pre-dawn silence was interrupted by a dull ripple. It came from the vat at the corner of the house. The surface of the water, mouldy from the green scum, seethed; inside the rotten barrel, encompassed by rusty hoops, swirls rose, refuse undulated, sediment gurgled. A couple of large, distended bubbles escaped, and a misshapen stump of a hand appeared. Some sort of torso or framework emerged from the depth, dripping with water, covered with mould and a cadaverous putridity – maybe a man, beast or plant. This monstrosity glinted its amazed face toward the sky, opened spongy lips wide in a vague imbecilic-enigmatic smile, extracted from the vat legs twisted as a thicket of coral, and, shaking the water off, started to walk with an unsteady, swinging step … .
Daybreak had already arrived; violet luminosities slithered about the boundless regions of the world.
The monstrosity was heading toward the deep-blue forest on the distant horizon. It opened the gate in the garden, hobbled on bowlegs along a narrow path, and, drenched in the amethystine streams of morning twilight, tottered toward fields and meadows slumbering in daybreak’s obscurity. Slowly, the freakish figure diminished, became diluted, and started to expire … until it dissolved, dispersing in the gleams of early dawn … .
A TALE OF THE GRAVEDIGGER
For two years after the mysterious disappearance of Giovanni Tossati, gravedigger of the main cemetery in Foscara, the town’s inhabitants, particularly those settled near the place of eternal rest, complained of continual disturbance by the souls of the dead. Apparently, one group was tormented by all sorts of nightmares, another group had the onset of sleep blocked by phantoms, while others were bothered during the evening by ghosts moving about noisily from room to room. Masses conducted in these houses and exorcisms carried out by the bishop over the graves didn’t help. On the contrary, the unrest flowing from the main cemetery seemed to spread, almost infectiously, to other cemeteries, and soon the entire city fell victim to the capricious deceased.
Only the arrival of the learned archaeologist and art scholar, Master Vincent Gryf of Prague, and the effective advice he gave the distressed councillors of the town, put a stop to this dangerous phenomenon.
The master, carefully examining the main cemetery, and particularly its monuments and tombstones, released shortly afterwards a small volume entitled Satanae opus turpissimum, seu coemeterii Foscarae, regiae urbis profana violatio. This little book, a curiosity of its type, printed in the year 1500 in medieval Latin, today belongs to those rare works forgotten under piles of library dust.
On the basis of his scrupulous study of the tombs, Gryf came to the conclusion that the main cemetery at Foscara had succumbed to a desecration unprecedented in Christian history.
Vincent’s claim was met at first with violent opposition and disbelief, as his reasoning was based on details too subtle for the unskilled eye of the community. But when artists and sculptors from neighbouring towns verified his judgement, then there was nothing left for the city councilors to do but gracefully accept the verdict and apply his advice.
And, in truth, Gryf’s opinion was most interesting and unique. For he noticed the desecration precisely in those splendid monuments and eloquent inscriptions of which the Foscara cemetery was celebrated throughout the entire country, and which every traveller visiting charming Tuscany had to see at least once.
And yet, after his thorough examination, which lasted more than a month, Master Vincent showed that behind the pious, seemingly dignified works of art was hidden a sacrilege exhibiting truly devilish skill. The monuments, the marble sarcophagi and family tombs were one uninterrupted chain of blasphemies and satanic concepts.
From behind the hieratical poses of tomb angels appeared the vulgar gesture of a demon, on lips bevelled with
Daybreak had already arrived; violet luminosities slithered about the boundless regions of the world.
The monstrosity was heading toward the deep-blue forest on the distant horizon. It opened the gate in the garden, hobbled on bowlegs along a narrow path, and, drenched in the amethystine streams of morning twilight, tottered toward fields and meadows slumbering in daybreak’s obscurity. Slowly, the freakish figure diminished, became diluted, and started to expire … until it dissolved, dispersing in the gleams of early dawn … .
A TALE OF THE GRAVEDIGGER
For two years after the mysterious disappearance of Giovanni Tossati, gravedigger of the main cemetery in Foscara, the town’s inhabitants, particularly those settled near the place of eternal rest, complained of continual disturbance by the souls of the dead. Apparently, one group was tormented by all sorts of nightmares, another group had the onset of sleep blocked by phantoms, while others were bothered during the evening by ghosts moving about noisily from room to room. Masses conducted in these houses and exorcisms carried out by the bishop over the graves didn’t help. On the contrary, the unrest flowing from the main cemetery seemed to spread, almost infectiously, to other cemeteries, and soon the entire city fell victim to the capricious deceased.
Only the arrival of the learned archaeologist and art scholar, Master Vincent Gryf of Prague, and the effective advice he gave the distressed councillors of the town, put a stop to this dangerous phenomenon.
The master, carefully examining the main cemetery, and particularly its monuments and tombstones, released shortly afterwards a small volume entitled Satanae opus turpissimum, seu coemeterii Foscarae, regiae urbis profana violatio. This little book, a curiosity of its type, printed in the year 1500 in medieval Latin, today belongs to those rare works forgotten under piles of library dust.
On the basis of his scrupulous study of the tombs, Gryf came to the conclusion that the main cemetery at Foscara had succumbed to a desecration unprecedented in Christian history.
Vincent’s claim was met at first with violent opposition and disbelief, as his reasoning was based on details too subtle for the unskilled eye of the community. But when artists and sculptors from neighbouring towns verified his judgement, then there was nothing left for the city councilors to do but gracefully accept the verdict and apply his advice.
And, in truth, Gryf’s opinion was most interesting and unique. For he noticed the desecration precisely in those splendid monuments and eloquent inscriptions of which the Foscara cemetery was celebrated throughout the entire country, and which every traveller visiting charming Tuscany had to see at least once.
And yet, after his thorough examination, which lasted more than a month, Master Vincent showed that behind the pious, seemingly dignified works of art was hidden a sacrilege exhibiting truly devilish skill. The monuments, the marble sarcophagi and family tombs were one uninterrupted chain of blasphemies and satanic concepts.
From behind the hieratical poses of tomb angels appeared the vulgar gesture of a demon, on lips bevelled with
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