Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
NISIDA AND THE CARMELITE ABBESS
Punctually
at midday, the Lady Nisida of
Riverola proceeded, alone and unattended, to the Convent of Carmelite Nuns,
where she was immediately admitted into the presence of the abbess.
The superior of this monastic
establishment, was a tall, thin, stern-looking woman, with a sallow complexion,
an imperious compression of the lips, and small, grey eyes, that seemed to
flicker with malignity rather than to beam with the pure light of Christian
love.
She was noted for the austerity
of her manners, the rigid discipline which she maintained in the convent, and
the inexorable
disposition
which she showed toward those who, having committed a fault, came within her
jurisdiction.
Rumor was often busy with the
affairs of the Carmelite Convent; and the grandams and gossips of Florence
would huddle together around their domestic hearths, on the cold winter’s
evenings, and venture mysterious hints and whispers of strange deeds committed
within the walls of that sacred institution; how from time to time some young
and beautiful nun had suddenly disappeared, to the surprise and alarm of her
companions; how piercing shrieks had been heard to issue from the interior of
the building, by those who passed near it at night,—and how the inmates
themselves were often aroused from their slumbers by strange noises resembling
the rattling of chains, the working of ponderous machinery, and the revolution
of huge wheels.
Such food for scandal as those
mysterious whispers supplied, was not likely to pass without exaggeration; and
that love of the marvelous which inspired the aforesaid gossips, led to the
embellishment of the rumors just glanced at—so that one declared with a solemn
shake of the head, how spirits were seen to glide around the convent walls at
night—and another averred that a nun, with whom she was acquainted, had assured
her that strange and unearthly forms were often encountered by those inmates of
the establishment who were hardy enough to venture into the chapel, or to
traverse the long corridors or gloomy cloisters after dusk.
These vague and uncertain reports
did not, however, prevent some of the wealthiest families in Florence from
placing their daughters in the Carmelite Convent. A nobleman or opulent citizen
who had several daughters, would consider it a duty to devote one of them to
the service of the church; and the votive girl was most probably compelled to
perform her novitiate and take the veil in this renowned establishment. It was
essentially the convent patronized by the aristocracy; and no female would be
received within its walls save on the payment of a considerable sum of money.
There was another circumstance
which added to the celebrity and augmented the wealth of the Carmelite Convent.
Did a young unmarried lady deviate from the path of virtue, or did a husband
detect the infidelity of his wife, the culprit was forthwith consigned to the
care of the abbess, and forced to take up her abode in that monastic
institution. Or, again—did some female openly neglect her religious duties, or
imprudently express an opinion antagonistic to the Roman Catholic Church, the
family to which she belonged would remove her to the spiritual care of the
abbess.
The convent was therefore
considered to be an institution recognized by the state as a means of punishing
immorality, upholding the Catholic religion, persuading the
skeptical,—confirming the wavering, and exercising a salutary terror over the
ladies of the upper class, at that period renowned for their dissolute morals.
The aristocracy of Florence patronized and protected the institution—because
its existence afforded a ready means to
get
rid of a dishonored daughter, or an unfaithful wife; and it was even said that
the abbess was invested with extraordinary powers by the rescript of the duke
himself, powers which warranted her interference with the liberty of young
females who were denounced to her by their parents, guardians, or others who
might have a semblance of a right to control or coerce them.
Luther had already begun to make
a noise in Germany; and the thunders of his eloquence had reverberated across
the Alps to the Italian states. The priesthood was alarmed; and the conduct of
the reformer was an excuse for rendering the discipline of the monastic institutions
more rigid than ever. Nor was the Abbess Maria a woman who hesitated to avail
herself of this fact as an apology for strengthening her despotism and widening
the circle of her influence.
The reader has now heard enough
to make him fully aware that the Carmelite Convent was an establishment
enjoying influence, exercising an authority, and wielding a power, which—if
these were misdirected—constituted an enormous abuse in the midst of states
bearing the name of a republic. But the career of the Medici was then hastening
toward a close; and in proportion as the authority of the duke became more
circumscribed, the encroachments of the ecclesiastical orders grew more
extensive.
The Abbess Maria, who was far
advanced in years, but was endowed with one of those vigorous intellects
against which Time vainly directs his influence, received the Lady Nisida in a
little parlor plainly furnished. The praying desk was of the most humble
description; and above it rose a cross of wood so worm-eaten and decayed that
it seemed as if the grasp of a strong hand would crush it into dust. But this
emblem of the creed had been preserved in the Carmelite Convent since the
period of the Second Crusade, and was reported to consist of a piece of the
actual cross on which the Saviour suffered in Palestine.
Against the wall hung a scourge,
with five knotted thongs, whereon the blood-stains denoted the severity of that
penance which the abbess frequently inflicted upon herself. On a table stood a
small loaf of coarse bread and a pitcher of water; for although a sumptuous
banquet was every day served up in the refectory, the abbess was never known to
partake of the delicious viands nor to place her lips in contact with wine.
When Nisida entered the presence
of the abbess, she sank on her knees, and folded her arms meekly across her
bosom. The holy mother gave her a blessing, and made a motion for her to rise.
Nisida obeyed, and took a seat near the abbess at the table.
She then drew forth her tablets,
and wrote a few lines, which the superior read with deep attention.
Nisida placed a heavy purse of
gold upon the table, and the abbess nodded an assent to the request contained
in the lines inscribed on the tablet.
The interview was about to
terminate, when the door suddenly opened, and an elderly nun entered the room.
“Ursula,” said the lady abbess,
in a cold but reproachful tone, “didst thou not know that I was engaged? What
means this abrupt intrusion?”
“Pardon me, holy mother!”
exclaimed the nun: “but the rumor of such a frightful murder has just reached
us——”
“A murder!” ejaculated the
abbess. “Oh! unhappy Florence, when wilt thou say farewell to crimes which
render thy name detestable among Italian states?”
“This indeed, too, holy mother,
is one of inordinate blackness,” continued Sister Ursula. “A young and
beautiful lady——”
“We know not personal beauty
within these walls, daughter,” interrupted the abbess, sternly.
“True, holy mother! and yet I did
but repeat the tale as the porteress ere now related it to me. However,”
resumed Ursula, “it appears that a young female, whom the worldly-minded
outside these sacred walls denominate beautiful, was barbarously murdered this
morning—shortly after the hour of sunrise——”
“Within the precincts of
Florence?” inquired the abbess.
“Within a short distance of the
convent, holy mother,” answered the nun. “The dreadful deed was accomplished in
the garden attached to the mansion of a certain Signor Wagner, whom the
worldly-minded style a young man wondrously handsome.”
“A fair exterior often conceals a
dark heart, daughter,” said the abbess. “But who was the hapless victim?”
“Rumor declares, holy mother——”
The nun checked herself abruptly,
and glanced at Nisida, who, during the above conversation, had approached the
windows which commanded a view of the convent garden, and whose back was
therefore turned toward the abbess and Ursula.
“You may speak fearlessly,
daughter,” said the abbess; “that unfortunate lady hears you not—for she is
both deaf and dumb.”
“Holy Virgin succor her,”
exclaimed Ursula, crossing herself. “I was about to inform your ladyship,” she
continued, “that rumor represents the murdered woman to have been the sister of
this Signor Wagner of whom I spoke; but it is more than probable that there was
no tie of relationship between them—and that——”
“I understand you, daughter,”
interrupted the abbess. “Alas! how much wickedness is engendered in this world
by the sensual, fleshly passion which mortals denominate love! But is the
murderer detected?”
“The murderer was arrested
immediately after the perpetration of the crime,” responded Ursula; “and at
this moment he is a prisoner in the dungeon of the palace.”
“Who is the lost man that has
perpetrated such a dreadful crime?” demanded the abbess, again crossing
herself.
“Signor Wagner himself, holy mother,”
was the reply.
“The pious Duke Cosmo bequeathed
gold to this institution,” said the abbess, “that masses might be offered up
for the souls
of those who
fall beneath the weapon of the assassin. See that the lamented prince’s
instructions be not neglected in this instance, Ursula.”
“It was to remind your ladyship
of this duty that I ventured to break upon your privacy,” returned the nun, who
then withdrew.
The abbess approached Nisida, and
touched her upon the shoulder to intimate to her that they were again alone
together.
She had drawn down her veil, and
was leaning her forehead against one of the iron bars which protected the
window—apparently in a mood of deep thought.
When the abbess touched her, she
started abruptly round—then, pressing the superior’s hand with convulsive
violence, hurried from the room.
The old porteress presented the
alms-box as she opened the gate of the convent; but Nisida pushed it rudely
aside, and hurried down the steps as if she were escaping from a lazar-house,
rather than issuing from a monastic institution.
It
was evening; and Wagner paced his
narrow dungeon with agitated steps.
Far beneath the level of the
ground, and under the ducal palace, was that gloomy prison, having no window,
save a grating in the massive door to admit the air.
A lamp burned dimly upon the
table, whereon stood also the coarse prison fare provided for the captive, but
which was untouched.
The clanking of the weapons of
the sentinels, who kept guard in the passage from which the various dungeons
opened, fell mournfully upon Fernand’s ears, and every moment reminded him of
the apparent impossibility to escape—even if such an idea possessed him.
The lamp had burned throughout
the day in his dungeon; for the light of heaven could not penetrate that
horrible subterranean cell—and it was only by the payment of gold that he had
induced the jailer to permit him the indulgence of the artificial substitute
for the rays of the glorious sun.
“Oh! wretched being that I am!”
he thought within himself, as he paced the stone floor of his prison-house;
“the destiny of the accursed is mine! Ah! fool—dotard that I was to exchange
the honors of old age for the vicissitudes of a renewed existence! Had nature
taken her course, I should probably now be sleeping in a quiet grave—and my
soul might be in the regions of the blessed. But the tempter came, and dazzled
me with prospects of endless happiness—and I succumbed! Oh! Faust! would that
thou hadst never crossed the threshold of my humble cottage in the Black
Forest! How much sorrow—how much misery should I have been spared!
Better—better to have remained in poverty—solitude—helplessness—worn down by
the
weight of years—and
crushed by the sense of utter loneliness—oh! better to have endured all this,
than to have taken on myself a new tenure of that existence which is so marked
with misery and woe!”
He threw himself upon a seat, and
endeavored to reflect on his position with calmness; but he could not!
Starting up, he again paced the
dungeon in an agitated manner.
“Holy God!” he exclaimed aloud,
“how much wretchedness has fallen upon me in a single day! Agnes
murdered—Nisida perhaps forever estranged from me—myself accused of a dreadful
crime, whereof I am innocent—and circumstances all combining so wonderfully
against me! But who could have perpetrated the appalling deed? Can that
mysterious lady, whom Agnes spoke of so frequently, and who, by her
description, so closely resembled my much-loved Nisida—can she——”
At that moment the bolts were
suddenly drawn back from the door of the dungeon—the clanking chains fell
heavily on the stone pavement outside—and the jailer appeared, holding a lamp
in his hand.
“Your brother, signor, is come to
visit you,” said the turnkey. “But pray let the interview be a brief one—for it
is as much as my situation and my own liberty are worth to have admitted him
without an order from the chief judge.”
“With these words the jailer made
way for a cavalier to enter the dungeon;” and as he closed the door, he said,
“I shall return shortly to let your brother out again.”
Surprise had hitherto placed a
seal upon Wagner’s lips; but even before the visitor had entered the cell, a
faint suspicion—a wild hope had flashed to his mind that Nisida had not
forgotten him, that she would not abandon him.
But this hope was destroyed
almost as soon as formed, by the sudden recollection of her affliction;—for how
could a deaf and dumb woman succeed in bribing and deceiving one so cautious
and wary as the jailer of a criminal prison?
Nevertheless the moment the
visitor had entered the cell—and in spite of the deep disguise which she wore,
the eyes of the lover failed not to recognize the object of his adoration in
that elegant cavalier who now stood before him.
Scarcely had the jailer closed
and bolted the massive door again, when Fernand rushed forward to clasp Nisida
in his arms;—but, imperiously waving her hand, she motioned him to stand back.
Then, with the language of the
fingers, she rapidly demanded—“Will you swear upon the cross that the young
female who has been murdered, was not your mistress?”
“I swear,” answered Fernand in
the same symbolic manner; and, as the light of the lamp played on his handsome
countenance, his features assumed so decided an expression of truth, frankness,
and sincerity, that Nisida was already more than half convinced of the
injustice of her suspicions.
But still she was determined to
be completely satisfied; and,
drawing
forth a small but exquisitely sculptured crucifix from her doublet, she presented
it to her lover.
He sank upon one knee, received
it respectfully, and kissed it without hesitation.
Nisida then threw herself into
his arms, and embraced him with a fondness as warm, as wild, as impassioned as
her suspicions had ere now been vehement and fearfully resentful.
Her presence caused Fernand to
forget his sorrow—to forget that he was in a dungeon—to forget, also, the
tremendous charge that hung over his head. For never had his Nisida appeared to
him so marvelously beautiful as he now beheld her, disguised in the graceful
garb of a cavalier of that age. Though tall, majestic, and of rich proportions
for a woman, yet in the attire of the opposite sex she seemed slight, short,
and eminently graceful. The velvet cloak sat so jauntily on her sloping
shoulder;—the doublet became her symmetry so well;—and the rich lace collar was
so arranged as to disguise the prominence of the chest—that voluptuous fullness
which could not be compressed.
At length a sudden thought struck
Fernand, and he inquired, in the usual manner, how Nisida had gained access to
him?
“A faithful friend contrived the
interview for me,” she replied, with her wonted rapidity of play upon the
fingers. “He led the jailer to believe that I was a German, and totally
unacquainted with the Italian tongue. Thus not a word was addressed to me; and
gold has opened the door which separated me from you. The same means shall
secure your escape.”
“Dearest Nisida,” signaled
Wagner, “I would not escape were the door of my dungeon left open and the
sentinels removed. I am innocent—and that innocence must be proved!”
The lady exhibited extraordinary
impatience at this reply.
“You do not believe me guilty?”
asked Wagner.
She shook her head in a
determined manner, to show how profound was her conviction of his innocence.
“Then do not urge me, beloved
one, to escape and be dishonored forever,” was the urgent prayer he conveyed to
her.
“The evidence against you will be
overwhelming,” she gave him to understand: then with an air of the most heart
appealing supplication, she added, “Escape, dearest Fernand, for my sake!”
“But I should be compelled to fly
from Florence—and wouldst thou accompany me?”
She shook her head mournfully.
“Then I will remain here—in this
dungeon! If my innocence be proved, I may yet hope to call the sister of the
Count of Riverola my wife: if I be condemned——”
He paused:—for he knew that, even
if he were sentenced to death, he could not die,—that some power, of which,
however, he had only a vague notion, would rescue him,—that the compact, which
gave him renewed youth and a long life on the fatal condition of his periodical
transformation into a horrid monster, must be fulfilled; and, though he saw
not—understood not how
all
this was to be, still he knew that it
would
happen if he should really be
condemned!
Nisida was not aware of the
motive which had checked her lover as he was conveying to her his sense of the
dread alternatives before him; and she hastened to intimate to him the
following thought:—
“You would say that if you be condemned,
you will know how to meet death as becomes a brave man. But think of
me
—of
Nisida, who loves you!”
“Would you continue to love a man
branded as a murderer?”
“I should only think of you as my
own dear Fernand!”
He shook his head—as much as to
say, “It cannot be!”—and then once more embraced her fondly—for he beheld, in
her anxiety for his escape, only a proof of her ardent affection.
At this moment the jailer
returned: and while he was unbolting the door, Nisida made one last, imploring
appeal to her lover to give his assent to escape, if the arrangements were made
for that purpose.
But he conveyed to her his
resolute determination to meet the charge, with the hope of proving his
innocence: and for a few moments Nisida seemed convulsed with the most intense
anguish of soul.
The jailer made his appearance;
and Wagner, to maintain the deceit which Nisida informed him to have been
practiced on the man, said a few words aloud in German—as if he was really
taking leave of a brother.
Nisida embraced him tenderly; and
covering her countenance, as much as possible, with her slouched hat, the
waving plumes of which she made to fall over her face, this extraordinary being
issued from the cell.