Wagner, the Wehr-Wolf

by George W. M. Reynolds

  “Alas! my dear self-sacrificed sister,” murmured Francisco, tears trickling down his cheeks.

  “Yes—my disappointment was cruel indeed,” continued Nisida. “But the excitement of the scenes and incidents which followed rapidly the death of our father, restored my mind to its wonted tone of fortitude, vigor, and proud determination. That very night, Francisco, I took the key of the cabinet from your garments, while you slept—I sped to the chamber of death—I visited the depository of horrible mysteries—and for the first time I became aware that two skeletons were contained in that closet! And whose fleshless relics those skeletons were, the dreadful manuscript speedily revealed to me. Then was it also for the first time that I learnt how Margaretha was the detestable spy whose agency had led to such a frightful catastrophe in respect to Eugenio and Vitangela; then I became aware that our mother’s corpse slept not in the vault to which a coffin had been consigned:—in a word, the full measure of our sire’s atrocity—O God! that I should be compelled thus to speak—was revealed to me! But on Margaretha have I been avenged,” added Nisida, in a low tone, and with a convulsive shudder produced by the recollection of that terrible night when she immolated the miserable woman above the grave where lay a portion of the remains of her mother and of Eugenio.

  “You have been avenged on Margaretha, sister,” ejaculated Francisco, surveying Nisida with apprehension.

  “Yes,” she replied, her large black eyes flashing with a scintillation of the former fires: “that woman—I have slain her! But start not, Flora—look not reproachfully upon me, Francisco: ’twas a deed fully justified, a vengeance righteously exercised, a penalty well deserved! And now let me hasten to bring my long and tedious explanations to a conclusion—for they have occupied a longer space than I had at first anticipated, and I am weak and faint. Little, however, remains to be told. The nature of our father’s will compelled me to persist in my self-martyrdom: for I had sworn to my dying mother not to accept any conditions or advantages which should have the effect of disinheriting you, Francisco.”

  “Oh! what a debt of gratitude do I owe thee, my beloved sister!” exclaimed the young count, deeply affected by the generous sacrifices made by Nisida on his behalf.

  “And think you I have experienced no reward?” asked the lady in a sweet tone, and with a placid smile: “do you imagine that the consciousness of having devoted myself to the fulfillment of my adored mother’s wishes has been no recompense? Yes—I have had my consolations and my hours of happiness, as well as my sufferings and periods of profound affliction. But I feel a soft and heavenly repose stealing over me—’tis a sweet sleep, and yet it is not the slumber of death! No, no; ’tis a delicious trance into which I am falling—’tis as if a celestial vision——”

  She said no more. Her eyes closed, she fell back and slept soundly.

  “Merciful Heavens! my sister is no more!” exclaimed Francisco, in terror and despair.

  “Fear not, my beloved husband,” said Flora; “Nisida sleeps, and ’tis a healthy slumber. The pulsations of her heart are regular; her breath comes freely. Joy, joy, Francisco, she will recover!”

  “The Holy Virgin grant that your hope may be fulfilled!” returned the young count. “But let us not disturb her. We will sit down by the bedside, Flora, and watch till she shall awake.”

  But scarcely had he uttered these words when the door of the chamber opened, and an old man of venerable appearance, and with a long beard as white as snow, advanced toward the newly married pair.

  Francisco and Flora beheld him with feelings of reverence and awe, for something appeared to tell them that he was a mortal of no common order.

  “My dear children,” he said, addressing them in a paternal manner, and his voice firm, but mild, “ye need not watch here for the present. Retire, and seek not this chamber again until the morning of to-morrow. Fear nothing, excellent young man, for thou hast borne arms in the cause of the cross. Fear nothing, amiable young lady, for thou art attended by guardian angels.”

  And as the venerable man thus addressed them severally, he extended his hands to bless them; and they received that blessing with holy meekness, and yet with a joyous feeling which appeared to be of glorious augury for their future happiness. Then, obedient to the command of the stranger, they slowly quitted the apartment—urged to yield to his will by a secret influence which they could not resist, but which nevertheless animated them with a pious confidence in the integrity of his purpose. The door closed behind them, and Christian Rosencrux remained in the room with the dead Wagner and the dying Nisida.

  CHAPTER LXIV.

  While the incidents related in the last few chapters were taking place at the Riverola Palace, the council of state had assembled to receive the grand vizier, the mighty Ibrahim, who had signified his intention of meeting that august body at three o’clock in the afternoon. Accordingly, as soon as he had witnessed the marriage ceremony which united his sister to the Count of Riverola, he returned from Wagner’s mansion to his own pavilion in the midst of the Ottoman encampment. There he arrayed him in a manner becoming his exalted rank, and mounting his splendid caparisoned steed, he repaired with a brilliant escort to the ducal palace. The streets of the city of Florence were thronged with multitudes eager to gain a sight of the representative of the sultan—a view of the man whose will and pleasure swayed the greatest empire in existence at that period of the world’s age!

  And as Ibrahim passed through those avenues so well known to him—threaded those thoroughfares, each feature of which was so indelibly impressed upon his memory—and beheld many, many familiar spots, all of which awakened in his mind reminiscences of a happy childhood, and of years gone by; when, too, he reflected that he had quitted Florence poor, obscure, and unmarked amidst the millions of his fellow-men; and that now, as he entered the beauteous city, multitudes came forth to gaze upon him, as on one invested with a high rank and enjoying a power mighty to do much; when he thought of all this, his bosom swelled with mingled emotions of pride and tenderness, regret and joy; and while tears trembled upon his long black lashes, a smile of haughty triumph played on his lips. On, on the procession goes, through the crowded streets and across the spacious squares, watched by the eyes of transcendent beauty and proud aristocracy from the balconies of palaces and the casements of lordly mansions; on, on, amidst a wondering and admiring populace, and grateful, too, that so great a chief as Ibrahim should have spared their city from sack and ruin.

  At length the grand vizier, attended by the great beglerbegs and pashas of his army, entered the square of the ducal palace; and as his prancing steed bore him proudly beneath the massive arch, the roar of artillery announced to the City of Flowers that the Ottoman Minister was now within the precincts of the dwelling of the Florentine sovereign. The duke and the members of the council of state were all assembled in the court of the Palazzo to receive the illustrious visitor, who, having dismounted from his horse, accompanied the prince and those high dignitaries to the council-chamber. When the personages thus assembled had taken their seats around the spacious table, covered with a rich red velvet cloth, the grand vizier proceeded to address the duke and the councilors.

  “High and mighty prince, and noble and puissant lords,” he said, in the tone of one conscious of his power, “I am well satisfied with the manner in which my demands have been fulfilled up to this moment. Two ladies, in whom I feel a deep and sincere interest, and who were most unjustly imprisoned to suit the vindictive purposes of the Count of Arestino, have been delivered up to me: and ye have likewise agreed to make full and adequate atonement for the part which Florence enacted in the late contest between the Christians and Mussulmans in the Island of Rhodes. I have therefore determined to reduce my demands upon the republic, for indemnity and compensation, to as low a figure as my own dignity and a sense of that duty which I owe to my sovereign (whom God preserve many days!) will permit. The sum that I now require from your treasury, mighty prince and puissant lords, is a hundred thousa
nd pistoles; and in addition thereto, I claim peculiar privileges for Ottoman vessels trading to Leghorn, guaranty of peace on the part of the republic for three years, and the release of such prisoners now in the dungeons of the inquisition, whom it may seem good to me thus to mark out as deserving of your mercy.”

  “A hundred thousand pistoles, my lord, would completely exhaust the treasury of the republic,” said the duke, with dismay pictured upon his countenance.

  “Think you,” cried the grand vizier, angrily, “that I shall dare to face my imperial master, on my return to Constantinople, unless I be able to lay at his feet a sum adequate to meet the expenses incurred by this expedition of a great fleet and a powerful army?”

  “Your highness will at least accord us a few days wherein to obtain the amount required,” said the duke, “for it will be necessary to levy a tax upon the republic!”

  “I grant you until sunset, my lord—until sunset this evening.” added the grand vizier, speaking with stern emphasis. “And if you will permit me to tender my advice, you will at once command the grand inquisitor and the Count of Arestino to furnish the sum required: for the former, I am inclined to suspect, is a most unjust judge, and the latter, I am well convinced, is a most cruel and revengeful noble.”

  “The Count of Arestino is no more, your highness,” answered the duke. “The Marquis of Orsini murdered him before the very eyes of the grand inquisitor, and will therefore head the procession of victims at the approaching auto-da-fe.”

  “By the footstool of Allah! that shall not be!” exclaimed Ibrahim. “The machinations of the Count of Arestino threw into the inquisition dungeons those two ladies whom ye delivered up to me last night; and it was my intention, when I spoke of releasing certain prisoners ere now, to stipulate for the freedom of all those whom the vengeance of that count has immured in your accursed prison-house. See then, my lords, that all those of whom I speak be forthwith brought hither into our presence!”

  It may be proper to inform the reader that Flora had solicited her brother to save the Marquis of Orsini and the Countess Giulia, to whom the young wife of Francisco had been indebted for her escape from the Carmelite Convent; for, as the secrets of the torture chamber were never suffered to transpire, she was of course ignorant of the death of the guilty Giulia, and of the assassination of the Count of Arestino by the Marquis of Orsini.

  At the command of Ibrahim Pasha, who spoke in a firm and resolute manner, the duke summoned a sentinel from the corridor adjoining the council chamber, and issued the necessary orders to fulfill the desire of the grand vizier. Nearly a quarter of an hour elapsed during which one of the councilors drew up the guaranty of peace and of the commercial privileges demanded by Ibrahim. At length the door opened, and several familiars made their appearance, leading in Manuel d’Orsini and Isaachar ben Solomon, both heavily chained. The former walked with head erect, and proud bearing; the latter could scarcely drag his wasted, racked, and tottering limbs along, and was compelled to hang upon the arms of the familiars for support. Nevertheless, there was something so meek—so patient and so resigned in the expression of the old and persecuted Israelite’s countenance, that Ibrahim Pasha’s soul was touched with a sentiment of pity in his behalf.

  “But these are not all the prisoners,” exclaimed the grand vizier, turning angrily toward the duke; “where is the Countess Giulia of Arestino?”

  “My lord, she is no more,” answered the prince.

  “And Heaven be thanked that she is indeed no more!” cried Manuel d’Orsini, in a tone of mingled rage and bitterness. “Fortunate is it for her that death has snatched her away from the grasp of miscreants in human shape and who call themselves Christians. My lord,” he continued, turning toward Ibrahim, “I know not who you are; but I perceive by your garb that you are a Moslem, and I presume that your rank is high by the title addressed to you by the duke——”

  “Presume not thus to intrude your observations on his highness the grand vizier!” exclaimed one of the councilors in a severe tone.

  “On the contrary,” said Ibrahim Pasha, “let him speak, and without reserve. My Lord of Orsini, fear not—I will protect you.”

  “The remark I was about to make, illustrious vizier,” cried Manuel, “is brief, though it may prove not palatable to the patrons of the inquisition and the supporters of that awful engine of despotism and cruelty,” he added, glancing fiercely at the duke and the assembled councilors. “I was anxious to observe that the Christian Church has founded and maintained that abhorrent institution; and that there is more true mercy—more genuine sympathy—and more of the holy spirit of forgiveness in the breast of this reviled, despised and persecuted Jew, than in the bosoms of all the miserable hypocrites who have dared to sanction the infernal tortures which have been inflicted upon him. For myself, I would not accept mercy at their hands; and I would rather go in the companionship of this Jew to the funeral pile, than remain alive to dwell amongst a race of incarnate fiends, calling themselves Christians!”

  “This insolence is not to be borne,” exclaimed the duke, starting from his seat, his countenance glowing with indignation.

  “Your highness and all the councilors now assembled well merit the reproaches of the Marquis of Orsini,” said the grand vizier, sternly. “But it is for me to command here, and for you to obey, proud prince! Let the chains be removed from those prisoners forthwith.”

  The duke sank back in his chair, and, subduing his rage as well as he was able, he made a sign to the familiars to set the Jew and the marquis at liberty.

  “Grand vizier,” exclaimed Manuel, “the life and the liberty which, at your all-powerful nod are restored to me will prove irksome and valueless if I be compelled to remain in a Christian land. Confer not favors by halves, my lord—render me completely grateful to you! Take me into your service—even as a slave, if your highness will; but let me accompany to a Mussulman country a Mussulman who can teach the Christians such a fine lesson of mercy and forgiveness.”

  “You shall go with me to Constantinople, Manuel—but not as a slave,” returned Ibrahim, profoundly touched by the sincere tone and earnest manner of the young noble; “no—you shall accompany me as a friend.”

  “A thousand thanks, grand vizier, for this kindness—this generosity!” said the marquis, deeply affected; then as a sudden idea struck him, he turned toward the Jew exclaiming, “But we must not leave this old man behind us. ’Twere the same as if we were to abandon a helpless child in the midst of a forest inhabited by ferocious wolves.”

  “Yes—yes—let me accompany you, excellent young man!” murmured Isaachar, clinging to the arm of the marquis, for their chains were now knocked off. “You were the first Christian who ever spoke kindly to me; and I have no kith—no kindred on the face of the earth. I am a lone—desolate old man; but I have wealth—much wealth, Manuel d’Orsini—and all that I have shall be thine.”

  “The Jew shall accompany us, my lord,” said Ibrahim, addressing himself to the marquis; then, turning toward the duke, he exclaimed in a severe tone, “But a few hours remain till sunset, and the ransom of a hundred thousand pistoles must be paid to me; or I will deliver up this proud palace and the homes of the councilors now assembled to the pillage of my troops.”

  “Nay—nay, my lord!” cried the Jew, horror-struck at the threat; “bring not the terrors of sack, and storm, and carnage into this fair city! A hundred thousand pistoles, your highness says,—a hundred thousand pistoles,” he added, in a slower and more musing tone; “’tis a large sum—a very large sum! And yet—to save so many men and their innocent families from ruin—from desolation—— Yes, my lord,” he exclaimed, hastily interrupting himself—“I—I will pay you the ransom-money.”

  “No—by Allah!” ejaculated Ibrahim; “not a single pistole shall be thus extorted from thee! Sooner shall the Florentine Treasury grant thee an indemnification for the horrible tortures which thou hast endured, than thy wealth be poured forth to furnish this ransom-money. Come, my Lord
of Orsini—come, worthy Jew,” continued the grand vizier, rising from his seat, “we will depart to the Ottoman encampment.”

  “Patience, your highness, for a few hours,” urged the duke, “and the hundred thousand pistoles shall be counted out before thee.”

  “This poor man,” answered the grand vizier, indicating the Jew with a rapid glance, “has been so racked and tortured in your accursed prison-house, that he cannot be too speedily placed under the care of my own chirurgeon. For this reason I depart at once; see that the ransom be dispatched to my pavilion ere the sun shall have set behind the western hills.”

  With these words the grand vizier bowed haughtily to the duke, and quitted the council chamber. Manuel d’Orsini followed, supporting Isaachar ben Solomon; and, on reaching the court, one of Ibrahim’s slaves took the Jew up behind him on his steed. The marquis was provided with a horse; and the cavalcade moved rapidly away from the precincts of the ducal palace. Profiting by the hint which Ibrahim Pasha had offered them, the duke and the councilors instantly levied a heavy fine upon the grand inquisitor; and the remainder of the money required to make up the amount demanded, was furnished from the public treasury. Thus by the hour of sunset the ransom was paid.