alight. He was led up a narrow staircase; a door flew open. He
entered. Could it be; surely imagination betrayed his senses! He could
scarcely believe himself once more in the apartment of the painter!
Yet there was no mistaking what he saw. The ebony cabinet, the easel,
table, chair--all left as he saw them yesterday. But the living
occupants were strangely diverse. Two or three functionaries of the
civil power; and in one corner a black cloth, spread on the floor,
concealed some unknown object. The whole was lighted by a feeble lamp
from the ceiling. A dusky haze from the damp, foggy atmosphere
rendered objects ill-defined, indistinct, almost terrific to an
excited imagination. In addition to the usual articles of furniture
was a desk, with writing materials, at which one of the officers of
justice appeared dictating something to his secretary.
On De Vessey's entrance, the scribe made some minute preparatory to
his examination, which commenced as follows:--
"Sigismund de Vessey?"
"The same."
"Being accused upon oath before us of murder, thou art brought hither
to confront thine accusers, and to answer this heinous charge. First,
let the body be produced."
The cloth was removed, and De Vessey beheld the corpse lying on a
mattress.
"Knowest thou this body?"
"I do," said the cavalier, firmly.
"When was he seen by thee alive, the last time?"
"Yesterday, about noon."
"Where?"
"In this chamber."
"Not since?"
"Yes, but not living."
"Dead, sayest thou?"
"This morning in the Morgue."
"Not previously?"
"I have not. But pray to what purport this examination?"
"This will appear presently. When taken out of the river marks were
found upon the throat, as though from strangulation. Knowest thou
aught of these?"
"I do not," said the accused, indignantly.
This answer being written down, the examination was resumed.
"We have testimony that the unfortunate victim and thyself were seen
together about midnight; and, further, a short but violent struggle
was heard, and a heavy plunge; afterwards an individual, with whom
thou art identified, was seen departing in great haste, and entering
the house well known as thy residence in the Rue de" ----
"A most foul and wicked fabrication, for purposes of which as yet I am
ignorant. Of such charges I hardly need affirm that I am innocent."
"Let the accuser stand forth."
To the surprise and horror of De Vessey there appeared from a recess
the German doctor, Hermann Sichel, who, without flinching,
recapitulated the foregoing accusation. Moreover, he swore in the most
positive terms to his identity, and that not a doubt rested on his
mind but De Vessey was the murderer.
"In this very apartment," said the witness, "he, De Vessey, drew his
sword upon the painter yesterday, doubtless either from grudge or
jealousy; being enamoured of a fair Italian dame, Leonora da Rimini."
"Most abominable of liars!" said the accused, eyeing him with a
furious look. "How darest thou to my face bring this foul accusation.
Thou shalt answer for it with thy blood!"
"Hear him! What need of further testimony? His own betrays him," said
the doctor, with unblushing effrontery.
"We have other witness thou wilt not dare to gainsay," said the
presiding officer. "This learned person is amply corroborated by
evidence that must effectually silence all denial. He hath referred us
to her who was present, Leonora da Rimini."
"Leonora! what, my own--my betrothed? She my accuser?"
"Spare thy speech and listen. We could not bring the maiden hither,
insomuch as the nature of her malady admits not of removal: but her
evidence and accusation are duly attested, taken at her own request,
not many hours ago. The substance of her deposition is as follows:--A
confession to her of thine intention to murder Conrad Bergmann, the
artist aforesaid, being jealous of his attentions; and furthermore, in
the agony of guilt, thou didst confess in her presence, having first
strangled, and afterwards thrown him into the river, hoping thereby to
conceal thy crime; then forcing her to swear she would keep the matter
secret, and threatening her life in case it were divulged. This
outrage, and this alone, hath nigh driven her frantic; her life being
in jeopardy from thy violence. What sayest thou, Sigismund de
Vessey?"
"A lie, most foul and audacious, trumped up by that impostor! Leonora?
Impossible. I would not believe though it were from her own lips. Some
demon hath possessed her. This disorder is more than common madness."
He looked around. The whole was like the phantasma of some terrible
dream. Bewildered, and hardly knowing what course to pursue, in vain
he attempted to shake the testimony of the hoary villain before him;
and having at present none other means of rebutting the accusation, he
was ordered into close custody until the morrow.
Utterly unprepared with evidence, he knew not where to apply. That he
was the victim of some foul plot so far appeared certain; but for what
purpose, and at whose instigation, was inexplicable.
Ere an hour had elapsed De Vessey found himself in one of the cells of
a public dungeon, with ample leisure to form plans for proving his
innocence. He determined early on the morrow to acquaint his friends,
and employ a celebrated advocate to expose this villainous doctor, who
no doubt had designs either on his purse or person.
In a while the prisoner fell asleep from fatigue and exhaustion. He
was awakened by a sudden glare across his eyelids. At first, imagining
he was under the influence of some extravagant dream, he made little
effort to arouse himself. A figure stood beside the couch, a lamp
lifted above his head. A friar's cowl concealed his features; his
person, too, was enveloped in a coarse garment, with a huge rosary at
his girdle.
"Mortal, awake and listen," said the unknown visitor. "Art weary of
life, or does this present world content thee?"
"Who art thou?" said De Vessey, scarcely raising himself from the
pallet.
"I am thy friend, thy deliverer, an' thou wilt."
"Thanks!" said the knight, springing from his recumbent posture.
"Stay!" replied the intruder; "there be conditions ere thou pass
hence. Miserable offspring of Adam, ye still cling to your prison and
your clay. Wherefore shrink from the separation, afraid to shake off
your bonds, your loathsome carcase, and spring forth at once to life?
Art thou prepared to fulfil one--but one condition for thy release?"
"Name it. Manifest my innocence; and if it be gold, thou shalt have
thy desire. No hired advocate e'er yet held such a fee."
"Keep thy gold for baser uses; it buyeth not my benefits. But
remember, thy life is not worth a week's purchase, neither is thy
mistress's, forsooth, shouldest thou be witless enough to refuse. An
ignominious death, a base exit for thyself--for her, madness and a
speedy grave. One fate awaits ye both. Life and health, if thou
consent, are yours."
"Thou speakest riddles. It were vain trying to comprehend their
import. Name thy conditions. Aught that honour may purchase will I
give."
The stranger threw back his cowl, displaying the features of the
renowned Doctor Hermann Sichel. A gleam of lurid intelligence lighted
his grim grey eyes, that might betoken either insanity or excitement.
Without reflecting for one moment on the hazard or imprudence of his
conduct, De Vessey immediately rushed forward, grappled with his
adversary, and threw him.
"Now will I have deadly vengeance, fiend! Take that!" said he, drawing
forth a concealed poniard and thrusting with all his might. Scorn
puckered the features of the pretended monk. The weapon's point was
driven back, refusing to enter, as though his enemy held a charmed
existence.
"Put back thy weapon; thou wilt have need of it elsewhere, silly one."
De Vessey was confounded at this unlooked-for result. His foe seemed
invulnerable, and he slunk back.
"I forgive thee, poor fool! Put it back, I say. There--there; now to
work--time hastens, and there is little space for parley."
"What is thy will?"
"Thy welfare, thy life: listen. Yonder unhappy wretch I have loaden
with benefits, rescued from poverty, disgrace; lifted him to the
pinnacle of his ambition--the highest rank in art. Base ingrate, he
threatened to betray, to denounce, and I crushed the reptile. He is
now what thou shalt be shortly unless my power be put forth for thy
rescue. Not all the united efforts of man can deliver thee. Beyond
earthly aid, thou diest the death of a dog!"
"Why dost thou accuse me of a crime, knowing that I am innocent?"
"To drive thee, helpless, into my power. Think not to escape save on
one condition."
"Name it," said De Vessey.
"Self-preservation is the great, the paramount law of our nature; the
most powerful impulse implanted in our being. All, all obey this
impulse; and who can control or forbid its operation? Will not the
most timid, the most scrupulous, if no alternative be afforded, slay
the adversary who seeks his life; and does not the law both of earth
and heaven hold him guiltless? Thou art now denounced. Innocent, thy
life must be sacrificed. Thou diest, or another; there is no choice."
"But shall _I_ murder the innocent?"
"And suppose it be. What thinkest thou? Two persons, equally
guiltless, one of them must die. Self-preservation will prompt
instinctively to action. Does not the drowning man cling to his
companions; nay, rescue himself at the expense of another's life?"
De Vessey felt bewildered, if not convinced. Need we wonder if he
yielded. Life or death; honour, disgrace. His mistress restored; his
innocence proved. Life, with him, had scarcely been tasted. A glorious
career awaited him; his lady-love smiling through the bright vista of
the future; and----The tempter prevailed!
But who must be the victim? The appalling truth was not then
disclosed. De Vessey promised to obey.
"But remember, no power, not even flight, can screen thee from my
vengeance shouldst break thy vow. Take warning by the painter; the
poor fool but hesitated, and his doom was swift as it was sure. Take
this cowl and friar's garment; I was admitted by the jailer for thy
shrift. The lamp will guide thee. Be bold, and fear not. I will
remain; to-morrow they will find out their mistake, but I have other
means of escape."
"And Leonora. How shall she be recovered?"
"That is a work of peril, and will need thine utmost vigilance.
Rememberest thou the skeleton?"
"In the ebony cabinet?" inquired the cavalier, with a cold shudder.
"He hath her portrait, and will not lightly be persuaded to give his
prey. _Every month I am bound to furnish him a bride!_ My own life
pays the forfeit of omission. Leonora is the next victim, unless thou
prevail, betrothed to that grisly type of death!"
"Oh, horrible! Mine the bride of a loathsome skeleton! Of an atomy! A
fiend! Monster, I will denounce thee. I care not for my own life. Of
what worth if torn from hers. Wretch, give back my bride or"----
"Spare these transports. I am now thine only friend. Thou art now cut
off from thy kin, shunned by mankind. To whom, then, wilt thou turn
for help? Mine thou art for ever!"
De Vessey gasped for utterance.
"Nevertheless," continued his tormentor, "I will direct and help thee
in this matter also. But 'tis a fearful venture. Hast thou courage?"
"If to rescue her, aught that human arm can achieve shall be done."
"He holds the portrait, I tell thee, with a steady gripe. Those
skeleton fingers will be hard to unloose."
"I will break them or perish. This good"----
"Touch them not for thy life. Death, sure but lingering, awaits
whomsoever they fasten upon. Take this key. It will admit thee to the
apartment. To-night the deed must be accomplished, or to-morrow the
maiden is beyond succour."
"And how is this charmed picture to be wrested from him?"
"An ebony wand lies at his feet; he will obey its touch. But
whatsoever thou seest, be nothing daunted, nor let any silly terror
scare thee from thy purpose. Now to thy task. But keep these marvels
to thyself. If thou whisper--ay, to the winds--our compact, thou art
not safe."
Soon De Vessey, enveloped in his disguise, found egress without
difficulty. Once outside the prison, he hurried on, scarcely giving
himself time for reflection.
The night was dark and stormy. Torches, distributed about the streets,
rocked and swung to and fro in their sockets, the flames, with a
strange and flickering glare, giving an unnatural distorted appearance
to objects within reach; and to some solitary individual, at this late
hour hurrying alone, the grim aspect of a demon or a spectre to the
disturbed imagination of the lover. His courage, at times on the point
of deserting him, revived when he remembered that another's life,
dearer than his own, depended on his exertions. The streets, almost
deserted, swam with continually accumulating torrents; but he felt not
that terrible tempest; the turmoil, the conflict within, was louder
than the roar and tumult of outward elements.
Almost ere he was aware he found himself opposite the entrance of the
painter's habitation; a shudder, like a death-chill, shot through his
frame. He applied his key. A distant gleam, a dim lurid light, seemed
to quiver before him. He heard the quick jar, the withdrawing bolt,
that gave him admittance, as though it were a spectral voice warning
him to desist.
The unknown dangers he anticipated, rendered more terrific by their
vague indefinite character, were enough to appal a stouter bosom. De
Vessey would have faced and defied earthly perils, but these were
almost beyond his fortitude to endure. Love, however, gave excitement,
if not courage, and he resolved either to succeed or perish in the
attempt. The stairs were partially illumined by an uncertain glimmer
from a narrow window into the street. He felt his way, and every step
sent the life-blood curdling to his heart. He reached the topmost
stair; laid one hand on the latch. He listened; all was still save the
hollow gusts that rumbled round the dwelling.
With a feeling somewhat akin to desperation he entered. A lamp, yet
burning, emitted a feeble glare, but was well-nigh spent, giving a
more dismal aspect to this lonely chamber. It was apparently
unoccupied. The chair, the black funeral pall left by the officers of
justice over the pallet, the mysterious cabinet, the desk where the
painter usually sat, all remained undisturbed. De Vessey's attention
was more particularly directed towards the cabinet; there alone,
according to his instructions, were the means of deliverance. A cold,
clammy perspiration, a freezing shiver, came upon him as he
approached. He laid one hand on the latch; it resisted as before. He
tried force, a loud groan was heard in the chamber. Every fibre of his
frame seemed to grow rigid; every limb stiffened with horror; and he
drew back.
This was a sorry beginning to the adventure, and he inwardly repented
of his rashness. Looking round in extreme agony, his eyes rested on
the black pall. Could it be, or was it from the expiring glimmer of
the lamp? The drapery appeared to move. Another and a deeper groan! De
Vessey for a space was unable to move; but his courage came apace,
inasmuch as it was some relief, and a diversion from the awful
mysteries of that grim cabinet. He approached the pallet hastily,
throwing off the heavy coverlet. The recumbent body was yet beneath,
but convulsed, as though struggling to free itself from an oppressive
burden. De Vessey watched, while his blood froze with terror.
Gradually these convulsive movements extended to the features. The
lips quivered as though essaying to speak; the eye-balls rolling
rapidly under their lids. A slight flush dawned upon the cheek; the
hands were tightly closed, and another groan preceded one desperate
attempt to throw off the load which prevented returning animation. At
length the eyes opened with a ghastly stare; but evidently conveying
no outward impression to the inward sense. With a loud shriek the body
started up; then, uttering a wild and piercing cry, rolled on the
floor, foaming and struggling for life as though with some powerful
adversary.
"Save me!--save me!" was uttered in a tone so harrowing and dreadful,
more than mortal agony, that De Vessey would have fled, but his limbs
refused their office.
"He strangles me! Fiend--have--have mercy! Wilt thou not? Oh, mercy,
mercy, Heaven!" His senses, though evidently bewildered, resumed their
functions. With a glare of intense anguish he appeared as though
supplicating help and deliverance.
"Who art thou?" was the first inquiry and symptom of returning reason.
"I know thee, De Vessey. But why art thou here? Another victim. Yes,
to torture me. Where am I? In my own chamber! Oh--that horrid cabinet!
Yet--yet these cruel torments. Will they never end?"
De Vessey immediately perceived there was no delusion; the mortal form
of the artist was really before him. Terrible though it were, yet it
was a relief to have companionship with his kind, a being of flesh and
blood beside him. He might now peradventure accomplish his task.
Providence, maybe, had opened a way for his deliverance, and hope once
more dawned on his spirit. He helped the miserable artist to regain
his couch, and sought to soothe him, beseeching the helpless victim
not to give way to frenzy, doubtless resulting from his strange and
emaciated condition. A miracle or a spell had been wrought for his
resuscitation; but the events of the last few hours were alike
enigmas, beyond the common operations of nature to explain.
"Yesterday I attempted suicide," said the artist, "taking poison to
escape a life insupportable to me. Fain would I have broken the chain
which binds me to this miserable existence. But yon tyrant hath given
me a charmed life. I cannot even die!"
"Thy body was dragged from the Seine."
"How?" inquired the artist, with an incredulous look.
"And exposed this morning in the Morgue," continued De Vessey.
"When will my sufferings cease? How have I prayed for deliverance from
this infernal thraldom!"
"Yon deceiver hath doubtless thrown thee into the river, and supposing
thou wert dead, he designs me to supply thy place; to carry on the
dark mystery of iniquity, a glimpse of which hath already been
revealed."
"Would that I had been left to perish--that my doom were ended.
Avarice--ambition--how enslaved are your victims! How have I longed
for my miserable cottage, my poverty, my obscurity--cold and pinching
want, but a quiet conscience to season my scanty meal! I bartered all
for gold, for fame and--misery! A cruel bondage! compared to which I
could envy the meanest thing that crawls on this abject earth. In my
trance I dreamed of green fields and babbling streams; of my brethren,
my playmates, my days of innocence and sport, when all was freshness
and anticipation--life one bright vista beyond, opening to sunny
regions of rapture and delight. And now, what am I?--a wretch,
degraded, undone--a spectacle of misery beyond what human thought can
conceive. Doomed to years, ages it may be, of woe--to scenes of horror
such as tongue ne'er told, and even imagination might scarce endure,
and my miseries but a foretaste of that hereafter!"
Here the guilty victim writhed in a paroxysm of agony; his veins
swollen almost to bursting. Whether real or imaginary, whether a
victim to insanity or of some supernatural agent, its influence was
not the less terrible in its effects. Starting suddenly from his
grovelling posture, he cried, fixing his eyes on De Vessey with a
searching glance--
"What brings thee hither?"
"Leonora is in jeopardy by your spells. I seek her deliverance."
"She is beyond rescue. Leonora da Rimini is THE SKELETON'S BRIDE."
Here the painter threw such a repulsive glance towards the cabinet
that the cavalier shrank back as though expecting some grisly spectre
from its portals; yet, himself the subject of an extraordinary
fascination, he could not withdraw his gaze.
"Fly, fly, or thou art lost! My tormentor will be here anon--I would
have saved her, and he fixed his burning gripe here, I feel it still;
not a night passes that he comes not hither. Away! shouldest thou meet
him thy doom is fixed, and for ever. I would not that another fell
into his toils. Couldest thou know, ay, but as a whisper, the secrets
of this prison-house, thy spirit would melt, thy flesh would shrink as
though the hot wind of the desert had passed over it. What I have
endured, and what I must endure, are alike unutterable."
"Thy keeper comes not to-night. He hath sent me to this chamber of
death instead. He knows not thou art alive."
"Thee!--to--but I must not reveal; my tongue cleaves to my mouth. Nay,
nay, it cannot be; none but a fiend could do his behest. Away! for thy
life, away!"
De Vessey related the events of the last few hours. The artist
ruminated awhile, then abruptly exclaimed--
"He hath some diabolical design thereupon which I am not yet able to
fathom. That it is for thine undoing, Sir Knight, for thy misery here
and hereafter, doubt not. Thou hast promised, but not yet offered him
a victim. Thus far thou art safe; but he will pursue thee; and think
not to escape his vengeance. How to proceed is beyond my counsel.
Should midnight come, thou wouldest see horrors in this chamber that
might quail the stoutest heart. Thou art bereft of life or reason if
thou tarry."
"I leave not without an attempt, even should I fail, to wrench her,
who is dearer to me than either, from that demon's grasp. I will not
hence alone."
"Alas! I fear there is little hope; yet shall he not escape yonder
prison before to-morrow. Even his arts cannot convey him through its
walls; the magician's body, if such he be, is subject to like
impediments with our own. This night, for good or ill, is thine."
"To work, then, to work," said De Vessey, as though inspired with new
energy, "to the rescue, and by this good cross," kissing the handle of
his sword, "I defy ye!"
By main force he attempted, and in the end tore open the door of the
cabinet. The grinning skeleton was before him, the miniature in its
grasp. A moment's pause. The cavalier carefully surveyed his prize.
Suspended by an iron chain, the links entwined round its bony arm,
rendered the picture difficult, if not impossible, to detach without
touching the limbs. Gathering fresh courage from the countenance and
smile of his beloved, he snatched the portrait, but the wearer was too
tenacious of the charmed treasure, and resisted his utmost efforts. He
thought a savage, a malicious grin crept upon his features. A smile
more than usually hideous mocked him. From those hollow sockets too,
or his imagination played strange antics, a faint glare shot forth. A
dizzy terror crept over him. His brain reeled. His energies were
becoming prostrate; and unless one desperate attempt could be made,
all hopes of rescue were past. He sought the ebony wand, but forgetful
or incautious, laid hold of the chain which encircled the skeleton's
wrist. A bell answered to the pressure,--a deep hollow reverberation,
like a death-knell, in his ear.
"Hark! that iron tongue--lost--lost! Oh! mercy, mercy!" shrieked the
death-painter, covering his eyes.
At this moment De Vessey heard a noise like the jarring of bolts and
hinges. Ere he was aware the skeleton's arms were fastened round him;
the doors closed; the floor gave way under his feet. He felt the
pressure relaxing; he fell; the hissing wind rushed in his ears.
Stunned with his fall, he lay for a while in the dark, scarcely able
to move. It was not long ere he was able to grope about. Rotting
carcases and bones met his touch--a noisome charnel-house gorged with
human bodies in all the various stages of decay. His heart sickened
with a fearful apprehension that he was left to perish by a lingering
death, like those around him. Despair for the first time benumbed his
faculties. His courage gave way at the dreadful anticipation, and he
grasped the very carcase on which he trod for succour.
Suddenly, a loud yell burst above him. A blaze of burning timbers
flashed forth--crackling, they hissed, and fell into the vault.
Through an opening overhead he saw the skeleton seized by devouring
flames. They twined, they clung round it. Their forky tongues licked
the bones that appeared to writhe and crawl in living agony.
Soon the chain which held the portrait gave way, and it dropped at his
feet unhurt. A shriek issued from the flaming cabinet, and he saw the
painter with a burning torch above. A maniac joy lighted up his
features; he shouted to De Vessey, and with frantic gestures beckoned
that he should escape.
"If thou canst climb yonder stair," he cried, "before the flames cut
off thy retreat, thou art safe. See, Leonora is already free.
Haste--this way--there--there--now leap--mind thy footing--'tis too
frail--creep round--those rafters are unbroken; another spring, and
thou mayest reach them in safety."