Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
“Your wish shall be fulfilled,
dearest,” answered Wagner; “and without delay will I seek the other side of the
island.”
They then embraced tenderly, and
Fernand departed, once more to fulfill his frightful doom! Nisida watched his
receding form until it was lost in the groves intervening between the plains
and the acclivities of the range of mountains; and then she seated herself
again on the sand, wondering of what nature her husband’s secret could be, and
why it compelled him to absent himself occasionally from her. Though
he
kept an accurate calculation of the
lapse of time, and counted the passing days with unvarying precision, yet she
retained no such faithful calendar in her memory, and had not observed that his
absence always occurred on the last day of the month.
The hour of sunset was now
rapidly approaching, and as Nisida was wrapped in thought, but with her eyes
fixed wistfully upon the mighty bosom of the deep, a slight sound as of the
rustling of garments fell upon her ears. She started up and glanced suddenly
around. But how ineffable was her astonishment—how great was her sudden joy,
when she beheld the figure of a man approaching her; for it instantly struck
her that the same ship which had conveyed him thither might bear her away from
a scene which had latterly become insupportably monotonous.
The individual whose presence
thus excited her astonishment and her delight, was tall, thin, and attired
rather in the German than in the Italian fashion: but, as he drew nearer,
Nisida experienced indefinable emotions of alarm, and vague fears rushed to her
soul—for the expression of that being’s countenance was such as to inspire no
pleasurable emotions. It was not that he was ugly;—no—his features were well
formed, and his eyes were of dazzling brilliancy. But their glances were penetrating
and reptile-like,—glances beneath which those of ordinary mortals would have
quailed; and his countenance was stamped with a mingled sardonism and
melancholy which rendered it painful to contemplate.
Nisida attributed her feeling of
uneasiness and embarrassment to the shame which she experienced at finding
herself half-naked in the presence of a stranger, for so oppressive bad become
the heat of the summer, that her clothing was most scanty, and she had long
ceased to decorate her person with garlands and wreaths of fantastically woven
flowers.
“Fear not, lady,” said the demon,
for he indeed it was; “I am come to counsel and solace, not to alarm thee.”
“How knowest thou that I require
counsel? and who art thou that talkest to me of solace?” asked Nisida, her
sentiment of shame yielding to one of boundless surprise at hearing herself
thus addressed by a being who appeared to read the very inmost secrets of her
soul.
“I am one who can penetrate into
all the mysteries of the human heart,” returned the fiend, in his sonorous,
deep-toned voice; “and I can gather thy history from the expression of thy
countenance, the attitude in
which I first beheld thee, while thou wast still seated upon the strand, and
the mingled emotions of surprise and joy with which thou didst mark my
presence. Is it, then, difficult to imagine that thou requirest counsel to
teach thee how to proceed so as to obtain thine emancipation from this isle? or
would it be extraordinary if, moved by thy sorrow, I offered to befriend thee?
And is it not ever the way with mortals—poor, weak, miserable beings that they
are—to grow speedily dissatisfied with their lot? In the spirit of religion ye
say that Heaven controls your destinies according to its own wise purposes; and
when all goes well with ye, and you have your desires, ye pray and are
thankful, because, forsooth,” added the demon, with a smile of bitter scorn,
“it is so easy to pray when ye are contented and happy, and so easy to be
thankful when ye are pampered with all ye require. Here art thou, lady, on an
island teeming with all the choicest fruits of the earth, and enjoying an
eternal summer, where all is pleasant to the view, and to whose silent shores
the cares of the great world cannot come; and yet thou wouldst quit this calm
retreat, and rush back into the vortex of evil passions, warring interests,
conflicting pursuits! But I will not weary thee with my reflections; although
it is my nature first to upbraid and taunt those whom I intend to serve!”
“And who art thou, strange being,
that reasoneth morally with the smile of scorn upon thy lips?” demanded Nisida,
the vague alarms which had previously influenced her reviving with additional
power; “who art thou, I say, that comest to reproach, and yet profferest thine
aid?”
“No matter who I am,” replied the
fiend. “Some day thou may’st know me better, if thou——”
“But how camest thou hither?
Where is the ship that brought thee—the boat that landed thee?” demanded Nisida
in a tone of feverish impatience.
“No ship brought me hither—no
boat set me on the shore,” answered the demon, fixing his eyes—those piercing
eyes upon Nisida’s countenance, as if to read the impression which this strange
revelation made upon her secret soul.
“Then who art thou?” exclaimed
the lady, a cold shudder passing over her entire frame, although she retreated
not nor withdrew the glances which she, through her wondrous strength of mind,
was enabled to retain fixed upon the demon’s countenance.
“Seek not to learn as yet who I
am,” said the fiend. “Let it suffice for thee to know that I am something more
than a mere mortal—a being gifted with powers which, in the hands of such a one
as thou, would throw the entire world into convulsions; for there is much in
thee after my own heart, beauteous Nisida of Riverola.”
“Ah! thou art even acquainted
with my name,” cried Nisida, again shuddering violently in spite of her
powerful efforts to appear calm and fearless.
“I am acquainted with thy name,
and with all that concerns thee and thine, Nisida,” replied the fiend; “ay,” he
added, with
a malignant
chuckle, “even to the mystery of the closet in thy late father’s chamber, and
the contents of the terrible manuscript which taught thee such dreadful
secrets! I know, too, all that thou hast done to serve thine aims—thy simulated
deafness and dumbness—the assassination of Agnes—the imprisonment of Flora in
the convent——”
“Then art thou indeed some
superhuman power,” interrupted Nisida, in a tone of inexpressible alarm; “and I
dare hold no further converse with thee.”
“One moment—and thou wilt think
differently!” exclaimed the demon. “But I will give thee an evidence of my
power. Here, take this instrument—’tis called a telescope—and use it for a
single minute. Glance across the waters, and thou shalt behold a scene which
will interest thee somewhat, I trow.”
The fiend handed her a telescope
and directed her to apply it to her eyes. She obeyed him, though reluctantly;
but intense curiosity overcame her scruples, and, moreover, her extraordinary
strength of mind aided her in supporting the presence of one whom she knew to
be invested with superhuman powers—but of what nature she feared to guess.
Nisida turned toward the sea, and used the magic telescope as directed, while
the demon stood behind her, his countenance expressing a diabolical triumph,
mingled with blighting scorn.
But ah! what does Nisida behold?
The moment she applies the telescope to her eye, she is transported as it were
to her own native city. She is in Florence—yes, in the fair capital of Tuscany.
Every familiar scene is presented to her again; and she once more views the
busy crowds and the bustling haunts of men. She sweeps them all with a hurried
glance; and then her look settled upon a young couple walking together in a
secluded place on the banks of the Arno. But oh! how terribly flashed her
eyes—how changed with wrath and concentrated rage suddenly becomes her
countenance! For in that fond pair, wandering so lovingly together on the
Arno’s margin she recognized her brother Francisco and the maiden Flora Francatelli!
“Thou hast seen enough!” cried
the demon, snatching the telescope from her hands. “And now, more than ever,”
he added with a malignant smile of triumph, “dost thou long to revisit thy
native land. It was to confirm that longing that I showed thee the scene thou
hast just witnessed.”
“And canst thou give me the means
to return thither?” demanded Nisida, almost maddened by the spectacle that had
met her eyes.
“Listen!” exclaimed the fiend,
“and hear me patiently. I charge thee not to breathe to thy Fernand one word
descriptive of this interview which thou hast had with me. Thou couldst
simulate dumbness for ten long years or more, with a success which rendered
thee great and glorious in my eyes—for I love the hypocrite and the deceiver,”
he added with one of his diabolical smiles; “although I myself deceive them! Be
dumb, then, in all that relates to my visit to thee here. But thou mayst so
beset thy Fernand with earnest entreaties to give thee the means of departure
from this island—for he can
do
so, if he have the will—that he shall be unable to resist thy prayer—thy
fears—thy anguish, real or feigned, whichever that anguish may be. And should
he not yield to thy intercessions, then assail him on another point. Tell him
that thou wilt never rest until thou shalt have discovered the cause of those
periodical visits which he makes to the other side of the mountains—threaten to
accompany him the next time he goes thither. But I need not teach you how to be
energetic nor eloquent. For thou art a woman of iron mind and of persuasive
tongue; and thy perseverance, as is thy will, is indomitable. Follow my
counsel, then—and, though the future to a great extent be concealed from my
view, yet I dare prophesy success for thee! And now farewell, Nisida—farewell!”
And the demon retreated rapidly
toward the forests, as if to seek the abode of those terrible serpents whose
cunning was akin to his own.
Nisida was too much astonished by
the nature of the counsel which his deep sonorous voice had wafted to her ear,
to be able to utter a word until his receding form was no longer visible, and
then she exclaimed wildly; “I have assuredly seen Satan face to face!”
And her blood ran cold in her
veins. But a few moments were sufficient to enable that woman of wondrous
energy to recover her presence of mind and collect her scattered thoughts; and
she sat down on the sand to ponder upon the strange incidents which had so
terribly varied the monotony of her existence. She thought, too, of the scene
which she had beholden on the banks of the Arno—her worst fears were confirmed;
Flora had escaped from the ruin of the Carmelite convent—was alive, was at
liberty—and was with Francisco! Oh! how she now longed for the return of
Fernand Wagner; but many hours must elapse—a night must pass—and the orb of day
which had by this time gone down, must gain the meridian once more ere he would
come back. And in the meantime, although she suspected it not, he must fulfill
the awful doom of a Wehr-Wolf, as the reader will find by the perusal of the
next chapter.
It
was within a few minutes of
sunset, as Fernand Wagner, having crossed the mountains, hastened down that
bituminous declivity constituting the scene of desolation which separated the
range of volcano hills from the delightful plains and verdant groves stretching
to the sea-shore.
A shudder passed over his frame
as he beheld the solitary tree in which he had seen the monstrous snake playing
and gamboling, on the morning when he was thrown upon this Mediterranean isle.
“Oh!” he exclaimed aloud, as he
sped onward, “what happiness and also what misery have I known in this clime.
But, doomed and fated being that I am, such is my destiny; and so must I be,
here or elsewhere, in whichever land I may visit, in
whatever part of the earth I may
abide. Oh! merciful Heaven, can no prayer, no self-mortification, remove the
ban—the curse—from my devoted head?
“Oh! just Heaven,” he exclaimed,
stretching forth his arms toward the sky, and with ineffable anguish depicted
on his upturned countenance; “spare me! Have I not been punished enough! Oh!
take away from me this appalling doom—let me become old, wrinkled, forlorn, and
poor once more,—let me return to my humble cot in the Black Forest, or let me
die. Almighty power! if thou wilt—but spare me—spare me now! Wretch—wretch that
I was to be dazzled by the specious promises, O Faust! But I am justly
punished—thy vengeance, O Heaven, is well deserved—sinner, sinner that I am!”
Those were the last human sounds
he uttered for several hours; for, scarcely had they escaped his lips, when the
horrible change began, and in a few moments a wild yell rent the air, and a
monstrous wolf sprung from the spot where Wagner had fallen down in such
agonizing writhings.
Away—away went the ferocious
animal heading toward the sea—careering, thundering on, as if intent on
plunging into the silent depths, and there ending its course in a watery grave.
But no: death yawns not for the
Wehr-Wolf! Scarcely have its feet touched the verge of the water, when the
monster wheels round and continues its whirlwind way without for an instant
relaxing one tittle of its speed. Away—away, through the fruit-bearing groves,
clearing for itself a path of ruin and havoc,—scattering the gems of the trees,
and breaking down the richly-laden vines; away—away flies the monster, hideous
howls bursting from its foaming mouth. The birds scream and whistle wildly, as
startled from their usual tranquil retreats, they spread their gay and gaudy
plumage, and go with gushing sound through the evening air. He reaches the bank
of a stream, and bounds along its pleasant margin, trampling to death noble
swans which vainly seek to evade the fury of the rushing monster.
Away—away toward the forest
hurries the Wehr-Wolf—impelled, lashed on by an invincible scourge, and filling
the woods with its appalling yells—while its mouth scatters foam like thick
flakes of snow. Hark, there is an ominous rustling in one of the trees of the
forest; and the monster seems to instinctively know the danger which menaces
it. But still its course is not changed;—it seems not to exercise its own will
in shaping its course. Down the tremendous snake flings itself from the
tree—and in an instant its hideous coils are wound round the foaming, steaming,
palpitating body of the wolf. The air is rent with the yell of agony that
bursts from the throat of the horrified monster as it tumbles over and over, as
if it had run to the length of a tether—for the snake clings with its tail to
the bough from which it has darted down. But the yielding of the wolf is only
momentary; up—up it springs again—and away,—away it careers, more madly, more
desperately, more ferociously, if possible, than before.
And the snake? Oh! poor, weak and
powerless was even that
dread
reptile of forty feet in length, when combated with a monster lashed on and
also protected by invisible fiends. For, as the wolf sped on again, the boa was
dragged as if by a thousand horses from its coiling hold upon the bough—and
shaken, lacerated, and affrighted, the hideous reptile unwound itself from the
ferocious animal, and fell powerless on the grass, where the vermin of the
forest attacked it with their greedy maws ere its pestilential breath had
ceased.
Away—away toward the mountains
rushes the Wehr-Wolf,—those mountains which constitute the barrier of safety to
protect Nisida from the fangs of the animal that would mangle her fair form
were she to cross its path. But, ah! he rushes up the acclivity—he clears
rugged rock and jutting crag with wondrous bounds;—just Heaven! will he pass those
heights—will he cross the range of volcanic hills?
Oh! Nisida, who art on the other
side of that range, little dreamest thou of the peril that menaces thee. Joy!
joy!—the danger has passed; the wolf turns aside from a loftier impediment of
crag than had yet appeared in its course: and down—down again toward the groves
and valleys—over the bituminous waste made by the volcano—on, on goes the
monster. Away, away, through the verdant scenes once more, fresh havoc—fresh
desolation—fresh ruin marking his maddening course,—away, away the Wehr-Wolf
speeds.
The moon rises to give a stronger
and purer light to the dreadful spectacle, a light stronger and purer than that
of night itself, which is never completely dark in the tropics. Away, away, and
still on, on—outstripping time—running a race with the fleeting moments, till
hours and hours of unrelaxing speed are numbered—thus goes the wolf. And now he
snuffs the morning air: the fresh breeze from the east raises the foam of the
Mediterranean waves, and allays the heat on the body of the careening,
bounding, and almost flying monster.
His howling grows less
ferocious—his yells become less terrible; and now his pace is a trifle more
measured,—that relaxation of a whirlwind speed gradually increasing.
’Tis done; the course is o’er—the
race is run;—and the Wehr-Wolf falls in writhing agonies upon the fresh grass,
whence in a few moments rises Fernand Wagner—a man once more! But as he throws
a glance of horror around on the scene of his night’s dread employment, he starts
back with mingled aversion and alarm; for there—with folded arms, eyes terrible
to look upon, and a countenance expressing infernal triumph and bitter scorn,
stood the demon.
“Fiend, what would’st thou with
me?” demanded Wagner. “Are not the sufferings which I have just endured, enough
to satisfy thy hatred of all human beings? are not the horrors of the past
night sufficient to glut even thine insatiate heart?”
“Mortal,” said the demon,
speaking in his profound and awe-inspiring tones, “didst thou take all thy
miseries which at this moment afflict thy race, combine all the bitter woes,
and crushing sorrows that madden the brains of men, mix up all the tears and
collect all the sobs and sighs that tell of human agony,
then multiply the aggregate by
ten million, million times its sum, and go on multiplying by millions and
millions, till thou wast tired of counting, thou would’st not form even an idea
of that huge amount of human misery which could alone appease me. For on man do
I visit the hate wherewith my own fall has animated me; powerless on high,
where once I was so powerful, I make my kingdom of earth and hell—and in both
my influence is great and is terrible!”
“Yes—yes; too great—too
terrible!” exclaimed Wagner. “But why dost thou persecute me with thy presence?
I did not call thee—I did not invoke thine aid.”
“No, but thou requirest it!” said
the demon, with a satirical smile. “Thinkest thou to be enabled to dream away
thine existence in this island, with the warm, impassioned Nisida? No, mortal—no!
Already doth she pine for her own native Italian clime; and she will end by
loathing thee and this land, if she continue to dwell here, and with only thee
as her companion. But it is in thy power to make Nisida forget
Italy—Francisco—Flora—and all the grave interests and dreadful mysteries which
seem to demand her presence in the busy world;—it is in thy power to render her
happy and contented in this island—to attach her to thee for the remainder of
thine existence—to provide her with the means of preserving her youth and her
beauty unimpaired, even as thine own—to crush forever all those pinings and
longings which now carry her glances wistfully across the sea,—in a word, to
bend her mind to all thy wishes—her soul to all thy purposes! Yes;—it is in thy
power to do all this—and the same decision which shall place that amount of
ineffable happiness within thy reach, will also redeem thee from the horrible
destiny of a Wehr-Wolf—leaving thee thy youth and thy beauty, and investing
thee with a power equal to that enjoyed by thy late master, Faust.”
“And doubtless on the same
conditions?” said Wagner, half-ironically, and half in horror at the mere
thought of surrendering his soul to Satan.
“Art thou blind to the means of
promoting thy earthly happiness?” demanded the demon, fixing on Fernand a
glance intended to appal and intimidate, but at which he on whom it was bent
quailed not. “Hast thou not received sufficient experience of the terrific
sufferings which twelve times a year thou art doomed to endure? Knowest thou
not on each occasion thou destroyest human life, where mortal beings are in thy
path—or that thou ravagest the fair scenes which He whose name I dare not
mention has created? and art thou ignorant of the tremendous horror and
loathsome obloquy which attach themselves to the name of a Wehr-Wolf? See—thou
art already wearied of traveling through the various climes of the earth; thou
no longer delightest in cultivating thine intellect, so marvelously adapted to
receive knowledge of all kinds; and thy power to create whole mines of wealth
is exercised no more. But thou would’st fix thine abode in this island forever,
were Nisida to remain thy companion! Well—and if thou losest her? for assuredly
a vessel will some day touch on these shores—what would’st thou do
then? All lonely, desolate,
forlorn, thou would’st curse the day that gave thee regenerated life—thou
would’st seek death—and to thee death may not come yet for many, many years!
Fernand, thou art worse than mad not to embrace my offers. Consent to become
mine—mine eternally, when thy mortal breath shall leave thy body, and in the
meantime I promise thee power illimitable—happiness such as no human being ever
yet enjoyed——”
“No—no!” exclaimed Wagner.
“Rather the destiny of a Wehr-Wolf—rather the solitude of this island for the
remainder of my days—than resign all chance of salvation! And that mine
immortal soul is yet safe, the very temptations thou offerest with such
eloquent persuasion fully proves! Oh! Heaven, of its infinite mercy, will receive
the dreadful sufferings ’tis mine to endure each month, as an atonement for
that hour of weakness, madness, folly, when dazzled by the words of Faust, and
overwhelmed by a weight of miseries, I accepted a regenerated existence. Yes,
Heaven will forgive me yet: and therefore avaunt, fiend! avaunt!” And as he
uttered these words he made the sign of the cross, and the demon fled away
howling. Wagner turned aside in dismay, and sank upon the ground as if blasted
by the lightning. A deep sleep fell on Fernand’s eyes, and in his dreams he
thought he heard a solemn but rejoicing strain of music filling the air. That
divine melody seemed to speak a language eloquent and intelligible, and to give
him hope and promise of a deliverance from the dreadful destiny which his
weakness and folly had entailed upon him. The music grew fainter and fainter,
and at the moment when it died away altogether a heavenly and radiant being
rose in the midst of a cloud, an angel, clad in white and shining garments, and
with snowy wings closed, and drooping from its shoulders. Looking benignly upon
the sleeping Wagner the angel said in a soft and liquid tone, “Thrice hast thou
resisted the temptations of the enemy of mankind: once in thy dungeon at
Florence, a second time amidst the defiles of yon mountains, and now on this
spot. He will appear to thee no more, unless thou thyself summon him. Much hast
thou already done in atonement for the crime that endangered thy soul when,
withdrawing thy faith from Heaven, thou didst accept new life on the conditions
proposed to thee by the agent of Satan; but much more must thou yet do, ere
that atonement will be complete!” The form ceased to speak, and gradually
became fainter and fainter, until it disappeared with its glorious halo
altogether.
Then Fernand awoke, and his dream
was vividly impressed upon his memory.
Assuming a kneeling posture, he
clasped his hands fervently together, and said aloud, “Merciful Heaven! be the
vision one divinely sent, or be it but the sport of an imagination fevered by a
long night of suffering, I receive it as an emblem and as a sign of hope and
promise!”
He arose. The sun was now high in
the heaven, and he hastened to the shore to perform his ablutions. Refreshed in
body with the bath which he took in the Mediterranean, and in mind
with the influence of the
vision, he retraced his way toward the mountains. The range was passed in
safety, and he once more set foot on that section of the island where Nisida
was so anxiously awaiting his presence.
The hour at which Fernand Wagner
was accustomed to return after his periodical excursions beyond the mountains,
had long passed; for it will be remembered that he had fallen asleep and
slumbered some time, after his restoration to human shape and his encounter
with the demon. Nisida was already a prey to the wildest alarms, which were not
altogether untainted with selfishness; for the enemy of mankind had led her to
believe that Wagner had within his reach certain means of enabling her to quit
the island, and she trembled lest death might have intervened to snatch him
away, and thus annihilate the hopes which had been so insidiously infused into
her soul. She was also distressed at his prolonged absence on grounds more
creditable to her heart, for she shuddered at the idea that her handsome
Fernand might at that very moment be writhing in the coils of a horrible snake.
Then, arousing herself, Nisida resolved to attempt the passage of the
mountains, and seek for her lover and rescue him if possible, and if not, to
die with him. But as she drew near the craggy mountains she suddenly beheld the
object of her anxiety approaching her, and in a few minutes they were locked in
each other’s arms.