University of Virginia Library

THE FUNERAL TRAIN, BEARING THE CORSE
ALONG THROUGH THE GROUPS OF
SPECTRAL-FORMS ARE AWE-STRICKEN
BY THE APPEARANCE
OF A STRANGE
KNIGHT.

Above, the cavern roof spread vast and magnificent,
like an earth-hidden sky; around, on every
side, in rugged grandeur, extended the rocky
walls; and far in the distance, the solid pavement
seemed to grow larger and wider, as the gazer
looked upon its surface of substantial stone. The
light of the funeral torches flashing over the abrupt
rocks, revealed the level floor, and gave a
faint glimpse of the vast arch extending far above.
The ruddy beams flasning on every side, disclosed
a strange and ghastly spectacle. Around the
walls of the cavern, and over the floor, were scattered
figures of gigantic stone, rising from the
pavement, at irregular intervals, in various and
strangely contrasted attitudes, bearing the most
singular resemblance to the gestures of living
men, yet with every face stamped with an expression
that chilled the heart of the gazer, as though
he beheld a spirit of the unreal world.

A wild legend was written in the archives of
Albarone, concerning these strange figures. In
the olden time, while eternal midnight brooded
through these cavern halls, a demon band shook
the rugged arches with their sounds of hellish
wassail, startling the gloom of night and the
brightness of noonday above, with the echo of
their shrieks and yells; while their foul blasphemies
of the Awful Unknown infected the very
air with a curse, and sent disease and death abroad
from the cavern over the land, until every lip grew
pale, and every heart was chilled, at the mention
of the demon vault of Albarone. It was when the
impious revel swelled loudest; when the infernal
goblet was raised to every lip; when the glances
of glaring eyes, burning with the curse of Lucifer,
were exchanged between the supernatural revellers;
when the sounds of mockery and yells of blasphomy,
echoing and thundering around the vault, realized
a hell on earth, that the words of the Invisible
broke over the scene, and the figures of the
demon band were suddenly transformed to lifeless
stone. This wild tradition gained credence from
the positions and attitudes of these strange statues.

The smallest of the figures was three times as
large as the tallest and most robust of men; there
were others whose heads of dark rock well nigh
touched the cavern's roof, while their outstretched
arms and writhing attitude filled the gazer with
indefinable dread. Some were springing in the
festal dance, the smile, grim and ghastly, wreathing
their lips of stone; some were circling in
groups of wild, revelry, their faces agitated by
laughter; while others, with upturned countenances,
bearing the impress of every dark and hellish
passion, and arms thrown wildly aloft, seemed
daring the vengeance of heaven, and mocking the
power of God. Among all these various and contrasted
figures, there was not one form of beauty,
not one shape of grace; but all were expressive of
low, bestial revelry, servile terror, or else of sublime
hatred and defiance. Some were formed of
the darkest, and some of the lightest stone. Here
arose a form of dark rock, side by side with a
shape of snow-white stone; yonder towered a
figure of dusky red, and farther on, a form of dark
blue, veined by streaks of crimson and purple,
broke through the darkened air.

The ancient esquires who bore the corse, had
faced the brunt of an hundred battles, and fought
in the van of a thousand frays, yet it was not
without a shiver of terror that they looked around
upon this wild and unearthly scene, thronged with
those dark and fiend-like figures.

As they advanced, a new wonder attracted the
attention of the funeral train. Far in the cavern,
to all appearance near the centre, a vast mound,
of a square form, arising from the level pavement,
was hung with burning lamps, and overlooked by

a figure of stone, which seemed to those of the
funeral train to exceed all the others, both in the
magnitude of its height, and the wildness of its
attitude. The lamps burning above this mound,
threw s strong light over the dark figure, and along
the pavement, for some few yards around; while
the space between the mound and the procession
was left in entire darkness.

The bearers of the corse, advancing towards
the mound, led on the funeral train, who all, save
the Count Aldarin, seemed seized with a sudden
and indefinable dread. The battle song was still
continued, the swords were still brandished, and
the torches were still waved on high; but there
was a tremor in the notes of the song, the swords
were grasped with the nervous sensation that men
ever feel when expecting to meet antagonists of
the unknown world, and the waving of the torches
was accompanied by the muttered exorcisms of
the monks. As for the Ladye Annabel, she leaned
halt swooning upon the arm of the venerable
abbot, who, in good sooth, was as much frightened
as the maiden.

The esquires who bore the remains of their gallant
lord, had now gained near half the way over
the pavement of stone, toward the mound; the last
of the servitors had emerged from the narrow passage
into the cavern, and the whole train extending
in one unbroken line, marked by the long array
of torches flashing over the armor of the
warriors, and the white robes of the monks, presented
a striking and imposing spectacle.

Aldarin turned suddenly round, and exclaimed,
with a wild gesture:

“How now, vassals? Why this tremor?—
Whence this alarm? Do I not lead you? Raise
the battle song of our race yet higher, and advance
yet more boldly! The banner of the Winged
Leopard waves above ye! Shout the war cry, and
let your noble lord be borne to his rest as were
his fathers before him. Shout the war cry—
shout—”

Wheeling suddenly around in the warmth of
his excitement, he turned from the men-at-arms,
to the corse-bearers, and at the very instant, started
a step backward with involuntary horror. The
corse sate erect in the death-couch, the while pall
falling back from the iron clad shoulders, while
the light of the torches fell vividly upon its unclosed
eyes as their cold, stony glare rested upon the
face of Aldarin.

Aldarin felt his very heart leaping within his
bosom, while big beaded drops of moisture, clammy
as the death-sweat, stood out from his forehead.

“The Corse hath arisen in the death-couch”—
he hurriedly whispered,—“The eyes of the dead
are unclosed, they are gazing around the vault of
death.”

“It is the custom of Albarone,” exclaimed a
white haired Esquire,—“We have raised the corse
erect, we have unclosed its eyes. The mighty
dead of Albarone enter the vault of death, proudly
and erect, with their unclosed eyes gazing fearlessly
on the tomb—such is the custom of Albarone!”

“Thanks—brave Esquire—Thanks”—slowly
and gaspingly exclaimed Aldarin, as he recovered
his powers of mind. “Men of Albarone,” he
exclaimed in a loud and commanding tone, “Gaze
ye upon the face of the unconquered Dead, gaze
upon the erect form, the unclosed eyes daring
the terror of the tomb—and as ye gaze, let
the battle-song of our race peal to the very cavern's
roof! Shout the war cry, shout—”

A figure clad from head to foot in azure armour
of shining steel, leaped from behind a form of
stone, arising from the cavern floor, at the head
of the bier, and seizing the banner-staff from the
hands of Aldarin, finished his sentence—

“Shout”—exclaimed the Figure armed in azure
steel—“Shout Albarone to the rescue! Death to
the Murderer!”

The thunder-tones of that voice were known,
along the line of men-at-arms, through the columns
of the Monks. One wild shout arose from the
warriors—

“Ha! For Albarone! Adrian, our Lord, comes
from the dead to lead us! On—on! Strike for
the Winged Leopard—strike for Albarone!”

Strange it was that the very men, who a moment
before had trembled with undefined terror,
now hailed with joy the presence of one whom
they supposed to have risen from the dead.

In an instant all was confusion and uproar.
The Esquires set down the corse, and together
with the men-at-arms, clustered around the figure
in azure armour, shouting and making the very
cavern's roof re-echo with their exclamations of
joy.

The tumult and outcry, coupled with the name
of Adrian, reached the ears of the fair Ladye Annabel,

who already half swooning with terror,
now felt her brain whirling in wild confusion, as
she fell fainting in the arms of the Abbot of St.
Peters.

“Brethren,”—cried the Abbot, addressing the
Monks—“Haste ye away to the upper air for aid,
while I stay here with the maiden, and exorcise
yon devil, if devil it may be, with solemn prayers
and ceremonies. Away—away, the fair Ladye
may die, ere ye can return with aid.”

It needed no second word from the Abbot; the
Monks gazed in each other's faces with affrighted
looks, and then trooping hurriedly together, hastened
across the floor of the cavern, followed by
the Servitors, who but a moment past formed part
of the procession. It was but an instant when
the white robes of the monks, and the gay livery
of the servitors, were lost to view within the confines
of the narrow passage.

The Abbot holding the fainting maiden in his
arms, her white attire mingling with his sacerdotal
robes, gazed around the cavern, and found to
his astonishment that all around him was wrapt
in darkness, while far ahead, he could discern the
lights of the death mound, breaking through the
gloom, with the glare of torches, held aloft by the
men-at-arms, creating a brilliant space between
his position and the mound of the dead.

“All is dark”—murmured the Abbot—“All is
dark around me—yet far ahead, I behold the men-at-arms
clustering round the Strange Figure—
their swords rise aloft, and their distant shouts
break on my ear! She lays in my arms, cold,
cold and senseless. Save me, mother of Heaven,
but I cannot feel the beating of her heart—I hear
no sound of aid, no voice of assistance! The
Cavern is damp, and she may die ere they come
with succor,—I will away and seek for aid myself.
Lay there, gentle Ladye, at the foot of this
strange Statue—thus I enfold thee in my robes of
white—thus I defend thee from the cold and damp
—in a moment I will be with thee again! God
aid my steps!”

At the foot of a figure of stone, wrapping her
form in his glittering robe of white and gold,
which he doffed from his own trembling frame,
the Abbot rested the Ladye Annabel, all cold and
insensible, and then hastened from the Cavern in
search of aid.

There was a long, long pause around the spo
where lay the maiden, while fearful mysteries
were enacting far beyond, on the summit of the
Death-Mound.

When the Abbot again returned he was
companioned by armed men, with glittering attire
and flashing swords. He sought the resting
place of the maiden; he beheld nothing but the
rough floor of the cavern. The Ladye Annabel
had disappeared, and the grotesque figure rising
from the pavement seemed to grin in mockery as
the horror-stricken Abbot gazed upon the vacant
stone, where he had laid the maiden down to rest,
her form of beauty, sheltered by his sacred robes.