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35 - Black Magic- a Tale of the Rise and Fall of the Antichrist by Marjorie Bowen · Black Magic- a Tale of the Rise and Fall of the Antichrist

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  Speaker 1: Section thirty five of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen. This
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  Speaker 1: LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Part two, chapter thirteen,
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  Speaker 1: The Secret. The mob had stormed to the Vatican. Octavian
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  Speaker 1: Colonna with a handful of fighting men, ascended the undefended
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  Speaker 1: marble staircase. The papal guards lay slain in the courtyard
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  Speaker 1: and in the entrance hall. Chamberlain's secretary, pages and priests
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  Speaker 1: fled or surrendered. With the Lord Colonna was TIERI of
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  Speaker 1: dender Monde, who had entered Rome that morning by the
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  Speaker 1: Appian Gate and headed a faction of the lawless crowd
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  Speaker 1: in their wild attack on the Vatican. To himself, he
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  Speaker 1: kept saying, I shall know she did not come. I
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  Speaker 1: shall know she did not come. It was early morning,
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  Speaker 1: the terrific storm of last night still lingered over Rome.
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  Speaker 1: Flashes of blue light divided the murky clouds, and the
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  Speaker 1: thunder hung about the Aventine. The Colonna grew afraid. He
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  Speaker 1: waited below in the gorgeous audience chamber, and sent up
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  Speaker 1: to the Pope's apartments, demanding his submission and promising him safety.
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  Speaker 1: The over awed crowd retired into the courtyard, and the piazza.
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  Speaker 1: While Pallo Arsini ascended the silver stairs. He returned with
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  Speaker 1: this message. His Holiness's apartments were locked, nor could they
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  Speaker 1: make him hear. It was a common thought among the
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  Speaker 1: knights that Michael the second had escaped. A monk offered
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  Speaker 1: to show them the secret passage where his Holiness might be.
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  Speaker 1: Even now, many went, but Tyrrie followed the attendants to
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  Speaker 1: the gilt door of the ebony cabinet. They broke the
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  Speaker 1: lock and entered fearfully. On the floor torn fragments of parchments,
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  Speaker 1: a pile of ashes with a ruby ring lying in
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  Speaker 1: the midst nothing else. His Holiness is in his chamber.
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  Speaker 1: We dare not enter. They had always been afraid of him.
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  Speaker 1: Even now his name held terror. The colonna waits our news,
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  Speaker 1: cried Tyrie wildly.
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  Speaker 2: I I dare enter.
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  Speaker 1: They tiptoed to the other gilt door. It took them
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  Speaker 1: some time to remove the lock. When at last the
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  Speaker 1: door gave and swung open. They shrunk away, but Tyrie
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  Speaker 1: passed into the chamber. The somber light of dawn filled it.
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  Speaker 1: Heavy shadows obscured the rich splendors of golden colors, of
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  Speaker 1: gleaming white walls. The men crept after him. It seemed
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  Speaker 1: to Tyrie as if the world had stopped about them.
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  Speaker 1: On the magnificent purple bed lay the Pope. On his brow,
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  Speaker 1: the tiera glittered, and on his breast the choscible. The
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  Speaker 1: crozier lay by his side on the samite coverlet, and
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  Speaker 1: his feet glittered in their golden shoes. By the crozier
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  Speaker 1: was a letter and a jade bottle. The attendants shrieked
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  Speaker 1: and fled. Tirri crept to the bedside and took up
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  Speaker 1: the parchment. His name was over the top. He broke
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  Speaker 1: the seal. He read the fair writing, If I be
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  Speaker 1: a devil, I go whence I came. If a man,
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  Speaker 1: I lived as one and died as one. If a
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  Speaker 1: woman I have known love conquered it and by it
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  Speaker 1: have been vanquished, whatsoever I am. I perish on the heights,
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  Speaker 1: but I do not descend from them. I have known
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  Speaker 1: things in their fullness, and will not stay to taste
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  Speaker 1: the dregs. So to you, greeting, and not for long farewell.
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  Speaker 1: The letter fell from Tyrie's hand, fluttered and sank to
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  Speaker 1: the floor. He raised his eyes and saw through the
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  Speaker 1: window the meteor blazing over rome dead. He looked now
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  Speaker 1: at the proud, smooth face on the pillow, the gems
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  Speaker 1: of the papal crown gleaming above the red locks, the
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  Speaker 1: jeweled chossibles sparkling in the strengthening dawn, until he was
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  Speaker 1: nearly fooled into thinking the bosom heaved beneath.
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  Speaker 2: He was alone.
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  Speaker 1: At least he could know. The air was like incense,
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  Speaker 1: sweet and stifling. His blood seemed to beat in his
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  Speaker 1: brain with a little foolish sound of melody. A shaft
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  Speaker 1: of gray light fell over the splendors of the bed,
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  Speaker 1: the roses and dragons, hawks and hounds sewn on the
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  Speaker 1: curtains and coverlets. From the pope's garments rose a subtle
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  Speaker 1: and beautiful perfume. Ursula, said Tyrie. He bent over the
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  Speaker 1: bed until the pearls in his ears touched his cheeks.
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  Speaker 1: Without the thunder muttered to know. He lifted the dead
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  Speaker 1: pope's arm. There seemed to be neither weight nor substance
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  Speaker 1: under the stiff silk. He dropped the sleeve, his cold
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  Speaker 1: fingers unclasped the heavy chouscible. Underneath lay perfumed samite, white
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  Speaker 1: and soft, an awful sensation crept through his veins. He
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  Speaker 1: thought that under these gorgeous festments was nothing, nothing ashes.
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  Speaker 1: He did not dare to uncover the bosom that lay,
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  Speaker 1: that must lie under the gleaming samite, but he must know.
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  Speaker 1: He lifted up the fair crowned head to peer madly
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  Speaker 1: into the proud features. It came away in his hands,
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  Speaker 1: like crumbling wood that may preserve till touched the semblance
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  Speaker 1: of the carving. So the Pope's head parted from the trunk.
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  Speaker 1: Chierrie smiled with horror and stared at what he held.
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  Speaker 1: Then it disappeared, fell into ashes before his eyes, and
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  Speaker 1: the tierra rolled on to the floor, gone like an
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  Speaker 1: image of smoke. He sank across the headless thing on
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  Speaker 1: the bed. Must I follow you to know? Follow you
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  Speaker 1: to hell? He whispered. Now he could open the rich garments,
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  Speaker 1: They were empty of all save dust. The strange, strong
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  Speaker 1: perfume was stinging and numbing his brain his heart. He
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  Speaker 1: thought he heard the fiends coming for his soul. At last,
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  Speaker 1: he hid his face in the purple silk robes and
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  Speaker 1: felt his blood grow cold.
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  Speaker 2: The room darkened about him. He knew he was being
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  Speaker 2: drawn downwards into eternity. He sighed and slipped from the
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  Speaker 2: bed on to the floor. As his last breath hovered
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  Speaker 2: on his lips. The meteor vanished, The thunder clouds rolled
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  Speaker 2: away from a fair blue sky, and a glorious sunrise
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  Speaker 2: laughed over the city. The reign of the Antichrist was ended.
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  Speaker 2: Through the Pope's chamber. The notes of silver trumpets quivered
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  Speaker 2: Baltasar's trumpets as his hosts marched triumphantly into Rome.
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  Speaker 1: End of Section thirty five recording by Molly Craig. End
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  Speaker 1: of Black Magic by Marjorie Bowen.