The Macabre Megapack. Lafcadio Hearn

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СКАЧАТЬ 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, and the transmitted labors of three hundred years; and the sound seemed like a death-cry smothered in the blood of the victims. In a few minutes the whole house was on fire, and the neighbors crowded to the spot. The flames were seen of different colors in different parts of the building; and small quantities of combustible material successively exploded as the fire reached them, like the minute guns of a wreck at sea. A human form was seen flitting from place to place amidst the conflagration, not to save, but to destroy; and when all was consumed, it was observed moving with supernatural swiftness towards the rocks which overhung the Devil’s Well.

      This was conjectured to be the last of the Ormonds; and the next morning every search that humanity could suggest was made for him; the rocks were examined—the woods—the glens; the lake, at length, was dragged—and all in vain—

      Days flowed days—moons rolled on moons away

      But Conrad comes not—came not since that day.

      THE MYSTERIOUS WEDDING: A DANISH STORY, by Heinrich Steffans

      (1847)

      In the north-west of Zealand stretches a small fertile peninsula, studded with hamlets, and connected with the mainland by a narrow strip of waste ground. Beyond the only town which this little peninsula possesses, the land runs out into the gloomy Cattegat, and presents an awfully wild and sterile appearance. The living sands have here obliterated every trace of vegetation; and the hurricanes which blow from all points of the ocean are constantly operating a change on the fluctuating surface of the desert, whose hills of sand rise and fall with a motion as incessant as that of the waves which roll around them. In traveling through this country, I spent upwards of an hour in this district, and never shall I forget the impression which the scene made upon my mind.

      While riding along through the desolate region, a thunderstorm rose over the ocean towards the north—the waves roared—the clouds scudded along in gloomy masses before the wind—the sky grew every instant more dark, “menacing earth and sea”—the sand began to move in increasing volumes under my horse’s feet, a whirlwind arose and filled the atmosphere with dust, the traces of the path became invisible—while air, earth, and ocean seemed mingled and blended together, every object being involved in a cloud of dust and vapor. I could not discern the slightest trace of life or vegetation around the dismal scene—the storm roared above me—the waves of the sea lashed mournfully against the shore—the thunder rolled in the distance—and scarcely could the lurid lightning-flash pierce the heavy cloud of sand which whirled around me. My danger became evident and extreme; but a sudden shower of rain laid the sand, and enabled me to push my way to the little town. The storm I had just encountered was a horrid mingling of all elements. An earthquake has been described as the sigh which troubled nature heaves from the depth of her bosom; perhaps not more fancifully might this chaotic tempest have typified the confusion of a widely distracted mind, to which pleasure and even hope itself have been long strangers—the cheerless desert of the past revealing only remorse and grief—the voice of conscience threatened like the thunder, and her awful anticipations casting a lurid light over the gloomy spirit—till at last the long-sealed-up sources of tears open away for their floods, and bury the anguish of the distracted soul beneath their waves.

      In this desolate country there existed in former times a village called Roerwig, about a mile distant from the shore. The moving sands have now buried the village; and the descendants of its inhabitants—mostly shepherds and fishermen—have moved their cottages close to the shore. A single solitary building, situated upon a hill, yet rears its head above the cheerless shifting desert. This building—and the village church—was the scene of the following mysterious transaction:

      In an early year of the last century, the venerable cure of Roerwig was one night seated in his study, absorbed in pious meditations. His house lay at the extremity of the village, and the simple manners of the inhabitants were so little tinged with distrust, that bolts and locks were unknown among them, and every door remained open and unguarded.

      The lamp burned gloomily, and the sullen silence of the midnight hour was only interrupted by the rushing noise of the sea, on whose waves the pale moon shone reflected, when the cure heard the door below opened, and the next moment the sound of men’s steps on the stair. He was anticipating a call to administer the last offices of religion to some parishioners on the point of death, when two foreigners, wrapped up in white cloaks, entered the room. One of them, approaching, addressed him with politeness: “Sir you will have the goodness to follow us instantly. You must perform a marriage ceremony; the bride and bridegroom are already waiting your arrival at the church. And this sum,”—here the stranger held out a purse full of gold—“will sufficiently recompense you for your trouble, and the alarm our sudden demand has given you.”

      The cure stared in mute terror upon the strangers, who seemed to carry something fearful, almost ghastly, in their looks, and the demand was repeated in an earnest and authoritative tone. When the old man had recovered from his surprise, he began mildly to represent that his duty did not allow him to celebrate so solemn a rite without some knowledge of the parties, and the intervention of those formalities required by law. The other stranger here-upon stepped forward in a menacing attitude; “Sir,” said he, “you have your choice; follow us and take the sum we now offer you—or remain, and this bullet goes through your head.” Whilst speaking, he leveled his pistol at the forehead of the venerable man, and coolly waited his answer; whereupon the cure rose, dressed himself, and informed his visitants—who had hitherto spoken Danish, but with a foreign accent—that he was ready to accompany them.

      The mysterious stranger now proceeded silently through the village, followed by the clergyman. It was a dark autumn night, the moon having set; but when they emerged from the village, the old man perceived with terror and astonishment, that the distant church was all illumined. Meanwhile his companions, wrapped up in their white cloaks, strode hastily on before them through the barren plain. On reaching the church they bound up his eyes; he then heard a side СКАЧАТЬ