Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
“I was not mistaken in thee,
Demetrius,” said the grand vizier, “when I chose thee for that mission on
account of thy discreetness and foresight.”
“Your highness’ praises are my
best reward,” answered the Greek. “I have now done all that I could possibly
effect or devise under the circumstances which prompted me to think or act; and
it grieved me that I was unable to afford the slightest assistance to the young
Count of Riverola. But I dare not wait longer in Italy; and I was convinced
that the authorities in Florence were too inefficient to root out the horde of
banditti, even had I explained to them the clew which I myself obtained to the
stronghold of those miscreants. I accordingly quitted Florence in the afternoon
of the day following the numerous arrests which I have mentioned; and had I not
been detained so long at Rimini, by adverse winds, your highness would not have
been kept for so many weeks without the mournful tidings which it was at length
my painful duty to communicate in person to your lordship.”
“That delay, my faithful
Demetrius,” said the grand vizier, “was no fault of thine. Fortunately the
squadron was already equipped for sea; and, instead of repairing to the African
frontier to chastise the daring pirates, it is on its way to the Tuscan coast,
where, if need be, it will land twenty thousand soldiers to liberate my
relations and the young Count of Riverola. A pretext for making war upon the
Italian states has been afforded by their recent conduct in sending auxiliaries
to the succor of Rhodes; and of that excuse I shall not hesitate to avail
myself to commence hostilities against the proud Florentines should a secret
and peaceful negotiation fail. But now that thou hast recapitulated to me all
those particulars which thou didst merely sketch forth at first, it seems to me
fitting that I anchor the fleet at the mouth of the Arno, and that I send thee,
Demetrius, as an envoy in a public capacity, but in reality to stipulate
privately for the release of those in whom I am interested.”
Thus terminated the conference
between Ibrahim Pasha and his Greek dependent—a conference which had revealed
manifold and astounding occurrences to the ears of the Lady Nisida of Riverola.
Astounding indeed! Francisco in the hands of the formidable banditti—Flora in
the prison of the inquisition—and the Ottoman grand vizier bent upon effecting
the marriage which Nisida abhorred—these tidings were sufficient to arouse all
the wondrous energies of that mind which was so prompt in combining intrigues
and plots, so resolute in carrying them out, and so indomitable when it had
formed a will of its own.
Ominous were the fires which
flashed in her large dark eyes, and powerful were the workings of those
emotions which caused her heaving bosom to swell as if about to burst the
bodice which confined it, when, retreating from the partition floor between the
two saloons, and resuming her seat at the cabin-windows to permit the evening
breeze to fan her fevered cheek, Nisida
thought
within herself, “It was indeed time that I should quit that accursed island,
and return to Italy!”
The
roseate streaks which the
departing glories of a Mediterranean sunset left lingering for a few minutes in
the western horizon, were yielding to the deeper gloom of evening, a few days
after the scene related in the preceding chapter, as Nisida rose from her seat
at the open windows of her splendid saloon on board the Ottoman Admiral’s ship,
and began to lay aside her apparel, preparatory to retiring to rest. She was
already wearied of the monotonous life of ship-board; and the strange
revelations which the discourse between Ibrahim Pasha and Demetrius had developed
to her ears, rendered her doubly anxious to set foot upon her native soil.
The grand vizier had paid his
respects to her every day since she first embarked on board the Turkish ship;
and they exchanged a few observations, rather of courtesy than in any deeper
interest, by means of the tablets. Ibrahim’s manner toward her was respectful;
but when he imagined himself to be unperceived by her, his eyes were suddenly
lighted up with the fires of ardent passion; and he devoured her with his
burning glances. She failed not to notice the effect which her glorious beauty
produced upon him, and she studiously avoided the imprudence of giving him the
least encouragement; not from any innate feeling of virtue, but because she
detested him as a man who was bent on accomplishing a marriage between her
brother and Flora Francatelli. This hatred she concealed, and even the
eagle-sighted Ibrahim perceived not that he was in any way displeasing to the
lovely Nisida. With the exception of the grand vizier, and the slaves who
waited upon her, the lady saw no one on board the ship; for she never quitted
the saloon allotted to her, but passed her time chiefly in surveying the broad
sea and the other vessels of the fleet from the windows, or in meditating upon
the course which she should pursue on her arrival in Florence.
But let us return to the thread
of our narrative. The last tints of the sunset were, we said, fading away, when
the Lady Nisida commenced her preparations for retiring to rest. She closed the
casements, satisfied herself that the partition door between the two saloons
was well secured, and then threw herself upon the voluptuous couch spread in
one of the smaller cabins opening from her own magnificent apartment. She
thought of Fernand, her handsome Fernand, whom she had abandoned on the Isle of
Snakes, and profound sighs escaped her. Then she thought of Francisco; and the
idea of serving that much-beloved brother’s interests afforded her a
consolation for having thus quitted the clime where she had passed so many happy
days with Wagner.
At length sleep fell upon her,
and closed over the large, dark, brilliant eyes the white lids, beneath the
transparent skin of which the blue veins were so delicately traced; and the
long,
jetty lashes reposed
on the cheeks which the heat of the atmosphere tinged with a rich carnation
glow. And when the moon arose that night, its silver rays streamed through the
window set in the porthole of that small cabin, upon the beauteous face of the
sleeper.
But hark! there is the light
sound of a footfall in the saloon from which that cabin opens.
The treacherous Ibrahim possesses
a key to the partition door; and having successfully wrestled with his raging
desires until this moment, he is at length no longer able to resist the
temptation of invading the sanctity of Nisida’s sleeping-place. Already has he
set his foot upon the very threshold of the little side-cabin, having traversed
the spacious saloon, when a hand is laid upon his shoulder, and a voice behind
him says in a low tone, “Your highness has forgotten the fate of the murdered
Calanthe.”
Ibrahim started, shook the hand
from off him, and exclaimed, “Dog of a negro! what and who has made thee a spy
upon my actions?”
At the same instant that Ibrahim
felt the hand on his shoulder, and heard the well-known voice uttering the
dreadful warning in his ears, Nisida awoke. Her first impulse was to start up;
but, checking herself with wondrous presence of mind, as the part of the deaf
and dumb person which she had imposed upon herself to play flashed with
lightning velocity across her brain—comprehending, too, in an instant, that the
grand vizier had violated her privacy, but that some unknown succor was at
hand, she remained perfectly motionless, as if still wrapped up in an
undisturbed slumber. The grand vizier, and the individual whom he had in his
rage addressed as a “dog of a negro,” retreated into the saloon, Nisida holding
her very breath so as not to lose a word that might pass between them should
their dialogue be resumed.
“Your highness asks me what and
who has made me a spy upon your actions,” said the negro in a low, monotonous
voice, and speaking with mingled firmness and respect. “Those questions are
easily answered. The same authority which ordered me to wrest from thine arms
some months past the lady who might be unfortunate enough to please your
highness’ fancy, exercises an unceasing supervision over you, even on this
ship, and in the middle of the mighty sea. To that authority all your deeds and
acts are matters of indifference save those which would render your highness
faithless to an adoring wife. Remember, my lord, the fate of Calanthe, the
sister of your dependent Demetrius, she who was torn from your arms, and whose
beauteous form became food for the fishes of the Bosporus.”
“How knew you who she was?”
demanded the grand vizier, in a low, hoarse voice, the power of his utterance
having been temporarily suspended by the rage that filled his soul at finding
his iniquitous design in respect to Nisida thus suddenly baffled by the chief
of the three black slaves, whose attendance in this expedition had been forced
upon him by the Sultana Valida; “how knew you who she was?” he again asked.
“Rather demand, my lord,
what can escape the prying eyes of those by whom your highness has been
surrounded ever since the seals of office were in your grasp,” returned the
slave.
“But you would not betray that
secret to Demetrius, who is now devoted to me, who is necessary to me, and who
would loathe me were he to learn the dreadful fate of his sister!” said the
grand vizier, with rapid and excited utterance.
“I have no eyes and no ears,
great pasha,” said the negro, “save in respect to those matters which would
render you faithless to the sister of the sultan.”
“Would to Heaven that you had
neither eyes nor ears at all—that you did not exist, indeed!” exclaimed
Ibrahim, unable to repress his wrath; then, in a different and milder tone, he
immediately added, “Slave, I can make thee free—I can give thee wealth—and thou
mayest dwell in happy Italy, whither we are going, for the remainder of thy
days. Reflect, consider! I love that deaf and dumb Christian woman who sleepeth
there—I already love her to distraction! Thwart me not, good slave, and thou
mayest command my eternal gratitude.”
“My lord, two other slaves
overhear every word that now passes between us,” responded the Ethiopian, his
voice remaining calm and monotonous; “and even were we alone in all respects, I
would not betray the trust reposed in me. But not on your highness would the
effects of your infidelity to the Princess Aischa fall. No, my lord—I have no
authority to harm you. Had your highness succeeded in your purpose ere now, the
bow-string would have forever stifled the breath in the body of that deaf and
dumb Christian lady; and her corpse would have been thrown forth from these
windows into the sea. Such are my instructions, my lord; and thus every object
of your sated passion must become your victim also.”
“Better—better were it,”
exclaimed Ibrahim, in a tone denoting the profoundest mental anguish, “to be
the veriest mendicant who implores alms at the gate of the mosque of St.
Sophia, than the grand vizier of the Ottoman Empire.”
With these words he rushed into
the adjoining saloon, the negro following and fastening the door behind him.
Nisida now began to breathe freely once more. From what perils had she escaped!
The violation of her couch by the unprincipled Ibrahim would have been followed
by her immediate assassination at the hands of the Ethiopian whom the
sultana-mother had placed as a spy on the actions of her son-in-law. On the
other hand, she felt rejoiced that the incident of this night had occurred; for
it had been the means of revealing to her a secret of immense importance in
connection with the grand vizier. She remembered the terms of grief and
affection in which Demetrius had spoken of the disappearance of Calanthe; and
she had heard enough on that occasion to convince her that the Greek would
become the implacable enemy of any man who had wronged that much-loved sister.
How bitter, then, would be the hatred of Demetrius—how dreadful would be the
vengeance which he must crave against him whose lustful passion had led to the
murder of Calanthe. Yes, Ibrahim, thy secret
is
now in possession of Nisida of Riverola; in the possession of that woman of
iron mind and potent energy, and whom thou fondly believest to be deaf and
dumb!
Nisida slept no more that night,
the occurrences of which furnished her with so much food for profound
meditation: and with the earliest gleam of dawn that tinged the eastern heaven,
she rose from her couch. Entering the saloon, she opened the windows to admit
the gentle breeze of morning; and ere she commenced her toilet, she lingered to
gaze upon the stately ships that were plowing the blue sea in the wake of the
admiral’s vessel wherein she was. Suddenly her eyes fell upon what appeared to
be a small speck at a little distance; but as this object was moving rapidly
along on the surface of the Mediterranean, it soon approached sufficiently near
to enable her to discern that it was a boat impelled by a single sail. Urged by
an undefinable and yet a strong sentiment of curiosity, Nisida remained at the
saloon window, watching the progress of the little bark, which bounded over the
waves with extraordinary speed, bending gracefully to the breeze that thus
wafted it onward. Nearer and nearer toward the vessel it came, though not
pursuing the same direction; and in five minutes it passed within a few yards
of the stern of the kapitan-pasha’s ship.
But, oh! wondrous and
unaccountable fact. There, stretched upon his back in that bounding boat, and
evidently buried in deep slumber, with the rays of the rising sun gleaming upon
his fine and now slightly flushed countenance, lay he whose image was so
indelibly impressed upon the heart of Nisida—her handsome and strangely-fated
Fernand Wagner! The moment the conviction that the sleeper was indeed he struck
to the mind of Nisida, she would have called him by name—she would have
endeavored to awake him, if only to exchange a single word of fondness, for her
assumed dumbness was for the moment forgotten; but she was rendered motionless
and remained speechless—stupefied, paralyzed, as it were, with mingled wonder
and joy; wonder that he should have found the means of escape from the island,
and joy that she was thus permitted to behold him at least once again. But the
pleasure which this incident excited in her mind was transitory indeed; for the
boat swept by, as if urged on by a stronger impulse than that of the gentle
breeze of morning—and in another minute Nisida beheld it no more.
The sun was setting behind the
western hills of Sicily as Fernand Wagner entered the squalid suburb which at
that period stretched from the town of Syracuse to the sea. His step was
elastic, and he held his head high—for his heart was full of joyous and burning
hope. Hitherto the promises of the angel who had last appeared to him were
completely fulfilled. The boat was wafted by a favorable breeze direct from the
Island of Snakes to the shores of Sicily; and he had landed in the immediate
vicinity of Syracuse—the town in which a further revelation was to be made in
respect to the breaking of the spell which had fixed upon him the frightful
doom of the Wehr-Wolf! But little suspected Fernand Wagner that one morning,
while he
slept, his boat
had borne him through the proud fleet of the Ottomans—little wist he that his
beloved Nisida had caught sight of him as he was wafted rapidly past the stern
of the kapitan-pasha’s ship! For on that occasion he had slept during hours;
and when he had awakened, not a bark nor sail save his own was visible on the
mighty expanse of water.
And now it was with elastic step
and joyous heart that the hero of our tale entered the town of Syracuse. But
suddenly he remembered the singular nature of the inquiry that he was there to
make—an inquiry concerning a man whose years had numbered one hundred and
sixty-two!
“Nevertheless,” thought Wagner,
“that good angel who gave me a sign whereby I should become convinced of the
reality of her appearance, and whose promises have all been fulfilled up to
this point, could not possibly mislead me. No; I will obey the command which I
received, even though I should visit every human dwelling in the town of
Syracuse! For Heaven works out its wise purposes in wondrous manners; and it is
not for me to shrink from yielding obedience to its orders, nor to pause to
question their propriety. And oh! if I can but shake off that demon influence
which weighs upon my soul—if I can but escape from the shackles which still
enchain me to a horrible doom, how sincere will be my thanks to Heaven, how
unbounded my rejoicings!”
As Wagner had reached this point
in his meditations, he stopped at the door of a barber shop of mean
appearance—the pole, with the basin hanging to it, denoting that the occupant
of the place combined, as was usual in those times, the functions of shaver and
blood-letter or surgeon. Hastily surveying the exterior of the shop, and
fancying that it was precisely the one at which his inquiries should
commence—barbers in that age being as famous for their gossiping propensities
as in this—Fernand entered, and was immediately accosted by a short,
sharp-visaged, dark-complexioned old man, who pointed to a seat, saying in a
courteous, or rather obsequious tone, “What is your will, signor?”