I uttered these words aloud, and the sound of my wailing voice ringing through the somber arches of the vault was strange and full of fantastic terror to my own ears.  I knew that were my agony much further prolonged I should go mad.  And I dared not picture to myself the frightful things which a maniac might be capable of, shut up in such a place of death and darkness, with moldering corpses for companions!  I remained on my knees, my face buried in my hands.  I forced myself into comparative calmness, and strove to preserve the equilibrium of my distracted mind.  Hush!  What exquisite far-off floating voice of cheer was that?  I raised my head and listened, entranced!

“Jug, jug, Jug! lodola, lodola! trill-lil-lil! sweet, sweet, sweet!”

It was a nightingale.  Familiar, delicious, angel-throated bird!  How I blessed thee in that dark hour of despair!  How I praised God for thine innocent existence!  How I sprung up and laughed and wept for joy, as, all unconscious of me, thou didst shake out a shower of pearly warblings on the breast of the soothed air!  Heavenly messenger of consolation!—­even now I think of thee with tenderness--for thy sweet sake all birds possess me as their worshiper; humanity has grown hideous in my sight, but the singing-life of the woods and hills—­how pure, how fresh!—­the nearest thing to happiness on this side heaven!

A rush of strength and courage invigorated me.  A new idea entered my brain.  I determined to follow the voice of the nightingale.  It sung on sweetly, encouragingly—­and I began afresh my journeyings through the darkness.  I fancied that the bird was perched on one of the trees outside the entrance of the vault, and that if I tried to get within closer hearing of its voice, I should most likely be thus guided to the very staircase I had been so painfully seeking.  I stumbled along slowly.  I felt feeble, and my limbs shook under me.  This time nothing impeded my progress; the nightingale’s liquid notes floated nearer and nearer, and hope, almost exhausted, sprung up again in my heart.  I was scarcely conscious of my own movements.  I seemed to be drawn along like one in a dream by the golden thread of the bird’s sweet singing.  All at once I caught my foot against a stone and fell forward with some force, but I felt no pain—­my limbs were too numb to be sensible of any fresh suffering.  I raised my heavy, aching eyes in the darkness; as I did so I uttered an exclamation of thanksgiving.  A slender stream of moonlight, no thicker than the stem of an arrow, slanted downward toward me, and showed me that I had at last reached the spot I sought—­in fact, I had fallen upon the lowest step of the stone stairway.  I could not distinguish the entrance door of the vault, but I knew that it must be at the summit of the steep ascent.  I was too weary to move further just then.  I lay still where I was, staring at the solitary moon-ray, and listening to the nightingale, whose rapturous melodies now rang out upon my ears with full distinctness.  One!  The harsh-toned bell I had heard before clanged forth the hour.  It would soon be morning; I resolved to rest till then.  Utterly worn out in body and mind, I laid down my head upon the cold stones as readily as if they had been the softest cushions, and in a few moments forgot all my miseries in a profound sleep.