ith the brilliancy of the purest beauty, her noble form
enveloped in a full, draping robe, which lent to her loveliness an
additional charm. She looked around with an astonished and interrogating
glance, as if awaking from a confused dream. Young, amiable, the
first and most celebrated lady of the court, of which she was the most
brilliant ornament, she now sees herself, instead of the admirers who
humbly paid their court to her, surrounded by these rough executioners,
who regard her with bold and insolent glances, eagerly stretching forth
their hands for their prey. One of them, approaching her, ventures to
rend from her bosom the kerchief that covers it. Eleonore, shuddering,
shrinks back, her cheeks are pale as marble, a stream of tears gushes
from her eyes. In vain she implores, in vain her lamentations, in vain
her trembling innocence, in vain her efforts to cover herself anew. Her
clothes are torn off, and in a few moments she stands there naked to the
girdle, with all the upper portion of her person exposed to the eager
glances of the masses, who in silence stare at this specimen of the
purest feminine beauty.

The proud lily is broken, shattered; she bows her head, the storm
has crushed her. Incapable of resistance, she is seized by one of the
executioners, who, by a sudden movement, throws her upon her back.
Another then approaches and places her in the most convenient position
for receiving the punishment. Soon, with rough brutality, he lays his
broad hand upon her head, and places it so that it may not be hit by
the knout, and then, like a butcher who is about to throttle a lamb,
he caresses that snow-white back, as if taking pleasure in the
contemplation of the wonderful fairness of his victim.

Now is she in the right position; he steps back, and raising the knout,
brings it down upon Eleonore's back with such accuracy that it takes off
a strip of skin from her neck to her girdle. 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 he