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.
CHAPTER XVII.
WAGNER IN PRISON—A VISITOR.
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.
CHAPTER XVIII.
FLORA FRANCATELLI—THE THREE NUNS—THE CHAIR.
Nisida regained her apartment, by the private staircase, without any molestation. Having laid aside her male attire, she assumed a loose wrapper, and then, throwing herself into an armchair, gave way to her reflections.
These were apparently of no pleasurable nature; for they were frequently interrupted by convulsive starts and rapid glancings around the room—as if she were fearful lest some terrible specter were present to scare her.
Once or twice her eyes lingered on her mother’s portrait; and then profound sighs escaped her bosom.
Presently the beautiful Flora Francatelli entered the apartment; but Nisida made her a sign of dismissal.
The maiden withdrew; and we must now follow her to her own chamber.
On reaching her bedroom, Flora did not immediately retire to rest. She felt that she should not sleep, even were she to seek her pillow: for she had much—very much to ponder upon!
There was a marked, undisguised reserve about her mistress which materially affected her. Although she could not control her affections, yet she felt as if she were acting with duplicity toward the Lady Nisida in having listened to the love-tale of Francisco, and, retaining that revelation of his affection a secret in her own breast.
Yet—had he not implored, had he not enjoined her to keep that avowal to herself? Yes, and when she looked at the matter, as it were, face to face, she could not justly reproach herself:—nevertheless, that secret love weighed upon her conscience like a crime!
She could not understand wherefore Nisida’s manner had changed toward her. Francisco had assuredly made no communication to his sister; and nothing had transpired to excite a suspicion of the real truth in her mind. Still there was a coolness on the part of that lady:—or might it not be that Flora’s imagination deceived her?
There was another, and even a more serious cause of grief weighing upon her mind. Dispatches had been received from the nobleman in whose suit her brother Alessandro had repaired to Constantinople; and the secretary of the council of Florence had intimated to Signora Francatelli (Flora’s aunt) that Alessandro had abjured the faith of his forefathers and had embraced the Mussulman creed. It was also stated that the young man had entered the service of grand vizier; but whether he had become a renegade through love for some Turkish maiden, or with the hope of ameliorating his condition in a worldly point of view, whether, indeed, self-interest or a conscientious belief in the superiority of the Moslem doctrines over those of Christianity, had swayed Alessandro, no one could say.
His aunt was almost heart-broken at the news. Father Marco, through whose influence he had obtained the post of secretary to the Florentine Envoy, was shocked and grieved; and Flora was not the less afflicted at an event which, as she had been taught to believe, must inevitably place her much-loved brother beyond the hope of spiritual salvation.
Amidst the gloomy reflections excited by the Lady Nisida’s coolness, and the disagreeable tidings which had been received concerning her brother, there was nevertheless one gleam of consolation for Flo
ra Francatelli.
This was the love which Francisco entertained for her, and which she so tenderly, so sincerely reciprocated.
Yes, a maiden’s first love is ever a source of solace amidst the gloom of affliction; because it is so intimately intertwined with hope! For the soul of the innocent, artless girl who fondly loves, soars aloft in a heaven of her own creation, dove-like on the wings of faith!
It was already late when Flora began to unbraid and set at liberty her dark brown tresses, preparatory to retiring to rest, when a low knock at the chamber-door startled her in the midst of her occupation.
Thinking it might be the Lady Nisida who required her attendance she hastened to open the door; and immediately three women, dressed in religious habits and having black veils thrown over their heads so as completely to conceal their faces, entered the room.
Flora uttered a faint scream—for the sudden apparition of those specter-like figures, at such a late hour of the night, was well calculated to alarm even a person of maturer age and stronger mind than Signora Francatelli.
“You must accompany us, young lady,” said the foremost nun, advancing toward her. “And beware how you create any disturbance—for it will avail you nothing.”
“Whither am I to be conducted?” asked Flora, trembling from head to foot.
“That we cannot inform you,” was the reply. “Neither must you know at present; and therefore our first duty is to blindfold you.”
“Pity me—have mercy upon me!” exclaimed Flora, throwing herself on her knees before the nun who addressed her in so harsh, so stern a manner. “I am a poor, unprotected girl: have mercy upon me!”
But the three nuns seized upon her; and while one held the palm of her hand forcibly over her mouth so as to check her utterance, the others hastily blindfolded her.
Flora was so overcome by this alarming proceeding, that she fainted.
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