Wagner, the Wehr-Wolf

by George W. M. Reynolds

  “Her brother!” ejaculated Francisco, joyfully. “Oh! I knew, I felt certain that she was innocent.”

  “Yes, she was indeed innocent,” repeated Nisida, “But let me pursue my explanations as succinctly as possible. It appeared that the old man—the executioner of Naples—was no more; and Eugenio, possessing himself of the hoardings of his deceased father, had fled from his native city to avoid the dread necessity of assuming the abhorrent office. Accident led the young adventurer to Florence in search of a more agreeable employment as a means whereby to earn his livelihood, and having formed the acquaintance of one of the duke’s valets, he obtained admittance to the gardens on that memorable evening when the grand entertainment was given. In spite of the strict injunctions he had received not to approach the places occupied by the distinguished guests, he drew near the arbor in which our mother had been conversing with other ladies, but where she was at that moment alone. The recognition was immediate, and they flew into each other’s arms. It would have been useless, as well as unnatural, for our mother to have refused to reveal her rank and name; her brilliant attire was sufficient to convince her brother that the former was high, and inquiry would speedily have made him acquainted with the latter. She accordingly drew him apart into a secluded walk and told him all; but she implored him to quit Florence without delay, and she gave him her purse and one of her rich bracelets, thereby placing ample resources at his disposal. Five years passed away, and during that period she heard no more of her brother Eugenio. But at the expiration of that interval she received a note stating that he was again in Florence—that necessity had alone brought him hither, and that he would be at a particular place at a certain hour to meet either herself or some confidential person whom she might instruct to see him. Our mother filled a bag with gold, and put into it some of her choicest jewels, and thus provided, she repaired in person to the place of appointment. It grieved her generous heart thus to be compelled to meet her brother secretly, as if he were a common robber or a midnight bravo; but for her husband’s peace, and in obedience to the spirit of the oath which imperious circumstances had alone led her in some degree to violate, she was forced to adopt that sad and humiliating alternative.”

  “Alas! poor mother!” sobbed Francisco, deeply affected by this narrative.

  “Again did five years elapse without bringing tidings to our mother of Eugenio,” continued Nisida, “and then he once more set foot in Florence. The world bad not used him well—Fortune had frowned upon him—and, though a young man of fine spirit and noble disposition, he failed in all his endeavors to carve out a successful career for himself. Our mother determined to accord him an interview in her own apartment. She longed to converse with him at her ease—to hear his tale from his own lips—to sympathize with and console him. Oh! who could blame her if in so doing she departed from the strict and literal meaning of that vow which had bound her to consider her relations as dead to her? But the fault—if fault it were—was so venial, that to justify it is to invest it with an importance which it would not have possessed save for the frightful results to which it led. You have already heard how foully he was waylaid, how ruthlessly he was murdered! Holy Virgin! my brain whirls when I reflect upon that hideous cruelty which made our mother the spectator of his dissection; for, even had he been a lover—even were she guilty—even if the suspicions of our father had all been well-founded——”

  “Dwell not upon this frightful topic, my beloved Nisida!” exclaimed Francisco, perceiving that she was again becoming greatly excited, for her eyes dilated and glared wildly, her bosom heaved in awful convulsions, and she tossed her arms frantically about.

  “No, I will not—I dare not pause to ponder thereon,” she said, falling back upon the pillow, and pressing her hands to that proud and haughty brow behind which the active, racking brain appeared to be on fire.

  “Tranquilize yourself, dearest sister,” murmured Flora, bending over the couch and pressing her lips on Nisida’s burning cheek.

  “I will, I will, Flora, whom I now love as much as I once hated!” exclaimed the dying lady. “But let me make an end of my explanations. You already know that our dear mother was gagged when she was compelled to witness the horrible deeds enacted in the subterranean charnel-house by the dim light of a sickly lamp; but even if she had not been, no word would have issued from her lips, as the manuscript justly observes. During her illness, however, she sought an interview with her husband for the purpose of proving to him her complete innocence, by revealing the fact that his victim was her own brother! But he refused all the entreaties proffered with that object, and our unfortunate mother was forced to contemplate the approach of death with the sad conviction that she should pass away without the satisfaction of establishing her guiltlessness in the eyes of our father. Then was it that she revealed everything to me—to me alone—to me, a young girl of only fifteen when those astounding facts were breathed into my ears. I listened with horror, and I began to hate my father, for I adored my mother. She implored me not to give way to any intemperate language or burst of passion which might induce the inmates of the mansion to suspect that I was the depositary of some terrible secret.

  “‘For,’ said our mother, when on her death-bed, ‘if I have ventured to shock your young mind by so appalling a revelation, it is only that you may understand wherefore I am about to bind you by a solemn vow to love, protect, and watch over Francisco, as if he were your own child, rather than your brother. His father, alas! hates him. This I have observed ever since the birth of that dear boy, but it is only by means of the dread occurrence of the other night that I have been able to divine the origin of that dislike and unnatural loathing. Your father, Nisida,’ continued my mother, ‘believes that I have been unfaithful, and suspects that Francisco is the offspring of a guilty amour. With this terrible impression upon his mind, he may persecute my poor boy; he may disinherit him; he may even seek to rid him of life. Kneel, then, by my bedside, Nisida, and swear by all you deem sacred—by the love you bear for me—and by your hopes of salvation, that you will watch unweariedly and unceasingly over the welfare and the interests of Francisco—that you will make any sacrifice, incur any danger, or undergo any privation, to save him from the effects of his father’s hate—that you will exert all possible means to cause the title and fortune of his father to descend to him, and that you will in no case consent to supplant him in those respects—and lastly, that you will keep secret the dread history of my brother’s fate and your knowledge of your father’s crime.’ To all these conditions of the vow I solemnly and sacredly pledged myself, calling Heaven to witness the oath. But I said to our mother, ‘My father will not forever remain locked up in his own apartment; he will come forth sooner or later, and I must have an opportunity of speaking to him. May I not justify you, my dear mother, in his eyes? May I not assure him that Eugenio was your brother? He will then cease to hate Francisco, and may even love him as he loves me; and you may then have no fears on his account.”

  “‘Alas! the plan which you suggest may not be put into execution,’ replied our dying mother; ‘for were your father to be aware that I had revealed the occurrences of that dread night to you, Nisida, he would feel that he must be ever looked upon as a murderer by his own child! Moreover, such appears to be the sad and benighted state of his mind, that he might peradventure deem the tale relative to Eugenio a mere excuse and vile subterfuge. No; I must perish disgraced in his eyes, unless he should accord ere I die, the interview which yourself and the good Dr. Duras have so vainly implored him to grant me.’

  “Our dear mother then proceeded to give me other instructions, Francisco, relative to yourself; but these,” added Nisida, glancing toward Flora, “would now be painful to unfold. And yet,” she continued, hastily, as a second thought struck her, “it is impossible, my sweet Flora, that you can be weak-minded—for you have this day seen and heard enough to test your mental powers to the extreme possibility of their endurance. Moreover, I feel that my conduct
toward you requires a complete justification; and that justification will be found in the last instructions which I received from the lips of my mother.”

  “Dearest Nisida,” said the young countess, “no justification is needed—no apology is required in reference to that subject; for your kind words, your altered manner toward me now, your recognition of me as a sister, made so by union with your brother—oh! this would efface from my mind wrongs ten thousand times more terrible than any injury which I have sustained at your hands. But,” continued Flora, in a slow and gentle tone, “if you wish to explain the nature of these instructions which you received from the lips of your dying parent, let not my presence embarrass you.”

  “Yes, I do wish to render my explanation as complete as possible, dearest Flora,” replied Nisida; “for if I have acted severely toward you, it was not to gratify any natural love of cruelty, nor any mean jealousy or spite; on the contrary, the motives were engendered by that imperious necessity which has swayed my conduct, modeled my disposition, and regulated my mind ever since that fatal day when I knelt beside my mother’s death-bed, and swore to obey her last words. For thus did she speak, Flora—‘Nisida, there is one more subject relative to which I must advise you, and in respect to which you must swear to obey me. My own life furnished a sad and terrible lesson of the impropriety of contracting an unequal marriage. All my woes—all my sorrows—all the dreadful events which have occurred—may be traced to the one great fact that the Count of Riverola espoused a person of whose family he was ashamed. Nisida,’ she continued, her voice becoming fainter and fainter, ‘watch you narrowly and closely over the welfare of Francisco in this respect. Let him not marry beneath him; let him not unite himself to one whose family contains a single member deserving obloquy or reproach. Above all, see that he marries not till he shall have reached an age when he will be capable of examining his own heart through the medium of experience and matured judgment. If you see him form a boyish attachment of which you have good and sufficient reason to disapprove, exert yourself to wean him from it: hesitate not to thwart him; be not moved by the sorrows he may manifest at the moment; you will be acting for his welfare; and the time will speedily come when he will rejoice that you have rescued him from the danger of contracting a hasty, rash, and ill-assorted marriage.’ These were the last instructions of our mother, Francisco; and I swore to obey them. Hence my sorrow, my fears, my anger when I became aware of the attachment subsisting between yourself, dear brother, and you, my sweet Flora: and that sorrow was enhanced—those fears were augmented—that danger was increased, Flora, when I learnt that your brother Alessandro had renounced the creed of the true God, and that your family thereby contained a member deserving of obloquy and reproach. But that sorrow, those fears, and that anger have now departed from my soul. I recognize the finger of Heaven—the will of the Almighty in the accomplishment of your union, despite of all my projects, all my intrigues to prevent it. I am satisfied, moreover, that there is in this alliance a fitness and a propriety which will insure your happiness: and may the spirit of my sainted mother look down from the empyrean palace where she dwells, and bless you both, even as I now implore the divine mercy to shed its beauties and diffuse its protecting influence around you.”

  Nisida had raised herself up to a sitting posture as she uttered this invocation so sublimely interesting and solemnly sincere; and the youthful pair, simultaneously yielding to the same impulse, sank upon their knees to receive the blessing of one who had never bestowed a blessing on mortal being until then! She extended her hands above those two beautiful, bending heads: and her voice, as she adjured Heaven to protect them, was plaintively earnest and tremulously clear, and its musical sound seemed to touch the finest chord of sympathy, devotion, and love that vibrated in the hearts of that youthful noble and his virgin bride. When this solemn ceremony was accomplished, an immense weight appeared to have been removed from the soul of the Lady Nisida of Riverola; and her countenance wore a calm and sweet expression, which formed a happy contrast with the sovereign hauteur and grand contempt that were wont to mark it.

  “I have now but little more to say in explanation of my past conduct,” she resumed, after a long pause. “You can readily divine wherefore I affected the loss of those most glorious faculties which God has given me. I became enthusiastic in my resolves to carry out the injunctions of my dear and much-loved mother; and while I lay upon a bed of sickness—a severe illness produced by anguish and horror at all I had heard from her lips, and by her death, so premature and sad—I pondered a thousand schemes, the object of which was to accomplish the great aims I had in view. I foresaw that I—a weak woman—then, indeed, a mere girl of fifteen—should have to constitute myself the protectress of a brother who was hated by his own father; and I feared lest that hatred should drive him to the adoption of some dreadful plot to rid himself of your presence, Francisco—perhaps even to deprive you of your life. I knew that I must watch all his movements and listen to all his conversations with those unprincipled wretches who are ever ready to do the bidding of the powerful and the wealthy. But how was all this to be accomplished?—how was I to become a watcher and a listener—a spy ever active, and an eavesdropper ever awake—without exciting suspicions which would lead to the frustration of my designs, and perhaps involve both myself and my brother in ruin? Then was it that an idea struck me like a flash of lightning; and like a flash of lightning was it terrible and appalling, when breaking on the dark chaos of my thoughts. At first I shrank from it—recoiled from it in horror and dismay;—but the more I considered it—the longer I looked that idea in the face—the more I contemplated it, the less formidable did it seem. I have already said that I was enthusiastic and devoted in my resolves to carry out the dying injunctions of my mother:—and thus by degrees I learnt to reflect upon the awful sacrifice which had suggested itself to my imagination as a species of holy and necessary self-martyrdom. I foresaw that if I affected the loss of hearing and speech, I should obtain all the advantages I sought and all the means I required to enable me to act as the protectress of my brother against the hatred of my father. I believed also that I should not only be considered as unfit to be made the heiress of the title and fortune of the Riverola family, but that our father, Francisco, would see the absolute necessity of treating you in all respects as his lawful and legitimate son, in spite of any suspicions which he might entertain relative to your birth. There were many other motives which influenced me, and which arose out of the injunctions of our mother,—motives which you can well understand, and which I need not detail. Thus it was that, subduing the grief which the idea of making so tremendous a sacrifice excited, on the one hand—and arming myself with the exultation of a martyr, on the other,—thus it was that I resolved to simulate the character of the deaf and dumb. It was, however, necessary to obtain the collusion of Dr. Duras; and this aim I carried after many hours of argument and persuasion. He was then ignorant—and still is ignorant—of the real motives which had prompted me to this self-martyrdom;—but I led him to believe that the gravest and most important family interests required that moral immolation of my own happiness;—and I vowed that unless he would consent to aid me, it was my firm resolve to shut myself up in a convent and take the veil. This threat, which I had not the least design of carrying into effect, induced him to yield a reluctant acquiescence with my project: for he loved me as if I had been his child. He was moreover consoled somewhat by the assurance which I gave him, and in which I myself felt implicit confidence at the time, that the necessity for the simulation of deafness and dumbness on my part would cease the moment my father should be no more. In a word, the kind Dr. Duras promised to act entirely in accordance with my wishes; and I accordingly became Nisida the deaf and dumb!”

  “Merciful heavens! that immeasurable sacrifice was made for me!” cried Francisco, throwing himself into the arms of his sister and imprinting a thousand kisses on her cheeks.

  “Yes—for your sake and in order to carry ou
t the dying commands of our mother, the sainted Vitangela?” responded Nisida. “I shall not weary you with a description of the feelings and emotions with which I commenced that long career of duplicity; by the very success that attended the part which I had undertaken to perform you may estimate the magnitude and the extent of the exertions which it cost me thus to maintain myself a living—a constant—and yet undetected lie! Ten years passed away—ten years, marked by many incidents which made me rejoice, for your sake, Francisco, that I had accepted the self-martyrdom which circumstances had suggested to me. At length our father lay upon his death bed: and then—oh! then I rejoiced—yes, rejoiced, though he was dying; for I thought that the end of my career of duplicity was at hand. Judge, then, of my astonishment—my grief—my despair, when I heard the last injunctions which our father addressed to you, Francisco, on that bed of death. What could the mystery of the closet mean? Of that I then knew nothing. Wherefore was I to remain in complete ignorance of the instructions thus given to you? And what was signified by the words relative to the disposal of our father’s property? For you may remember that he spoke thus, addressing himself of course to you:—‘You will find that I have left the whole of my property to you. At the same time my will specifies certain conditions relative to your sister Nisida, for whom I have made due provision only in the case—which is, alas! almost in defiance of every hope!—of her recovery from that dreadful affliction which renders her so completely dependent upon your kindness.’ These ominous and mysterious words seemed to proclaim defeat and overthrow to all the hopes that I had formed relative to the certainty of your being left the sole and unconditional heir alike to title and estate. I therefore resolved to maintain the character of the deaf and dumb until I should have fathomed the secrets of the closet, and have become acquainted with the conditions of the will. Oh! well do I remember the glance which the generous-hearted Duras cast toward me, when, returning to the chamber, he inquired by means of that significant look whether the last words of our dying father were prognostic of hope for me—whether, indeed, the necessity of sustaining the dreadful duplicity would cease when he should be no more. And I remember, also, that the look and the sign, by which I conveyed a negative answer were expressive of the deep melancholy that filled his soul.”