The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXI, Issue 25, 18 June 1903, Page 23

The Storyteller

4 UNFORGOTTEN.

Chance caused me once to pass a few weeks in a little village in the South of Ireland. Not far Irom the village is a fine old mansion, or, as it is termed, castle, in the middle of a magnificent demesne, enclosing picturesque ruins of an ancient edifice, which appears to have bequeathed the epithet of castle to the more modern though old dwelling house, built at some distance from the site of the fortress habitation of the ancient barons who took the title from its name. It was a pleasant occupation to wander through these ruins — covering still a vast extent of ground, and with much of the old building but little impaired by the ravages of time. The arched gateway at the entrance is still perfect ; the tall grass has grown up in rank luxuriance about the base of the pillars of the arch ; and the ivy is clasping their summit in its deadly embrace, but the arch itself is perfect ; the keep over it still remains as when the watchiul guard were pacing it to and fro except that the moss has spread upon it now a more luxurious carpet than the chieftain of old allowed his retainers The winding staircase of stone leads you still from the inside to the summit of the wall, and higher yet to the ivy-covered turret from which once the banner floated or tho signal-fire gleamed. You may now make your way to the top of this turret and look down on the mass of broken walls that are strewn beneath. You may look over the chambers that once were the scenes of feudal revelry, and the courts that once saw the gathering of feudal war — but that now glare no more with the festal lamp, or ring with the sound of warlike preparations — or you may cast your eye to where there rise at some little distance the ruins of what once was the chapel of the castle — the chancel is nearly perfect ; a few of the stone sashes of the great eastern window are broken away, and there is no roof but tho canopy of heaven ; but with these exceptions, and that here again Nature has carpeted the floor with the leaves of many autumns, there is but little change since the barons, or more likely their ladies, used to come and hear the family confessor chant the Vespers at the stone altar, which is still unremoved. Just outside the chancel, under the arch of a belfry, whence probably a bell once chimed to the domestics of the castle the hour of prayer, a long flagged corridor runs down a dark passage to a large iron door. The corridor is still kept in repair.

I was not long in the village before 1 learned from some communicative persons the history of this family. They were lineal descendants of the ancient barons. The title and a great portion of the estates had been forfeited in some of those many rebellions which have so often proved in Ireland either the cause or the pretext of confiscation : and to the present inheritors of their patrimony but little of the ancient glories of the house remained ; they were, however, .still wealthy and respected, and cherished with all the fondness of hereditary pride the old rums of their baronial residence and the vault to which for ages had been consigned the remains of the members of the house.

I also learned that the present proprietor had not been more than two yeais in possession of the estate Ho had obtained it on the death of a distant relati\e I was told that the last owner had an only daughter, exceedingly beautiflul and amiable — that it had been arranged that she was to be married to her relative, who, by the law of entail, was heir to tho estate. Jfcst ns tho marriage was about to take place, the lady had died. Both her father and lo\er were repieseuted as being disconsolate The former proved his sincerity by dying in a few months of a broken heart, and the latter succeeded to the estate. Turing my stay in the neighborhood I had become acquainted with him. He did not appear particularly broken-hearted I heard it said that he had i^cr got over the loss of his betrothed , but I confess that when 1 sat in his society and found him the soul and life of comersation, in which he was particularly animated and intelligent, I could not help feeling sceptical as to tho permanence of his sorrow, and supposing that an estate of two thousand a year might be capable, in* due time, of administering consolation even to a bereaAOd lo^er

Among the points vi on which T acquired information. T was told that ever since the old gentleman's death his gho^t was haunting the demesne , that he had been seen cominsr out of the \ault at midnight, with a lighted candle in his hand, and it w a .s further whispered that the new lord of tho mansion was conscious of the unseasonable perambulations of his predecessor, an-d felt nshsirviMl of them, as latteilv strict orders had been issued that no one should, tindnr any circumstances, be admitted into the demesne after nightfall — a peremptory order which nut a stop 1o moonlight excursions to visit the ruins, which had previously been frequently nlanned and executed "Different onuses were assigned for the peremptory direct ioi>s which closer! the gates against all nocturnal -\isMors — many attributed it to the pious unwillingness of the owner to let the pranks of his relative's gho.st he generally known — some saw n sufficient reason in the fact i that a younff lady in the neighborhood h.id found in one of these moonlight -excursions an opportunity to clope — and the prudence and propriety of the owner were the theme of applause from all the matrons of the country around.

sire to test the reality of the apparition by a pSsonS HSl£H Sl £ to the vault, and I fancied that a siive? Escort might be sufficient to admit me within the precH Jf the demesne, even at the forbidden hour P lecincts ol loasV\^%w WW T Ver ; ( ' I ,, was disa PPointed. No bribe-at tew sssys sss^j^p^S offers and solicitations that he dared not disobey his ion Z S °V derS ; a ? d IlwasI I was forced to abandon m? p?<£ l?ti£ of accompUS t nff X ?'T not until the ni S ht before I was to leave that $ ff s sasr.sl ssS'A's-se s-i*aS? inTssion g me another expedient for gating adI should have mentioned that close by the old ruins nto 'lwn°^ SS t ci ' aablel T e S + tre ?: m " Whlch divided the demesni marked that along the bottom of the arch ' there wS hfl^r a feW P ro^ing stones, ami a few in^ Utions in the masonry, which left an adventurous Dal st"nT nf 1 °PP° rtun »ty. by a judicious dispo s iUonof P hS a£ P fh* P as * ln & a l°nß. the entire length of the arch tidtViSSl 1 ™ to^sTnfS CUri ° Sity tO ~ a my stepping-stones lay, F and guided me to plSe my £J. ) , nO l help », thinkin «; tha t if I was superstitious I might look on her as a lamp held in the heavens to guide me to a destined interview with a being of another world ; "but when I saw that she was rapidly a cci ing round and lowering in the heavens, so that long before my return, even if she were not set, my steppingstones would be completely in the shadow, I thought it more convenient to interpret the withdrawal of the lamp as an omen that 1 should never return. With all my efforts to shake it off, ] confess the superstition for an iiTstant gathered gloomy at my heart tthen I iound myself safe on firm ground I felt inlu to Liiiffh at the wild and foolish errand upon which 1 had come ; but there was an awe about me th.it presented me from giving way to my inclinations. I he shadows of the great old trees were projected upon the silve.rv hoarness of the meadow; and I could of tno-,e near me trace the minutest outlines against the as their filmiest foliage vibrated gently and distincti\ in the night bree/e The ripple of the river was sparkling in the moonbeam, and its indistinct murmurs liardlv broke upon the stillness of the scene ; silence— if I may so speak—was undisturbed by the few sounds that came soitly upon the midnight air— now and then the t.xr-ofT how! of some dotr, true to the reproach which the dramatist has cast upon his tribe, senselessly 'baying (he moon,' or the heavy whirring of the wing of the night bird. 1 looked across the meadow to the eminence where the old ruins stood in their antique solemnity— the tall turrets rose like giants, their mantles of ivy Ihi own carelessly round their shoulders, motionless in lie renose of the scene. I felt half unwilling to disturb their tranquility by a nearer approach. The truth Was r would have civen something to recede, but it would na\e compromised my honor in my own eyes. I never was so much afraid of anything as of being obliged to own to myself that I was a coward

On, then, I went towards the awftil-looking pile, with" a nervous apprehension such as I had never felt before. A low mist seemed to flit along the banks of the stream ; and 1 could not help feeling as if its vapory lorn..s were really the dim shapes of spirits. At last \l reached the rising ground on which stood the old castle. I was startled as my step sounded loud on the worn si one (lag that was the threshold of the gateway. Inside all was dark and eloomy from the contrast. Here and there the light tinged some object where the- moonbeams poured in throuerh the old windows or some loophole in the walls I went on through the ruins until I reached the church. T stood in the deserted chancel, and my thoughts rose to TT'im to Whom once from that loneIv spot ascended the solemn hymns of praise. I Jean<Kl back against the wall, and I could almost see ueioro me the altar and the dim taper gleaming indistinctly My spirit was solemnised. I wondered how the fears of superstition could have peopled with restless or wicked spirits a place so still and so holy. In the. sacredncss of the place— in everything around me, I felt as it wore the presence of the Father of Spirits, and f rom that presence everything that was unholy was bid nwav. If ever T felt the purity of devotion, it was for the time I stood there.

T was startled by the lierht sound of footsteps— they seemed lighter than human. I listened, but all again was still. I thought it might be the wind that moved some

leaf that lay withered on the floor, and that it was its rolling along the flags. I felt then the force of Shelley's beautiful expression, which I always thought strange before ; it is when he says that the passing of the spirits to and fro was like tho light footfalls of the driven leaves. 1 quote from memory, and most probably inaccurately—but no matter— l felt it then. 1 forgot, it is true, that at the time there was not a breath of wind to stir the leaves. Again the same soft sound came close to me. It seemed as if a soft tread passed the entrance to the chancel, at tho same moment the light of a lamp gleamed on the wall opposite me. I could not move. I looked fearfully through a broken crevice m thu wall, and there I saw passing slowly outside a figure wrapped in a cloak, with a lamp and a large key m Us hai.d ; its head was bowed down, so that 1 could not catch the features, but the general outline bore an indistinct likeness of the present owner of the demesne, but tho figure was larger, and I thought that of an older man. 1 remembered to have heard that he was very like his deceased relative.

tl could hear the throbbing of my heart distinctly against the cold stone on which I leaned — I almost fancied that its pulsations could be heard by the mysterious being upon which I gazed. The figure reached the low and narrow door that led into the chancel in which I stood. It paused and seemed about to enter. The light of the lamp fell upon the features, but my eyes were getting dim, and a vapor floated along before them— I could distinguish nothing but that the features were ghastly pale. I knew no more until I saw that the figure had turned from the chancel and was mov ing down the roofless corridor that led to the vault. 1 was relieved. The light of the lamp guided my eve in watching its movements. It unlocked the large iron door of the vault — the bolt shot with a heavy and a dismal sound — tho echo rang strangely through 'the silence — the figure disappeared into the vault, and all again was still.

I now breathed freer. I could not be sure that it was not all an illusion. I looked round fearfully through the chancel — all was just as before, and the stone bars of the great window were still intercepting the flood of silver light that poured in through every interstice. I moved, I put my hand upon everything near me to be sure that all was not a dream. I awoke as it were to the consciousness of material things. 1 laughed at my folly. I felt convinced that it was all a spectre of my own mind. I remembered that the phantom had not relocked the door of the vault, and I determined to test its reality by an examination whether the state of the door would correspond with this. I left my nook and walked slowly and stealthily along.

My heart misgave me as I entered the corridor Tn vain I summoned my scepticism to mv aid — in vain I argued to my fears that, even if it were a spirit, ' Soul and body on the whole Wore odds against a disembodied soul ' There is in the human mind a natural and instinctive dread of meeting with a departed spirit, and whine we are to act from the impulse of the moment, the conclusions of tho intellect avail but little against the unreasoning instincts of the heart. I approached the iron door — it was more than halt open. I put my hand forward to touch it— it came in contact with a' large key which the mysterious visitant had left in the lock. I "do not know how it was, but the touch unquestionably tended to dissipate mv feais I felt, certainly, that it was not an illusion of my own fancy that had conjured up the spectre, but strange to say there was even in that feeling a relief , and whether it was that the necessity which the apparition evidently found for opening the door suggested some doubts as to its immateriality, or that the passion for exploimg the mysterious became too strong to permit any other feding to act, I know not ; but ceitain I am that tear was almost, if not altogether, lost m curiosity as 1 gi-ntlv pushed wider open the iron door, so as to admit me inside.

It opened on a dark gloominess, in which looking before me I could see nothing but blackness — from the right, however, there streamed a faint and indistinct light. I recollected the light which was cm ned by the apparition, and felt satisfied that it had gone in the direction from which the light came. I soon found that the door opened not on the vault itself, but a species of anti-chamber like a reception room. The daikness prevented me ascertaining either its nature- or its dimensions — a narrow passage led from this to the right — guided by the glimmering I had seen, ] made mv wav cautiously along this dark passage— a few steps In ought me to another 'apertuie through which 1 had a view of the interior of the vault itself 1 say a v icvv, for as mv readers have no doubt anticipated, both the ghost and its lamp were there 1 looked some minutes before I could be satisfied that all was real befoie 1 could divest my mind of the real cfie<t of the first general unpiession to examine the strange minutiae in detail It was a long, low, and narrow apartment, arched at top with stone. Down the centre was placed a sfone table which ran the entire length of the apartment— and across this were placed the coll'ii^ quite close to each ol her— the centre table was full— and it seemed as if a side table had been spread for Ihe repast of death— at the far extremity of the chamber, a smaller table had been set, and on this lay one solitary coffin— beside this, on the table sat the being whose steps T had followed— the lamp was placed so as to thiow its full light on the coffin I was startled by the appearance of another standing upright against the wall close behind ; but, on looking again I perceived the lid was removed from the coffin, beside which the apparition sat, and had been placed

against the wall— the being thus strangely occupied was gazing earnestly upon the uncovered remains which it contained.

I felt the blood run cold to my heart— l had read of ghouls and vampires that come to feed upon the dead. I almost felt myself in the presence of one of these terrible creatures, and 1 trembled as I thought myself the only human being that had ever surprised them in their fearful feast. Ihe delusion, however, was but momentary. I soon recognised, in the being that thus alarmed me, the owner of the place— the last descendant of the mighty dead who slept in that chamber. I thought of the U.les that I had heard of his grief for his betrothed bride. Was it possible that he had thus followed her almost like Orpheus to the realms of death "> Could the lover thus bear to g-azo upon the mouldering remnants ot the features that once had charmed him. 1 soon found it was all possible— it was the only construction I could place upon his appearance there at that i Our ,'- i_ A P r °Jecting piece of masonry screened me from the light of the lamp, and in the shadow I could watch him without being observed myself. The lamp but ill lit the gloomy chamber, and the coffins lay there half shrouded in terrible obscurity— half revealed by a faint light more ghastly than darkness. A damp chill pervaded the heavy and oppressive air— and I could just see round the coved roof, and down the sides of the chamber, the dews of the charnel-house gathering here and there in humid concretions upon the walls. Some ugly insect things were moving lazily along the wall, and seemed vexed that any living thing but themselves and their loathsome kindred should intrude upon their dreary abode. And yet now and then a deep and heavy buzz vvent along the air from some winged thing. I fancied that I felt the hideous inmates crawling slowly along my skin. But there sat the bereaved lover, apparently 'unconscious of the loathsome horrors that surrounded him lie gazed into the lidless coflin as if within it was ali that he cared for on eaith. My soul sickened when I thought of what met his eye — but he gazed with all the devotion of the lover. It was terrible to see the adoration of that lover— its scene the dismal charnel-house— its object the mouldering corpse. I thought it was the lo\e of insanity.

I was soon satisfied that it was. A loud laugh rang terribly along the dismal vault— one would have thought it might have startled the silent dead from their repose — it was the fearful laugh of the maniac. I now remembered the wild expression of the eye that, amid all his paiety and intelligence, had so olten startled me— the vacant and yet impatient staio with which he seemed often to look for the coming of something that no one saw but himself. ITe was mad, and his madness still saw m tho coflin all that once had been his idol. And vet how many who are accounted wise in their generation are really devoting themselves to a worship as insane ' ITow many an immortal soul, engaged in the pursuit of all that worldlings prize, is flinging from it its high destiny — and bowling down axnid the corruptions of a moral charnel-house, before idols which its distempered imagination has conjured up of objects as loathsome and as perishable as the corpse ' As I ga'/ed upon that maniac, I scarcely knew whether 1 should pity or enw him. There is always a melancholy m contemplating under any circumstances the aberration of human intellect It is a melancholy that comes home to our heart's core— it thrills us with the fearful thought how poor the reason on which wo pride ourselves — how soon it may Ixj shattered, and all of hich 'jiiagmat ron or of deep thought, th.it now we prize, be iumbled up into the grotesque fancies into which its broken fragments may be shaped ' There is nothing so fearful to human sensibility— nothing so humiliating to human pride as the ra\mgs of a madman.

I felt all this as I looked upon the maniac in that vault But yet there was something- touching 1 in tho constancy, the love, that was his madness. Tho world had forgotten her with whom he sat — the place that had known her l>now her no moie — but he still remembered her ; it seemed scarcely an act of memory — she was still present with him. ITe could not bear that the form which he had loved so tenderly should now be left all alone to the g?a\p— and he had followed her with the love that pnsseth death to bear her company even there. H>e talked to her — he called upon her name with a startling loudness— nothing answeiod but the shrill echoes of the vault — he then stooped down into the coffin, and ho whispered tenderly her name— -he put his ear in the atti/tude of listening for her reply — and it seemed as if ho heard one — then he would talk wildly, and he asked of the dead why she had left him and had chosen to dwell there? And his -voice assumed the tone of entreaty as ho besought of her to come back — and then suddenly ho screamed and gasped for breath. T thought returning consciousness wns revealing the rcalitv — but no — he looked earnestly in tho coflin, and he told her not to gaze so wildlv — then he shrank back with horror and told her she was mad — and it was madness that had made her lca\e her comfortable home and fix her abode in that chamber — and then he seemed to reason wilh her upon th'c folly of a vow which hr> had imagined she had taken — of eternal celibacy and confinement to that place — and when ho found her inexorable in her determination — ho groaned, and he lav down upon the cold, damp floor — and still he addressed her in the tone, of supplication. But T could bear no more. I rushed from my hidingplace as unobserved as T had come. I felt it a desecration to intriide upon the solemn privacy of that inter^ view with tho dead. When I once more readied the open air T felt the balm of the night breeze a relief after tho atmosphere I had left. The moon w>as sinking fast

in the heavens, and the shadows were all lengthened to a strange and melancholy appearance— a few light clouds were on the sky— and the silvery light fell upon the trees —the meadows and the ruins as calmly and as softly as before— all was peace and stillness. It was a strange contrast with the scene I had left.

Not many weeks after this the bereaved lover became, to general appearance, positively and outrageously insane. He was removed to an asylum in the neighborhood^ Dublin. I have heard since that he raved constantly of someone being locked up in a vault, and exr pressed a constant uneasiness of their being starved. He persisted so pertinaciously and so consistently in his story, that his attendant physician was almost decided upon sending to have the vault examined But the next time it was opened was to receive his own remains. No human frame could resist excitement such as consumed him, and a little time sufficed to place him beside his betrothed. — ' The Derry People.'