And I meditated for some minutes on this strange affair. If, indeed — and I saw no reason to doubt it — I had chanced to find some of the spoils of the redoubtable Neri, this great chest must have been brought over by sea from Palermo. Probably four stout rascals had carried the supposed coffin in a mock solemn procession, under the pretense of its containing the body of a comrade. These thieves have a high sense of humor. Yet the question remained to be solved — How had they gained access to my ancestral vault, unless by means of a false key? All at once I was left in darkness. My candle went out as though blown upon by a gust of air. I had my matches, and of course could easily light it again, but I was puzzled to imagine the cause of its sudden extinction. I looked about me in the temporary gloom and saw, to my surprise, a ray of light proceeding from a corner of the very niche where I had fixed the candle between two stones. I approached and put my hand to the place; a strong draught blew through a hole large enough to admit the passage of three fingers. I quickly relighted my torch, and examining this hole and the back of the niche attentively, found that four blocks of granite in the wall had been removed and their places supplied by thick square logs cut from the trunks of trees. These logs were quite loosely fitted. I took them out easily one by one, and then came upon a close pile of brushwood. As I gradually cleared this away a large aperture disclosed itself wide enough for any man to pass through without trouble. My heart beat with the rapture of expected liberty; I clambered up — I looked — thank God! I saw the landscape — the sky! In two minutes I stood outside the vault on the soft grass, with the high arch of heaven above me, and the broad Bay of Naples glittering deliciously before my eyes! I clapped my hands and shouted for pure joy! I was free! Free to return to life, to love, to the arms of my beautiful Nina — free to resume the pleasant course of existence on the gladsome earth — free to forget, if I could, the gloomy horrors of my premature burial. If Carmelo Neri had heard the blessings I heaped upon his head — he would for once have deemed himself a saint rather than a brigand. What did I not owe to the glorious ruffian! Fortune and freedom! for it was evident that this secret passage into the Romani vault had been cunningly contrived by himself or his followers for their own private purposes. Seldom has any man been more grateful to his best benefactor than I was to the famous thief upon whose grim head, as I knew, a price had been set for many months. The poor wretch was in hiding. Well! the authorities should get no aid from me, I resolved; even if I were to discover his whereabouts. Why should I betray him? He had unconsciously done more for me than my best friend. Nay, what friends will you find at all in the world when you need substantial good? Few, or none. Touch the purse — test the heart!
What castles in the air I built as I stood rejoicing in the morning light and my newly acquired liberty — what dreams of perfect happiness flitted radiantly before my fancy! Nina and I would love each other more fondly than before, I thought — our separation had been brief, but terrible — and the idea of what it might have been would endear us to one another with tenfold fervor. And little Stella! Why — this very evening I would swing her again under the orange boughs and listen to her sweet shrill laughter! This very evening I would clasp Guido’s hand in a gladness too great for words! This very night my wife’s fair head would lie pillowed on my breast in an ecstatic silence broken only by the music of kisses. Ah! my brain grew dizzy with the joyful visions that crowded thickly and dazzlingly upon me! The sun had risen — his long straight beams, like golden spears, touched the tops of the green trees, and roused little flashes as of red and blue fire on the shining surface of the bay. I heard the rippling of water and the measured soft dash of oars; and somewhere from a distant boat the mellifluous voice of a sailor sung a verse of the popular ritornello —
“Sciore d’amenta
Sta parolella mia tieul’ ammento
Zompa llari llira!
Sciore limone!
Le voglio fa mori de passione
Zompa llari llira!”
[Footnote: Neapolitan dialect]
I smiled— “Mori de passione!” Nina and I would know the meaning of those sweet words when the moon rose and the nightingales sung their love-songs to the dreaming flowers! Full of these happy fancies, I inhaled the pure morning air for some minutes, and then re-entered the vault.
CHAPTER V.
The first thing I did was to repack all the treasures I had discovered. This work was easily accomplished. For the present I contented myself with taking two of the leathern bags for my own use, one full of gold pieces, the other of jewels. The chest had been strongly made, and was not much injured by being forced open. I closed its lid as tightly as possible, and dragged it to a remote and dark corner of the vault, where I placed three heavy stones upon it. I then took the two leathern pouches I had selected, and stuffed one in each of the pockets of my trousers. The action reminded me of the scantiness of attire in which I stood arrayed. Could I be seen in the public roads in such a plight? I examined my purse, which, as I before stated, had been left to me, together with my keys and card-case, by the terrified persons who had huddled me into my coffin with such scant ceremony. It contained two twenty-franc pieces and some loose silver. Enough to buy a decent costume of some sort. But where could I make the purchase, and how? Must I wait till evening and slink out of this charnel-house like the ghost of a wretched criminal? No! come what would, I made up my mind not to linger a moment longer in the vault. The swarms of beggars that infest Naples exhibit themselves in every condition of rags, dirt, and misery; at the very worst I could only be taken for one of them. And whatever difficulties I might encounter, no matter! — they would soon be over.
Satisfied that I had placed the brigand coffin in a safe position, I secured the pearl and diamond pendant I had first found, to the chain round my neck. I intended this ornament as a gift for my wife. Then, once more climbing through the aperture, I closed it completely with the logs and brushwood as it was before, and examining it narrowly from the outside, I saw that it was utterly impossible to discern the smallest hint of any entrance to a subterranean passage, so well and cunningly had it been contrived. Now, nothing more remained for me to do but to make the best of my way to the city, there to declare my identity, obtain food and clothes, and then to hasten with all possible speed to my own residence.
Standing on a little hillock, I looked about me to see which direction I should take. The cemetery was situated on the outskirts of Naples — Naples itself lay on my left hand. I perceived a sloping road winding in that direction, and judged that if I followed it it would lead me to the city suburbs. Without further hesitation I commenced my walk. It was now full day. My bare feet sunk deep in the dust that was hot as desert sand — the blazing sun beat down fiercely on my uncovered head, but I felt none of these discomforts; my heart was too full of gladness. I could have sung aloud for delight as I stepped swiftly along toward home — and Nina! I was aware of a great weakness in my limbs — my eyes and head ached with the strong dazzling light; occasionally, too, an icy shiver ran through me that made my teeth chatter. But I recognized these symptoms as the after effects of my so nearly fatal illness, and I paid no heed to them. A few weeks’ rest under my wife’s loving care, and I knew I should be as well as ever. I stepped on bravely. For some time I met no one, but at last I overtook a small cart laden with freshly gathered grapes. The driver lay on his seat asleep; his pony meanwhile cropped the green herbage by the roadside, and every now and then shook the jingling bells on his harness as though expressing the satisfaction he felt at being left to his own devices. The piled-up grapes looked tempting, and I was both hungry and thirsty. I laid a hand on the sleeping man’s shoulder; he awoke with a start. Seeing me, his face assumed an expression of the wildest terror; he jumped from his cart and sunk down on his knees in the dust, imploring me by the Madonna, St. Joseph, and all the saints to spare his life. I laughed; his fears seemed to me ludicrous. Surely there was nothing alarming about me beyond my paucity of clothing.
“I have had a long tramp,” I said, briefly, for he was not the kind of man to whom I could explain my recent terrible adventure, “and I have lost some of my clothes by an accident on the way. Can you sell me a suit? Anything will do — I am not particular.”
The old man took his pipe from his mouth.
“Do you fear the plague?” he asked.
“I have just recovered from an attack of it,” I replied, coolly.
He looked at me attentively from head to foot, and then broke into a low chuckling laugh.
“Ha! ha!” he muttered, half to himself, half to me. “Good — good! Here is one like myself — not afraid — not afraid! We are not cowards. We do not find fault with the blessed saints — they send the plague. The beautiful plague! — I love it! I buy all the clothes I can get that are taken from the corpses — they are nearly always excellent clothes. I never clean them — I sell them again at once — yes — yes! Why not? The people must die — the sooner the better! I help the good God as much as I can.” And the old blasphemer crossed himself devoutly.
I looked down upon him from where I stood drawn up to my full height, with a glance of disgust. He filled me with something of the same repulsion I had felt when I touched the unnameable Thing that fastened on my neck while I slept in the vault.
“Come!” I said, somewhat roughly, “will you sell me a suit or no?”
“Yes, yes!” and he rose stiffly from his seat; he was very short of stature, and so bent with age and infirmity that he looked more like the crooked bough of a tree than a man, as he hobbled before me into his dark shop. “Come inside, come inside! Take your choice; there is enough here to suit all tastes. See now, what would you? Behold here the dress of a gentleman, ah! what beautiful cloth, what strong wool! English make? Yes, yes! He was English that wore it; a big, strong milord, that drank beer and brandy like water — and rich — just heaven! — how rich! But the plague took him; he died cursing God, and calling bravely for more brandy. Ha, ha! a fine death — a splendid death! His landlord sold me his clothes for three francs — one, two, three — but you must give me six; that is fair profit, is it not? And I am old and poor. I must make something to live upon.”
I threw aside the tweed suit he displayed for my inspection. “Nay,” I said, “I care nothing for the plague, but find me something better than the cast-off clothing of a brandy-soaked Englishman. I would rather wear the motley garb of a fellow who played the fool in carnival.”
The old dealer laughed with a crackling sound in his withered throat, like the rattling of stones in a tin pot.
“Good, good!” he croaked. “I like that, I like that! Thou art old, but thou art merry. That pleases me; one should laugh always. Why not? Death laughs; you never see a solemn skull; it laughs always!”
And he plunged his long lean fingers into a deep drawer full of miscellaneous garments, mumbling to himself all the while. I stood beside him in silence, pondering on his words, “Thou art old, but merry.” What did he mean by calling me old? He must be blind, I thought, or in his dotage. Suddenly he looked up.
“Talking of the plague,” he said, “it is not always wise. It did a foolish thing yesterday — a very foolish thing. It took one of the richest men in the neighborhood, young too, strong and brave; looked as if he would never die. The plague touched him in the morning — before sunset he was nailed up and put down in his big family vault — a cold lodging, and less handsomely furnished than his grand marble villa on the heights yonder. When I heard the news I told the Madonna she was wicked. Oh, yes! I rated her soundly; she is a woman, and capricious; a good scolding brings her to reason. Look you! I am a friend to God and the plague, but they both did a stupid thing when they took Count Fabio Romani.”
I started, but quickly controlled myself into an appearance of indifference.
“Indeed!” I said, carelessly. “And pray who was he that he should not deserve to die as well as other people?”
The old man raised himself from his stooping attitude, and stared at me with his keen black eyes.
“Who was he? who was he?” he cried, in a shrill tone. “Oh, he! One can see you know nothing of Naples. You have not heard of the rich Romani? See you, I wished him to live. He was clever and bold, but I did not grudge him that — no, he was good to the poor; he gave away hundreds of francs in charity. I have seen him often — I saw him married.” And here his parchment face screwed itself into an expression of the most malignant cruelty. “Pah! I hate his wife — a fair, soft thing, like a white snake! I used to watch them both from the corners of the streets as they drove along in their fine carriage, and I wondered how it would all end, whether he or she would gain the victory first. I wanted him to win; I would have helped him to kill her, yes! But the saints have made a mistake this time, for he is dead, and that she-devil has all. Oh, yes! God and the plague have done a foolish thing for once.”
I listened to the old wretch with deepening aversion, yet with some curiosity too. Why should he hate my wife? I thought, unless, indeed, he hated all youth and beauty, as was probably the case. And if he had seen me as often as he averred he must know me by sight. How was it then that he did not recognize me now? Following out this thought, I said aloud:
“What sort of looking man was this Count Romani? You say he was handsome — was he tall or short — dark
or fair?”
Putting back his straggling gray locks from his forehead, the dealer stretched out a yellow, claw-like hand, as though pointing to some distant vision.
“A beautiful man!” he exclaimed; “a man good for the eyes to see! As straight as you are! — as tall as you are! — as broad as you are! But your eyes are sunken and dim — his were full and large and sparkling. Your face is drawn and pale — his was of a clear olive tint, round and flushed with health; and his hair was glossy black — ah! as jet-black, my friend, as yours is snow-white!”
I recoiled from these last words in a sort of terror; they were like an electric shock! Was I indeed so changed? Was it possible that the horrors of a night in the vault had made such a dire impression upon me? My hair white? — mine! I could hardly believe it. If so, perhaps Nina would not recognize me — she might be terrified at my aspect — Guido himself might have doubts of my identity. Though, for that matter, I could easily prove myself to be indeed Fabio Romani — even if I had to show the vault and my own sundered coffin. While I revolved all this in my mind the old man, unconscious of my emotion, went on with his mumbling chatter.
“Ah, yes, yes! He was a fine fellow — a strong fellow. I used to rejoice that he was so strong. He could have taken the little throat of his wife between finger and thumb and nipped it — so! and she would have told no more lies. I wanted him to do it — I waited for it. He would have done it surely, had he lived. That is why I am sorry he died.”
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22) Page 35
