! With a flayed back Eleonore is raised upon the
shoulders of the executioner. She has not screamed, she has not moaned,
she has remained dumb and without complaint, but she has prayed to God
for vengeance and expiation for the shame inflicted upon her.
And again advances the executioner, with a pair of pincers in his hand.
Eleonore looks at him through eyes flaming with anger.
"What would you?" she coldly asks.
"Tear out your tongue!" answers he, with a rude laugh. Two of the
executioner's assistants then seizing her, grasp her head.
This time Eleonore defends herself--despair lends her strength. Freeing
herself from the grasp of these barbarous executioners, she falls upon
her knees, and, raising her bloody arms toward heaven, implores the
mercy of God: glancing at the spectators, she implores their pity and
their aid; turning her eyes toward the proud imperial palace, where
Elizabeth sits enthroned, she begs there for grace and mercy.
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