Part 2 (1/2)

Another man advances and seizes me; he and the innkeeper force me back on the pillows--they overcome me, and the utter incapacity of a terrible exhaustion steals away my strength. I cease to struggle.

Pietro and his a.s.sistant look down upon me.

”E morto!” they whisper one to the other.

I hear them and smile. Dead? Not I! The scorching sunlight streams through the open door of the inn--the thirsty flies buzz with persistent loudness--some voices are singing ”La Fata di Amalfi”--I can distinguish the words--

”Chiagnaro la mia sventura Si non tuorne chiu, Rosella!

Tu d' Amalfi la chiu bella, Tu na Fata si pe me!

Viene, vie, regina mie, Viene curre a chisto core, Ca non c'e non c'e sciore, Non c'e Stella comm'a te!”

[Footnote: A popular song in the Neapolitan dialect.]

That is a true song, Nina mia! ”Non c'e Stella comm' a te!” What did Guido say? ”Purer than the flawless diamond--unapproachable as the furthest star!” That foolish Pietro still polishes his wine-bottles. I see him--his meek round face is greasy with heat and dust; but I cannot understand how he comes to be here at all, for I am on the banks of a tropical river where huge palms grow wild, and drowsy alligators lie asleep in the sun. Their large jaws are open--their small eyes glitter greenly. A light boat glides over the silent water--in it I behold the erect lithe figure of an Indian. His features are strangely similar to those of Guido. He draws a long thin s.h.i.+ning blade of steel as he approaches. Brave fellow!--he means to attack single-handed the cruel creatures who lie in wait for him on the sultry sh.o.r.e. He springs to land--I watch him with a weird fascination. He pa.s.ses the alligators--he seems not to be aware of their presence--he comes with swift, unhesitating step to ME--it is I whom he seeks--it is in MY heart that he plunges the cold steel dagger, and draws it out again dripping with blood! Once--twice--thrice!--and yet I cannot die! I writhe--I moan in bitter anguis.h.!.+ Then something dark comes between me and the glaring sun--something cool and shadowy, against which I fling myself despairingly. Two dark eyes look steadily into mine, and a voice speaks:

”Be calm, my son, be calm. Commend thyself to Christ!”

It is my friend the monk. I recognize him gladly. He has returned from his errand of mercy. Though I can scarcely speak, I hear myself asking for news of the boy. The holy man crosses himself devoutly.

”May his young soul rest in peace! I found him dead.”

I am dreamily astonished at this. Dead--so soon! I cannot understand it; and I drift off again into a state of confused imaginings. As I look back now to that time, I find I have no specially distinct recollection of what afterward happened to me. I know I suffered intense, intolerable pain--that I was literally tortured on a rack of excruciating anguish--and that through all the delirium of my senses I heard a m.u.f.fled, melancholy sound like a chant or prayer. I have an idea that I also heard the tinkle of the bell that accompanies the Host, but my brain reeled more wildly with each moment, and I cannot be certain of this. I remember shrieking out after what seemed an eternity of pain, ”Not to the villa! no, no, not there! You shall not take me--my curse on him who disobeys me!”

I remember then a fearful sensation, as of being dragged into a deep whirlpool, from whence I stretched up appealing hands and eyes to the monk who stood above me--I caught a drowning glimpse of a silver crucifix glittering before my gaze, and at last, with one loud cry for help, I sunk--down--down! into an abyss of black night and nothingness!

CHAPTER III.

There followed a long drowsy time of stillness and shadow. I seemed to have fallen in some deep well of delicious oblivion and obscurity.

Dream-like images still flitted before my fancy--these were at first undefinable, but after awhile they took more certain shapes. Strange fluttering creatures hovered about me--lonely eyes stared at me from a visible deep gloom; long white bony fingers grasping at nothing made signs to me of warning or menace. Then--very gradually, there dawned upon my sense of vision a cloudy red mist like a stormy sunset, and from the middle of the blood-like haze a huge black hand descended toward me. It pounced upon my chest--it grasped my throat in its monstrous clutch, and held me down with a weight of iron. I struggled violently--I strove to cry out, but that terrific pressure took from me all power of utterance. I twisted myself to right and left in an endeavor to escape--but my tyrant of the sable hand had bound me in on all sides. Yet I continued to wrestle with the cruel opposing force that strove to overwhelm me--little by little--inch by inch--so! At last! One more struggle--victory! I woke! Merciful G.o.d! Where was I? In what horrible atmosphere--in what dense darkness? Slowly, as my senses returned to me, I remembered my recent illness. The monk--the man Pietro--where were they? What had they done to me? By degrees, I realized that I was lying straight down upon my back--the couch was surely very hard? Why had they taken the pillows from under my head? A p.r.i.c.king sensation darted through my veins--I felt my own hands curiously--they were warm, and my pulse beat strongly, though fitfully.

But what was this that hindered my breathing? Air--air! I must have air! I put up my hands--horror! They struck against a hard opposing substance above me. Quick as lightning then the truth flashed upon my mind! I had been buried--buried alive; this wooden prison that inclosed me was a coffin! A frenzy surpa.s.sing that of an infuriated tiger took swift possession of me--with hands and nails I tore and scratched at the accursed boards--with all the force of my shoulders and arms I toiled to wrench open the closed lid! My efforts were fruitless! I grew more ferociously mad with rage and terror. How easy were all deaths compared to one like this! I was suffocating--I felt my eyes start from their sockets--blood sprung from my mouth and nostrils--and icy drops of sweat trickled from my forehead. I paused, gasping for breath. Then, suddenly nerving myself for one more wild effort, I hurled my limbs with all the force of agony and desperation against one side of my narrow prison. It cracked--it split asunder!--and then--a new and horrid fear beset me, and I crouched back, panting heavily. If--if I were buried in the ground--so ran my ghastly thoughts--of what use to break open the coffin and let in the mold--the damp wormy mold, rich with the bones of the dead--the penetrating mold that would choke up my mouth and eyes, and seal me into silence forever! My mind quailed at this idea--my brain tottered on the verge of madness! I laughed--think of it!--and my laugh sounded in my ears like the last rattle in the throat of a dying man. But I could breathe more easily--even in the stupefaction of my fears--I was conscious of air. Yes!--the blessed air had rushed in somehow. Revived and encouraged as I recognized this fact, I felt with both hands till I found the crevice I had made, and then with frantic haste and strength I pulled and dragged at the wood, till suddenly the whole side of the coffin gave way, and I was able to force up the lid. I stretched out my arms--no weight of earth impeded their movements--I felt nothing but air--empty air. Yielding to my first strong impulse, I leaped out of the hateful box, and fell--fell some little distance, bruising my hands and knees on what seemed to be a stone pavement. Something weighty fell also, with a dull cras.h.i.+ng thud close to me. The darkness was impenetrable. But there was breathing room, and the atmosphere was cool and refres.h.i.+ng. With some pain and difficulty I raised myself to a sitting position where I had fallen. My limbs were stiff and cramped as well as wounded, and I s.h.i.+vered as with strong ague. But my senses were clear--the tangled chain of my disordered thoughts became even and connected--my previous mad excitement gradually calmed, and I began to consider my condition.

I had certainly been buried alive--there was no doubt of that. Intense pain had, I suppose, resolved itself into a long trance of unconsciousness--the people of the inn where I had been taken ill had at once believed me to be dead of cholera, and with the panic-stricken, indecent haste common in all Italy, especially at a time of plague, had thrust me into one of those flimsy coffins which were then being manufactured by scores in Naples--mere sh.e.l.ls of thin deal, nailed together with clumsy hurry and fear. But how I blessed their wretched construction! Had I been laid in a stronger casket, who knows if even the most desperate frenzy of my strength might not have proved unavailing! I shuddered at the thought. Yet the question remained--Where was I? I reviewed my case from all points, and for some time could arrive at no satisfactory conclusion. Stay, though! I remembered that I had told the monk my name; he knew that I was the only descendant of the rich Romani family. What followed? Why, naturally, the good father had only done what his duty called upon him to do. He had seen me laid in the vault of my ancestors--the great Romani vault that had never been opened since my father's body was carried to its last resting-place with all the solemn pomp and magnificence of a wealthy n.o.bleman's funeral obsequies. The more I thought of this the more probable it seemed. The Romani vault! Its forbidding gloom had terrified me as a lad when I followed my father's coffin to the stone niche a.s.signed to it, and I had turned my eyes away in shuddering pain when I was told to look at the heavy oaken casket hung with tattered velvet and ornamented with tarnished silver, which contained all that was left of my mother, who died young. I had felt sick and faint and cold, and had only recovered myself when I stood out again in the free air with the blue dome of heaven high above me. And now I was shut in the same vault--a prisoner--with what hope of escape?

I reflected. The entrance to the vault, I remembered, was barred by a heavy door of closely twisted iron--from thence a flight of steep steps led downward--downward to where in all probability I now was. Suppose I could in the dense darkness feel my way to those steps and climb up to that door--of what avail? It was locked--nay, barred--and as it was situated in a remote part of the burial-ground, there was no likelihood of even the keeper of the cemetery pa.s.sing by it for days--perhaps not for weeks. Then must I starve? Or die of thirst? Tortured by these imaginings, I rose up from the pavement and stood erect. My feet were bare, and the cold stone on which I stood chilled me to the marrow. It was fortunate for me, I thought, that they had buried me as a cholera corpse--they had left me half-clothed for fear of infection. That is, I had my flannel s.h.i.+rt on and my usual walking trousers. Something there was, too, round my neck; I felt it, and as I did so a flood of sweet and sorrowful memories rushed over me. It was a slight gold chain, and on it hung a locket containing the portraits of my wife and child. I drew it out in the darkness; I covered it with pa.s.sionate kisses and tears--the first I had shed since my death--like trance-tears scalding and bitter welled into my eyes. Life was worth living while Nina's smile lightened the world! I resolved to fight for existence, no matter what dire horrors should be yet in store for me. Nina--my love--my beautiful one! Her face gleamed out upon me in the pestilent gloom of the charnel-house; her eyes beckoned me--her young faithful eyes that were now, I felt sure, drowned in weeping for my supposed death. I seemed to see my tender-hearted darling sobbing alone in the empty silence of the room that had witnessed a thousand embraces between herself and me; her lovely hair disheveled; her sweet face pale and haggard with the bitterness of grief! Baby Stella, too, no doubt she would wonder, poor innocent! why I did not come to swing her as usual under the orange boughs. And Guido--brave and true friend! I thought of him with tenderness. I felt I knew how deep and lasting would be his honest regret for my loss. Oh, I would leave no means of escape untried; I would find some way out of this grim vault! How overjoyed they would all be to see me again--to know that I was not dead after all! What a welcome I should receive! How Nina would nestle into my arms; how my little child would cling to me; how Guido would clasp me by the hand! I smiled as I pictured the scene of rejoicing at the dear old villa--the happy home sanctified by perfect friends.h.i.+p and faithful love!

A deep hollow sound booming suddenly on my ears startled me--one! two!

three! I counted the strokes up to twelve. It was some church bell tolling the hour. My pleasing fancies dispersed--I again faced the drear reality of my position. Twelve o'clock! Midday or midnight? I could not tell. I began to calculate. It was early morning when I had been taken ill--not much past eight when I had met the monk and sought his a.s.sistance for the poor little fruit-seller who had after all perished alone in his sufferings. Now supposing my illness had lasted some hours, I might have fallen into a trance--died--as those around me had thought, somewhere about noon. In that case they would certainly have buried me with as little delay as possible--before sunset at all events. Thinking these points over one by one, I came to the conclusion that the bell I had just heard must have struck midnight--the midnight of the very day of my burial. I s.h.i.+vered; a kind of nervous dread stole over me. I have always been physically courageous, but at the same time, in spite of my education, I am somewhat superst.i.tious--what Neapolitan is not? it runs in the southern blood. And there was something unutterably fearful in the sound of that midnight bell clanging harshly on the ears of a man pent up alive in a funeral vault with the decaying bodies of his ancestors close within reach of his hand! I tried to conquer my feelings--to summon up my fort.i.tude. I endeavored to reason out the best method of escape. I resolved to feel my way, if possible, to the steps of the vault, and with this idea in my mind I put out my hands and began to move along slowly and with the utmost care. What was that? I stopped; I listened; the blood curdled in my veins! A shrill cry, piercing, prolonged, and melancholy, echoed through the hollow arches of my tomb. A cold perspiration broke out all over my body--my heart beat so loudly that I could hear it thumping against my ribs. Again--again--that weird shriek, followed by a whir and flap of wings. I breathed again.

”It is an owl,” I said to myself, ashamed of my fears; ”a poor innocent bird--a companion and watcher of the dead, and therefore its voice is full of sorrowful lamentation--but it is harmless,” and I crept on with increased caution. Suddenly out of the dense darkness there stared two large yellow eyes, glittering with fiendish hunger and cruelty. For a moment I was startled, and stepped back; the creature flew at me with the ferocity of a tiger-cat! I fought with the horrible thing in all directions; it wheeled round my head, it pounced toward my face, it beat me with its large wings--wings that I could feel but not see; the yellow eyes alone shone in the thick gloom like the eyes of some vindictive demon! I struck at it right and left--the revolting combat lasted some moments--I grew sick and dizzy, yet I battled on recklessly. At last, thank Heaven! the huge owl was vanquished; it fluttered backward and downward, apparently exhausted, giving one wild screech of baffled fury, as its lamp-like eyes disappeared in the darkness. Breathless, but not subdued--every nerve in my body quivering with excitement--I pursued my way, as I thought, toward the stone staircase feeling the air with my outstretched hands as I groped along.

In a little while I met with an obstruction--it was hard and cold--a stone wall, surely? I felt it up and down and found a hollow in it--was this the first step of the stair? I wondered; it seemed very high. I touched it cautiously--suddenly I came in contact with something soft and clammy to the touch like moss or wet velvet. Fingering this with a kind of repulsion, I soon traced out the oblong shape of a coffin Curiously enough, I was not affected much by the discovery. I found myself monotonously counting the bits of raised metal which served, as I judged, for its ornamentation. Eight bits lengthwise--and the soft wet stuff between--four bits across; then a pang shot through me, and I drew my hand away quickly, as I considered--WHOSE coffin was this? My father's? Or was I thus plucking, like a man in delirium, at the fragments of velvet on that c.u.mbrous oaken casket wherein lay the sacred ashes of my mother's perished beauty? I roused myself from the apathy into which I had fallen. All the pains I had taken to find my way through the vault were wasted; I was lost in the profound gloom, and knew not where to turn. The horror of my situation presented itself to me with redoubled force. I began to be tormented with thirst. I fell on my knees and groaned aloud.

”G.o.d of infinite mercy!” I cried. ”Saviour of the world! By the souls of the sacred dead whom Thou hast in Thy holy keeping, have pity upon me! Oh, my mother! if indeed thine earthly remains are near me--think of me, sweet angel in that heaven where thy spirit dwells at rest--plead for me and save me, or let me die now and be tortured no more!”

I uttered these words aloud, and the sound of my wailing voice ringing through the somber arches of the vault was strange and full of fantastic terror to my own ears. I knew that were my agony much further prolonged I should go mad. And I dared not picture to myself the frightful things which a maniac might be capable of, shut up in such a place of death and darkness, with moldering corpses for companions! I remained on my knees, my face buried in my hands. I forced myself into comparative calmness, and strove to preserve the equilibrium of my distracted mind. Hus.h.!.+ What exquisite far-off floating voice of cheer was that? I raised my head and listened, entranced!

”Jug, jug, Jug! lodola, lodola! trill-lil-lil! sweet, sweet, sweet!”

It was a nightingale. Familiar, delicious, angel-throated bird! How I blessed thee in that dark hour of despair! How I praised G.o.d for thine innocent existence! How I sprung up and laughed and wept for joy, as, all unconscious of me, thou didst shake out a shower of pearly warblings on the breast of the soothed air! Heavenly messenger of consolation!--even now I think of thee with tenderness--for thy sweet sake all birds possess me as their wors.h.i.+per; humanity has grown hideous in my sight, but the singing-life of the woods and hills--how pure, how fres.h.!.+--the nearest thing to happiness on this side heaven!