CHAPTER XIII. "DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN."

Do you know that gruesome old ballad, with its sombre refrain of "Down! Down! Down among the dead men?" A friend of mine with a deep bass voice, used to sing it in order to display his lower notes, upon which--and not without reason--he flattered himself greatly; but in after years, I never heard it sung without a shudder, so vividly did it recall to my mind the grotesque horror of that midnight visit to the Tomb of the Morone, in that old burial-ground of Verona. Of late I had been so much mixed up with ghosts, vaults, ghouls and crimes, that I was by no means anxious to continue the category, and would have infinitely preferred to have let Beltrami, who liked such uncomfortable things, go alone; but being an Englishman, I had to uphold the honour of my country, so never thought for a moment of showing the white feather. Besides, the only chance of saving Pallanza was by obtaining possession of the antidote, and in spite of my repugnance to the errand, I fully made up my mind to be on the Ponte Aleardi at the appointed time.

Meanwhile I fortified myself against possible horrors by having an excellent dinner, supplemented by a small bottle of champagne. I could not afford that luxurious wine, and it was sinfully extravagant of me to waste my small stock of money upon such a thing, but in the face of this midnight adventure I really felt that a little stimulant would comfort me under the circumstances. The result was admirable, for all my nervous apprehensions disappeared, and I sat in the smoking-room puffing at my after-dinner pipe in a very contented frame of mind, considering what awaited me at twelve o'clock p.m. Was I a coward? I don't think so. Many men who have no physical fear, and would ride gaily enough into battle, shrink with superstitious awe from the eerie neighbourhood of the dead, and I, owing to the causes I have stated before, am of this class. Come, then, ye dauntless scoffers, who would dare anything--in the broad daylight, and let me see if you would contemplate a midnight visit to an antique vault with equanimity! I think not, for however brave a man may be, it is the law of Nature that he should thrill with fear at the approach of the supernatural.

I sat smoking and thinking in the twilight, which was a bad preparation for the event, as twilight thoughts are invariably mournful, and my own dear dead ones seemed to throng in the dusky shadow of the room, reproaching me in voiceless grief for the intention I had of profaning the sanctity of the Tomb. To rid myself of these melancholy reflections, and banish from my brain the mute crowd of ghosts, I went out for a walk, intending to call at the Casa Angello, in order to ask after the Signorina Bianca.

Petronella told me that the poor child was much better, but exhausted by the shock she had sustained at the Palazzo Morone, and had fallen into a deep sleep which would do her more good than all the drugs of the doctor. The worthy domestic was very wrathful at me, and wanted to know what I had told her "piccola," but I put her off with some excuse, as I had no desire that she should know the events of that day. On taking my departure I gave Petronella a note for the Signorina, which contained only three words, "Wait and hope," with instructions that it was to be delivered to her when she woke up. Petronella, somewhat mollified by my assurance that all would be right, promised to fulfil this commission, and I returned to my hotel very contented with the present aspect of affairs.

On regaining my bedroom I lay down about eight o'clock, in order to get a little sleep, but the remedy was worse than the disease, for when my eyes were closed the phantoms of waking hours reappeared still more vividly to my inner senses. However, I fought against the dread which threatened to overwhelm me, and fell into a comparatively dreamless slumber, from which I awoke shortly after eleven. Rising from the bed upon which I had thrown myself half dressed, I hurriedly completed my toilette, and bathed my burning face in cold water. On my arrival in Milan, I had bought one of those picturesque Italian cloaks which one only sees in England on the operatic stage, and throwing this around me; I put on a soft black wide-awake, so that what with the mantle draped around me, and my naturally dark face, I looked very much like a native of Italy. Lighting a cigarette, I took my heavy stick, and thus prepared, went out to keep my appointment with Luigi Beltrami on the Ponte Aleardi.

To the hot day had succeeded the hot night, but a strong dry wind was blowing which drove the filmy clouds across the face of the haggard-looking moon. A few stars peeped out here and there through the frail woof, and the chill moonlight waxed and waned with the appearing and disappearing of the pale planet, almost lost amid the wild confluence of drifting clouds. A misty circle round the moon was prophetic of rain, and under this wild, wind-vexed sky lay the sleeping city, dark and sombre, with the rough blasts sweeping drearily down the lonely streets.

In spite of the heat, so eerie was the aspect of the night that I drew my cloak around me with a shiver of nervous fear, and leaving the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele, hastened along the Via Pallone, in the direction of the Ponte Aleardi. I arrived there just as the clock of St. Fermo sounded the three-quarters, and as Beltrami was not yet at the meeting place, I leaned on the balustrade of the bridge and watched the grey waters swirling under the fitful light of the moon. I could not help thinking of the strange events which had taken place since I had last occupied the same position--the antique chamber with its associations of love and crime--the Teatro Ezzelino, where I had beheld the phantom of Lucrezia Borgia--the grief and pain of poor little Bianca, and the extraordinary-conversation I had held with Beltrami a few hours before. It was all most unreal and feverish, this mediaeval intrigue into which I had been drawn; and I question if any student of singing had ever before been involved in such a bizarre adventure--an adventure which I hoped and prayed and trusted would end to-night.

Buried in these sombre reflections I did not hear the sound of approaching footsteps, and it was only when I felt a hand on my shoulder that I turned round, with a sudden start, to see the Marchesa standing beside me wrapped in his military cloak, and accompanied by a man who waited a little way off in respectful silence.

"Bravo, Signor Hugo!" cried the Marchesa in a cheerful tone, "you have been waiting long?"

"About a quarter of an hour. So you have not obtained the key, Beltrami?"

"Unfortunately I have not! However, here is Matteo, and I daresay we shall manage to get the door open in some way. Come, Caro," continued Beltrami, taking my arm, "we have no time to lose. Ecco!"

I do not believe Beltrami had any nerves, for the whole way to the burial-ground he chatted cheerfully about the antidote, the Contessa and the tenor, not appearing to be at all impressed with the solemnity of the affair. What Matteo felt I do not know, as he never opened his mouth, but glided after us like a shadow, until we arrived at the broken wall.

The Marchesa climbed over first, his long sabre clashing heavily against the stones as he jumped down on the other side. I followed without delay, and Matteo, having joined us, we went on through the dense shade of the cypress trees, until we arrived at the forbidding-looking tomb, the sight of which put me in mind of my uncanny adventure.

Beltrami, undeterred by the flaming sword of the guardian angel, tried the iron door, on the chance that it might be unlocked; but finding it fast closed, signed to Matteo to get to work at once. Without a word the man obeyed, and as the moon was now shining down in her full splendour, he could see perfectly well, without the aid of artificial light, for, although he carried a torch, Beltrami did not wish it lighted, in case the glare should attract attention.

While Matteo was working away at the lock I took my seat on the fallen stone near the door, and Beltrami, throwing off his cloak, flung himself down on the grass beside me.

"Dio, how hot I am!" he exclaimed, wiping his brow.

"And how very imprudent, Luigi. Remember, you are in uniform."

"Ma foi, I'm never in anything else," retorted the Marchese gaily; "don't trouble yourself, Hugo, no one will dare to come near the cemetery, at this hour, so, uniform or no uniform, I'm safe from observation. Will you have a cigar?"

"No, thank you. But you surely do not intend to smoke now?"

"Why not?" said Beltrami, lighting his cigar; "it cannot harm the Signori Morone, and I've no wish to go down into that evil-smelling vault without taking some precaution against fever. Ecco!"

"Oh, well, do as you will," I replied, indifferently, beginning myself to grow callous; "but I want to ask you something, Luigi."

"Ebbene!"

"Was Count Giorgio Morone really mad?"

"Eh! I'm not sure. Every one said he was, but I did not think so. Dame! they call every man mad who has brains above his fellows, and Morone was a clever man. Though, to be sure, it was curious his hiding this poison in the vault, instead of destroying it altogether."

"That would certainly have been the wisest plan."

"Very likely, but you see, my wise Englishman, Morone had a tenderness for this child of his brain, and he could not bear to destroy his work. Oh! inventors are wonderful egotists, I assure you."

At this moment Matteo, who had been working in silence for some considerable time, approached his master.

"Eccellenza, it is open!"

"Bene!" cried Beltrami, springing to his feet, and wrapping his cloak around him again, "give me the torch. Come, Signor Hugo, let us go down, and you, Matteo, stay at the door, and see that we are not interrupted."

"Si, Eccellenza!"

Beltrami stepped cautiously into the tomb, and I followed him, then half closing the iron door so that the light might not attract attention, he fired the torch, the flame of which shot upward with a red flare and resinous odour of smoke, showing us that we stood on the top of a flight of steep steps which led downward into the darkness. A chill, humid atmosphere pervaded this abode of the dead, and seemed to penetrate into my very bones, notwithstanding the heavy cloak I wore.

For a moment we paused on the height, looking downward into the thick gloom; then Beltrami descended the steps slowly, tossing the flaring torch up and down, to and fro, in order to illuminate the darkness, and as I followed him the smoke, with its pungent odour, streamed backward towards my face. A bat, startled by the glare, flew round our heads with a rapid sweep of its noiseless wings, then vanished through the half-open door into the night beyond, like some escaping spectre of the tomb.

At last we reached the floor of the vault, which was paved with broad black marble slabs, so highly polished that the crimson blaze of the torch was reflected therein. All around in niches were innumerable coffins, some covered with tattered velvet palls, while others stood out grim and bare in their leaden hideousness, the coverings having long since mouldered away. In the gloom, there every no w and then could be perceived the glimmer of some white figure sculptured on the massive wall, the glitter of tarnished silver ornaments, and the outlines of painted devices, while the smoky torch with its angry flame cast strange gleams upon these mouldy splendours of the dead.

In the centre, on a square stone hidden by a rich pall of black velvet, embroidered with armorial devices in silver braid, rested the gorgeous coffin of the last Morone, which I presume was to remain there until the death of the Contessa, when it would be removed to its already-prepared niche to make way for the sole survivor of the proud race.

The Marchesa at once advanced to the coffin, and waving the torch above it, examined the decorations closely. True to his determination he was smoking, and it gave me an unpleasant shock to see this cloaked figure behaving so disrespectfully in the solemn presence of the dead.

"Bene!" he said at length in a satisfied tone, "there is one thing certain. It is not in the coffin!"

"How do you know that, Beltrami?"

"Because the lid is screwed down, and the Contessa, who as you say was alone, could not have taken that off. Besides, even if she did, Madame Morone knows the value of time too well to waste it in replacing the lid. No, it is not in the coffin, but it's somewhere about the coffin."

"What makes you think so, Luigi?"

"All this elaborate silver work! There's too much of it to be there without some reason. Caro, Hugo, just hold the torch and I will make an examination."

I took the torch in silence and watched his actions with great curiosity. The coffin, as he said, was most elaborately adorned with silver work representing the arms of the Morone family, interspersed with wreaths of flowers and tangled seaweed. On the lid was a broad silver plate similarly adorned, setting forth the name, titles, and date of death of the deceased, and round the oblong sides of this shell ran another broad wreath of flowers, shells, crests, and seaweeds, designed in the same style as the decorations on the lid. Beltrami, who was a clever prestidigitateur and could perform the most marvellous tricks with cards, had a wonderfully delicate sense of touch, and trusting to this more than to his eyes he ran his slender fingers rapidly over the raised silver ornaments on the lid of the coffin.

I saw at once that he suspected this useless silver ornamentation concealed some secret hiding-place in which the bottles of the poison and its antidote were hidden, and I could not help admiring the wonderful cleverness of the man in thinking of such an extraordinary idea, particularly as I saw at once that if the poison were anywhere it would be in some such ingenious hiding-place.

After running his hands twice or thrice over the lid, he shook his head with an angry ejaculation, and desisted from his apparently useless task.

"Dame! it's not on the top, that's certain," he said, stamping his foot with vexation. "My fingers never, deceive me, and I'm sure I haven't missed anything. From what I've told you I don't think it can be within the coffin. Ecco! let us try the sides."

He carefully wiped the tips of his fingers with his handkerchief, and beginning at the side nearest the head ran his fingers delicately along the cold silver work. Nothing was discoverable at the side, but when he came to the end of the coffin at the feet of the corpse he gave a cry of triumph which brought me at once to his side.

"Bravo, Hugo! what did I tell you! The poison-bottle was in the silver work. Behold, infidel, how truly I speak. Ecco!"

The decoration at this narrow end was a heart-shape shield, bearing the arms of the Morone family and wreathed with flowers, but this shield, which curved outward had a spring at the top. In touching this, the whole shield fell downward, working on a single hinge, and there was a cavity in which a small bottle might easily be concealed.

"I see the hiding-place, Beltrami; but where is the poison!"

"Eh! have you forgotten the visit of the Contessa, mon ami?"

"No, no! of course not! She, no doubt, took the poison away, and, I daresay, the antidote with it."

"Mon cher, I will never make anything of you," cried the Marchese in despair; "what did I tell you about that letter?"

"You said that no doubt as the Count was afraid of it being found by his wife he would only mention where the poison was concealed, and keep silent about the antidote."

"Ebbene! The Contessa knew nothing of the existence of the antidote, so when she found the poison she thought she had found all. Is that not so, you stupid Englishman?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Good! Well I, knowing of the existence of the antidote not mentioned in the letter, and only finding the poison at the feet, would naturally look for the antidote--where?"

"I daresay at the head," I suggested, after a pause; upon which Beltrami laughed, and walked to the other end of the coffin.

"Of course; it would be the most natural thing to do. Behold, mon ami!"

He touched the top of a similar shield at the head of the coffin; it fell stiffly outward, and lo! in the hollow of the curve, lay a small bottle, which Beltrami took in his hand, and then restored the shield to its former position.

"Luigi, you are a most wonderful man!" I cried, with a burst of genuine admiration at the clever way in which he had guessed this riddle.

"I only use my brains," he replied, with a gratified laugh. "The poison being at the feet, it was not difficult to guess the antidote was at the head; particularly as the decorations on both ends of the coffin are the same precisely. Dame! if the Contessa had only known the antidote was in existence she would have argued in the same way as I have done, and carried it off as she had done the poison."

"Well, we can now restore that unfortunate Pallanza to life."

"Yes, I suppose so," said the Marchese, slipping the bottle containing the antidote into his pocket; "though he certainly does not deserve to have another chance of existence. But as it is inconvenient keeping him in my house, I suppose I must send him away on his legs. Ecco! But come along, Hugo. We have what we desire, and I care not for this abode of death."

We went up the stairs and out of the iron door, where we found Matteo still keeping guard. It was quite a relief to get out of the fetid atmosphere of the tomb into the cool, fresh air again, and I felt like a released prisoner who was free for the first time after many years. The Marchese, however, man of iron as he was, did not seem to be affected in any way, but wrapping his cloak round him, prepared to go.

"Can you close that door again, Matteo?"

"Eccellenza! it is done!"

"Bene! Let us go!"

In fact the moment we emerged, Matteo, knowing our task was concluded, had reclosed the door by some trick known to himself; so we all three climbed over the broken wall, and took our way to the Ponte Aleardi.

"And when are you going to give Pallanza the antidote?" I asked, as we walked along arm-in-arm.

"Eh! Signor Hugo, to-morrow!"

"Why not to-night?"

"Ma foi! I am tired. A few hours will not make much difference; besides, I want a doctor to be present. The antidote will revive the poor devil, but he will be so weak after going without food all these days that the doctor will have to take charge of him."

"Well, then, I will see you to-morrow, Marchese. At what hour?"

"Two and a half in the afternoon. I attend to my military duties in the morning. Buona sera, Hugo!"

"Good-night, Beltrami."

We parted with a hearty shake of the hand, and I suppose after all I had gone through, nature was thoroughly tired out; for I went straight to bed and slept soundly without dreams, visions, or phantoms of any kind coming to disturb my rest.