THE FIRST OF THE PASSAGES.
YAWNING PITS AND CAVERNS.
Several hundred yards from the base of the steps which we had descended is an octagonal vestibule, and over it an inscription in Latin to this effect: “Beyond these boundaries repose those who await a blessed immortality.” We passed through a door leading into a long gallery lined with bones from the floor to the roof; the arm, leg, and thigh-bones being closely and regularly piled together in front, their uniformity relieved by three rows of skulls at equal distances, while behind these the smaller bones are thrown, regardless of arrangement of any kind. The gallery conducts to several apartments resembling chapels, called Tombs of the Revolutions, and Tombs of the Victims, because they hold the relics of those who had perished in popular insurrections against existing authority. I had noticed, before reaching the vestibule, and what may be considered the Catacombs proper, that the passage was very narrow,—only two persons being able to walk abreast therein,—and little more than six feet in height. This passage soon made a sharp turn, and at the corner the names of the streets directly above were cut into the stone, and two black arrows painted upon it, one pointing to the entrance of the vaults, and the other to the great charnel-house we were about to explore. We were in chambers of hewn-out rock. Rock was above us, below us, and on every side. The walls were very damp, the water in many places dripping through what might be termed the ceiling, in which were so many cracks and crevices that it seemed as if the walls might tumble and bury us at any moment. Two or three of my companions grew very nervous as they perceived about them such alarming signs of insecurity, and expressed the wish that they had not undertaken what they declared to be a foolhardy enterprise. As I walked along, I saw at different turnings of the passage what appeared to be deep, yawning pits; and feeling a curiosity to examine them, I stopped and stretched my taper over the side. Appearances were not deceitful. The deep pits were really there—dark, awful, and impenetrable. I could not help thinking how easy it would be for any one who should get lost and become bewildered, to stumble into one of those fearful holes and dash his brains out. Even such a dreary death would be infinitely preferable to the long agony of confinement in, without any hope of release from, such a place of horrors. While I was speculating on the possibility of the situation, the little procession got quite beyond me, and I was aroused from my gloomy reverie by the echoing voice of the guide urging the members of our party to keep close together. I hurried forward just in time to see the door of the vestibule open, and to go in with the rest.
The Catacombs are laid out very much like the old quarters of Paris, the different avenues being named after the streets above them, and the principal buildings overhead being indicated on the walls. It seemed very strange that certain famous structures, with which I am very familiar, should be only eighty or a hundred feet from where we were walking, as those sepulchral caverns appeared hundreds of miles away from the bright and beautiful city we had quitted half an hour before. Nothing can be more dismal and depressing than the Catacombs, with their miles and miles of human bones and skulls confronting you wherever you turn, and seeming to dance and grin as the light and the shadow of the passing tapers fall upon them.
How easily we are cheated by the imagination! I could almost have sworn, as I hurried by, that I saw some of the thigh-bones move to and fro, and the jaws of the skulls open and shut, and extend, in ghastly grimace, a repulsive welcome from the dead to the living, who would soon be no more than those hideous remains. There is a certain fascination, however, I must confess, in the sombre, subterranean city. The parade and panoply of grim mortality held me like a spell, and again and again I found myself far in the rear of the solemn excursionists. I liked to fall behind and watch the thick shadows which gave way before and closed in behind them, and listen to the hollow and dreary echoes of their voices murmuring through the mighty vaults. I fancied the babbling company to be a crew of resurgent spirits, whose duty it was to visit the cemeteries of the globe, and awake the dead to judgment. They had a certain weird semblance as they flitted on in the dim distance, and their tones came back to me as if they had fallen from tongues long silent in the grave. The fancy pleased me, and I indulged it, and the kindred fancy that the heaps of bones were animated, until, sometimes, so strong were the suggestions of the place, I really confounded the living with the dead.
Once, in going by an avenue running to the right, I yielded to a temptation to step into it, to look at an extraordinary heap of bones. This did not occupy more than thirty seconds,—at least, it did not appear longer,—and yet, when I stepped back into the broader passage (the main avenues in the Catacombs are much wider than those I have mentioned outside the vestibule), I found, to my utter consternation and horror, that my companions had left me; I could not see the light of their tapers, nor could I hear the least echo of their steps or voices.
LOST IN THE CATACOMBS.
FEELINGS OF HORROR.
Lost in the Catacombs! How often I had imagined it! and now, indeed, it had become a terrible reality. Horror almost paralyzed me for the moment. I seemed to be all nerve and brain, and these thrilled and throbbed so wildly that I was forced to lean against the rock for support. I thought I should go mad, for there was something in the very idea of being shut up in that awful cavern, in the awful silence and awful darkness, doomed to perish by inches, every hour expanding to an age, which rendered any other means of death blissful by contrast. My head swam, and I believed I was about to swoon, when, feeling that to do so was to be destroyed, I roused my will and almost involuntarily sprang forward. My movement was so sudden that my taper was extinguished, and an inky blackness fell upon me like a pall. The horror of my situation was a hundred-fold increased. If I could have lighted my little candle again, I should have been almost happy; and yet, a few seconds before, I had regarded myself as the most miserable of mortals. My brain seemed to be absolutely bursting, and my heart forcing itself into my throat. I was conscious of a sense of suffocation, and I was not sure that the rocky walls were not pressing together to crush me. I remember having an anxious longing that they might do so, and end the agony I was enduring. I frankly admit I had never known before what human suffering can be. I had not supposed myself capable of such mental anguish; it was ten thousand times more, and worse, than death—an indefinable and overwhelming dread of something which might not be named, but that could be pictured with miraculous power. I had confronted death often, in sickness, in catastrophe, in battle, on land and water, by falling, and by fire, and the so-called King of Terrors had not shown himself half so terrible as I had anticipated. But then and there, in those silent and rayless Catacombs, I was unnerved, overpowered, and horrified, by a crushing dread of the unknown. Every moment was a month. Every feeling was a minister of horror. Exactly what I did I shall never know, though I seem to have a misty recollection that I strove to kill myself by dashing my head against the rocks. For some time I was incapable of determining my conduct; and then, with all my exquisite sense of mental pain, I was aware of hurrying rapidly through the thick darkness.
How long this continued I know not; but of a sudden I saw beyond me a flash of light like the aurora in the far northern sky. Was I really mad? Was I dreaming? Was I dead, and waking from the sleep of death? I rubbed my eyes, I pinched myself, I tried to scream, but I could not make a sound. Burning as my throat was, and all on fire as I seemed from head to foot, my voice froze as I sought to give it utterance.