I had certainly gone to the old burial-ground and had seen the phantom7 of Lucrezia Borgia emerge from an old Veronese tomb, and as certainly I had followed her to the Piazza8 Vittoria Emanuele, but here, without doubt, reality ended and fiction began. Evidently I had sat down upon the stone bench where I was discovered by the peasants, and had there fallen asleep to undergo this extravagant9 adventure in a vision of the night. In sleep I had dreamed a dream after the fashion of the Athenian lovers in Shakespeare's comedy, and the antique chamber10, the quaint11 costumes, and the phantom characters had been idle visions of the brain, which had played their several parts in this medi?val phantasmagoria.
To put entirely12 to one side the impossibility of living people dressing13 themselves in rococo14 costumes in order to play a fantastic comedy-tragedy in a deserted15 place, if I had really seen all I imagined, how did I find myself in the Piazza Vittoria Emanuele at daybreak? The visionary pursuit of the lady of the sepulchre had been a long one, and I certainly could not have walked back such a distance to the Piazza without knowing something about it. But memory ceased at my fainting at the door of the fatal chamber, and revived on my finding myself on the stone bench in the Piazza; therefore, granting that the whole adventure had actually occurred, how had I been taken from the deserted palace to the Piazza?
Idling over my midday meal at the Hotel d'Este, I thought of the extraordinary series of events in which I had taken part, and kept puzzling my brain as to whether they had really occurred or whether I had been the victim of a grotesque16 nightmare. I had received a letter from the Maestro Angello, saying he could not give me my usual lesson, therefore I determined17 to devote the whole day, which was thus at my disposal, to finding out the truth or falsehood of this mysterious adventure.
My bruises were very painful, but I doctored myself as I best could, so that without much difficulty I was able to walk. Doubtless I had received these bruises whilst pursuing the unknown from the graveyard18 to the Piazza Vittoria Emanuele, and thus far I was certain of the actuality of my adventure. With this idea in my head, I made up my mind to go to the old graveyard and discover, if possible, who was buried in the tomb from which the ghoul had emerged. By finding out the name I might possibly ascertain19 that of the lady, as there must certainly have been some connection between her and the person buried in the mysterious vault20. No sooner had I thus sketched21 out my plan of action than I put it at once into execution, and as I found some difficulty in walking, I sent for Peppino's fiacre in order to drive to the cemetery22.
Peppino was a merry little Florentine, whose services I employed for two reasons, one being that he spoke23 excellent Italian, so that I understood him easier than I did the general run of these Northern Italians, who usually gabble a vile24 patois25 which no Englishman can understand without constant practice, and my acquaintance with the modern Latin tongue was not sufficient to warrant my indulging in liberties with it; the other reason was that Peppino, having lived a long time in Verona, knew the town thoroughly26, and would be able to tell me better than any one if such a deserted palace as I had dreamed of really existed; besides which, he was also a very amusing companion.
The fiacre duly arrived, and on going outside I found Peppino grinning like a small black monkey as he held the door open for me to enter.
"Dio!" said Peppino in a commiserating27 tone, seeing how I leaned on my stick, "is the Signor not well?"
"Oh, yes! quite well, Peppino, only I fell yesterday and hurt myself, so you see I have to get you to drive me to-day."
"Bene!" replied Peppino philosophically28, mounting the box, "the ill of one is the good of another. To where, Signore?"
"To the cemetery near the Porto Vittoria."
"The new or the old one, Signore?"
"The old cemetery!"
Peppino cast a queer look at me over his shoulder, and, muttering something about the "mad English," drove away towards the Via Pallone. As he was on the box-seat, and the fiacre made a good deal of noise going over the rugged29 stone pavement, in addition to the incessant30 jingling31 of the bells, I could not question him as I desired to do, so, making up my mind to wait until I arrived at the graveyard, I leaned back in the carriage and gave myself up to my own thoughts.
Then a curious thing occurred which made me certain that the events of the previous night had actually taken place, for without the least effort of memory on my part the strange melody sung by the young man in the palace came into my head. I could not possibly have dreamed that, and I could not possibly have composed the air, so I concluded that I had really heard the song, and, having an excellent musical ear, it had impressed itself on my memory. Of course I did not recollect32 the words, but only the tune33, and thinking it might prove useful as a link in the chain of circumstances, I hummed it over twice or thrice so as to keep it in my mind.
I therefore concluded from this piece of evidence that I had actually been to the deserted palace and witnessed that strange feast, but if so, how had I found myself at dawn in the Piazza Vittoria Emanuele? It was no use puzzling my brains any more over this mysterious affair, so the wisest plan would be to wait until I found out the name on the tomb, and then perhaps Peppino would be able to tell me about the palace, in which case, with these two facts to go on, I might hope to discover the meaning of these extraordinary events.
Meanwhile the fiacre had left the Via Pallone, crossed over the Ponte Aleardi, and was now being driven rapidly along the left bank of the Adige, past the Campo Marzo. We speedily arrived at the old burial-ground, and Peppino, stopping his horse near the gate, assisted me to alight from the carriage.
"Peppino," I said, when this was done, "tie your horse up somewhere and come with me into the cemetery."
"Diamine!" replied Peppino, crossing himself with superstitious34 reverence35. "I like not these fields of the dead."
"It's broad daylight, you coward; besides, I wish you to tell me about the tombs."
"But why does not the Signor go to the beautiful new cemetery?" said Peppino, leading his horse to the wall and fastening him to a heavy stone; "the statues there are beautiful. This is old, very old; no one is buried here now."
"When was the last person buried, Peppino?"
"Dio! I don't know--eh, oh, yes, Signore, last year an illustrious was buried in his own vault; but he was mad. Ecco!"
"Why did he have a vault built in such an old cemetery?"
"Oh, the vault was old--as old as the Trezza. All the signori of his family had been buried there for many days."
"Since the Republic?"
"Dio! yes, and before."
"What is the name of this family?"
"I don't know, Signore, I forget!"
"Well, come along, Peppino. As you know so much about one tomb, you will probably know something about another."
"Command me, Illustrious."
I did not enter the burial-ground by the gate, as I wanted to go the same way as on the previous night, in order to be certain of finding the tomb I was in search of, so, with some little difficulty, and the help of Peppino, I managed to climb over the broken wall, and soon found myself in my old hiding-place. Peppino looked at me with considerable curiosity, as he could not conceive my object in coming to this dreary36 locality; but ultimately, shrugging his shoulders, he put it down to a freak on the part of a mad Englishman, and waited for me to speak.
The tomb looked scarcely less forbidding and gloomy in the daytime than it did at night, with its massive-looking architecture, and the stern-faced angel guarding the iron door. Advancing through the long grass which grew all round it, I looked every where for a name, but could find none, then tried to open the iron door, to the great dismay of Peppino.
"Signore," he said in a faltering37 voice, "do not let out the ghosts."
"There are no ghosts here, Peppino. They have all departed," I replied, finding the door locked.
"Dio! I'm not so sure of that, Illustrious. Many dead are in there."
"Oh, they've been dead so long that their ghosts must have grown weary of this gloomy sepulchre."
"Yes, Signore, but the ghost of the mad Count buried last year!"
"Oh!" I cried with lively curiosity, "is this the vault where he was buried?"
"Yes, Illustrious!"
"And the name, Peppino? What was his name?"
The little Italian looked perplexed38, as he could not understand the interest I took in this sepulchre; still, seeing I was in earnest, he tried to think of the name, but evidently could not recall it.
"Cospetto! Signore, I have the memory of Beppo, who forgot the mother who bore him; but the name will be here, Illustrious, for certain."
"See if you can find it, Peppino," I replied, sitting down on a stone near the iron door. "I am anxious to know to whom this tomb belongs."
Peppino, being more conversant39 with Italian tombs than myself, went to look for the name, and in a wonderfully short space of time came back with a satisfied smile on his face.
"Signore, the tomb is that of the Morone."
"The Morone?"
"Yes, Signore, they were a great family of Verona, as great as the cursed Medici of my beautiful Florence."
"And this Count, who died last year, was their descendant?"
"Dio! Illustrious, he was the last of them. No father, no brother, no child. He was the last. Basta, basta!"
"Had he a wife?" I asked, thinking of the woman who had emerged from this tomb.
"Yes, Signore, a beautiful wife, but when he died she left Verona for Rome I heard. She is not now here."
Well, I had found out the name of the family buried in the tomb, and that the wife was the sole representative of the race, so I naturally thought she was the only person who would have been able to enter the tomb; although why she did so, unless it was to pray beside the corpse40 of her late husband, I could not understand. Besides, Peppino, who was one of the greatest gossips in the town, said she had left Verona, so perhaps the midnight visitor was not the Contessa Morone at all.
"Were the Count and Countess an attached couple, Peppino?"
The Italian shrugged41 his shoulders.
"Dio! I know not indeed," he replied carelessly; "the Signor Conte was certainly mad. I saw him at times, and he had the evil eye. Diamine! often have I made horns for that eye, Illustrious."
"And the Countess, Peppino? Have you ever seen the Countess?"
"No, Signore! The Conte let her not out. Ah! he was jealous, that madman. He was old and the Signora was young. Per Bacco! the husband was afraid of the handsome officers. Ecco!"
A mad and jealous husband, old, too, into the bargain. With such a trinity of imperfections a young and beautiful woman could hardly be much in love with him, and, a year after his death, would certainly not have taken the trouble to pray at his tomb. No! the unknown lady could not possibly have been the Contessa. Who, then was this mysterious visitant? I had now quite got over my fancy that she was a spectre, and felt profoundly curious to find out who she was, and why she had come to this ancient burial-place at midnight.
"Is there a Palazzo Morone, Peppino?"
Peppino changed colour.
"What do you know of the Palazzo Morone, Signore?"
"Oh, there is one then!"
"Yes, Illustrious! It is haunted!"
"Haunted! Nonsense!"
"Dio! Signore, I speak the truth. No one has lived there for the last two hundred years. It is shut up for the rats and the owls42 and the spectres of the tomb."
"What tomb--this one?"
"Ah, Signore, do not jest, I pray you, or the illustrious Signori Morone will hear us."
Peppino looked so serious that I forebore to smile at this absurdity43, lest I should offend his pride and thus lose the story.
"Well, Peppino, tell me all about this haunted palace."
"Not here, Signore, I am afraid!"
"Then help me back to the carriage."
He obeyed with great alacrity44, and, when I was once more in the fiacre, prepared to loosen his horse.
"No, no! Peppino," I said, smiling; "the ghosts can't hear us here, so tell me the story of the Morone."
Peppino cast a doubtful glance in the direction of the burial-ground, and then, seating himself on the step of the carriage, began his story. His Italian, as I have said before, was very good, so, making him speak slowly, I was easily able to understand the strange legend he related.
"Signore," he began, with a solemn look on his usually merry face, "the Morone were very famous in Verona four hundred years ago. Dio! they fought with the Scaligers, and afterwards with the Visconti. They were Podestas of the city before the Della Scala, and several of them were great Cardinals45. One would have been his Holiness himself, but the Borgia asked him to supper and he died of their poison. About two hundred years ago Mastino Morone wedded46 the Donna Renata della Moneta, who was said to have been descended47 on the wrong side from Donna Lucrezia herself."
"You mean that this Renata was an illegitimate descendant of Lucrezia Borgia?"
"Yes, Signore. Ah! she was a devil of a woman, that Madonna Lucrezia. Ebbene! Signore. This Donna Renata wedded with Count Mastino Morone, and a pleasant life she led him, for she loved all other men but him. Cospetto! he would have strangled her, but he was afraid of her many lovers. There was a room in the Palazzo Morone, without any windows, where Donna Renata supped with those she favoured."
"And the room is there still?" I said, thinking of that mysterious chamber.
"Of a surety, Signore! It is haunted by the ghost of the Marchese Tisio!"
"Who was he?"
"Signore, he was the last lover of Donna Renata, whom she killed with the Borgia poison because he was faithless. Eh! it is true, Illustrious. She found out by her spies that the Marchese loved another, so she asked him to a last feast in her room, and when he was going she gave him a cup of wine. Dio! he drank it, the poor young man, and died. Ecco!"
"And why was he her last lover? Did she repent48?"
"No, Signore! The Count Mastino was watching at the door, and when she had killed the Marchese he went in to see her."
"And killed her, I suppose?"
"Per Bacco! Signore, no one knows. She never came out of that room again. The friends of the poor Tisio found his body, but they never found Donna Renata."
"Then what became of her?"
"Cospetto! No one ever found out. Mastino married again and said nothing, but after that last feast his first wife was never seen again. Diamine! it is strange."
"It's a curious story, Peppino, but it does not explain how the palace is haunted."
"Listen, Illustrious! I will tell," said Peppino in a subdued49 whisper. "The spirits of the Donna Renata, of the Conte Mastino, and of the Marchese Tisio, haunt the palace, and in the Month of May, when the crime was committed, the lovers hold a feast in that secret room while the husband watches at the door. Then the Donna Renata poisons the Marchese, the husband enters, and cries of pain and terror are heard. Then the lights go out and all is still."
It was certainly very curious, for Peppino was describing the very same I had beheld50--the terrible Renata, the unhappy lover, and the poisoned cup, but the Count----
"Tell me, Peppino, has any one ever beheld this feast of ghosts?"
"Dio! Signore, the people who lived in the palace were so afraid of the ghosts, that they left altogether, and no one has lived there for two hundred years."
"Yes, yes! but this spectral51 banquet seems all imagination--no one has seen it?"
"Yes, Signore. A holy Frate, who did not fear the devil, went one night in May and saw the feast through the door, but just as the poisoned cup was given, the ghost of the Conte dragged him away and tried to kill him."
"Oh! and did the ghost succeed?"
"No, Illustrious! The Frate made the sign of the cross and called on the Madonna, on which the ghosts all vanished with loud cries, and the Frate fainted. Next morning he found himself----"
"In the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele?"
"No, Signore; lying on the floor of the palace."
I was somewhat disappointed at this different ending to the narrative52 of Peppino, but it was very extraordinary that my adventure and that of the Frate should be so similar. It was broad day, I had overcome my superstitious fancies, yet the whole affair was so strange that I could not help feeling a qualm of fear, which I tried to laugh off, a proceeding53 which mightily54 offended Peppino.
"Signore, it is the truth I tell."
"Suppose I prove it, Peppino. This is the month of May, and no doubt the feast takes place every night. You will show me the palace, and I will watch at the door of the secret room."
"Dio! do not think of it, Illustrious," cried Peppino in alarm; "the Frate himself, a holy priest, was nearly killed, and you, Signore, you are a heretic."
"And, therefore, liable to be carried off by his Satanic Majesty55. You are complimentary56, Peppino. Nevertheless, to-morrow you must show me the palace."
"The Illustrious must excuse me."
"And watch with me for this feast of ghosts."
"Dio? the Signore jests!"
"No, indeed, Peppino! I am in sober earnest. We will go to the Palazzo Morone to-morrow; and now drive back to my hotel, as I feel very tired. Your story has been very entertaining, nevertheless."
"Ah! the Signor does not believe me?" said Peppino, getting on the box again.
"Yes, I do, Peppino; but I believe your ghostly party can be explained away."
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1
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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rococo
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| n.洛可可；adj.过分修饰的 | |
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15
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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23
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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24
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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patois
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| n.方言；混合语 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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27
commiserating
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| v.怜悯，同情( commiserate的现在分词 ) | |
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philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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32
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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33
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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conversant
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| adj.亲近的，有交情的，熟悉的 | |
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40
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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45
cardinals
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| 红衣主教( cardinal的名词复数 )； 红衣凤头鸟（见于北美，雄鸟为鲜红色）； 基数 | |
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46
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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48
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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49
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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50
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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51
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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52
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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53
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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54
mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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55
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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