yet fixedly in the face, the countenance of his father, Lord Julian of
Albarone, pale as death, and livid with the hues of corruption yet
lighted by the deep glance of those shadowy eyes, that seemed to burn in
their very sockets, like meteors seen through the dimness of the
day-break mist.
As this face so wild, so lofty and so ghastly in its supernatural
expression, faded slowly away from the vision of Adrian, his soul became
the prisoner of mighty Dreams, the Spirits of the Grave, who called up
before his eye, this dark and startling Mysterie.
THE MYSTERIE OF LIFE.
He stood in the court-yard of an ancient castle, with the frown of the
old walls glooming over his head, while the blaze of the festal lights
thrown from the lofty windows gave a ruddy light to the scene.
Gladsome strains of music, the light-hearted laugh of the reveller, the
gay carol of the minstrel came echoing to his ear.
He looked around the courtyard, and beheld ranged under the shadow of
the ancient wall the chariots of the great and proud, extending in long
and brilliant array, as far as eye could see, each chariot with its
panels blazing with heraldic emblazonings boasting its gallant
attendance of four noble steeds, decorated with gay housings and waving
plumes, red, azure and snow-white in hue, while numerous servitors,
attired in liveries of every color and gaudy device, ran to and fro,
their shouts of boisterous merriment, mingling with the voices of their
Lords, joining in the glee song of the banquet hall.
Ascending a massive stairway, with snow-white marble steps, and rare
paintings adorning the wall, Adrian made his way through the crowds of
feasters, passing to and fro, through the stream of servitors bearing
dainty viands to the revellers above, and in a single moment stood
within the glare and glitter of the Festival Hall.
It was in sooth, a grand and magnificent scene.
The pillars of a lofty hall swept away from the spot where he stood, in
grand perspective, each lofty column bearing its burden of wild flowers,
quaintly wreathed around sculptured frieze and capital, hanging in long
festoons to the floor, or borne to and fro by the summer breeze.
The glare of ten thousand lamps, arranged amid the intricate ornaments
of the ceiling, hung along the towering columns or pendant in the night
air, gave a dazzling light to the scene.
The dancers went merrily over the bounding floor, each eye gleaming with
revelry, each cheek glowing with the merriment of the hour, and the
Spirit of the Dance giving life to every step, animation to every motion
of the revellers.
Placed on the balcony above his head, the band of minstrels filled the
air with music; pillar and column, ceiling-arch and obscure nook, gave
the strains with redoubled echoes, until the air seemed animated with
melody, and instinct with the life of joy.
Floating on the waves of sound, the forms of dame and damsel, lord and
cavalier, seemed swimming in the atmosphere, their eyes flashing light,
their hands gaily upraised, their voices mingling in a festal song, as
they undulated to and fro, now circling here, now grouping there, now
clustering in a crowd, and again darting away over the floor, like a
flock of frightened birds scared by the swoop of the falcon.
Adrian gazed over the scene, until his eye grew sick with loveliness,
his ears deafened by the sound of mirth, revelry and music, he gazed
around and marked the forms of beauty swaying in the dance, here the
blooming form of mature womanhood, bounding amid the dancers, there the
blushing cheek of girlhood, receiving the warm blaze of the festal
lights o’er the velvet skin, here soft lips and azure eyes, mingling
their messages of love, there delicate hands pressed thrillingly
together, on every side the form of a queenly dame revealed in the
light, or the soft bosom of a princely damsel, heaving from the folds of
her vestment--on all sides beauty and grace, music and motion,
commingling their fascinations, while the heart filled with melody, and
the pulse throbbed with joy.
And as Adrian looked, with a wild thrill of delight, he beheld one
lovely form, standing apart from the dancers, while her face of dreamy
beauty was gazing sadly over the scene, the deep blue eye gleaming with
thought, and the swelling cheek paled by melancholy, as the strains of
festival music came to her ear.
It was the Ladye Annabel!
With a wild cry of delight, Adrian sprang forward, and as he sprang, his
bride turned, beheld his face, and came swimming into his arms.
Another moment and they joined the throng of dancers speeding gayly over
the floor, their hands interlocked while their glances mingled, and the
soft whispers of each voice, spoke of the dear memories of the olden
time.
It was when the dance swelled gayest, when the minstrels gave forth
their most joyous notes, when all around was life and music and the
waters of joy came bubbling to the brim of every heart, that a strange
voice, deep, and whispering in its tones, broke over the very heart of
Adrian.
“_Man, thou art full of joy, and around thee every cheek glows with
health, every eye sparkles with life. Behold, I show thee the Mysterie
of Life and Death! Thou art doomed to return to this Festal Hall, one
hundred years from this night, when thou shalt behold the Festal Scene,
which death will open to thy gaze!_”
And at the very word, Adrian lost his bride in the throng of dancers,
and all grew dark as midnight.
The music and the dancers, the forms and beauty and the pillared hall,
all, all were gone, and a strange consciousness was impressed upon the
brain of Adrian, that one hundred years from the festal night had passed
away, and that he had been wrapt in slumber for a long and dreary
century of time.
THE MYSTERIE OF DEATH.
He stood in the court-yard of the ancient castle yet again.
A broad blaze of light poured from the windows of the festal hall, while
the peals of strange and unknown music broke murmuringly on the air.
Adrian gazed around the court-yard, with a feeling of awe, gathering
heavy and dark around his heart.
There was the castle yard, the same as in the olden time, yet not
altogether the same.
Gleams of moonlight stole through the chinks in the tottering walls of
the court-yard, wild vines threw their long branches from among the
age-worn stones, and the owl, like a thing of evil omen disturbed the
air with its sullen murmur.
Gazing along the court-yard, Adrian beheld a strange and ghastly
spectacle.
Beneath the shadow of the dark gray walls, along the very space occupied
by the array of chariots, one hundred years before, there extended a
long line of death-cars, hearse succeeding hearse, all draped in folds
of black, with four dark steeds, heavy with hangings of dark velvet,
attached to each chariot of the grave, while the coachman’s seat was
tenanted by a grisly skeleton, attired in the gay livery of the noble
lord whom he served in life.
With maddened steps, Adrian hastened along the whole line of hearses, he
beheld each death-car, with its four black steeds, their heads decorated
with sable plumes, their bodies concealed by folds of black velvet, he
beheld the skeleton driver seated on every hearse.
He saw the paraphernalia of death and the grave, and as the horror grew
darker at his heart, he shouted aloud, asking in tones of wild
amazement, the cause of this fearful panorama of woe and gloom.
There came no answer to his shout.
All was silent, save the murmur of the owl and the peals of strange
music floating from the windows of the Festal Hall.
“What means this fearful scene?” whispered Adrian, as he seized the
skeleton servitor of a gloomy hearse by the arm--“What means the long
array of death cars?”
The skeleton extended his fleshless jaws, in a hideous grin, and with
his skeleton hand, brushed the dust of the grave from his gay doublet of
blue and silver, and arranged the tasteful knot of his silken sash.
Still no voice came from his bared teeth, no answer came from his
fleshless visage.
“Fiend of hell,” shouted Adrian, “this sight will drive me mad.”
“Nay, nay, good youth,” exclaimed a soft and whispered voice at his very
shoulder. “Be not alarmed, ’tis but a festal scene. One hundred years
from this night we all thronged yonder dancing hall, ’tis our pleasure,
or mayhap our doom to return to the scene of our former gaiety. I was
master of ceremonies an hundred years ago, I am master of ceremonies,
ha, ha, yet once again. Will it please ye to choose a partner?”
With a feeling of involuntary horror, Adrian turned and beheld a Figure,
clad in a gay robe of purple, faced with snow-white ermine, holding the
rod of office in his hand, while a group of rainbow-hued plumes, hung
drooping over his brow.
Adrian dashed the plumes aside, he beheld, oh sight of mockery, the
fleshless skull, the hollow eye sockets, the cavity of the nose, the
grinning teeth, and the hanging jaw, while the hand grasping the wand of
office, was a grisly skeleton hand.
He turned from the bowing skeleton, and was rushing away with horror,
when a new wonder fixed his attention.
The master of ceremonies waved his wand, and each skeleton driver leaped
from his hearse.
Another signal and the long line of skeletons, each attired in gay and
contrasted livery, extended their skeleton hands, and lifting the pall
on high disclosed the gloomy burden of each death car, the coffin draped
in black, with the heraldic plate of gold, affixed to each coffin lid.
A third wave of the wand from the master of ceremonies, and the skeleton
drivers, unscrewed each coffin lid, and Adrian beheld the occupant of
every tenement of death, slowly rise from their last resting place,
gazing beneath the shadow of the uplifted funeral pall, around upon the
court-yard.
As they gazed, Adrian beheld each fleshless skull, wearing the horrible
grimace of death, looking forth from beneath their gaudy head-gear, the
plumed cap, or the jeweled coronet, while their skeleton hands, arranged
the folds of their attire, brushing the coffin dust from the gay robe,
or fixing the tarnished ruffle around the neck with a yet more dainty
grace, while the skeleton drivers, slowly let down the steps of each
hearse fashioned in its sable side. The last signal was given by the
master of ceremonies.
And with a low bow, each skeleton servitor extended his hand, to receive
his fair lord or ladye, his fair young mistress or his gallant young
master, as arising from their coffin, they placed their feet on the
steps of the hearse, and slowly descended into the court-yard of the
ancient castle.
“Great God, they are thronging around me,” shouted Adrian, “skeleton
after skeleton, clad in the gay costume of life, descend from the
funeral hearse wending in one ghastly throng toward the hall door, on
their way to the festal scene. Oh, ghastly mockery! here are the forms
of those who died when young, and the trembling skeletons of those whom
death summoned when bending with the weight of years. Here are the
skeletons of warrior and courtier, knight and minstrel. All wear
glittering costumes, all mimic the actions of life. Cavalier takes the
hand of Damosel, and Lord supports the form of Ladye, while the
fleshless jaws, extend and grimace but speak no word. They utter a low
moaning sound like the deaf mute when he essays to speak. ’Tis horrible,
most horrible, this ghastly array of mockery, and hark--strange peals of
music, are floating from yon lofty windows of the banquet hall!”
And as he spoke, the spectral train disappeared within the shadow of
the hall door, and he was left alone with the long line of hearses and
the skeleton servitors.
“So please ye, gentle sir, wilt thou not trip a measure in the joyous
dance?” spoke a voice at his shoulder, “Lo! the peals of merry music,
lo! the hum of the dancers feet, moving merrily over the floor. Wilt
please thee to take my arm?”
Adrian turned and beheld the bowing Skeleton-Master of Ceremonies.
“I’ll e’en secure thee a fair partner!” whispered the skeleton as he led
Adrian through the hall door and along the massive stairway. “Look, good
youth, the paintings are somewhat tarnished, very little tarnished since
we beheld them last, and, ha, ha, well, well, such things will come to
pass, the marble steps of the staircase are cracked by the footstep of
time. This way, this way, my good youth. Lo! we are in the festal hall!”
With a gaze of horror, Adrian beheld the hall, whose floor he had
trodden some hundred years agone. He beheld the lofty pillars, the
magnificent arch, the balcony for the minstrels, all illumined by the
glare of pendent lamps, all, all the same, yet still all sadly and
fearfully changed.
The lofty columns were decorated with evergreens, but flowers gathered
by the hand of beauty from the wild wood glade no more adorned capital
and frieze.
The ivy, green companion of old time, clomb round the towering pillars,
and swept its canopy of leaves along the arching ceiling, while the
night-wind rustling through the worm-eaten tapestries agitated the long
tendrils of the trailing vine with a gentle yet solemn motion.
“Lo! the dancers--ha, ha, the dancers!”
Circling and whirling, grouping and clustering, the skeleton-band went
swaying over the floor, their gay dresses fluttering in the light, while
the ruddy lamp-beams fell quivering over each bared brow, tinting the
hollow sockets with a crimson glow, and giving a more ghastly grimace to
the array of whitened teeth.
“Lo! the minstrels--a skeleton-band, whose fleshless skulls appear above
the lattice-work of yon balcony. Merry music they make--clank, clank,
clank! They beat the hollow skull with the cross-bone--clank, clank,
clank! Each skeleton minstrel waves on high a human bone, striking it on
the hollow skull--clank, clank. Clank, clank. Clank, clank, clank!”
And as the grinning skeleton, master of ceremonies, pointed above to the
spectral minstrels, Adrian listened to the music that echoed round the
hall.
A wild clanking sound assailed his ears, with a hollow mockery of music,
while a deep, booming, rolling sound like the echo of a distant
battle-drum broke on the air, maddening the skeleton-dancers with its
weird melody.
The revel swelled fiercer, and the mirth grew louder, awaking the echoes
of the ancient hall with one deafening murmur.
“Lo! the dancers divide--behold the spectacle! On yonder side extend the
lords and cavaliers, on this the dames and damozels. They prepare for a
merry dance--will it please thee chose a partner?”
And as the skeleton spoke, he pointed to the form of a maiden, clad in
snow-white robes, who with her face turned from Adrian, seemed absorbed
in watching the motions of the dancers. Adrian gazed upon this maidenly
form with a beating heart, and advanced to her side.
“Behold thy partner!” cried the master of ceremonies.
The maiden turned her face to Adrian, and he stood spell-bound to the
spot with sudden horror.
Looking from beneath a dropping plume, snow-white in hue, a skull stared
him in the face, with the orbless sockets, the cavity of the nose, and
the grinning teeth turned to glowing red by the light of the pendent
lamps.
Adrian stood spell-bound but the form advanced, flinging her skeleton
hands on high--
“Adrian, Adrian,” whispered a soft woman’s voice issuing from the
fleshless skull; “Joy to me now, for I behold thee once again!”
“I know thee not” shrieked Adrian with a voice of fear--“I know thee
not, thou thing of death! Wherefore whisper my name with the voice of
her whom this heart loved a hundred years ago, and will love forever?
Off--off--thou mockery, nor clutch thy skeleton arms around my neck, nor
gather me in thy foul embrace!”
“And thou lovest me not!” spoke the sad and complaining voice of the
skeleton--“Adrian, Adrian, gaze upon me, I am thine own, thine now and
thine forever!”
“And this,” whispered Adrian, as the fearful consciousness gradually
stole over his soul--“And this is my love--my Annabel! Death, oh ghastly
and invisible Death, couldst thou not spare even--her!”
“Advance dames and damosels!” rung out the words of the master of
ceremonies.
And at the word, the long line of skeleton-dames and damosels, arrayed
in rarest silks, blazing with jewels and glittering with ornaments of
gold, came swaying quickly forward, extending their skeleton hands to
their partners, who half advanced from the opposite side of the hall,
and then they all swept back to their places, with one sudden movement
rattling their skeleton fingers with a gesture of boundless joy, as they
stood beneath the glare of the dazzling lights.
“Advance lords and cavaliers!”
Quickly and with lightsome steps the skeletons arrayed in costly robe
and glittering doublet advanced to the sound of the unearthly music, and
gaining the centre of the hall, sprang nimbly in the air, performing
the evolutions of the dance with the celerity of lightning, and having
greeted their fair partners again retired to the opposite side of the
hall, uttering a low and moaning sound of laughter as they regained
their places.
“Minstrels strike up a merrier peal! Clank, clank. Clank, clank. Clank,
clank--clank!--Merrier, merrier--louder, louder--let the old roof echo
with your peals of melody! Now gentles advance, seize your fair partners
and whirl them in the dance!”
With one wild bound the skeletons sprang forward from opposite sides of
the hall, pairing off, two by two, lord and ladye, cavalier and damosel,
and in a moment the whole array of revellers swept circling round the
hall, moving forward to a merry measure, clanking their skeleton hands
on high and uttering low peals of laughter as they whirled around the
bounding floor.
Adrian gazed upon the scene in wild amazement, while the skeleton arms
of _her he loved_, gathered closer round his neck, and as he gazed he
became inspired with the wild excitement of the scene, he clapped his
hands on high, he joined in the low muttered laughter, he mingled in the
mad whirl of the spectral dance.
Faster and faster, whirling two by two, their fleshless skulls turned to
glowing red by the glare of a thousand lights, their hands of bone
clanking wildly above their heads, while the low moaning chorus of
unreal laughter echoed around the hall, faster and faster circled the
skeleton dancers, gay doublets glittering in the lamp-beams, robes of
silk flung wavingly to the breeze.
On and on with the speed of wind they swept, these merry denizens of the
grave, pacing their march of mockery, their dance of woe, with a ghastly
mimicry of life, reality and joy.
And as Adrian flung his arms around the skeleton-form of his bride,
gathering her to his bosom, while their voices joined in the moaning
chaunt of unreal laughter, the voice which he had heard an hundred years
before, again came whispering to his ear.
“Behold the Mysterie of Life and Death! To-day the children of men live
and love, hate and destroy. Where are their lives, their loves, their
hatreds, and their wars, in an hundred years? Behold--ha, ha, ha!
_Behold the Mysterie of their life and their death!_”
CHAPTER THE TWELFTH.
THE REAL MORE TERRIBLE THAN THE UNREAL.
All was dark. Not a ray of light, not even the gleaming of a distant
star, but deep and utter darkness.
Adrian awoke from his dream. Did he awake to another dream, or to a
reality yet more terrible?
He lay prostrate, and he felt his limbs confined as though they were
bound with cords. He extended his hand, and it touched a smooth panel of
wood, extending along his right side. A strange horror, to which the
horrors of his late dream were joy and peace, gathered like a deadening
weight around his heart. He threw forth his left hand, and felt a like
panel of smooth wood extending along his other side. Raising himself
slowly from his prostrate position, with every nerve and fibre of his
frame stiffened and cramped by his hard resting place, he passed his
quivering hands along the panels of wood, and with that insupportable
horror deadening over his heart, he felt and examined the shape of
his--COFFIN.
Bowing his head between his hands, the wretched man essayed to weep, but
the fountain of his tears was exhausted.
He could not weep.
And then, as with trembling hands he examined his emaciated face, with
the cheek-bones pressing hard against the parched skin, he beheld rising
before his soul, one ghastly idea, which would pale the cheek of the
bravest man that ever went to battle, or chill with horror and despair,
the heart of the holiest Priest that ever offered prayers to God, an
idea to which all other horrors were as nothing, all terrors, all fears,
all deaths trifling and insignificant.
And the nameless thought, his husky voice gave to the air in a hollow
whisper.
“BURIED-ALIVE!”
And a hollow echo returned the word “_alive, alive!_”
“It comes back to my soul,” he slowly murmured, “the scene in the
chamber of the convent--the Monk--oh, curses on the traitor--the potion,
all, all come back to me! Buried Alive! Devil in human shape--he did not
drug the bowl with death, but with--sleep! This, this is the revenge of
the Duke, and, and Albertine was the tool of the triple murderer! Buried
Alive!”
He tried to arise from the coffin, but for a long time his efforts were
in vain.
His frame was stiffened in every sinew, and his limbs were benumbed by
his long repose.
At last he stood erect upon the floor of stone, and extending his hands,
grasped the massive walls.
“There is yet one hope,” he murmured, “there may be some outlet from the
funeral vault!”
With slow and leaden footsteps he passed along the wall, measuring its
length. It was five paces long. The stones were all solid, massive, and
firm. His upraised hand touched the ceiling, as it extended some three
inches higher than his head.
Clutching the massive stones, he paced along the other walls or sides of
the room, with weary and difficult footsteps, and at last traversed the
three sides, and leaning against the wall, he endeavored to impress his
wandering mind with some definite idea of the shape and dimensions of
the vault.
“I stand in a small room, with floor and walls of massive stone,” he
slowly muttered, “it is square in shape, and each side of the cell is
five paces in length, and somewhat more than the stature of a man in
height. The stones are solid, and to all appearance are some three feet
thick. There is no outlet, no passage from the vault. I am
indeed--Buried, and buried alive!”
He passed with difficult steps along the fourth wall of the vault,
determined to repose his shattered frame awhile, even though his resting
place was his coffin. In a moment measuring three paces, he arrived at
the spot where he supposed he had left the coffin. Extending his foot to
and fro, in search of his late tenement, he was struck with a new
horror:
“It is gone--the coffin is gone!”
Words cannot picture the utter horror with which this was spoken.
All the despair that an Angel of God might feel, when toppled from the
battlements of Heaven into the infernal abyss, then visited the breast
of Adrian Di Albarone.
“It is a mere phantasy,” he exclaimed, “I have chanced upon the wrong
side of the room.”
Again the sides of the vault were paced, and yet the coffin was not
within his reach.
It was gone from its position near the wall, and his physical strength
did not suffice to advance toward the centre of the room.
What invisible hand was it, that removed the Coffin?
As the question was asked by the heart of the wretched man, it found its
answer in one fearful doubt.
“And am I, in truth, within the bounds of that fearful place, which wild
Poets have fancied, and dark-robed Monks have preached? Am I in sooth
lost, and lost forever? Is death a dream? or an eternal succession of
realities that seem but dreams--horrors too fearful for even the damned
to believe? And this, this is--hell! I could bear the tortures of the
eternal fire, the lash of the fiends I might defy, the lightnings of
wrath would inspire with me with some portion of the Awful Spirit who
winged their bolts of vengeance--but this narrow cell, this eternal
confinement in a place visited only by Dreams, while hunger tortures and
thirst burns, hope animates, and despair holds but half the human
heart--this, this is too horrible. God of vengeance, give me, oh give,
the punishment of the undying worm, the torture of the eternal frame,
but spare, oh spare me--_this_!”