Tales of the Wonder Club Volume I Part 44

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XI.

LOST IN THE CATACOMBS.--THE ANTIQUARY'S STORY.

The next morning broke dull and cheerless. It had been snowing hard all night, and was snowing still, and so murky was the atmosphere that the club was obliged to breakfast by candle-light, and indeed continued to burn candles till early noon.

Our artist was in despair about the weather, for he reckoned upon a long sitting from his fair model, and, under the circ.u.mstances, painting was impossible, so he wandered gloomily about the inn like a wild animal in a cage. Breakfast over, a discussion arose as to what should be the order of the day. Some voted for cards, others felt inclined for chess, yet no one felt a very strong longing for any one thing in particular.

It was one of those melancholy days when a man really does not know what to do with himself. Some yawned and stretched themselves, others gazed gloomily out into the darkness, until someone suddenly recollected that it was Mr. Oldstone's turn to tell a story, so without more delay, chairs were drawn round the fire, Jack Hearty was called for to put on a fresh log, pipes were lit, and Mr. Oldstone forced into an arm-chair and pressed to begin his story without further preface.

Our host was invited to remain, but he excused himself on the score of business. Helen was also called away to help her mother in household affairs; but this, of course, the club could not hear of, so after some little parley, she was reluctantly permitted to keep the club company, as one of the members observed it would be hard indeed to deprive the club of Helen in such weather, as her face was the only sunshine they were likely to get all day. Helen smiled somewhat confusedly at this broad compliment, and then accepted a seat placed for her between McGuilp and Parna.s.sus.

The company drew nearer to the fire, one of the members giving a preliminary poke at the log, while Oldstone, after tapping his snuff-box and taking from its inside a copious pinch of snuff to clear his memory, threw himself back in his easy-chair, and folding his hands, commenced his story thus:--

When I was in Rome, many years ago, with my friend and brother antiquary, Rustcoin, well-known to most of you gentlemen, and especially to my friend Mr. Vand.y.k.e McGuilp. We had put up together during the early part of our stay in a large Hotel in a fashionable quarter of the city.

We were both young then, and furnished with ample means for travelling.

It had been the dream of my youth to visit the eternal city, and here I found myself, free for the first time in my life to wander about to my heart's content among the venerable ruins of antiquity, the history of which had so interested me from my boyhood.

Being neither pushed for time nor money, having a comfortable little income left me upon the death of my parents, I never could make up my mind to follow any profession in particular, and having from my youth upwards always had a pa.s.sion for antiquarian lore, I resolved to make it the study of my life. Rustcoin was similarly situated to myself, and we have always pulled wonderfully together. Not a day pa.s.sed but some interesting ruin, church, or picture gallery, was explored, a minute description of which was immediately entered into my diary with a view to a grand archaeological work which I intended for the press, and which was afterwards published.

We knew the Vatican by heart, St. Peters, and all the chief churches.

Had visited the Capitol, the Forum, the Palace of the Caesars, the Colosseum, the baths of Caracalla, of t.i.tus, of Diocletian, the Pantheon and other antique temples. One sight, however, I had not yet been to see, and that was the catacombs. They had always had, from my boyhood, a great fascination for me, those dark, dank, mysterious subterranean labyrinths excavated by those pious enthusiasts, the early Christians, to shelter themselves from the persecutions of their pagan tyrants.

Little did their oppressors imagine, I presume, when first a few straggling fanatics a.s.sembled clandestinely under the dark arches they had hewn for themselves out of the solid rock to carry on their devotions undisturbed by candle-light, that that little sect would one day fill the wide world with its followers to the utter extinction of the old pagan superst.i.tions.

How strange is destiny! Religious faith proved too strong for tyranny.

Persecutions and martyrdoms were of no avail, for still the faith increased. The very victims of the faith, too, the holy martyrs magnified into heroes after death, as if in defiance of the old creed.

Well, gentlemen, these facts are as well known to all of you as to myself, yet such were my reflections as I drove off one morning to visit the catacombs of Saint Sebastian. But I antic.i.p.ate. Rising one morning filled with the idea of exploring these subterranean burial grounds as far as they extended, though for twelve miles those indefatigable early Christians have undermined the eternal city, I breakfasted hurriedly, calculating on my friend's company, but Rustcoin happened to have business on hand that day, and could not be persuaded to go, so I determined to start off alone.

A little before starting I accompanied Rustcoin down one of the by streets to make a call, and whilst, waiting for him to return, I amused myself by looking into an antiquary's shop window. There were some ancient Roman coins, some rusty Roman armour, pieces of Etruscan pottery, antique lamps and fragments of statuary. As I stood gazing at these curiosities for some considerable time, the antiquary bowed me in, giving me to understand that I was at liberty to look over the contents of his shop without being obliged to buy. He saw that I was an Englishman, and evidently had an eye to business.

He showed me some fragments of Roman tombs bearing a portion of an inscription, some bronze pans, and other instruments used for sacrifices, some spearheads, some ancient mosaic, etc., etc. I was soon attracted by a plate of antique seals, and was poring over them with a lens.

"Ah, signor," said the man, "I see you appreciate these gems of art.

That ring that you are looking at now was found entire in a place underground, where the vestal virgins used to be buried alive when convicted of unchast.i.ty."

"What will you take for it?" I asked.

"Well, considering that it is such a fine gem of art, sir, I could not ask less than four hundred scudi."

"Four hundred scudi!" I exclaimed. "Why, that is four thousand pauls,"

said I.

"Precisely so, signor."

"Come, come," said I, pretending to be more knowing than I actually was.

"I see you take me for an Englishman. Well, if I am an Englishman, I am one who understands the value of these things, for I have had dealings before in things of this sort."

Now, I had not the slightest idea of the prices that these articles fetched, but knowing that it was perfectly necessary to beat down an Italian in a bargain, I took it for granted that he had asked just double, and said, "Come, now, without wasting time in further parley, I will give you the half of what you ask--two hundred scudi and not a jot more," (being 40 pounds sterling.)

"Impossible, signor," said the man.

"Oh, very well, then," said I, "I wish you a good morning," and I made towards the door.

"Stay, signor," said the shopman; "let us say three hundred and fifty scudi; it is dirt cheap, and if I were not in immediate want of money I would not let it go at such a price."

"No," said I, walking out of the shop; "you know my terms; if you agree to these, so much the better for you, if not, _Addio_," and off I walked.

I had got about half way down the street when the man ran out after me.

"Signor, only three hundred scudi; this is for the last time, think of that! It is a sin to let such a bargain slip."

"No, no," said I, "not even for two hundred and ten. I have said two hundred scudi, and I even grudge that, yet if you will take it----"

"Not even for two hundred and ten!" repeated the man. "O Gesu Maria!"

added he, slapping his forehead.

"You seem anxious to get rid of it, my friend," said I, half-quizzingly.

"No, signor," replied he, "I can a.s.sure you it cuts me to the heart to part with such a gem, but I am a poor man with a large family, and I want money, otherwise I would not sell it for three times the amount."

"Well, then, if you want money," said I, dryly, "the best thing you can do is to a.s.sent to my terms, for I shall certainly give no more."

He seemed to reflect a little, and then with a shrug said: "_Ebbene_, as the signor wishes; but it is a dead loss to me; _you_, signor, are the winner, not I."

So I paid him the money, and walked off with the ring on my finger the same that I wear to this day, gentlemen. Here it is. There is no doubt that it is a very excellent specimen of Graeco-Roman art, and is most elaborately cut. I have not the slightest doubt, however, that I paid enough and more than enough for it, for as I followed the man with my eyes, I noticed an avaricious chuckle on his face, as an Italian shopman may be supposed to wear at having bamboozled an Englishman.

By this time my friend Rustcoin returned. I showed him my purchase, at which he went into raptures. I told him that I wished to visit the catacombs that morning, and therefore could not accompany him further.

He advised me to wait till the morrow, and that we should go together, but I had inwardly vowed that morning that go I would, and nothing should prevent me; so telling Rustcoin that we should meet at dinner, I hailed a carriage and drove off to the church of St. Sebastian.

It is a comparatively modern church, built upon the site of the ancient basilisk supposed to have been erected by Constantine, and consecrated by St. Silvester, was renewed by the Pope San Domaso, and since repeatedly restored, being at length rebuilt in the year 1611.

On my arrival I found several carriages waiting outside. I entered the church, and there was a party of about a dozen English people, who had likewise come to visit the catacombs.

I joined the party, and we descended a flight of steps, each of us bearing in our hands a taper, or rather tall, narrow candle. We were conducted by a lean, emaciated monk, who looked as if he had lived upon nothing but by inhaling the damp air of the catacombs. As we descended, the first object shown us was a bust of St. Sebastian by Bernini, over the tomb of the saint, and near was an altar under which was interred the body of St. Lucine.

As we walked along single file through these long dark corridors, the roofs of which were every now and then so low that we were obliged to stoop, we were shown the graves of saints and martyrs who had been entombed within the walls, every now and then arriving at some little chapel, in the walls of which three or four popes had been buried.

The place where the altar had stood was also carved in the rock. Here we came across a tomb with an inscription, there upon some rude drawings on the wall by the early Christians, representing various sacred subjects.

Impatient at having to stand still and listen to the explanation of the monk who accompanied us and to hear the questions of this knot of English people, I felt an incontrollable impulse to strike out for myself into some new track, not meaning to content myself with the mere fashionable route shown to foreigners.

I considered that I had not come there merely to have a peep at these subterranean vaults, for the sake of being able to say when I returned to England that I had seen the catacombs, but intended whilst I was about it to investigate these mysterious haunts thoroughly and conscientiously, for the sake of discovering, if possible, some inscriptions or other relics worthy of note that I might describe in my great archaeological work, and thus hand my name down to posterity.

The investigation of some unknown region, especially if accompanied by a spice of danger, has always been with me a pa.s.sion. I longed to be able to do something that n.o.body yet had done. I could not but be aware of the danger of my resolution to explore these dusky labyrinths without a guide, yet I prepared myself in a measure against a contingency, carrying in my pocket an extra roll of paper, in case that which I bore in my hand should come to an end, and a tinder-box.

Besides this, I had filled my pockets with bread, partly in case of extreme emergency, to sustain life, and partly to drop in crumbs behind me as I went to mark the way. I had commenced dropping my breadcrumbs from the very beginning and making slight excursions by myself, then turning back to join the party of English.