Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
Ten
days had elapsed since the
incidents related in the preceding chapter. The scene changes to an island in
the Mediterranean Sea. There, seated on the strand, with garments dripping wet,
and with all the silken richness of her raven hair floating wildly and
disheveled over her shoulders, the Lady Nisida gazed vacantly on the ocean, now
tinged with living gold by
the
morning sun. At a short distance, a portion of a shipwrecked vessel lay upon
the shore, and seemed to tell her tale. But where were the desperate, daring
crew who had manned the gallant bark? where were those fearless freebooters who
six days previously had sailed from Leghorn on their piratical voyage? where
were those who hoisted the flag of peace and assumed the demeanor of honest
trader when in port, but who on the broad bosom of the ocean carried the
terrors of their black banner far and wide? where, too, was Stephano Verrina,
who had so boldly carried off the Lady Nisida?
The gallant bark had struck upon
a shoal, during the tempest and the obscurity of the night, and the pilot knew
not where they were. His reckoning was lost—his calculations had all been set
at naught by the confusion produced by the fearful storm which had assailed the
ship and driven her from her course. The moment the corsair galley struck, that
confusion increased to such an extent that the captain lost all control over
his men; the pilot’s voice was unheeded likewise.
The crew got out the long-boat
and leaped into it, forcing the captain and the pilot to enter it with them.
Stephano Verrina, who was on deck when the vessel struck, rushed down into the
cabin appropriated to Nisida, and by signs endeavored to convey to her a sense
of the danger which menaced them. Conquering her ineffable aversion for the
bandit, Nisida followed him hastily to the deck. At the same instant that her
eyes plunged, as it were, into the dense obscurity which prevailed around, the
lightning streamed in long and vivid flashes over the turbulent waters, and
with the roar of the billows suddenly mingled deafening shrieks and
cries—shrieks and cries of wild despair, as the long-boat, which had been
pushed away from the corsair-bark, went down at a little distance. And as the
lightning played upon the raging sea, Nisida and Verrina caught hurried but
frightful glimpses of many human faces, whereon was expressed the indescribable
agony of the drowning.
“Perdition!” cried Verrina; “all
are gone save Nisida and myself! And shall we too perish ere she has become
mine? shall death separate us ere I have reveled in her charms? Fool that I was
to delay my triumph hitherto! Fool that I was to be overawed by her impetuous
signs, or melted by her silent though strong appeals!”
He paced the deck in an excited
manner as he uttered these words aloud.
“No!” he exclaimed wildly, as the
tempest seemed to increase, and the ship was thrown further on shoal: “she
shall not escape me thus, after all I have done and dared in order to possess
her! Our funeral may take place to-night—but our bridal shall be first. Ha!
ha!”—and he laughed with a kind of despairing mockery, while the fragments of
the vessel’s sails flapped against the spars with a din as if some mighty demon
were struggling with the blast. The sense of appalling danger seemed to madden
Stephano only because it threatened to separate him from Nisida; and, fearfully
excited, he rushed toward her, crying wildly, “You shall be mine!”
But how terrible was the
yell which burst from his lips, when by the glare of a brilliant flash of
lightning, he beheld Nisida cast herself over the side of the vessel!
For a single instant he fell back
appalled, horror-struck; but at the next, he plunged with insensate fury after
her. And the rage of the storm redoubled.
When the misty shades of morning
cleared away, and the storm had passed, Nisida was seated alone upon the
strand, having miraculously escaped that eternal night of death which leads to
no dawn. But where was Stephano Verrina? She knew not; although she naturally
conjectured, and even hoped, that he was numbered with the dead.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE ISLAND IN
THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA
Fair
and beauteous was the
Mediterranean isle whereon the Lady Nisida had been thrown.
When the morning mists had
dispersed, and the sunbeams tinged the ridges of the hills and the summits of
the tallest trees, Nisida awoke as it were from the profound lethargic reverie
in which she had been plunged for upward of an hour, since the moment when the
billows had borne her safely to the shore.
The temperature of that island
was warm and genial, for there eternal summer reigned, and thus, though her
garments were still dripping wet, Nisida experienced no cold. She rose from the
bank of sand whereon she had been seated, and cast anxious, rapid, and
searching glances around her. Not a human being met her eyes; but in the woods
that stretched, with emerald pride, almost down to the golden sands, the birds
and insects—nature’s free commoners—sent forth the sounds of life and welcomed
the advent of the morn with that music of the groves.
The scenery which now presented
itself to the contemplation of Nisida was indescribably beautiful. Richly
wooded hills rose towering above each other with amphitheatrical effect; and
behind the verdant panorama were the blue outlines of pinnacles of naked rocks.
But not a trace of the presence of human beings was to be seen—not a hamlet,
nor a cottage, nor the slightest sign of agriculture! At a short distance lay a
portion of the wreck of the corsair-ship. The fury of the tempest of the
preceding night had thrown it so high upon the shoal whereon it had struck, and
the sea was now comparatively so calm, that Nisida was enabled to approach
close up to it. With little difficulty she succeeded in reaching the deck,—that
deck whose elastic surface lately vibrated to the tread of many daring,
desperate young men—but now desolate and broken in many parts.
The cabin which had been allotted
to her, or rather to which she had been confined, was in the portion of the
wreck that still remained; and there she found a change of raiment, which
Stephano had provided ere the vessel left Leghorn. Carefully
packing up these garments in as
small and portable a compass as possible, she fastened the burden upon her
shoulders by the means of a cord, and, quitting the vessel, conveyed it safe
and dry to the shore.
Then she returned again to the
wreck in search of provisions, considerable quantities of which she fortunately
found to be uninjured by the water; and these she was enabled to transport to
the strand by means of several journeys backward and forward between the shore
and the wreck. The occupation was not only necessary in order to provide the
wherewith to sustain life, but it also abstracted her thoughts from a too
painful contemplation of her position. It was long past the hour of noon when
she had completed her task; and the shore in the immediate vicinity of the
wreck was piled with a miscellaneous assortment of objects—bags of provisions,
weapons of defense, articles of the toilet, clothing, pieces of canvas,
cordage, and carpenter’s tools. Then, wearied with her arduous toils, she laid
aside her dripping garments, bathed her beauteous form in the sea, and attired
herself in dry apparel.
Having partaken of some
refreshment, she armed herself with weapons of defense, and quitting the shore,
entered upon that vast amphitheater of verdure to which we have already
slightly alluded. The woods were thick and tangled; but though, when seen from
the shore, they appeared to form one dense, uninterrupted forest, yet they in
reality only dotted the surface of the islands with numerous detached patches
of grove and copse; and in the intervals were verdant plains or delicious
valleys, exhibiting not the slightest sign of agriculture, but interspersed
with shrubs and trees laden with fruits rich and tempting.
Nature had indeed profusely
showered her bounties over that charming isle; for the trees glowed with their
blushing or golden produce, as if gems were the fruitage of every bough.
Through one of the delicious valleys
which Nisida explored, a streamlet, smooth as a looking-glass, wound its way.
To its sunny bank did the lady repair; and the pebbly bed of the river was seen
as plainly through the limpid waters as an eyeball through a tear.
Though alone was Nisida in that
vale, and though many bitter reflections, deep regrets, and vague apprehensions
crowded upon her soul; yet the liveliness of the scene appeared to diminish the
intenseness of the feelings of utter solitude, and its soft influence partially
lulled the waves of her emotions. For never had mortal eyes beheld finer fruit
upon the trees, nor lovelier flowers upon the soil; all life was rejoicing,
from the grasshopper at her feet to the feathered songsters in the myrtle,
citron, and olive groves; and the swan glided past to the music of the stream.
Above, the heavens were more clear than her own Italian clime, more blue than
any color that tinges the flowers of the earth.
She roved along the smiling bank
which fringed the stream until the setting sun dyed with the richest purple the
rocky pinnacles in the distance, and made the streamlet glow like a golden
flood. And Nisida—alone, in the radiance and glory of her own
charms—alone amidst all the
radiance and glory of the charms of nature—the beauteous Nisida appeared to be
the queen of that Mediterranean isle. But whether it were really an island or a
portion of the three continents which hem in that tideless ocean, the lady as
yet knew not.
Warned by the splendors of the
setting sun to retrace her way, she turned and sped back to the strand, where
the stores she had saved from the wreck were heaped up. When first she had set
out upon her exploring ramble, she had expected every moment to behold human
forms—her fellow-creatures—emerge from the woods; but the more she saw of that
charming spot whereon her destinies had thrown her, the fainter grew the hope
or the fear—we scarcely know which to term the expectation. For no sign of the
presence of man was there; Nature appeared to be the undisputed empress of that
land; and Nisida returned to the shore with the conviction that she was the
sole human inhabitant of this delicious region.
And now, once more seated upon
the strand, while the last beams of the sun played upon the wide blue waters of
the Mediterranean, Nisida partook of her frugal repast, consisting of the bread
supplied by the wreck and a few fruits which she gathered in the valley. The
effects of the tempest had totally disappeared in respect to the sea, which now
lay stretched in glassy stillness. It seemed as if a holy calm, soft as an
infant’s sleep, lay upon the bosom of the Mediterranean, now no longer terrible
with storm, but a mighty emblem of mild majesty and rest!
Nisida thought of the fury which
had lately convulsed that sea, now so placid, and sighed at the conviction
which was forced upon her—that no such calm was for the mortal breast when
storms had once been there! For she pondered on her native land, now, perhaps,
far—oh! how far away; and the images of those whom she loved appeared to rise
before her—Francisco in despair at his sister’s unaccountable disappearance—and
Fernand perchance already doomed to die! And tears flowed down her cheeks, and
trickled upon her snowy bosom, gleaming like dew amongst lilies. Of what avail
was the energy of her character in that land along whose coast stretched the
impassable barrier of the sea? Oh! it was enough to make even the haughty
Nisida weep, and to produce a terrible impression on a mind hitherto acting
only in obedience to its own indomitable will.
Though the sun had set some time,
and no moon had yet appeared in the purple sky, yet was it far from dark. An
azure mantle of twilight seemed to wrap the earth—the sea—the heavens; and so
soft, so overpowering was the influence of the scene and of the night, that
slumber gradually stole upon the lady’s eyes. There now, upon the warm sand,
slept Nisida; and when the chaste advent of the moon bathed all in silver, as
the sun had for twelve hours steeped all in gold, the beams of the goddess of
the night played on her charming countenance without awakening her. The raven
masses of her hair lay upon her flushed cheeks like midnight on a bed of roses,
her long black
lashes
reposed on those cheeks, so surpassingly lovely with their rich carnation hues.
For she dreamt of Fernand; and her vision was a happy one. Imagination played
wild tricks with the shipwrecked, lonely lady, as if to recompense her for the
waking realities of her sad position. She thought that she was reposing in the
delicious valley which she had explored in the afternoon—she thought that
Fernand was her companion—that she lay in his arms—that his lips pressed
hers—that she was all to him as he was all to her, and that love’s cup of
enjoyment was full to the very brim.
But, oh! when she slowly awoke,
and under the influence of the delightful vision, raised her eyes in the dewy
light of voluptuous languor to the blue sky above her, the sunbeams that were
heralding in another day cruelly dispelled the enchanting illusions of a warm
and excited fancy, and Nisida found herself alone on the sea-shore of the
island.
Thus the glory of that sunrise
had no charms for her; although never had the orb of day come forth with
greater pomp, nor to shine on a lovelier scene. No words can convey an idea of
the rapid development of every feature in the landscape, the deeper and
deepening tint of the glowing sky, the roseate hue of the mountain-peaks as
they stood out against the cloudless orient, and the rich emerald shades of the
woods sparkling with fruit. The fragrant rose and the chaste lily, the blushing
peony and the gaudy tulip, and all the choicest flowers of that delicious
clime, expanded into renewed loveliness to greet the sun: and the citron and
the orange, the melon and the grape, the pomegranate and the date drank in the
yellow light to nourish their golden hues.
Nisida’s eyes glanced rapidly
over the vast expanse of waters, and swept the horizon: but there was not a
sail, nor even a cloud which imagination might transform into the white wing of
a distant ship. And now upon the golden sand the lovely Nisida put off her
garments one by one: and set at liberty the dark masses of her shining hair,
which floated like an ample veil of raven blackness over the dazzling whiteness
of her skin. Imagination might have invested her forehead with a halo, so
magnificent was the lustrous effect of the sun upon the silken glossiness of
that luxuriant hair.
The Mediterranean was the lady’s
bath: and, in spite of the oppressive nature of the waking thoughts which had
succeeded her delicious dream, in spite of that conviction of loneliness which
lay like a weight of lead upon her soul, she disported in the waters like a
mermaid.
Now she plunged beneath the
surface, which glowed in the sun like a vast lake of quicksilver: now she stood
in a shallow spot, where the water rippled no higher than her middle, and
combed out her dripping tresses; then she waded further in, and seemed to
rejoice in allowing the little wavelets to kiss her snowy bosom. No fear had
she, indeed, no thought of the monsters of the deep: could the fair surface of
the shining water conceal aught dangerous or aught terrible? Oh! yes, even as
beneath that snowy breast beat a heart stained with crime, often
agitated by ardent and impetuous
passions, and devoured by raging desire.
For nearly an hour did Nisida
disport in Nature’s mighty bath until the heat of the sun became so intense
that she was compelled to return to the shore and resume her apparel. Then she
took some bread in her hand, and hastened to the groves to pluck the cooling
and delicious fruits whereof there was so marvelous an abundance. She seated
herself on a bed of wild flowers on the shady side of a citron and orange
grove, surrounded by a perfumed air. Before her stretched the valley, like a
vast carpet of bright green velvet fantastically embroidered with flowers of a
thousand varied hues. And in the midst meandered the crystal stream, with
stately swans and an infinite number of other aquatic birds floating on its
bosom. And the birds of the groves, too, how beautiful were they, and how
joyous did they seem! What variegated plumage did they display, as they flew
past the Lady Nisida, unscared by her presence! Some of them alighted from the
overhanging boughs, and as they descended swept her very hair with their wings;
then, almost to convince her that she was not an unwelcome intruder in that
charming land, they hopped round her, picking up the crumbs of bread which she
scattered about to attract them.
For the loneliness of her
condition had already attuned the mind of this strange being to a
susceptibility of deriving amusement from incidents which a short time
previously she would have looked upon as the most insane triflings;—thus was
the weariness of her thoughts relieved by disporting in the water, as we ere
now saw her, or by contemplating the playfulness of the birds. Presently she
wandered into the vale, and gathered a magnificent nosegay of flowers: then the
whim struck her that she would weave for herself a chaplet of roses; and as her
work progressed, she improved upon it, and fashioned a beauteous diadem of
flowers to protect her head from the scorching noonday sun.
But think not, O reader! that
while thus diverting herself with trivialities of which you would scarcely have
deemed the haughty—imperious—active disposition of Nisida of Riverola to be
capable—think not that her mind was altogether abstracted from unpleasant
thoughts. No—far, very far from that! She was merely relieved from a portion of
that weight which oppressed her; but her entire burden could not be removed
from her soul. There were moments when her grief amounted almost to despair.
Was she doomed to pass the remainder of her existence in that land? was it
really an island and unknown to navigators? She feared so: for did it join a
continent, its loveliness and fruitfulness would not have permitted it to
remain long unoccupied by those who must of necessity discover it.