Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
“My Fernand,” said Nisida at
length, “I feared that some danger had befallen you, and I was hastening to
join you on the other side of these heights, either to aid you in escaping from
the peril, or to share its consequences with you.”
“Beloved Nisida!” exclaimed
Wagner, “how welcome to me is this proof of thy regard, this earnest of thy
love.”
“I can never cease to love you,
dear Fernand,” answered Nisida, turning her fine large eyes upon his handsome
face. “Oh, that I should seek to quit thee! The thought smites me to the inmost
recesses of my heart. And yet it is to some extent thy fault, for wherefore
wilt thou not accompany me?”
“In the first place, beloved
one,” replied Wagner, “thou talkest as if a ship were already in sight, or a
boat lay ready to launch from this shore; secondly, I have before assured thee
that I dared not return to Florence, and that as I cannot therefore be thy
companion thither, it would be better for me to remain on the island, to which,
perhaps,” he added in a mournful tone, “you might, after all, never come back!”
“Oh! Fernand, think not so ill of
your Nisida!” she cried, throwing one of her snowy full arms round his neck,
and looking earnestly, but yet tenderly on his countenance. “Never, never shall
I know happiness again until I have revisited Florence. Each day that passes
without giving me a hope to see this aim fulfilled, increases my misery, adds
to my uneasiness, augments my anxiety—so that in a short time my suspense will
become intolerable. It is nearly so already, Fernand—but pity me; yes—and help
me, if you can!”
“Dearest Nisida, willingly would
I sacrifice my own inclinations to forward thine,” exclaimed Wagner in a tone
of deep
sincerity; “but how
is it possible that I can aid thee? I have not wings to affix to thy fair
shoulder, I have not a voice powerful enough to raise echoes on a shore whence
assistance might be sent. Nay, look not so sternly on me, beloved Nisida, I did
not intend to vex thee with idle jestings; but thou knowest that I cannot aid
thee.”
“Fernand, you love me not!”
exclaimed Nisida, suddenly withdrawing her arm from its fond position about his
neck, and retreating a few paces. “No; you do not love me as you were wont, or
as I love you! You doubtless have some means of gratifying my ardent longings.
A secret voice whispers within me that if you chose to exert all your powers,
you might render me happy—at least so happy as I could be when separated from
you! I have assured you that naught save the most important interests would
render me thus anxious to return to my native city; and if you find me thus
importunate, you should pity me, not refuse to aid me.”
“Holy Virgin! this is maddening!”
cried Wagner. “Nisida—be reasonable; how can I assist thee? how can I enable
thee to cross that sea which appears to us boundless? And thou accusest me of
not loving thee, Nisida! Oh! this is too cruel!”
“No, it is thou who art cruel!”
exclaimed Nisida, in an impassioned tone. “I know that you are not a being of
an ordinary stamp, that your intellect is as wonderful as your person is
godlike,—and that you possess a mine of knowledge in the extent of which no
mortal can equal thee. Is it strange—is it marvelous, then, that I should
implore thee to exert thy powers—the vast powers of thy glorious intelligence,
to forward my design? Nay, seek not to interrupt me, Fernand, denial is vain! A
secret voice continues to whisper within me that thou art able to do all I ask;
I know not the means to be used—I seek not to know them; but that thou hast
such means within thy reach, is a conviction firmly impressed upon my mind.
Here, then, Fernand, at thy feet, on my knees, do I implore thee, beseech thee,
not to refuse the boon which I, thy loving wife, crave at the hands of thee, my
husband, as if I were a humble suppliant suing at the footstool of a throned
king!”
“Nisida, Nisida!” cried Fernand,
painfully excited by this sudden movement on her part, and endeavoring to rise:
“what means so strange a proceeding? Rise, dearest, rise; it is not to me that
you must thus humble yourself!”
“No; I will not quit this
suppliant attitude until you shall have granted my request—my prayer,” said
Nisida. “Refuse me not, my Fernand. Oh! I implore you not to refuse me!
Whatever means be within your reach, exert them on my behalf. A brother’s
interest, the remembrance of a solemn vow breathed only to my lamented and
much-wronged mother—and the safeguard of a mystery, the discovery of which by
curious and prying eyes would heap infamy and disgrace upon the family that
bears the name of Riverola—all these reasons render me thus anxious to return
to Italy. And if you keep me here, Fernand, I shall pine away—I shall perish
before your eyes, and you will repent of your harshness when it is too late. Or
else,” she added,
speaking
with wild rapidity, “I shall be reduced to despair, and in a moment of
excitement shall seek death in those silent waters, or climb yon craggy
mountains to fling myself headlong from their summit.”
“Nisida, your menaces are
maddening as your supplications to me are vain and useless!” said Wagner,
himself now laboring under a fearful excitement. “Rise, I implore you, rise,
and let us endeavor to converse more calmly—more rationally.”
“Yes—I will rise,” said Nisida,
now affecting a sullen haughtiness, and preparing to wield another of the
weapons which the demon had placed in her hand: “I rise, Fernand, because I
feel that I was wrong thus to abase myself—I, who bear the proud name of
Riverola;”—and she tossed her head indignantly. “Well—it seems that you are
resolved to keep me chained to your side on this island. Be it so: but
henceforth let there be no mistrust—no mystery—no secrets between us. If Italy
must be forgotten forever, then this isle shall become our world, and our
thoughts shall travel not beyond its confines. All shall be mutual confidence—a
reciprocal outpouring of our minutest thoughts. On that condition only will
existence
here
be tolerable to us both. And now as a
proof that thou wilt assent to this proposal—than which nothing can be more
rational—let our new life of mutual confidence date from this moment. Tell me
then, my Fernand,” she proceeded, assuming a winning manner, and throwing as
much pathos as possible into her sweetly musical voice—that voice which gave
new and indescribable, charms to the soft Italian language—“tell me then, my
Fernand, wherefore thou quittest me at certain intervals—why thou invariably
seekest on those occasions the opposite side of the island—and whether thou
wilt in future suffer me to be the companion of those journeys?”
“Thou be my companion—thou,
Nisida!” exclaimed Wagner, his whole frame convulsed with mental agony. “Merciful
Heaven! what fiend has prompted thee thus to speak! Nisida,” he said, suddenly
exercising a strong mastery over his emotions, as he seized her hand and
pressed it with spasmodic violence—“Nisida, as thou valuest our happiness seek
not to penetrate into my secret—proffer not that mad request again!”
And dropping her hand he paced
the shore with the agitation of reviving excitement.
“Fernand,” said Nisida,
approaching him, and once more speaking in a resolute and even severe
tone—“listen to me. When we met upon the island, an accident of a terrible
nature led me to forget my vow of self-imposed dumbness; and when the
excitement occasioned by that accident had somewhat passed you were in doubt
whether you had really heard my voice or had been deluded by fevered
imagination. It would have been easy for me to simulate dumbness again; and you
would have believed that the bewilderment of the dread scene had misled you.
But I chose not to maintain a secret from thee—and I confess that my long
supposed loss of two glorious faculties was a mere deed of duplicity on my
part. At that time you said that you also had explanations to give; and yet
months and months have
passed
by, and confidence has not begotten confidence. Let this mistrust on your part
cease. Reveal to me the cause of these frequent excursions across the
mountains; or else the next time that you set out on one of these mysterious
journeys, I shall assuredly become your companion.”
“Now, Nisida,” exclaimed Wagner,
his heart rent with indescribable tortures—“it is you who are cruel—you are
unjust!”
“No, Fernand—it is you!” cried
Nisida, in a thrilling, penetrating tone, as if of anguish.
“Merciful Heaven! what misery is
in store for us both!” said Wagner, pressing his hand to his burning brow. “Oh!
that some ship would appear to bear thee away—or that my destiny were other
than it is!”
And he flung himself upon the
sand in a fit of blank despair. Nisida now trembled at the violence of those
emotions which she had raised in the breast of him whom she loved; and for a
minute she reproached herself for having so implicitly obeyed the counsel of
the evil spirit.
Her own feelings were worked up
to that pitch of excitement with which women—even in the strongest-minded, must
have its vent in tears; and she burst into an agony of weeping.
The sound of those sobs was more
than the generous-hearted and affectionate Fernand could bear; and starting
from the sand whereon he had flung himself, he exclaimed, “Nisida, my beloved
Nisida, dry those tears, subdue this frenzied grief! Let us say no more upon
these exciting topics this evening; but I will meditate, I will reflect upon
the morrow, and then I will communicate to thee the result of my
deliberations.”
“Oh! there is then hope for me
yet!” cried Nisida, joyfully; “and thou hast the means to grant my wishes, but
thou fearest to use them. We will say no more this evening on subjects
calculated to give so little pleasure; but to-morrow, my Fernand, to-morrow.”
And Nisida stopped her own
utterance by pressing her lips to those of Wagner, winding her beauteous arms
most lovingly round his neck at the same time, and pressing him to her bosom.
But that night and the ensuing
morn were destined to wring the heart-cords of the unhappy Fernand: for the
influence of the demon, though unknown and unrecognized, was dominant with
Nisida.
It
was night—and Fernand was pacing
the sand with even greater agitation than he had manifested during the cruel
scene of the evening. He was alone on the seashore; and Nisida slept in the
hut. Terrible thoughts warred in the breast of Wagner. Nisida’s language had
astonished and alarmed him: he was convinced that Satan himself had inspired
her with those ideas, the utterance of which had nearly goaded him to madness.
She had insisted on the belief that he was acquainted with the means
of enabling her to return to
Italy; and yet Nisida was not a mere girl—a silly, whimsical being, who would
assert the wildest physical impossibilities just as caprice might prompt her.
No—she really entertained that belief—but without having any ostensible grounds
to establish it.
“Such an impression could only
have been made upon her mind by the fiend who seeks to entangle me in his
meshes!” murmured Wagner to himself, as he paced the strand. “The demon has failed
to tempt me as yet—thrice has he failed;—and now he musters all his force to
assail me,—to assail me, too, in the most vulnerable points! But, O Heaven,
give me strength to resist the dread influence thus brought to bear upon me!
What course can I adopt? what plan pursue? If to-morrow must witness a renewal
of that scene which occurred this evening, I shall succumb—I shall yield; in a
moment of despair I shall exclaim, ‘Yes, Nisida—I will sacrifice everything to
acquire the power to transport thee back to Italy;’—and I shall hurry to yon
mountains, and seeking their wildest defile, shall evoke the enemy of mankind,
and say, ‘Come, Satan, I give thee my soul in exchange for the illimitable
power thou offerest.’ And thus will be the terrible result—the fearful
catastrophe.”
Big drops of agony stood upon
Fernand’s brow as he uttered these words. He saw that he was hovering on the
verge of a fearful abyss—and he trembled lest he should fall, so intense was
his love for Nisida. At one moment he thought of the soothing vision, full of
hope and promise, which had occupied his slumber in the morning; at another he
pondered on the tears, the prayers, and the threats of Nisida. The conflicting
thoughts were, indeed, sufficient to urge him on to a state of utter despair:—his
eternal salvation and the happiness of her whom he loved so tenderly were
placed in such antagonistic position that they raised a fierce—a painful—an
agonizing warfare in his breast. Now he would fall upon his knees and pray—and
pray fervently for strength to continue in the right path: then he would again
give way to all the maddening influences of his bitter reflections; and, while
in this mood, had Satan suddenly stood before him, he would have succumbed—yes,
he would have succumbed. But the fiend had no longer any power to offer direct
temptation to the wretched Wagner. Oh! if he could die that moment, how gladly
would he release himself from an existence fraught with so much misery; but
death was not yet within the reach of him who bore the doom of a Wehr-Wolf! The
morning dawned, and Fernand Wagner was still pacing the sand—dreading to meet
Nisida again, and not daring to seek to avoid her. Were he to fly to the
mountains or to the forests, she would search after him; and thus he would only
be leading her into perils amidst yawning precipices, or where she might become
the prey of the terrible anaconda. To remain were anguish—to fly were madness!
“Oh, wretch, miserable wretch
that I am!” exclaimed Wagner, as he beheld the twilight—so short in the
tropics—growing more powerful, and knew that Nisida would soon come forth from
the hut. In a few minutes the
orb of day appeared above the Orient wave—and almost at the same time the lady
made her appearance on the shore.
“Fernand, thou hast not sought
repose throughout the night just past!” she said, advancing toward him, and
endeavoring to read upon his countenance the thoughts which filled his brain.
“Nisida,” he replied, in a rapid
and excited tone, “I have gone through so much during the last few hours that
’tis a marvel reason has maintained its seat. If thou lovest me, let us forget
all those topics which have so strongly excited us both: and let us unite our
prayers that Heaven will send thee means to quit this isle and return to thy
native land.”
“Fernand,” said Nisida, in a tone
of deep disappointment and reproach, “I was not prepared for this. Your words
imply that you possess the power to aid my departure hence, but that you have
resolved not to use it. Is that your decision?”
“I scorn to deceive thee, Nisida,
by a direct falsehood in so serious a matter as this,” exclaimed Wagner.
“Knowest thou, my beloved, at what price must be purchased the power which
alone can enable
me
to effect thy return to Italy? canst
thou divine the immeasurable sacrifice which I must make to gratify thy
wishes?”
“Fernand,” answered Nisida, in a
reproachful and yet resolute tone, “there is no price that I would not pay to
obtain the means of pleasing thee!—there is no sacrifice that I should shrink
from were your happiness at stake!”
“Nisida,” ejaculated Wagner, in a
tone of fearful excitement, “you drive me to despair! Have mercy upon me,
Nisida, have mercy upon me! My God! if you taunt me—if you reproach me—thus I
will do all that you command; but force me not to believe, Nisida—my well
beloved Nisida—that, in espousing thee in the sight of Heaven, I took to my
bosom a fiend instead of a woman, a relentless demon in the most charming
female shape that evil spirit ever wore. Oh! if you knew all, you would pity me
as it is. So wretched on earth you would not compel me to renounce every hope
of salvation; for, know, Nisida,” he added, his countenance wearing an
expression of indescribable horror, “know that in demanding of me this last
sacrifice, you ordain that I should sell my immortal soul to Satan!”
For a moment Nisida appeared
shocked and appalled at the words which met her ears; but she rather recoiled
from the manner of fearful excitement in which they were uttered, than from the
intelligence which they conveyed.
“He who truly loves,” she said
coldly, as she recovered her equanimity, “would make
even
that
sacrifice! and
now listen—Fernand,” she continued, her eyes flashing fire, and her naked bosom
heaving convulsively as she spoke, while her splendid form was drawn up to its
full height, and her whole aspect sublimely terrible and wondrously beautiful,
even in that fit of agitated passion—“listen, Fernand!” she cried, in her
musical, flute-like voice, which, however, assumed the imperious accent and
tone of command: “thou art a coward, and unworthy such
an earnest—such a profound, such
a devoted love as mine, if thou refusest to consummate a sacrifice which will
make us both powerful and great as long as we live! Consider, my Fernand—the
spirit with whom thou wouldst league thyself can endow us with an existence
running over centuries to come, can invest us with eternal youth, can place
countless treasures at our disposal, can elevate us to the proudest thrones of
Christendom! Oh! wilt thou spurn advantages like those? wilt thou refuse to
avail thyself of gifts that must render us so supremely happy? No, no: and we
can return together to my native city, we can enter Florence in triumph, thou
no longer fearing the terror of the law, I no longer compelled to simulate the
doom of the deaf and dumb! Our enemies shall lick the dust at our feet, and we
shall triumph wherever success may be desirable. Oh! I understand that
beseeching, appealing look, Fernand: thou thinkest that I shall love thee less
if this immense sacrifice be consummated, that I shall look upon thee with
loathing. No, not so: and to convince thee that mine is a soul endowed with an
iron will, that mine is an energy which can grapple even with remorse, I will
reveal to thee a secret which thou hast perhaps never even suspected. Fernand!”
she exclaimed, now becoming absolutely terrible with the excitement that
animated her; “Fernand!” she repeated, “’twas I who murdered the girl Agnes, in
the garden of thy mansion at Florence!”
“Thou, thou, Nisida?” almost shrieked
Wagner wildly; “oh, no, no! Recall that dreadful avowal! And yet—oh! yes—I see
it all—my former suspicions are confirmed. Wretched woman. What harm did the
unfortunate Agnes do to thee?”
“I saw in her a rival, Fernand—or
fancied that she was so,” answered Nisida; “I overheard your conversation with
her that morning in the garden—I saw her embrace thee tenderly—mine ears drank
in her words; oh, I remember them even now! She said, ‘Oh, what a night of
uneasiness have I passed! But at length thou art restored to me; thou whom I
have ever loved so fondly; although I abandoned thee for so long a time!’ Were
not those her very words? And thou didst speak to her in a tone equally tender.
Ah! I have ever suspected that she was thy mistress; although thou didst swear
upon the cross, in thy dungeon, that she was not. But so great was my love for
thee, that I smothered the dread suspicion——”
“Suspicion,” repeated Wagner, in
the penetrating tone of heart-rending anguish,—an anguish so intense that his
brain whirled, and he knew not what he said or did. “Oh, wretched woman, and
thou didst slay Agnes on a mere suspicion?”
“I hated her—even before I
entertained that suspicion,” exclaimed Nisida, impatiently; “for she was the
mistress of my father! Thinkest thou that my quick ears had not gleaned the
mysterious whisperings which frequently passed between my sire and his valet
Antonio, relative to the lady who dwelt in seclusion at the abode of that
menial’s mother? or thinkest thou that when I once obtained a clew to my
father’s degrading passion, I scrupled to watch him, to follow him, to learn
all his
proceedings? No;
for it was the more easily to enact the spy upon my own father that originally
simulated the doom of the deaf and dumb. A purse of gold induced Dame Margaretha,
Antonio’s mother, to give me admission into her house; though she also believed
that I was really deprived of the faculties of hearing and of speech. But often
and often was I concealed in the chamber adjacent to that where my father
passed hours with his mistress; and it was not without advantage that I so
acted. For I discovered that amongst the presents which he had given her, were
the jewels which had belonged to my sainted mother—that mother whose wrongs
were so manifold, and whose sufferings were so great. Yes: and I possessed
myself of those jewels, leaving the girl the other gifts which she had received
from my sire.
“And now, since I am involved in
relations of such import, I shall do well to inform thee, Fernand, that I had
seen and loved thee before thou didst come as a visitor to our mansion in
Florence. For it was my habit to proceed occasionally to the dwelling of the
good Dr. Duras, the depositary of my grand secret of the feigned loss of
faculties; and while wandering alone in his garden I once beheld thee! And the
moment I beheld I loved thee. Often—often after that would I visit the kind
physician’s grounds, whereof I possessed a pass-key; and my admiration of thee
led me to pass the slight boundary which separated his garden from thine. Then
I would approach the windows of thy dwelling and contemplate thee as thou wast
seated in thy favorite apartment. On the night of my father’s funeral, although
so very late when all the subsequent business connected with the reading of the
will was concluded, my mind was so perturbed and restless that I could not
sleep; and quitting the Riverola mansion by a private door, I sought the fresh
air with the hope that it would calm me. Some vague and indescribable sentiment
of curiosity, or else something that I heard on the return of the mourners,
relative to the strange scene enacted in the church, I know not which, led me
to the vicinity of your abode; and there, in your favorite room, I beheld you
seated, listening attentively to some sweet words, doubtless, which Agnes was
breathing into your ear. But she caught a glimpse of my countenance by the
light of the lamps——”
“Enough! enough!” exclaimed
Wagner; “thou hast indeed cleared up innumerable mysteries! But, oh!
Nisida—would that thou hadst remained silent—that thou hadst not drawn aside
the veil which my elevated opinion of thee had thrown over the suspicions that,
I admit, from time to time——”
“And if I have told thee all
this, Fernand,” interrupted Nisida, impatiently, “it is that thou may’st be convinced
not only of the natural energy of my mind, but also of the deep love which I
bear thee. And now, now that thou seest me in my true character, a murderess if
thou wilt,” she added with an emphasis of bitter scorn, “now canst thou refuse
that sacrifice——”
“Nisida! Nisida! enough crime has
been perpetrated by both us, Heaven knows!” ejaculated Wagner, still writhing
with
the anguish produced
by the avowal which had so lately met his ears. “Oh! accursed be the day,
blotted from the annals of Time be the hour, Nisida, when thy hand struck the
fatal dagger into the heart of Agnes.”
“What! this to my face?” said
Nisida, her countenance becoming crimson with indignation, and not her face
only, but her swan-like neck, her shoulders, and her bosom. “Then she
was
thy mistress, Fernand! And thou didst
love her, while I fancied, false one that thou art, thine affections to be
wholly and solely mine.”