The Macabre Megapack. Lafcadio HearnЧитать онлайн книгу.
reached the narrow avenue leading to the house, choked up by a self-planted colony of weeds, which the infrequent footstep of man had been unable to subdue, they looked round on such a scene of neglect and desolation as only a newly discovered country could present, or an old one after the moral cycle had gone round, which returned it to second barbarism. Stumbling among heaps of stones and withered branches, and entangled in mazes of weeds and bushes, they at length reached the door, and knocked for admittance. They waited for some time in silence, and almost in darkness, but no sound answered their demand: it seemed as if it were already the house of the dead; and the chill breath of evening, as it sighed through the wilderness around, although it broke the silence, added to the sepulchral horror of the scene.
The noise of a door opening was now heard at some distance in the interior of the building, and a sound followed, resembling the hissing of a cauldron when it boils. The visitors knocked again, and in a few seconds a window was raised, and the old female domestic inquired, in a sharp and cracked voice, what was their business. Dr. S— replied by the usual question—“Is your master at home?”
“My master at home!” shrieked the sybil, in a tone of the utmost astonishment; “you are the first one that has asked that question in my time; and were it only from curiosity to see what you are like, I would almost be tempted to take the trouble of opening the door—and what should hinder, if it likes me? If the house of the Ormonds could ever be without a master, this is surely the interregnum.” But as she ran on mumbling in this manner, with all the garrulity of age, an expression of malice crossed her withered features, and reverting to the question,—
“Home!” he demanded urgently—“is Ormond home?” She in sharper tone—“No, not yet, but he is fast posting—he has reached his threshold—his hand is on the latch—and, by my sooth, a hot and hearty welcome he will get!” Dr. S—, somewhat shocked by an allusion he could not misunderstand, ordered her in a peremptory tone to open the door, adding, that understanding her master was unwell, he had called, as a neighbor and a medical man, to offer his assistance.
He had no sooner spoken the words, than the door suddenly and noiselessly opened, and a man, who had apparently been listening to the dialogue, seizing hold of the visitor’s arm, literally dragged him into the house. “If you be a medical man,” said he, ‘come in, in the name of heaven! Save his life,” he continued; “save his life but for one hour, and I will make you rich. Rich!” he added with emphasis, pressing the arm he still held with a skeleton grip, as he repeated the argument ad hominem. Miss S— followed them up the narrow staircase, and in another minute, the whole party was in the invalid’s room.
A single glance was sufficient to convince them that assistance came too late. Ormond was sitting in an armchair, his head reclining on the back, his hands hanging lifeless by his sides, his eyes fixed and glazed, and his shrunk face covered with the waxy hue of death. Their conductor was apparently a much younger man, probably not more than thirty-five; he was tall and well-formed, but stooped much: his dress consisted of a jacket and trousers, the former without sleeves, and his bony arms were naked to the shoulders. And the circumstance of his face and hands being daubed with soot, might have given him the appearance of some inferior Vulcan of a smithy, had it not been for a redeeming expression of mental superiority in his countenance, indicated chiefly by a very commanding forehead, and remarkably bright and searching eyes.
He stood for some moments in the middle of the room, gazing on the strangers with a bewildered air, like one altogether unused to the presence of his kind. The graceful and feminine form of the young lady seemed in particular to attract his admiration, and when she had drawn off her glove, he touched her hand, as one would examine a bauble, leaving on the fair skin the marks of his own sooty fingers, while his eyes became radiant with almost boyish delight. Starting suddenly, however, he turned away, and approached the chair of the invalid, where Dr. S—, assisted by the old woman, was engaged in the few offices of kindness which his situation required or admitted of.
“Make haste!” said the dying man, with a feeble gesture of impatience, as he recognized his apprentice.
“It is impossible,” replied the other; “you must live for at least half an hour! But I will go and try again.”
“Then I will live!” said Ormond; but a rattling noise in his throat interrupted his words, and gave the lie to his assertion.
“Is it fair,” he continued with renewed energy, ‘that after a whole lifetime of labor, I should be half an hour late for my reward?”
“Hush, master dear!” said the comforting beldame, in a low, hypocritical whine. “Remember that a better man than you—aye, the beginner of you all—was three centuries too soon for his reward; be thankful for the length you have gone, and die in peace.”
“Hag!” said Ormond, with the feeble fury of the dying; “I tell you I will not die; no, not till I please—not till it wills me to let forth the spirit!” Then, in the frenzy which sometimes precedes dissolution, he imagined Dr. S— to be, in real and palpable presence, that inevitable enemy, whom he dreaded and defied; and springing from his chair with the last effort of departing life, he grappled at his throat. “I will not die!” he shrieked: “You have no power; do you not know me? I am Ormond—the foe of Death, destined before the foundations of the world, to trample on and subdue him!” Then, feeling his strength departing, his defiance was changed into supplication, and he implored piteously the grace of one half hour.
At this instant a rushing noise was heard without, and the apprentice burst into the room, his long dark hair floating back over his forehead, his frame filled with an elasticity which gave his motion the appearance of flying; and a whole bonfire of triumph in his eyes. “Oh, save me!” cried the old man, as the hand of death relaxed his hold. “Die!” said the apprentice-heir, throwing him back violently into the seat—and with a deep suspiration Ormond yielded up the ghost.
Surprised and shocked at this extraordinary scene, Dr. S— and his daughter looked on in silence, and almost in consternation. The apprentice had already left the apartment, and the old woman, lifting up her master’s body, laid it on a table in the middle of the room, and without removing the dress, employed herself busily in closing the eyes and stretching the limbs, which gradually stiffened into the rigidity of death. She then lighted a number of candles, which were in sconces around the room, till it became as clear as day. The apprentice—or rather, the new Ormond—now reappeared, carrying a salver, apparently of massive gold, supporting a covered goblet of the same metal, and a large syringe. His appearance was the same as before, and joy and triumph still burned in his eyes.
On uncovering the goblet, a thick black vapor escaped, and a sweet but faint smell was perceived. Having filled the syringe, he raised the head of the corpse and injected the contents of the instrument into its mouth; and having repeated this operation three times, he then bathed the eyes with the same liquid.
Some minutes ensued, during which no sound or motion was heard in the room, save the trembling of the operator, whose whole frame was shaken in the intensity of expectation. At length he clasped his hands and uttered a cry of joy. The wax-like hue of death disappeared from the face of the corpse, and the glow of life returned; the wrinkles of care were smoothed, and the furrows of time filled up; the white lips became red, and the grey hair black; and, as if by enchantment, the countenance of the dead was once more the home of youth and manly beauty! Is it the breath of life which inflates the chest? Is it an act of the living will that raises the hand—unveils the eye—and opens the lips? God knows. The hand drops, the eye closes, and the lips are again sealed—and forever.
A dark vapor was perceived rising from the body, which instantaneously assumed the discolored appearance which sometimes attends death by poison; in another moment; in another moment a small blue light was observed issuing from the mouth and nostrils, and speedily the whole corpse was in flames.
Miss S—, at this dreadful spectacle, rendered more appalling by the motion of the cracking skin and shrinking sinews which gave an appearance of life to the burning body, fainted into the arms of her father, who, as he carried her out of the house, heard the despairing shriek of the new Ormond at this conclusion to his hard apprenticeship,