The Macabre Megapack. Lafcadio Hearn

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СКАЧАТЬ William’s appalling cries brought him to his aid. Erect as if fashioned of stone, with bloodshot eyeballs and livid features, with hair standing out stiffened with horror, and lips drawn up from the set teeth through which the blood was slowly trickling—there she stood, glaring on the reality of the very phantom which so long had haunted her; and Lindsay, palsied with horror, could only wind his arms around her stiffened figure, and rend the air with cries for help. The moment he entered, Dr. Burton threw a cloak over the corpse, and, as if with the loss of that object, there vanished the unnatural strength with which she had looked on it. Mary fell senseless to the ground. She was bled and carried to bed without giving any token of recollection, and with bitter fears they watched her all night; towards morning she seemed to sleep, and when wakened it was with no remembrance of the frightful events of the night previous. She would have risen, and seemed astonished to find herself so weak; but her manner was calm as usual, and she made no allusion at all to the previous day. William and the ladies rejoiced in deep thankfulness for what they considered almost a miracle of deliverance, but Doctor Burton, though he would not dash their joy, feared much for the stability of that reason which the terrible shock had on one subject completely annihilated. Mary however slowly recovered, and about two weeks after the originally appointed day, Lindsay led her proudly from the church, his wife; and the anxious Doctor was perhaps the only one who noticed that, on returning from it through the churchyard, she smiled and muttered to herself, as she looked on the grave, words of which he could only hear these, “I shall never make one amongst ye!”

      Many months after their marriage passed in tranquility, and peace seemed once more to have builded her nest in the heart of Mary. Her health, it was true, was delicate; but the frightful monomania which had hitherto poisoned her happiness seemed to slumber, and her benevolent friend and physician hoped it was lulled to rest forever. Blest with the wife he loved, Lindsay gave his time and attention to his profession with a devotion which ensured success: and having removed after his marriage to London, that populous city served not only to increase his employment, but wholly to divert the attention of his wife. And soon, to crown his joy, Mary proved likely to be a mother. As this trying time approached, although her frame was weak, her mind was unusually buoyant. No fears appeared to perplex her, and her sole wish was to meet her confinement in the little cottage of her mother at Hastings, which request William granted, rather contrary to the advice of Doctor Burton. Here, constantly attended by the good doctor and his wife, she met her trial with unflinching fortitude, and endured severe and protracted agonies with the courage of a heroine and the patience of a martyr. After three days of doubt and danger, a child was born to the alarmed husband, and about a week after, he and Dr. Burton returned to London, where both where engaged on matters of pressing emergence. The infant sickened shortly after, not of any violent disease, but wasting daily from some unknown cause, fading so gradually that Mrs. Burton hesitated to recall her husband from his important occupations in the metropolis until it was too late. The little sufferer’s cry became weaker and more weak, its tiny limbs wasted, until, like a lamp that goes out for want of oil, the light of his little life sunk, and his baby breath was yielded in his mother’s arms.

      A mother’s grief for her first-born child: who shall describe? Her long burthen and her bitter pain are as nothing when she looks in the infant eyes of her blessing; watching and weariness are unfelt, while hope still shines in her baby’s smile; the voice of despair is unheard while its low cry still speaks her a mother; but when this is hushed forever—when the bright eyes and innocent smile are quenched by death—then hopeless and bereaved she sinks at once to the depths of lethargy. If this be so of all woman-kind, what additional woe must have fallen to the lot of hapless Mary? She, to whom death had been a dream of horror, an incubus of fear, was now doomed to witness it first in the person of her precious babe; on its loved limbs to mark the rigid impress—on its miniature features the cold seal of the conqueror; yet, to the wonder of it all, her sorrow rather seemed patient and resigned, than noisy or frantic. She resigned her breathless burthen to the arms of her weeping mother, and took from Mrs. Burton a strong opiate; after which, she was unresistingly undressed and put to bed. A messenger had been sent post-haste to London for Lindsay the same hour that his baby expired, and they hoped that if Mary could be kept calm until his arrival, the sight of him would prove her best consolation. While she slept, they shrouded the little pale corpse in muslin and lace, and laying it out on pillows strewed the whole with flowers. It was not until the midday following that the poor mother awakened, and at once asked leave to see her child.

      “Do not deny me, dear friend,” she said in a low, resigned tone, “I well know that he is dead, that no tears of mine can call back the breath which I felt pass away on my lips; yet let me see the precious one for whom I suffered, I sorrowed so much.”

      “Wait, dear Mary, until William comes; he will be here tonight, and then you shall see the babe.”

      “Tonight!” she repeated thoughtfully; “will Lindsay be here tonight?”

      “We hope so, love,” said her mother; “in the meantime, for all our sakes, keep tranquil.”

      “And am I not tranquil, mother?” she asked, raising herself on her arm and looking piteously in her mother’s eyes; “have I not lost my own, my prized, my beautiful boy; and do I weep or wail? Ah! tears nor moans awake not the dead; yet I would that I could weep; my brain is hot, but my eyes are dry. Let me once more see my child, the blessed thing which came to reward my pains a thousand fold—once—I shall never ask it again.”

      She looked so pale and woebegone that they could no longer refuse her entreaty; and, supported by both, she was led to the chamber of death and looked long on the dead infant. It seemed that some memories of the past troubled her mind, for she murmured, “How beautiful he looks! Can this be death? No livid hues, no loathsome sores revolt the heart! Perhaps he only sleeps, and by and by will waken? You will tell his father when he comes how sweet he sleeps.”

      She stooped and kissed the cheek, and seemed revolted by its coldness.

      “Ah! the ice-bolt has indeed stricken my child! Nothing but death was ever cold as this! He has left his mother’s bosom for the grave—the grave!”

      She said no more, and was partially led back to bed, where the remaining effects of the opiate soon buried her senses again to sleep. Finding her so composed, Mrs. Burton, who had not been home for days, took the opportunity to leave her for a few hours, while her poor mother, who took the post of watcher by her bed, fell from exhaustion into a profound slumber.

      It was the dead of night when the poor, old woman was awakened by a stifling smoke, and starting up she dimly perceived by the obscured light, that the bed by which she had slept instead of watched, was empty! Tottering with fear and rage, confused and scarce awake, the bewildered woman followed the first instinct of self-preservation, and hurried down the stairs and out of the cottage door. Recalled to sense by the free air, she looked up and saw the flames bursting from the casements of the upper rooms. A recollection of her ill-fated daughter then thronged upon her brain, and over-powered her feeble strength. With cries of impotent terror, she tottered a few paces and fell senseless to the earth, just as a post chaise, driving furiously, appeared in sight on the brow of the hill. Then it stopped and Lindsay, who probably feared that the sound of his carriage might startle his Mary, sprung out to be greeted with—oh, sight of horror! the cottage which contained her, bursting into flames. He rushed madly down the hill, followed scarcely less rapidly by Dr. Burton, and came in front of the blazing building in time to hear a maniac laugh which rung to the silent sky, and to see—merciful God!—the form of his wretched wife standing at the casement, holding in one arm the body of her dead infant and with the other wildly brandishing a blazing billet of wood! There she stood one moment, her white dress already on fire, her beautiful face and flowing hair distinctly visible by the eddying flames, looking like the spirit of fire presiding over her native element. The next instant and the light material of the cottage gave way, and with a single crash, roof, walls, and floors fell in, burying her in the bursting volume of fire, from which the words still seemed to sound—

      “No СКАЧАТЬ