South Wind(Fiscle Part-3) - Norman Douglas (ebook e reader .TXT) 📗
- Author: Norman Douglas
Book online «South Wind(Fiscle Part-3) - Norman Douglas (ebook e reader .TXT) 📗». Author Norman Douglas
Stepped Within.
Deep Shade Was Here, In Those Of The Chambers Whose Roofs Remained
Intact; Shade, And A Steamy Heat, And The Noxious Odour Of Some Mineral
Product--The Healing Waters. He Strayed In The Twilight Through Halls
And Corridors, Past Ample Saloons And Rows Of Cells Which Had
Apparently Served For Convenience Of Disrobing. Everywhere That Noisome
Smell Accompanied His Footsteps; The Place Was Reeking With It. And All
Was In Decay. Gaudy Paper Hung In Tatters From The Ceilings; The Dust
Lay Thick, Undisturbed For Generations. Unclean Things Littered In
Musty Corners. Through Gaping Skylights A Sunny Beam Would Penetrate;
It Played About The Mildewy Stucco Partitions Encrusted, In Patches,
With A Poisonous Lichen Of Bright Green. Wandering About This Dank And
Mournful Pile Of Wreckage, He Could Understand Why Simple Folks Should
Dread To Enter So Ghoul-Haunted A Spot.
Gladly He Issued, By Way Of An Obscure Passage, Into What Had Once Been
A Trim Garden. No Trace Of Flowers Or Shrubs Remained; The Walks, The
Ornamental Stone Seats And Artificial Terraces, Were Merging Into Brown
Earth. Here, In The Centre Of This Ruined Pleasaunce, The Health-Giving
Fountain Had Lately Flowed, Bubbling Up In A Couch-Shaped Basin Of
Cement. It Was Now Dry. But A Damp Warmth Still Clung To Its Rim,
Whereon The Mineral Had Left A Comely Deposit Of Opaline Texture.
Lowering His Hand He Felt An Intermittent Stream Of Hot Air Rising Out
Of The Ground, Feeble As The Breath Of A Dying Man. Still Some
Mysterious Gusts Of Life Down There, He Concluded, In The Dark Earth.
How Curious That Volcanic Connection With The Mainland, Of Which Count
Caloveglia Had Spoken!
Soon He Found Himself Beside The Shattered Framework Of A Small
Pavilion, Built In A Grotesque Chinese Style And Looking Woefully Out
Of Place In This Classic Landscape, With The Blue Tyrrhenian At Its
Foot. And Here He Rested. He Surveyed The Traces Of The Old Path
Leading Down From The Higher Lands In Serpentine Meanderings; That
Path--Once, Doubtless, Bordered By Shady Trees--Whereby All Those Worldly
Invalids Had Once Descended. He Pictured The Lively Caravan Afoot, On
Mule-Back, In Sedan Chairs, Seeking Health And Pleasure At This Site,
Now So Void Of Life. Lower Down, Almost Within A Stone's Throw, Lay The
Beach. The Sailors, Father And Son, Had Drawn The Boat Up To The Shore
And Were Sitting Huddled Up On Its Shady Side, With Some Food Between
Them On A Coloured Handkerchief. That Brobdingnagian Luncheon-Basket
Had Also Been Disembarked. Keith Was Swimming, Together With His Two
Genii; He Looked Like A Rosy Silenus. They Seemed To Be Enjoying
Themselves Vastly, To Judge By The Outbursts Of Laughter. Mr. Heard
Thought Of Going To Join The Fun, But Gave Up The Idea; There Was
Something Astir That Clogged His Energies.
He Knew Them--These Southern Noons. If No Ghost Resided In The
Melancholy Ruin Hard By, There Might Well Be Some Imponderable Hostile
Essence Afloat In The Still Air Of Midday. Anything, He Felt, Could
Happen At This Unearthly Hour. The Wildest Follies Might Be Committed
At The Bidding Of This Unseen Presence.
He Tried To Recollect What Keith Had Told Him Concerning Muhlen, That
Corrupt Personality. Retlow . . . Where Had He Heard That Name Before?
In Vain He Flogged His Memory. There Was An Alien Power In This
Brightness; A Power As Of A Vampire That Drained Away His Faculties,
His Vitality; A Spirit Of Evil, Exhaling From The Sunny Calm. It Made A
Mock, A Mirage, Of The Landscape Which Danced Before His Eyes; It
Distorted The Realities Of Nature, The Works Of Man. . . .
Presently He Observed That Keith And His Companions Were Clothed And
Occupied In Dragging Things Out Of The Preposterous Food-Receptacle.
They Called Up To Him. The Spell Was Released.
He Descended.
"Nice Bathe?" He Enquired.
"Rather! And Now These Fellows Will Make A Passable Omelette, To Begin
With. I Don't Fancy Cold Luncheons, Do You? They Seem To Lie Dead On
One's Stomach."
"Are Those Sailors Not Coming With Us?"
"No. They Are Well Paid For Their Work. No Doubt They Would Like To Be
In My Service Too. But I Never Employ Islanders, Except For Casual
Jobs; It Saves Me All Kinds Of Local Trouble And Family Intrigues. Nor
Yet Older People. They Are So Apt To Think; And Once A Servant Begins
To Think He Ceases To Be Of Use. I Believe In The Outsider, For All
Purposes Of Human Intercourse. If You Want A Thing Done, Go To The
Outsider, The Intelligent Amateur. And When You Marry, Heard, Be Sure
To Select A Wife From Another Class, Another Province, Another
Country--Another Planet, If Possible. Otherwise You Will Repent It. Not
That I See Any Objection, On Principle, To Incest; It Strikes Me As The
Most Natural Proceeding In The World--"
"Dear Me!"
"And Yet--That Inexplicable Prejudice. It Is Probably Artificial And Of
Modern Origin. I Suspect The Priestly Caste. Royal Families Kept Up The
Custom And Do So Still, Like That Of Siam. Odd, How Anachronisms Linger
Longest At The Two Poles Of Society. What Do You Say," He Went On, "To
Climbing A Little Up That Gorge, Into The Shade? I Cannot Digest
Properly With The Sun Staring At Me. And Tell Me, As We Go Along, Your
Impressions Of The Ruin. . . I Perceive Drawbacks To Incest; Grave
Practical Drawbacks--Sterility, Inbreeding. Yes, There Is Obviously
Something To Be Said For Exogamy. Audi Alteram Partem As Eames Might
Say, Though God Knows Why He Thinks It Sounds Better In Latin. Seen The
Ghost?"
The Bishop Remembered A Certain Answer Given Him By Madame Steynlin, To
Whom He Had Once Spoken Of The "Tonic" Effects Of Keith's Conversation.
"A Tonic?" She Had Said. "Very Likely! But Not A Tonic For Men And
Women. A Tonic For Horses."
After Luncheon They Improvised A Shelter In Order To Repose Awhile. It
Was The Right Thing To Do On Nepenthe At That Hour Of The Day, And Mr.
Keith Tried To Conform To Custom Even Under Unusual Circumstances Such
As These. Protected By The Boat's Scarlet Awning From The Rays Of The
Sun, They Slumbered Through The Flaming Hours.
Chapter 23
The Duchess Was A Good Sleeper, As Befitted A Person Of Regular Habits
And Pure Life.
It Was Her Custom To Retire For The Night At About Eleven O'clock.
Angelina, Who Reposed In An Adjoining Room, Would Enter Softly At Nine
In The Morning, Draw Up The Blinds, And Deposit A Cup Of Tea At The
Bedside Of Her Mistress. Up To That Moment, She Would Slumber Like A
Child. Rarely Did She Suffer From Insomnia Or Nightmare. On This
Particular Night, However, Her Rest Was Troubled By A Strange And
Disquieting Dream.
She Was A Little Girl Once More, At Her Parental Home Out West. All The
Old Memories Were Around Her. It Was Winter Time. She Was Alone, Out Of
Doors. Snow, The Familiar Snow, Was Falling From A Sombre Sky; Already
It Lay Deep On The Boundless Plains. It Fell Without Ceasing. The Sky
Grew Darker. Hours Seemed To Pass, And Still The Flakes Descended. It
Was Not Cold Snow. It Was Warm Snow--Warm And Rather Suffocating. Very
Suffocating. It Began To Choke Her. Suddenly She Found She Could
Breathe No More. She Gave A Wild Cry Of Despair--
Her Maid Was Standing Beside The Bed, A Lighted Candle In Her Hand.
Otherwise The Room Was In Pitch Darkness. Angelina Looked Like A
Tanagra Statuette. Draped In Nothing But A Clinging Nightgown That
Reached Two Inches Below The Knee And Accentuated The Charm Of Her
Figure, With The Candle-Light Throwing Playful Gleams Upon Her Neck And
Cheeks, Angelina Was An Apparition To Gladden The Heart Of Man.
The Heart Of The Duchess Was Not Gladdened By Any Means.
"What Is The Meaning Of This, Girl?" She Enquired Sternly, In What She
Took To Be The Language Of The Country. "And In The Middle Of The
Night!"
"It's Nine O'clock, Madam."
"Nine O'clock? Then Draw The Blinds."
"I've Drawn Them." She Stepped To The Window And Tapped On The Glass
Panes By Way Of Confirmation. "All Dark Outside," She Added. "Ashes Are
Falling From Heaven. The Volcano Is Very, Very Angry."
"Ashes? The Volcano? I Must Dress At Once. Light Two More Candles. No,
Three! We Can't Have Three Candles Burning. Don Francesco May Be Here
At Any Moment."
The Duchess Often Laughingly Described Herself As "Only A Weak Woman."
A Certain Number Of Persons Concurred In That Opinion. Just Then She
Was The Most Self-Possessed Inhabitant Of Nepenthe. The Disturbance Of
Nature Left Her Undisturbed. Her Intellect Was Naturally Incurious As
To The Habits Of Volcanoes; Her Soul, Moreover, In Good Hands, Her
Conscience In Excellent Working Order, As Befitted A Potential Convert
To Catholicism. She Could Rely On A Spiritual Adviser Who Had Instilled
Into Her Mind A Lofty Sense Of Obedience And Resignation. Don Francesco
Would Never Desert Her. He Would Arrive In Due Course, Explaining Why
God Had Allowed The Volcano To Behave In This Unseemly Fashion, And
Brimming Over With Words Of Consolation For His Daughter-To-Be. God, If
So Disposed, Could Work A Miracle And Drive Away The Plague, Even As He
Had Sent It. Ashes Or No Ashes, All Was For The Best. Calmly She
Waited.
Out Of Doors, Meanwhile, The Shower Went On Without Ceasing. It Had
Begun Shortly After Midnight; The Ground Was Covered To The Depth Of
Two Inches. Nepenthe Lay Veiled In Cimmerian Gloom, Darker Than
Starless Midnight--A Darkness That Could Be Felt; A Blanket, As It Were,
Hot And Breathless, Weighing Upon The Landscape. All Was Silent. No
Footfall Could Be Heard In The Streets; The Powdery Ashes, Softer Than
Snow, Absorbed Every Sound. And Still They Fell. Those Few Scared
Natives Whom Necessity Forced To Go Abroad Crept About In Fear Of Their
Lives. They Thought The End Of The World Had Come. Terror-Stricken,
They Carried Knives And Revolvers In Their Pockets; They Passed Each
Other Distrustfully In The Streets Holding, In One Hand, A Lighted
Torch Or Lantern, And In The Other A Handkerchief Pressed To The Face
For Fear Of Suffocation. In One Or Two Of The Shop Windows Could Be
Discerned A Light Glimmering Feebly As Through The Thickest Fog. All
The Ordinary Sights And Sounds Of Morning--The Vehicles Plying For Hire,
The Cracking Of Whips, The Cries Of The Fish And Fruit Vendors--All Were
Gone. The Deathly Stillness Was Broken Only By A Clangour Of The Town
Clock, Tolling The Hours Into A Darkened World.
Half A Dozen Adventurous Spirits Had Gathered Together At The Club.
They Called Themselves Adventurous. As A Matter Of Fact They Were
Scared Out Of Their Wits And Had Gone There Merely With A View To
Leaning On Each Other For Mutual Support And Courage. There Was No
Whisky Drinking That Morning, No Cards, No Scandal-Mongering. They Sat
Round A Table Under An Acetylene Lamp, Anxiously Listening To A Young
Professor From Christiania Who Claimed To Be Versed In The Higher
Mathematics And Was Then Occupied In Calculating, By Means Of The
Binomial Theorem, How Long It Would Take For The Whole Town Of Nepenthe
To Be Submerged Under Ashes Up To The Roofs--Presuming All The Buildings
To Be Of Equal Height. He Was A New-Comer To The Place And, For That
Reason, Rather A Cheerful Pessimist. He Thought It Quite Possible That
Before The Second Floors Of The Houses Had Been Reached--Granted, Of
Course, That None Was Higher Or Lower Than The Other--The Wind Might
Change And Carry The Ashes Elsewhere. His Demonstration Had A
Depressing Effect On The Hearts Of Those Who Had Lived Longer On The
Island. They Rose From The Table And Sadly Shook Their Heads, Prepared
For The Worst. They Knew Their Sirocco.
As Morning Wore On Other Stragglers Entered The Premises, Muffled Up To
The Ears; They Scattered Ashes From Their Cloaks And Hastily Closed The
Door Behind Them. More Lamps Were Lighted. The News Was Not Inspiring.
It Was Dark As Ever Outside; You Could Not See Your Hand Before Your
Face; The Shower Had Accumulated To An Alarming Extent. Some Roofs Had
Fallen In Under The Weight Of Ashes; Telegraphic Communication With The
Mainland
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