Penny Dreadful Multipack Vol. 1 (Illustrated. Annotated. 'Wagner The Wehr-Wolf,' 'Varney The Vampire,' 'The Mysteries of London Vol. 1' + Bonus Features) (Penny Dreadful Multipacks) (14 page)

FRANCISCO AND NISIDA—DR. DURAS AND
THE LETTER

The
 
greatest confusion prevailed in
the Riverola Palace, when, in the morning, the disappearance of Flora
Francatelli was discovered.

Nisida hastened, at an early
hour, to her brother’s apartment, and intimated to him the fact that she was
nowhere to be found.

Francisco, who was already
dressed, was overwhelmed with grief at this announcement, and, in the first
excess of excitement, conveyed to her his intention of seeking the young maiden
throughout the city.

He was hastening to quit the
room, when Nisida held him back, and intimated to him that his anxiety in this
respect would create suspicions injurious alike to his reputation and that of
Flora Francatelli—the more so, as she was but a menial in the household.

Francisco paused and reflected
for a few moments; then, having tenderly embraced his sister, he hastily
addressed her by the symbolic language in which they were accustomed to
converse:

“Pardon me, beloved Nisida, for
having kept a secret from thee—the only one that my heart has ever so selfishly
cherished.”

Nisida appeared to be profoundly
astonished at this communication, and made an impatient sign for him to
proceed.

“You will not be surprised at my
anxiety to seek after the missing girl,” he continued, “when I intimate to you
that I love her—and that, next to yourself, she is dearer to me than I can
express.”

“Your passion can scarcely be an
honorable one, Francisco,” was the reproach conveyed by Nisida, while her
countenance wore a corresponding expression.

 “I would sooner die than
harbor an injurious thought in respect to that virtuous and beautiful
creature!” responded the young count, his face flushed with the glow of
generous emotions. “My happiness is intimately connected with this attachment,
Nisida, and I feel convinced that you would rather forward my views than oppose
them.”

“Yes, dear brother,” was the
reply which she conveyed to him: “your happiness is my only consideration.”

But, as she gave this assurance,
an ill-subdued sigh escaped her breast, and she compressed her lips tightly to
crush the emotions that were agitating her. A cloud evanescently appeared on
the broad and marble forehead; the penciled brows contracted, and the eyes
flashed brightly—oh! far more brightly than glanced the ray of the morning sun
through the windows, upon the glossy surface of her luxuriant hair. A momentary
spasm seemed to convulse the full and rounded form; and the small, elegantly
shaped foot which peered from beneath her flowing robe, tapped the floor twice
with involuntary movement.

Mistress as she usually was of
even her most intense feelings, and wonderfully habituated by circumstances to
exercise the most complete command over her emotions, she was now for an
instant vanquished by the gush of painful sentiments which crowded on her soul.

Francisco did not, however,
observe that transitory evidence of acute feeling on the part of his sister—a
feeling which seemed to partake of the nature of remorse, as if she were
conscience-stricken!

For she loved her brother
deeply—tenderly, but after the fashion of her own wild and wonderful
disposition—a love that was not calculated always to prove friendly to his
interests.

Francisco paced the room in an
agitated manner.

At length he stopped near where
his sister was standing, and intimated to her that Flora might perhaps have
repaired to the residence of her aunt.

Nisida conveyed to him this
answer: “The moment that I missed Flora ere now, I dispatched a domestic to her
aunt’s cottage; but she has not been there since Sunday last.”

“Some treachery is at work here,
Nisida,” was the young count’s response. “Flora has not willingly absented
herself.”

At this moment Francisco’s page
entered the apartment to announce that Dr. Duras was in the reception-room.

The young count made a sign to
his sister to accompany him; and they proceeded to the elegant saloon where the
physician was waiting.

Having saluted the count and
Nisida with his usual urbanity, Dr. Duras addressed himself to the former, saying,
“I have just learnt from your lordship’s page that the favorite attendant on
your sister has most unaccountably disappeared.”

“And both Nisida and myself are
at a loss what to conjecture, or how to act,” replied Francisco.

“Florence is at this moment the
scene of dreadful crimes,”
 
 observed
the physician. “Yesterday morning a young female was murdered by a near
neighbor of mine——”

“I was astounded when I heard of
the arrest of Signor Wagner on such a charge,” interrupted the count. “He was
latterly a frequent guest at this house: although, I believe, you never
happened to meet him here?”

“No,” answered the physician;
“but I saw him at the funeral of your lamented father, and once or twice since
in the garden attached to his mansion; and I certainly could not have supposed,
from his appearance, that he was a man capable of so black a crime. I was,
however, about to observe that Florence is at this moment infested by a class
of villains who hesitate at no deed of turpitude. This Signor Wagner is a
foreigner, possessed of immense wealth, the sources of which are totally
unknown; and, moreover, it is declared that the sbirri, yesterday morning,
actually traced the robber-captain Stephano to the vicinity of his mansion. All
this looks black enough, and it is more than probable that Wagner was in league
with the redoubtable Stephano and his banditti. Then the mysterious
disappearance of Flora is, to say the least, alarming, for I believe she was a
well conducted, virtuous, estimable young woman.”

“She was—she was indeed!”
exclaimed Francisco. “At least,” he added, perceiving that the physician was
somewhat astonished at the enthusiasm with which he spoke—“at least, such is my
firm impression; such, too, is the opinion of my sister.”

“The motive which brought me hither
this morning,” said Dr. Duras, “was to offer you a little friendly advice,
which my long acquaintance with your family, my dear count, will prevent you
from taking amiss.”

“Speak, doctor—speak your
thoughts!” cried Francisco, pressing the physician’s hand gratefully.

“I would recommend you to be more
cautious how you form an intimacy with strangers,” continued Dr. Duras. “Rumor
has a thousand tongues—and it is already reported in Florence that the alleged
murderer was on familiar terms with the noble Count of Riverola and Lady
Nisida.”

“The duke himself is liable to be
deceived in respect to the real character of an individual,” said Francisco
proudly.

“But his highness would not form
hasty acquaintances,” replied the physician. “After all, it is with the best
possible feeling that I offer you my counsel—knowing your generous heart, and
also how frequently generosity is imposed upon.”

“Pardon the impatience with which
I answered you, my dear friend,” exclaimed the young count.

“No pardon is necessary,” said
the physician; “because you did not offend me. One word more and I must take my
leave. Crimes are multiplying thickly in Florence, and Stephano’s band becomes
each day more and more daring; so that it is unsafe to walk alone in the city
after dusk. Beware how you stir unattended, my dear Francisco, at unseasonable
hours.”

“My habits are not of that
nature,” replied the count. “I, however, thank you cordially for your
well-meant advice. But
 
 you
appear to connect the disappearance of Flora Francatelli,” he added, very
seriously, “with the dreadful deed supposed to be committed by Signor Wagner!”

“I merely conjecture that this
Wagner is associated with that lawless horde who have become the terror of the
republic,” answered the physician; “and it is natural to suppose that these
wretches are guilty of all the enormous crimes which have lately struck the
city with alarm.”

Francisco turned aside to conceal
the emotions which these remarks excited within him; for he began to apprehend
that she whom he loved so fondly had met with foul play at the hands of the
bravoes and banditti whom Stephano was known to command.

Dr. Duras seized that opportunity
to approach Nisida, who was standing at the window; and as he thrust into her
hand a note, which was immediately concealed in her dress, he was struck with
surprise and grief at the acute anguish that was depicted on her countenance.

Large tears stood on her long,
dark lashes, and her face was ashy pale.

The physician made a sign of
anxious inquiry; but Nisida, subduing her emotions with an almost superhuman
effort, pressed his hand violently and hurried from the room.

Dr. Duras shook his head
mournfully, but also in a manner which showed that he was at a loss to
comprehend that painful manifestation of feeling on the part of one whom he
well knew to be endowed with almost miraculous powers of self-control.

His meditations were interrupted
by Francisco, who, addressing him abruptly, said, “In respect to the missing
young lady, whose absence will be so acutely felt by my sister, the only course
which I can at present pursue, is to communicate her mysterious disappearance
to the captain of police.”

“No time should be lost in
adopting that step,” responded the doctor. “I am about to visit a sick nobleman
in the neighborhood of the captain’s office: we will proceed so far in each
other’s company.”

The young count summoned his page
to attend upon him, and then quitted the mansion in company with the physician.

In the meantime Nisida had
retired to her own apartment, where she threw herself into a seat, and gave
vent to the dreadful emotions which had for the last hour been agitating within
her bosom.

She wept—oh! she wept long and
bitterly: it was terrible and strange to think how that woman of iron mind now
yielded to the outpourings of her anguish.

Some time elapsed ere she even
attempted to control her feelings; and then her struggle to subdue them was as
sudden and energetic as her grief had a moment previously been violent and
apparently inconsolable.

Then she recollected the note
which Dr. Duras had slipped into her hand, and which she had concealed in her
bosom; and she hastened to peruse it. The contents ran as follows:

 “In accordance with your
request, my noble-hearted and much-enduring friend, I have consulted eminent lawyers
in respect to the will of the late Count of Riverola. The substance of their
opinion is unanimously this: The estates are inalienably settled on yourself,
should you recover the faculties of hearing and speaking at any time previous
to your brother’s attainment of the age of thirty; and should you enter into
possession of the estates, and allow your brother to enjoy the whole or greater
part of the revenues, in direct contradiction to the spirit of your father’s
will, the estates would become liable to confiscation by his highness the duke.
In this case your brother and yourself would alike be ruined.

“Now, the advice that these
lawyers give is this: A memorial should be addressed to his highness,
exhibiting that you refuse to undergo any surgical treatment or operation for
the restoration of the faculties of hearing and speech, inasmuch as you would
not wish to deprive your brother of the enjoyment of the estates nor of the
title conferred by their possession: that you therefore solicit a decree, confirming
his title of nobility, and dispensing with the prerogative of confiscation on
the part of the prince, should you recover the faculties of hearing and speech,
and act in opposition to the will of your late father in respect to the power
of alienating the estates from your own possession.

“Such, my generous-minded friend,
is the counsel offered by eminent advocates; and, by the memory of your sainted
mother, if not for the sake of your own happiness, I implore you to act in
accordance with these suggestions. You will remember that this advice pretty
accurately corresponds with that which I gave you, when, late on the night that
the will was read, you quitted your sleepless couch and came to my dwelling to
consult me on a point so intimately connected with your felicity in this world.

“Your sincerely devoted friend,
“Jeronymo Duras.”

While Nisida was occupied in the
perusal of the first paragraph of this letter, dark clouds lowered upon her
brow; but as she read the second paragraph, wherein the salutary advice of the
lawyers was conveyed to her, those clouds rapidly dispersed, and her splendid
countenance became lighted up with joyous, burning, intoxicating hope!

It was evident that she had
already made up her mind to adopt the counsel proffered her by the eminent
advocates whom the friendly physician had consulted on her behalf.

THE SUBURB OF ALLA CROCE—THE JEW—THE
ROBBER CHIEF’S LOVE

It
 
was past the hour of ten on
Saturday night, when a tall, powerfully built man emerged from what might be
termed the fashionable portion of the city of Florence, and struck into the
straggling suburb of Alla Croce.

 This quarter of the town
was of marvelously bad reputation, being infested by persons of the worst
description, who, by herding, as it were, together in one particular district,
had converted the entire suburb into a sort of sanctuary where crime might take
refuge, and into which the sbirri, or police-officers, scarcely dared to
penetrate.

The population of Alla Croce was
not, however, entirely composed of individuals who were at variance with the
law, for poverty as well as crime sought an asylum in that assemblage of
forbidding-looking dwellings, which formed so remarkable a contrast with the
marble palaces, noble public buildings, and handsome streets of the city of
Florence itself.

And not only did the denizens of
penury and crushing toil, the artisans, the vine-dressers, the gardeners, the
water-carriers, and the porters of Florence occupy lodgings in the suburb of
Alla Croce, but even wealthy persons—yes, men whose treasures were vast enough
to pay the ransom of princes—buried themselves and their hoards in this
horrible neighborhood.

We allude to that most
undeservedly-persecuted race, the Jews—a race endowed with many virtues and
generous qualities, but whose characters have been blackened by a host of
writers whose narrow minds and illiberal prejudices have induced them to
preserve all the exaggerations and misrepresentations which tradition hands
down in the Christian world relative to the cruelly-treated Israelite.

The enlightened commercial policy
of those merchant princes, the Medici, had, during the primal glories of their
administrative sway in the Florentine Republic, relaxed the severity of the
laws against the Jews, and recognizing in the persecuted Israelites those grand
trading and financial qualities which have ever associated the idea of wealth
with their name, permitted them to follow unmolested their specific pursuits.

But at the time of which we are
writing—the year 1521—the prince who had the reins of the Florentine
Government, had yielded to the representations of a bigoted and intolerant
clergy, and the Jews had once more become the subjects of persecution. The
dissipated nobles extorted from them by menace those loans which would not have
been granted on the security proffered; and the wealthy members of the
“scattered race” actually began to discover that they could repose greater
confidence in the refuse of the Florentine population than in the brilliant
aristocracy, or even in the famous sbirri themselves. Thus had many rich Jews
established themselves in the quarter of Alla Croce; and by paying a certain
sum to the syndic, or magistrate of this suburb—a functionary elected by the
inhabitants themselves, and in virtue of a law of their own enactment—the
persecuted Israelites enjoyed comparative security and peace.

We now return to the man we left
plunging into the suburbs of which we have afforded a short and necessary
account.

This individual was dressed in
simple attire, but composed of excellent materials. His vest was of dark
velvet, slashed, but not embroidered; and on his breast he wore a jazeran, or
mailed cuirass, which was not only lighter than a steel corselet, but was
 
 equally proof against poniard or
pike. In his broad leather belt were stuck two pairs of pistols, and a long
dagger; a heavy broadsword also hung by his side. His black boots came up
nearly to the knee—in contravention of the prevailing fashion of that age, when
these articles of dress seldom reached above the swell of the leg. A large
slouched hat, without plumage or any ornament, was drawn down as much as
possible over his features; and the broad
 
mantello
, or cloak, was gathered
round the body in such a manner that it covered all the left side and the weapons
fastened in the belt, but left the sword arm free for use in any sudden
emergency.

Behind the wayfarer stretched the
magnificent city of Florence, spreading over the deep vale, on both sides of
the Arno, and, as usual, brilliant with light, like a world of stars shining in
mimic rivalry of those that studded the purple vault above.

Before him were the mazes of the
Alla Croce, the darkness of which suburb was only interrupted by a few
straggling and feeble lights gleaming from houses of entertainment, or from
huts whose poverty required not the protection of shutters to the casements.

And now, as one of those faint
lights suddenly fell upon the wayfarer’s countenance, as he passed the abode in
which it shone—let us avail ourselves of the opportunity afforded by that
glimpse, to state that this man’s features were handsome, but coarse, bearing
the traces of a dissolute life. His age was apparently forty; it might even
have been a few years more matured—but his coal-black hair, mustachio, and
bushy whiskers, unstreaked by silver, showed that time sat lightly on his head,
in spite of the evident intimacy with the wine-cup above alluded to.

Having threaded the greater
portion of the suburb, which was almost knee-deep in mud—for it had been
raining nearly all day, and had only cleared up after sunset—the individual
whom we have been describing stopped at the corner of a street, and gave a
shrill whistle.

The signal was immediately
answered in a similar fashion, and in a few minutes a man emerged from the darkness
of a by-street. He also was well-armed, but much more plainly dressed than the
other; and his countenance was such as would not have proved a very friendly
witness in his favor in a court of justice.

“Lomellino?” said the first
individual whom we have described in this chapter.

“Captain Stephano!” responded the
other.

“All right, my fine lad,”
returned the bandit-captain. “Follow me.”

The two robbers then proceeded in
silence until they reached a house larger and stronger in appearance than any
other in the same street. The shutters which protected the casements were
massive and strengthened with iron bars and huge nails, somewhat after the
fashion of church doors.

The walls were of solid gray
stones, whereas those of the adjacent huts were of mud or wood. In a word, this
dwelling seemed a little fortress in the midst of an exposed and unprotected
town.

 Before this house the
robbers stopped.

“Do you remain on the other side
of the street, Lomellino,” said the bandit-chief; “and if need be, you will
answer to my accustomed signal.”

“Good, captain,” was the reply;
and Lomellino crossed over the way to the deep shade of the houses on that
side.

Stephano then gave a low knock at
the door of the well-defended dwelling above described.

Several minutes elapsed; and no
sounds were heard within.

“The old usurer is at home, I
know,” muttered Stephano to himself; for the moment he had knocked a gleam of
light, peeping through a crevice in an upper casement, had suddenly
disappeared. He now rapped more loudly at the door with the handle of his heavy
broadsword.

“Ah! he comes!” muttered the
bandit-chief, after another long pause.

“Who knocks so late?” demanded a
weak and tremulous voice from within.

“I—Stephano Verrina!” cried the
brigand pompously: “open—and fear not.”

The bolts were drawn back—a chain
fell heavily on the stone floor inside—and the door opened, revealing the form
of an old and venerable-looking man, with a long white beard. He held a lamp in
his hand: and, by its fitful glare, his countenance, of the Jewish cast,
manifested an expression denoting the terror which he vainly endeavored to
conceal.

“Enter. Signor Stephano,” said
the old man. “But wherefore here so late?”

“Late, do ye call it. Signor
Isaachar?” ejaculated the bandit, crossing the threshold. “Meseems there is yet
time to do a world of business this night, for those who have the opportunity
and the inclination.”

“Ah! but you and yours turn night
into day,” replied the Jew, with a chuckle intended to be of a conciliatory
nature: “or rather you perform your avocations at a time when others sleep.”

“Every one to his calling, friend
Isaachar,” said the brigand chief. “Come! have you not made that door fast
enough yet? you will have to open it soon again—for my visit will be none of
the longest.”

The Jew having replaced the
chains and fastened the huge bolts which protected the house-door, took up the
lamp and led the way to a small and meanly-furnished room at the back of his
dwelling.

“What business may have brought
you hither to-night, good Captain Verrina?” he inquired in a tone of
ill-subdued apprehension.

“Not to frighten thee out of thy
wits, good Isaachar,” responded Stephano, laughing.

“Ah! ha!” exclaimed the Jew,
partially reassured: “perhaps you have come to repay me the few crowns I had the
honor to lend you—without security, and without interest——”

“By my patron saint! thou wast
never more mistaken in thy
 
 life,
friend Isaachar!” interrupted the robber chief. “The few crowns you speak of,
were neither more nor less than a tribute paid on consideration that my men
should leave unscathed the dwelling of worthy Isaachar ben Solomon: in other
words, that thy treasures should be safe at least from them.”

“Well—well! be it so!” cried the
Jew. “Heaven knows I do not grudge the amount in question—although,” he added
slowly, “I am compelled to pay almost an equal sum to the syndic.”

“The syndic of Alla Croce and the
captain of the banditti are two very different persons,” returned Stephano.
“The magistrate protects you from those over whom he has control: and I, on my
side, guaranty you against the predatory visits of those over whom I exercise
command. But let us to business.”

“Ay—to business!” echoed the Jew,
anxious to be relieved from the state of suspense into which this visit had
thrown him.

“You are acquainted with the
young, beautiful, and wealthy Countess of Arestino, Isaachar?” said the bandit.

The Jew stared at him in
increased alarm, now mingled with amazement.

“But, in spite of all her
wealth,” continued Stephano, “she was compelled to pledge her diamonds to thee,
to raise the money wherewith to discharge a gambling debt contracted by her
lover, the high-born, handsome, but ruined Marquis of Orsini.”

“How knowest thou all this?”
inquired the Jew.

“From her ladyship’s own lips,”
responded Stephano. “At least she told me she had raised the sum to accommodate
a very particular friend. Now, as the transaction is unknown to her husband,
and as I am well assured that the Marquis of Orsini is really on most excellent
terms with her ladyship—moreover, as this same marquis did pay a certain heavy
gambling debt within an hour after the diamonds were pledged to you—it requires
but little ingenuity to put all these circumstances together, to arrive at the
result which I have mentioned. Is it not so, Isaachar?”

“I know not the motive for which
the money was raised,” answered the Jew, wondering what was coming next.

“Oh! then the money was raised
with you,” cried Stephano, “and consequently you hold the diamonds.”

“I did not say so—I——”

“A truce to this fencing with my
words!” ejaculated the bandit, impatiently. “I have an unconquerable desire to
behold these diamonds——”

“You, good captain!” murmured
Isaachar, trembling from head to foot.

“Yes, I! And wherefore not? Is
there anything so marvelous in a man of my refined tastes and exquisite notions
taking a fancy to inspect the jewels of one of the proudest beauties of gay
Florence? By my patron saint! you should thank me that I come in so polite a
manner to request a favor, the granting of which I could so easily compel
without all this tedious circumlocution.”

“The diamonds!” muttered the Jew,
doubtless troubled at the idea of surrendering the security which he held for a
very considerable loan.

 “Perdition seize the man!”
thundered Stephano, now waxing angry. “Yes, the diamonds, I say; and fortunate
will it be for you if they are produced without further parley.”

Thus speaking the bandit suffered
his cloak to fall from over his belt, and the Jew’s quick eye recoiled from the
sight of those menacing weapons, with which his visitor was armed, as it were,
to the teeth.

Then without further
remonstrance, but with many profound sighs, Isaachar proceeded to fetch a small
iron box from another room; and in a few moments the diamond case, made of
sandal wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl, was in the bandit captain’s hands.

“Let me convince myself that it
is all right!” exclaimed Stephano, examining the lid of the case. “Yes, there
are the arms of Arestino, with the ciphers of the Countess, G. A.—Giulia
Arestino—a very pretty name, by my troth! Ah, how the stones sparkle!” he
cried, as he opened the case. “And the inventory is complete, just as it was
described to me by her ladyship. You are a worthy man, Isaachar, a good man;
you will have restored tranquillity to the mind of the beautiful countess,”
continued Stephano, in a bantering tone: “and she will be enabled to appear at
court to-morrow, with her husband. Good-night, Isaachar; my brave men shall
receive orders to the effect that the first who dares to molest you may reckon
upon swinging to the highest tree that I can find for his accommodation.”