At first through the square chambers of the early Popes and the narrow
passages lined with empty cells, nearest to the world outside, we kept
together, and it was mainly Eusebius who discoursed of the building of
the Catacombs, which he informed us had a pagan beginning.
"But our blessed early bishops said, 'Why should the devil have all the
accommodations?' and when once the Church got its foot in there wasn't
much room for _him_. But a few pagans there are here to this day in
better company than they ever kept above ground," remarked Brother
Eusebius.
"Can you tell them apart?" asked Mr. Dod, "the Christians and the
Pagans?"
"Yes," replied that holy man, "by the measurements of the jaw-bone. The
Christians, you see, were always lecturing the other fellows, so their
jaw-bones grew to an awful size. Some of 'em are simply parliamentary."
"Dat," said Brother Demetrius anxiously--as nobody had laughed--"ith a
joke."
"I noticed the intention," said poppa. "It's down in the guide-book
that you've been 'absolved from the vow of silence'--is that correct?"
"Right you are," said Brother Eusebius. "What about it?"
"Oh, nothing--only it explains a good deal. I guess you enjoy it, don't
you?"
But Brother Eusebius was bending over a cell in better preservation than
most of them, and was illuminating with his candle the bones of the
dweller in it. The light flickered on the skull of the Early Christian
and the tonsure of the modern one and made comparisons. It also cut the
darkness into solid blocks, and showed us broken bits of marble, faint
stains of old frescoes, strange rough letters, and where it wavered
furthest the uncertain lines of a graven cross.
"Here's one of the original inhabitants," remarked Eusebius. "He's been
here all the time. I hope the ladies don't mind looking at him in his
bones?"
"Thee, you can pick him up," said old Demetrius, handing a thigh-bone to
momma, who shrank from the privilege. "It ith quite dry."
"It seems such a liberty," she said, "and he looks so incomplete without
it. Do put it back."
"That's the way I feel," remarked Dicky, "but I don't believe he'd mind
our looking at a toe-bone. Are his toe-bones all there?"
"No," replied Demetrius, "I have count another day and he ith nine only.
Here ith a few."
"It is certainly a very solemn and unusual privilege," remarked Mr.
Mafferton, as the toe-bones went round, "to touch the mortal remnant of
an Early Christian."
"That altogether depends," said the Senator, "upon what sort of an Early
Christian he was. Maybe he was a saint of the first water, and maybe he
was a pillar of the church that ran a building society. Or, maybe, he
was only an average sort of Early Christian like you or me, in which
case he must be very uncomfortable at the idea of inspiring so much
respect. How are you going to tell?"
"The gentleman is right," said Brother Eusebius, and in considering
poppa's theory in its relation to the doubtful character before them
nobody noticed, except me, the petty larceny, by Richard Dod, of one
Early Christian toe-bone. His expression, I am glad to say, made me
think he had never stolen anything before; but you couldn't imagine a
more promising beginning for a career of embezzlement. As we moved on I
mentioned to him that the man who would steal the toe-bone of an Early
Christian, who had only nine, was capable of most crimes, at which he
assured me that he hadn't such a thing about him outside of his boots,
which shows how one wrong step leads to another.
We fell presently into two parties--Dicky, Mrs. Portheris, and I holding
to the skirts of Brother Demetrius. Brother Demetrius knew a great deal
about the Latin inscriptions and the history of Pope Damasus and the
chapel of the Bishops, and how they found the body of St. Cecilia,
after eight hundred years, fresh and perfect, and dressed in rich
vestments embroidered in gold; but his way of imparting it seriously
interfered with the value of his information, and we looked regretfully
after the other party.
"Here we have de tomb of Anterus and Fabianus----"
"I think we should keep up with the rest," interrupted Mrs. Portheris.
"Oh, I too, I know all dese Catacomb--I will take you everywheres--and
here, too, we have buried Entychianus."
"Where is Brother Eusebius taking the others?" asked Dicky.
"Now I tell you: he mith all de valuable ting, he is too fat and lazy;
only joke, joke, joke. And here we has buried Epis--martyr. Epis he wath
_martyr_."
The others, with their lights and voices, came into full view where four
passages met in a cubicle. "Oh," cried Isabel, catching sight of us,
"_do_ come and see Jonah and the whale. It's too funny for anything."
"And where Damathuth found here the many good thainth he----"
"We would like to see Jonah," entreated Dicky.
"Well," said Brother Demetrius crossly, "you go thee him--you catch up.
I will no more. You do not like my Englis' very well. You go with fat
old joke-fellow, and I return the houth. Bethide, it ith the day of my
lumbago." And the venerable Demetrius, with distinct temper, turned his
back on us and waddled off.
We looked at each other in consternation.
"I'm afraid we've hurt his feelings," said Dicky.
"You must go after him, Mr. Dod, and apologize," commanded Mrs.
Portheris.
"Do you suppose he knows the way out?" I asked.
"It _is_ a shame," said Dicky. "I'll go and tell him we'd rather have
him than Jonah any day."
Brother Demetrius was just turning a corner. Darkness encompassed him,
lying thick between us. He looked, in the light of his candle, like
something of Rembrandt's suspended for a moment before us. Dicky started
after him, and, presently, Mrs. Portheris and I were regarding each
other with more friendliness than I would have believed possible across
our flaring dips in the silence of the Catacombs.
"Poor old gentleman," I said; "I hope Mr. Dod will overtake him."
"So do I, indeed," said Mrs. Portheris. "I fear we have been very
inconsiderate. But young people are always so impatient," she added, and
put the blame where it belonged.
I did not retaliate with so much as a reproachful glance. Even as a
censor Mrs. Portheris was so eminently companionable at the moment. But
as we waited for Dicky's return neither of us spoke again. It made too
much noise. Minutes passed, I don't know how many, but enough for us to
look cautiously round to see if there was anything to sit on. There
wasn't, so Mrs. Portheris took my arm. We were not people to lean on
each other in the ordinary vicissitudes of life, and even under the
circumstances I was aware that Mrs. Portheris was a great deal to
support, but there was comfort in every pound of her. At last a faint
light foreshadowed itself in the direction of Dicky's disappearance, and
grew stronger, and was resolved into a candle and a young man, and Mr.
Dod, very much paler than when he left, was with us again. Mrs.
Portheris and I started apart as if scientifically impelled, and
exclaimed simultaneously, "Where is Brother Demetrius?"
"Nowhere in this graveyard," said Dicky. "He's well upstairs by this
time. Must have taken a short cut. I lost sight of him in about two
seconds."
"That was very careless of you, Mr. Dod," said Mrs. Portheris, "very
careless indeed. Now we have no option, I suppose, but to rejoin the
others; and where are they?"
They were certainly not where they had been. Not a trace nor an
echo--not a trace nor an echo--of anything, only parallelograms of
darkness in every direction, and our little circle of light flickering
on the tombs of Anterus, and Fabianus, and Entychianus, and
Epis--martyr--and we three within it, looking at each other.
"If you don't mind," said Dicky, "I would rather not go after them. I
think it's a waste of time. Personally I am quite contented to have
rejoined you. At one time I thought I shouldn't be able to, and the idea
was trying."
"We wouldn't _dream_ of letting you go again," said Mrs. Portheris and I
simultaneously. "But," continued Mrs. Portheris, "we will all go in
search of the others. They can't be very far away. There is nothing so
alarming as standing still."
We proceeded along the passage in the direction of our last glimpse of
our friends and relatives, passing a number of most interesting
inscriptions, which we felt we had not time to pause and decipher, and
came presently to a divergence which none of us could remember. Half of
the passage went down three steps, and turned off to the left under an
arch, and the other half climbed two, and immediately lost itself in
blackness of darkness. In our hesitation Dicky suddenly stooped to a
trace of pink in the stone leading upward, and picked it up--three rose
petals.
"That settles it," he exclaimed. "Isa--Miss Portheris was wearing a
rose. I gave it to her myself."
"Did you, indeed," said Isabel's mamma coldly. "My dear child, how
anxious she will be!"
"Oh, I should think not," I said hopefully. "I am sure she can trust Mr.
Dod to take care of himself--and of us, too, for the matter of that."
"Mr. Dod!" exclaimed Mrs. Portheris with indignation. "My poor child's
anxiety will be for her mother."
And we let it go at that. But Dicky put the rose petals in his pocket
with the toe-bone, and hopefully remarked that there would be no
difficulty about finding her now. I mentioned that I had parents also,
at that moment, lost in the Catacombs, but he did not apologize.
The midnight of the place, as we walked on, seemed to deepen, and its
silence to grow more profound. The tombs passed us in solemn grey
ranges, one above the other--the long tombs of the grown-up people, and
the shorter ones of the children, and the very little ones of the
babies. The air held a concentrated dolor of funerals sixteen centuries
old, and the four dim stone walls seemed to have crept closer together.
"I think I will take your arm, Mr. Dod," said Mrs. Portheris, and "I
think I will take your other arm, Mr. Dod," said I.
"Thank you," replied Dicky, "I should be glad of both of yours," which
may look ambiguous now, but we quite understood it at the time. It made
rather uncomfortable walking in places, but against that overwhelming
majority of the dead it was comforting to feel ourselves a living unit.
We stumbled on, taking only the most obvious turnings, and presently the
passage widened into another little square chamber. "More bishops!"
groaned Dicky, holding up his candle.
"Perhaps," I replied triumphantly, "but Jonah, anyway," and I pointed
him out on the wall, in two shades of brown, a good deal faded, being
precipitated into the jaws of a green whale with paws and horns and a
smile, also a curled body and a three-forked tail. The wicked deed had
two accomplices only, who had apparently stopped rowing to do it.
Underneath was a companion sketch of the restitution of Jonah, in
perfect order, by the whale, which had, nevertheless, grown considerably
stouter in the interval, while an amiable stranger reclined in an arbor,
with his hand under his head, and looked on.
"As a child your intelligence promised well," said Dicky; "that _is_
Jonah, though not of the Revised Version. I don't think Bible stories
ought to be illustrated, do you, Mrs. Portheris? It has such a bad
effect on the imagination."
"We can talk of that at another time, Mr. Dod. At present I wish to be
restored to my daughter. Let us push on at once. And please explain how
it is that we have had to walk so far to get to this place, which was
only a few yards from where we were standing when Brother Demetrius left
us!" Mrs. Portheris's words were commanding, but her tone was the tone
of supplication.
"I'm afraid I can't," said Dicky, "but for that very reason I think we
had better stay where we are. They are pretty sure to look for us here."
"I cannot possibly wait to be looked for. I must be restored to my
daughter! You must make an effort, Mr. Dod. And, now that I think of it,
I have left the key of our boxes in the drawer of the dressing-table,
and the key of that is in it, and the housemaid has the key of the
room. It is absolutely necessary that I should go back to the hotel at
once."
"My dear lady," said Dicky, "don't you realize that we are lost?"
"Lost! Impossible! _Shout_, Mr. Dod!"
Dicky shouted, and all the Early Christians answered him. There are said
to be seven millions. Mrs. Portheris grasped his arm convulsively.
"Don't do that again," she said, "on any account. Let us go on!"
"Much better not," protested Dicky.
"On! on!" commanded Mrs. Portheris. There was no alternative. We put
Dicky in the middle again, and cautiously stepped out. A round of blue
paper under our chaperone's arm caught the eye of Mr. Dod. "What luck!"
he exclaimed, "you have brought the liqueur with you, Mrs. Portheris. I
think we'd better all have some, if you don't mind. I've been in warmer
cemeteries."
As she undid the bottle, Mrs. Portheris declared that she already felt
the preliminary ache of influenza. She exhorted us to copious draughts,
but it was much too nasty for more than a sip, though warming to a
degree.
"Better take very little at a time," Dicky suggested, but Mrs. Portheris
reaffirmed her faith in the virtues of eucalyptus, and with such majesty
as was compatible with the neck of the bottle, drank deeply. Then we
stumbled on. Presently Mrs. Portheris yawned widely twice, thrice, and
again. "I beg your pardon," said she, "I don't seem able to help it."
"It's the example of these gaping sepulchres," Dicky replied. "Don't
apologize."
The passages grew narrower and more complex, the tombs more irregular.
We came to one that partly blocked the path, tilted against the main
wall like a separate sarcophagus, though it was really part of the solid
rock. Looking back, a wall seemed to have risen behind us; it was a
distinctly perplexing moment, hard upon the nerves. The tomb was empty,
except for a few bones that might have been anything huddled at the
bottom, and Mrs. Portheris sat down on the lower end of it. "I really do
not feel able to go any further," she said; "the ascent is so
perpendicular."
I was going to protest that the place was as level as a street, but
Dicky forestalled me. "Eucalyptus," he said soothingly, "often has that
effect."
"We are lost," continued Mrs. Portheris lugubriously, "in the Catacombs.
We may as well make up our minds to it. We came here this morning at ten
o'clock, and I should think, I should think--thish mus' be minnight on
the following day."
"My watch has run down," said Dicky, "but you are probably quite right,
Mrs. Portheris."
"It is doubtful," Mrs. Portheris went on, pulling herself together,
"whether we are ever found. There are nine hundred miles of Catacombs.
Unless we become cannibals we are likely to die of starvation. If we do
become cannibals, Mr. Dod," she added, sternly endeavouring to look
Dicky in the eye, "I hope you will remember what ish due to ladies."
"I will offer myself up gladly," said he, and I could not help
reflecting upon the comfort of a third party with a sense of humour
under the circumstances.
"Thass right," said Mrs. Portheris, nodding approvingly, and much
oftener than was necessary. "Though there isn't much on you--you won't
go very far." Then after a moment of gloomy reflection she blew out her
candle, and, before I could prevent it, mine also. Dicky hastily put his
out of reach.
"Three candles at once," she said virtuously, "in a room of this size!
It is wicked extravagance, neither more nor less."
I assure you you would have laughed, even in the Catacombs, and Dicky
and I mutually approached the borders of hysteria in our misplaced
mirth. Mrs. Portheris smiled in unison somewhat foolishly, and we saw
that slumber was overtaking her. Gradually and unconsciously she slipped
down and back, and presently rested comfortably in the sepulchre of her
selection, sound asleep.
"She is right in it," said Dicky, holding up his candle. "She's a lulu,"
he added disgustedly, "with her eucalyptus."
This was disrespectful, but consider the annoyance of losing a third of
our forces against seven million Early Christian ghosts. We sat down,
Dicky and I, with our backs against the tomb of Mrs. Portheris, and when
Dicky suggested that I might like him to hold my hand for a little while
I made no objection whatever. We decided that the immediate prospect,
though uncomfortable, was not alarming, that we had been wandering about
for possibly an hour, judging by the dwindling of Dicky's candle, and
that search must be made for us as soon as ever the others went above
ground and heard from Brother Demetrius the tale of our abandonment. I
said that if I knew anything about momma's capacity for underground
walking, the other party would have gone up long ago, and that search
for us was, therefore, in all likelihood, proceeding now, though perhaps
it would be wiser, in case we might want them, to burn only one candle
at a time. We had only to listen intently and we would hear the voices
of the searchers. We did listen, but all that we heard was a faint far
distant moan, which Dicky tried to make me believe was the wind in a
ventilating shaft. We could also hear a prolonged thumping very close to
us, but that we could each account for personally. And nothing more.
"Dicky," said I after a time, "if it weren't for the candle I believe I
should be frightened."
"It's about the most parsimonious style of candle I've ever seen,"
replied Dicky, "but it would give a little more light if it were
trimmed." And he opened his pocket-knife.
"Be very careful," I begged, and Dicky said "Rather!"
"Did you ever notice," he asked, "that you can touch flame all right if
you are only quick enough? Now, see me take the top off that candle." If
Dicky had a fault it was a tendency to boastfulness. He took the lighted
wick between his thumb and his knife-blade, and skilfully scooped the
top off. It blazed for two seconds on the edge of the blade--just long
enough to show us that all the flame had come with it. Then it went out,
and in the darkness at my side I heard a scuffling among waistcoat
pockets, and a groan.
"No matches?" I asked in despair.
"Left 'em in my light overcoat pockets, Mamie. I'm a bigger ass
than--than Mafferton."
"You are," I said with decision. "No Englishman goes anywhere without
his light overcoat. What have you done with yours?"
"Left it in the carriage," replied Dick humbly.
"That shows," said I bitterly, "how little you have learned in England.
Propriety in connection with you is evidently like water and a duck's
back. An intelligent person would have acquired the light overcoat
principle in three days, and never have gone out without it afterward."
"Oh, go on!" replied Dick fiercely. "Go on. I don't mind. I'm not so
stuck on myself as I was. But if we've got to die together you might as
well forgive me. You'll have to do it at the last moment, you know."
"I suppose you have begun to review your past life," I said grimly, "and
that's why you are using so much American slang."
Then, as Dicky was again holding my hands, I maintained a dignified
silence. You cannot possibly quarrel with a person who is holding your
hand, no matter how you feel.
"There's only one thing that consoles me in connection with those
matches," Dicky mentioned after a time. "They were French ones."
"I don't know what that has to do with it," I said.
"That's because you don't smoke," Dicky replied. And I had not the heart
to pursue the inquiry. Time went on, black and silent, as it had been
doing down there for sixteen centuries. We stopped arguing about why
they didn't come to look for us, each privately wondering if it was
possible that we had strayed too ingeniously ever to be found. We talked
of many things to try to keep up our spirits, the conviction of the _St.
James's Gazette_ that American young ladies live largely upon
chewing-gum, and other topics far removed from our surroundings, but the
effort was not altogether successful. Dicky had just permitted himself
to make a reference to his mother in Chicago when a sound behind us made
us both start violently, and then cheered us immensely--a snore from
Mrs. Portheris within the tomb. It was not, happily, a single accidental
snore, but the forerunner of a regular series, and we hung upon them as
they issued, comforted and supported. We were vaguely aware that we
could have no better defence against disembodied Early Christians, when,
in the course of an hour, Mrs. Portheris sat up suddenly among the bones
of the original occupant and asked what time it was. We felt a pang of
regret at losing it.
After the first moment or two that lady realized the situation
completely. "I suppose," she said, "we have been down here about two
days. I am quite faint with hunger. I have often read that candles,
under these terrible circumstances, are sustaining. What a good thing we
have got the candles."
Dicky squeezed my hand nervously, but our chaperone had slept off the
eucalyptus and had no longer one cannibal thought.
"I don't think it is time for candles yet," he said reassuringly. "You
have been asleep, you know, Mrs. Portheris."
"If you have eaten them already, I consider that you have taken an
unfair advantage, a very unfair advantage."
"Here is mine!" exclaimed Dicky nobly. "I hope I can deny myself, Mrs.
Portheris, to that extent."
"And mine," I echoed; "but really, Mrs. Portheris----"
Another pressure of Dicky's hand reminded me--I am ashamed to confess
it--that if Mrs. Portheris was bent upon the unnecessary consumption of
Roman tallow there was nothing in her past treatment of either of us to
induce us to prevent her. The dictates of humanity, I know, should have
influenced us otherwise, in connection with tallow, but they seemed for
the moment to have faded as completely out of our bosoms as they did out
of the early Roman persecutors! It seemed to me that all my country's
wrongs at the hands of Mrs. Portheris rose up and clamoured to be
avenged, and Dicky told me afterward that he felt just the same way.
"Then I have done you an injustice," she continued; "I apologize, I am
sure, and I find that I have my own candle, thank you. It is adhering to
the side of my bonnet."
We were perfectly silent.
"Perhaps I ought to try and wait a little longer," Mrs. Portheris
hesitated, "but I feel such a sinking, and I assure you I have fallen
away. My garments are quite loose."
"Of course it depends," said Dicky scientifically, "upon the amount of
carbon the system has in reserve. Personally I think I can hold out a
little longer. I had an excellent breakfast this m----, the day we came
here. But if I felt a sinking----"
"_Waugh!_" said Mrs. Portheris.
"Have you--have you _begun_?" I exclaimed in agony, while Dicky shook in
silence.
"I have," replied Mrs. Portheris hurriedly; "where--where is the
eucalyptus? Ah! I have it!"
"_Ben-en-euh!_ It is nutritive, I am sure, but it requires a cordial."
The darkness for some reason seemed a little less black and the silence
less oppressive.
"I have only eaten about three inches," remarked Mrs. Portheris
presently. Dicky and I were incapable of conversation--"but I--but I
cannot go on at present. It is really not nice."
"An overdone flavour, hasn't it?" asked Dicky, between gasps.
"Very much so! Horribly! But the eucalyptus will, I hope, enable me to
extract some benefit from it. I think I'll lie down again." And we heard
the sound of a cork restored to its bottle as Mrs. Portheris returned to
the tomb. It was quite half an hour before she woke up, declaring that a
whole night had passed and that she was more famished than ever. "But,"
she added, "I feel it impossible to go on with the candle. There is
something about the wick----"
"I know," said Dicky sympathetically, "unless you are born in Greenland,
you cannot really enjoy them. There is an alternative, Mrs. Portheris,
but I didn't like to mention it----"
"I know," she replied, "shoe leather. I have read of that, too, and I
think it would be an improvement. Have you got a pocket-knife, Mr. Dod?"
Dicky produced it without a pang and we heard the rapid sound of an
unbuttoning shoe. "I had these made to order at two guineas, in the
Burlington Arcade," said Mrs. Portheris regretfully.
"Then," said Dicky gravely, groping to hand her the knife, "they will be
of good kid, and probably tender."
"I hope so, indeed," said Mrs. Portheris; "we must all have some. Will
you--will you _carve_, Mr. Dod?"
I remembered with a pang how punctilious they were in England about
asking gentlemen to perform this duty, and I received one more
impression of the permanence of British ideas of propriety. But Dicky
declined; said he couldn't undertake it--for a party, and that Mrs.
Portheris must please help herself and never mind him, he would take
anything there was, a little later, with great hospitality. However, she
insisted, and my portion, I know, was a generous one, a slice off the
ankle. Mrs. Portheris begged us to begin; she said it was so cheerless
eating by one's self, and made her feel quite greedy.
"Really," she said, "it is much better than candle--a little difficult
to masticate perhaps, but, if I do say it myself, quite a tolerable
flavour. If I only hadn't used that abominable French polish this
morning. What do _you_ think, Mr. Dod?"
"I think," said Dicky, jumping suddenly to his feet, while my heart
stood still with anticipation, "that if there's enough of that shoe
left, you had better put it on again, for I hear people calling us," and
then, making a trumpet with his hands, Dicky shouted till all the
Roman skeletons sufficiently intact turned to listen. But this time the
answer came back from their descendants, running with a flash of
lanterns.
[Illustration: Dicky shouted till the skeletons turned to listen.]
* * * * *
I will skip the scene of our reunion, because I am not good at matters
which are moving, and we were all excessively moved. It is necessary to
explain, however, that Brother Demetrius, when he went above ground,
felt his lumbago so acutely that he retired to bed, and was therefore
not visible when the others came up. As we had planned beforehand, the
Senator decided to go on to the Jewish Catacombs, taking it for granted
that we would follow, while Brother Eusebius, when he found Demetrius in
bed, also took it for granted that we had gone on ahead. He did not
inquire, he said, because the virtue of taciturnity being denied to them
in the exercise of their business, they always diligently cultivated it
in private. My own conviction was that they were not on speaking terms.
Our friends and relatives, after looking at the Jewish Catacombs, had
driven back to the hotel, and only began to feel anxious at tea time, as
they knew the English refreshment-rooms were closed for the season, like
everything else, and Isabel asserted with tears that if her mother was
above ground she would not miss her tea. So they all drove back to the
Catacombs, and effected our rescue after we had been immured for exactly
seven hours. I wish to add, to the credit of Mr. Richard Dod, that he
has never yet breathed a syllable to anybody about the manner in which
Mrs. Portheris sustained nature during our imprisonment, although he
must often have been strongly tempted to do so. And neither have
I--until now.