08 - Mystery of the Campagna by Anne Crawford

In the enchanting backdrop of Rome, a group of artists is immersed in their creative pursuits. But when one of them retreats to a secluded villa for solitude, his friends are drawn to visit. What they discover is unsettling‚a mere ‚òshadowy likeness‚ of Marcello, who has inexplicably taken up sleepwalking. As they delve deeper into the mystery, a strange woman emerges from the shadows of the grounds each night. Who is she, and what secrets does she hold? - Summary by Newgatenovelist

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:01):
Section eight of the Mystery of the Campania by Anne Crawford.
This librivoqux recording is in the public domain. Part two
Robert Sutton's account of what happened at the Vigna Marziali,
Segment F. We peered about the place, and I saw

(00:21):
that Manya's eyes were blinded by tears, and his face
as pale as that upturned one on the floor, whose
lids I had vainly tried to close. The chamber was
low and beautifully ornamented with stucco' bar releafs, in the
manner of the well known one not far from there,
upon the same road. Winged geniei griffins and arabesques, modeled

(00:45):
with marvelous lightness, covered the walls and ceiling. There was
no other door than the one we had entered by.
In their center stood a marble sarcophagus with the usual
subjects sculptured upon it. On the one side Hercules conducting
a veiled figure, while the other a dance of nymphs
and fauns. A space in the middle contained the following inscription,

(01:10):
deeply cut in the stone and still partially filled with
red pigment. D. M. VESPERTILIAI tas i matapotidos q flavivsvic
sipsis or spis monposvitt What is this, whispered mania? It

(01:33):
was only a pickaxe and a long crowbar, such as
the country people use in hewing out their blocks of tufa,
and his foot had struck against them. Who could have
brought them here? They must belong to the guardiano above?
But he had said that he had never come here,
and I believed him, knowing the Italian horror of darkness

(01:56):
and lonely places. But what had Massilla won with them?
It did not occur to us that archaeological curiosity could
have led him to attempt to open the sarcophagus, the
lid of which had evidently never been raised, thus justifying
the expression piously preserved. As I rose from examining the tools,

(02:21):
my eyes fell upon the line of mortar where the
cover joined to the stone below, and I noticed that
some of it had been removed, perhaps with the pickaxe,
which lay at my feet. I tried it with my
nails and found that it was very crumbly. Without a word,
I took the tool in my hand. Manya instinctively following

(02:42):
my movements with the lantern. What impelled us I do
not know. I had myself no thought, only an irresistible
desire to see what was within. I saw that much
of a mortar had been broken away and lay in
small fragments upon the ground, which I had not noticed before.

(03:04):
It did not take long to complete the work. I
snatched the lantern from Manya's hand and set it upon
the ground, where it shone full upon Marcella's dead face,
and by its light I found a little break between
the two masses of stone and managed to insert the
end of my crowbar, driving it in with a blow
of the pickaxe. The stone shipped and then cracked a little.

(03:28):
Manya was shivering. What are you going to do? He said,
looking around at where Marcella lay. Help me, I cried,
and we too bore with all our might upon the crowbar.
I am a strong man, and I felt a sort
of blind fury as the stone refused to yield. What

(03:50):
if the bo should snap? With another blow? I drove
it in still further, Then, using it as a lever,
we weighed upon it with our outstretched arm until every
muscle was at its highest tension. The stone moved a little,
and almost fainting, we stopped to rest. From the ceiling

(04:13):
hung a rusty remnant of an iron chain, which must
once have held a lamp. To this, by scrambling up
the sarcophagus, I contrived to make fast the lantern, now,
said I, and we heaved again at the lid. It rose,
and we alternately heaved and pushed, until it lost its

(04:33):
balance and fell with a thundering crash upon the other side,
such a crash that the walls seemed to shake, and
I was for a moment utterly deafened, while little pieces
of stucco rained upon us from the ceiling. When we
had paused to recover from the shock, we leaned over
the sarcophagus and looked in the light shone full upon it,

(04:57):
and we saw, how is possible to tell? We saw,
lying there, amid folds of moldering rags, the body of
a woman, perfect as in life, with faintly rosy face,
soft crimson lips, and a breast of living pearl, which
seemed to heave as though stirred by some delicious dream.

(05:22):
The rotten stuff swathed about her was in ghastly contrast
to this lovely form, fresh as the morning. Her hands
lay stretched at her side, The pink palms were turned
a little outward, her eyes were closed as peacefully as
those of a sleeping child, and her long hair, which

(05:43):
shone red golden in the dim light from above, was
wound around her head in numberless finely platted tresses, beneath
which little locks escaped in rings upon her brow. I
could have sworn that the blue veins on that divinely
perfect bosom held a living blood. We were absolutely paralyzed,

(06:08):
and Manya leaned, gasping over the edge, as pale as death,
paler by far than this living, almost smiling face to
which his eyes were glued. I do not doubt that
I was as pale as he at this inexplicable vision.
As I looked, the red lips seemed to grow redder.

(06:31):
They were redder. The little pearly teeth showed between them.
I had not seen them before. And now a clear
ruby drop trickled down to her rounded chin, and from
there slipped sideways and fell upon her neck. Horror struck,
I gazed upon the living corpse till my eyes could

(06:55):
not bear the sight any longer. As I looked away,
my glance fell once more upon the mysterious inscription half Latin,
half Greek, and the awful meaning of the words flashed
upon me suddenly as I read them this second time,

(07:15):
to Vespertilia, that was in Latin, and even the Latin
name of the woman suggested a thing of evil flitting
in the dusk. But the full horror of the nature
of that thing had been veiled to Romanize under the
Greek tas I Matopotidos, the blood drinker, the vampire woman,

(07:41):
and Flavius, her lover, vic Sipsey Suspace himself, hardly saved
from that deadly embrace, had buried her here and set
a seal upon her sepulcher, trusting to the weight of
stone and the strength of clinging mortar, to imprison forever

(08:03):
the beautiful monster he had loved. Infamous murderers. I cried,
you have killed Marcello, and a sudden vengeful calm came
over me. Give me the pickaxe, I said to Manya,
I can hear myself saying it. Still, he picked it

(08:27):
up and handed it to me as any dream. He
seemed little better than an idiot, and beads of sweat
were shining on his forehead. I took my knife, and
from the long wooden handle of the pickaxe I cut
a fine, sharp steak. Then I clambered, scarcely feeling any repugnance,

(08:48):
over the side of the sarcophagus, my feet among the
folds of Vespertilia's decaying winding sheet, which crushed like ashes
beneath my boot. I looked for one moment at that
white breast, but only to choose the loveliest spot, where
the net work of azure veins shimmered like veiled turquoises.

(09:13):
And then, with one blow, I drove the pointed stake
deep down through the breathing snow and stamped it in
with my heel, an awful shriek, so ringing and horrible
that I thought my ears must have burst. But even
then I felt neither fear nor horror. There are times

(09:35):
when these cannot touch us. I stooped and gazed once
again at the face, now undergoing a fearful change, fearful
and final foul vampire. I said, quietly, in my concentrated rage,
you will do no more harm now, and then, without

(09:59):
looking back up upon her cursed face, I clambered out
of the horrible tomb. We raised Marcello and slowly carried
him up the steep steps, a difficult task, for the
way was narrow and he was so stiff. I noticed
that the steps were ancient. Up to the end of

(10:21):
the second flight above, the modern passage was somewhat broader.
When we reached the top, the guardiano was lying upon
one of the stone benches. He did not mean us
to cheat him out of his fee. I gave him
a couple of francs. You see that we have found

(10:41):
the signore. I tried to say, in a natural voice.
He is very weak, and we will carry him to
the carriage. I had thrown my handkerchief over Marcello's face,
but the man knew as well as I that he
was dead. Those stiff feet told of their own storey.
But Italians are timid of being involved in such affairs.

(11:05):
They have a childish dread of the police. And he
only answered, poor Signorino, he is very ill. It is
better to take him to row, and kept cautiously clear
of us as we went up to the alec Saley
with our icy burden, and he did not go to
the gate with us, not liking to be observed by

(11:26):
the coachman, who was dozing on his box. With difficulty,
we got Marcello's corpse into the carriage, the driver turning
to look at us suspiciously. They explained we had found
our friend very ill, and at the same time slipped
a gold piece into his hand, telling him to drive

(11:46):
to the Via do Governo Vecchio. He pocketed the money
and whipped his horses into a trot while we sat
supporting the stiff body, which swayed like a broken doll
at every pebble in the row. When we reached the
Via del governo Vecchio, at last, no one saw us
carry him into the house. There was no step before

(12:10):
the door, and we drew up so close to it
that it was possible to screen our burden from sight.
When we had brought him into his room and laid
him upon his bed, we noticed that his eyes were
closed from the movement of the carriage, perhaps, though that
was scarcely possible. The landlady behaved very much as I

(12:33):
had expected her to do, for as I told you,
I know the Italians. She pretended too that the signora
was very ill, and made a pretense of offering to
fetch a doctor. And when I thought it best to
tell her that he was dead, declared that it must
have happened that very moment, for she had seen him

(12:54):
look at us and close his eyes again. She had
always told him that he ate too little and that
he would be ill. Yes, it was weakness and that
bad air out there which had killed him, and then
he worked too hard. When she had successfully established this fiction,
which we were glad enough to agree to, for neither

(13:17):
did we wish for the publicity of an inquest, she
ran out and fetched a gossip to come and keep
her company. So died Marcello Sulvestra, and so died Vespertilia,
the blood Drinker. At last, there is not much more
to tell. Marcella lay calm and beautiful upon his bed,

(13:42):
and the students came and stood silently looking at him,
then knelt down for a moment to say a prayer,
crossed themselves, and left him forever. We hastened to the
Villa Medici, where Dettia was sleeping, and sister Cloudius watching
him with a satisfied look on her strong face. She

(14:06):
rose noiselessly at our entrance and came to us at
the threshold. He will recover, said she softly. She was right.
When he awoke and opened his eyes, he knew us directly,
and Manya breathed a devout thank God. Have I been ill? Manya,

(14:31):
he asked, very feebly. You have had a little fever,
answered Manya promptly, But it is over. Now here is
Monsieur Sutton come to see you? Has Marcello been here?
Was the next question. Manya looked at him very steadily. No,

(14:54):
he only said, letting his face tell the rest. Is
he dead? Then Mania only bowed his head. Poor friend,
Dattaire murmured to himself, then closed his heavy eyes and
slept again. A few days after Marcello's funeral, we went

(15:20):
to the fatal Vigna Marciali to bring back the objects
which had belonged to him. As I laid the manuscript
score of the opera carefully together, my eye fell upon
a passage which struck me as the identical one which
the tire had so constantly sung in his delirium, and
which I had noted down. Strange to say, when I

(15:45):
reminded him of it later, it was perfectly new to him,
and he declared that Marcello had not let him examine
his manuscript As for the veiled bust in the other room,
we left it undisturbed and to crumble away unseen. End

(16:07):
of section eight and end of A Mystery of the
Companion by Anne Crawford. Thank you for listening.