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) (24 page)

WAGNER AND THE
TEMPTER—PHANTASMAGORIA

While
 
Stephano was bearing away the
Lady Nisida in the manner described in the preceding chapter, Fernand Wagner
was pacing his solitary cell, conjecturing what would be the result of the
morrow’s trial.

 Nisida had visited him a
second time on the preceding evening—disguised, as on the former occasion, in
male attire; and she had implored him, in the language of the deaf and dumb,
but far more eloquently with her speaking eyes and the expression of her
beauteous countenance, to allow measures to be that night adopted to effect his
immediate escape. But he had resolutely persisted in his original determination
to undergo his trial: for by pursuing this course, he stood the chance of an
acquittal; and he knew on the other hand that if he were sentenced to die, the
decree of the human tribunal could not be carried into execution. How his
escape from that fate (should death be indeed ordained) was beyond his power of
comprehension; but that he possessed a superhuman protector he knew full well.

Without revealing to Nisida his
motives for meeting the criminal judges, he refused to yield to her silently
but eloquently pleaded prayer that he would escape should gold induce the
jailers to throw open the door of his cell: but he conveyed to her the
assurance that the deep interest she manifested in his behalf only bound him
the more sincerely and devotedly to her.

During eight or nine days of his
imprisonment, he had reflected deeply upon the murder of Agnes. He naturally
associated that black deed with the mystery of the strange lady who had so
alarmed Agnes on several occasions; and he had of course been struck by the
likeness of his much loved Nisida to her whom his dead granddaughter had so
minutely described to him. But, if ever suspicion pointed toward Nisida as the
murderess of Agnes, he closed his eyes upon the bare idea—he hurled it from
him; and he rather fell back upon the unsatisfactory belief that the entire case
was wrapped in a profound mystery than entertain a thought so injurious to her
whom he loved so tenderly.

We said that Nisida had visited
him on Saturday night. She had determined to essay her powers of mute
persuasion once more ere she finally arranged with the bandit for his rescue.
But that arrangement was not to take place; for on the Sabbath evening she was
carried away, in the manner already described. And it was now, also, on that
Sabbath evening that Wagner was pacing his dungeon—pondering on the probable
result of his trial, and yet never ceasing to think of Nisida. His memory
re-traveled all the windings, and wanderings, and ways which his feet had
trodden during a long, long life, and paused to dwell upon that far back hour
when he loved the maiden who became the wife of his first period of youth—for
he was now in a second period of youth; and he felt that he did not love her so
devotedly—so tenderly—so passionately as he loved Nisida now. Suddenly, as he
paced his dungeon and pondered on the past as well as on the present, the lamp
flickered; and, before he could replenish it with oil, the wick died in its
socket. He had the means of procuring another light; but he cared not to avail
himself thereof, and he was about to lay aside his vesture, preparatory to
seeking his humble pallet, when he was struck by the
 
 appearance of a dim and misty
luster which seemed to emanate from the wall facing the door. He was not
alarmed; he had seen and passed through too much in this world to be readily
terrified:—but he stood gazing, with intense curiosity and profound
astonishment, upon that phenomenon for which his imagination suggested no
natural cause.

Gradually the luster became more
powerful; but in the midst of it there appeared a dark cloud, which by degrees
assumed the appearance of a human form; and in a few minutes Wagner beheld a
tall, strange-looking figure standing before him.

But assuredly that was no mortal
being; for, apart from the mysterious mode in which he had introduced himself
into the dungeon, there was on his countenance so
withering—bitter—scornful—sardonic a smile, that never did human face wear so
sinister an expression. And yet this being wore a human shape, and was attired
in the habiliments of that age;—the long doublet, the tight hose, the trunk
breeches, the short cloak, and the laced collar: but his slouched hat, instead
of having a large and gracefully waving plume, was decorated with but a single
feather.

Fernand stood with fascinated
gaze fixed upon the being whose eyes seemed to glare with subdued lightnings,
like those of the basilisk. There was something awful in that form—something
wildly and menacingly sinister in the sardonic smile that curled his lips as if
with ineffable contempt, and with the consciousness of his own power!

“Wagner!” he said, at length
breaking silence, and speaking in a deep sonorous voice, which reverberated
even in that narrow dungeon like the solemn tone of the organ echoing amidst
cloistral roofs: “Wagner, knowest thou who the being is that now addresseth
thee?”

“I can conjecture,” answered
Fernand, boldly. “Thou art the Power of Darkness.”

“So men call me,” returned the
demon, with a scornful laugh, “Yes—I am he whose delight it is to spread
desolation over a fertile and beautiful earth—he, whose eternal enmity against
man is the fruitful source of so much evil! But of all the disciples who have
ever yet aided me in my hostile designs on the human race, none was so
serviceable as Faust—that Count of Aurana, whose portrait thou hast so well
delineated, and which now graces the wall of thy late dwelling.”

“Would that I had never known
him!” ejaculated Wagner fervently.

“On the contrary,” resumed the
demon; “thou should’st be thankful that in the wild wanderings of his latter
years he stopped at thy humble cottage in the Black Forest of Germany.
Important to thee were the results of that visit—and still more important may
they become!”

“Explain thyself, fiend!” said
Wagner, nothing dismayed.

“Thou wast tottering with
age—hovering on the brink of the tomb—suspended to a thread which the finger of
a child might have snapped,” continued the demon; “and in one short hour thou
wast restored to youth, vigor, and beauty.”

 “And by how dreadful a
penalty was that renovated existence purchased!” exclaimed Wagner.

“Hast thou not been taught by
experience that no human happiness can be complete?—that worldly felicity must
ever contain within itself some element of misery and distress?” demanded the
fiend. “Reflect—and be just! Thou art once more young—and thy tenure of life
will last until that age at which thou would’st have perished, had no
superhuman power intervened to grant thee a new lease of existence! Nor is a
long life the only boon conferred upon thee hitherto. Boundless wealth is ever
at thy command; the floor of this dungeon would be strewed with gold, and
jewels, and precious stones, at thy bidding—as thou well knowest! Moreover,
thou wast ignorant—illiterate—uninformed: now all the sources of knowledge—all
the springs of learning—all the fountains of science and art, are at thy
disposal, and with whose waters thou canst slake the thirst of thine intellect.
Endowed with a youthfulness and a vigor of form that will yield not to the
weight of years—that will defy the pressure of time—and that no malady can
impair,—possessed of wealth having no limit,—and enriched with a mind so stored
with knowledge that the greatest sage is as a child in comparison with
thee,—how darest thou complain or repent of the compact which has given to thee
all these, though associated with the destiny of a Wehr-Wolf?”

“It is of this fatal—this
terrible destiny that I complain and that I repent,” answered Wagner. “Still do
I admit that the advantages which I have obtained by embracing that destiny are
great.”

“And may be far greater!” added
the demon, impressively. “Handsome, intelligent, and rich—all that thou dost
require is power!”

“Yes,” exclaimed Wagner,
eagerly—and now manifesting, for the first time since the appearance of the
fiend in his cell, any particular emotion: “I have need of
 
power!
—power
to avert those evils into which my sad destiny may plunge me,—power to dominate
instead of being subject to the opinions of mankind,—power to prove my complete
innocence of the dreadful crime now imputed to me,—power to maintain an
untarnished reputation, to which I cling most lovingly,—power, too,” he added
in a slower and also a more subdued tone—“power to restore the lost faculties
of hearing and speech to her whom I love.”

Strange was the smile that curled
the demon’s lips as Wagner breathed these last words.

“You require power—power almost
without limit,” said the fiend, after a few moments’ pause; “and that aim is
within thy reach. Handsome, intelligent, and rich,” he continued, dwelling on
each word with marked emphasis, “how happy may’st thou be when possessed of the
power to render available, in all their glorious extent, the gifts—the
qualities wherewith thou art already endowed! When in the service of
Faust—during those eighteen months which expired at the hour of sunset on the
thirtieth of July, 1517——”

 “Alas!” cried Wagner, his
countenance expressing emotions of indescribable horror; “remind me not of that
man’s fate! Oh! never—never can I forget the mental agony—the profound and
soul-felt anguish which he experienced, and which he strove not to conceal,
when at the gate of Vienna on that evening he bade me farewell—forever.”

“But thou wast happy—supremely
happy in his service,” said the demon; “and thou didst enjoy a fair opportunity
of appreciating the value of the power which he possessed. By his superhuman
aid wast thou transported from clime to clime—as rapidly as thought is
transfused by the interchange of lovers’ glances; and in that varied, bustling,
busied life wast thou supremely happy. The people of Europe spoke of that western
world, the discovery of which recently rewarded the daring venture of great
navigators; and you were desirous to behold that new continent. Your master
repeated the wish; and by my invisible agency, ye stood in a few moments in the
presence of the red men of North America. Again—you accompanied your master to
the eternal ice of the northern pole, and from the doorway of the Esquimaux hut
he beheld the wondrous play of the boreal lights. On a third occasion, and in
obedience to your wish, you stood with your master in the Island of Ceylon,
where the first scene that presented itself to your view was an occurrence
which, though terrible, is not uncommon in that reptile-infested clime.
Afterward, my power—although its active agency was but partially known to
you—transported you and the count your master—
now my victim
—to the fantastic and interesting
scenes of China—then to the court of the wife-slaying tyrant of England, and
subsequently to the most sacred privacy of the imperial palace at
Constantinople. How varied have been thy travels!—how rapid thy movements. And
that the scenes which thine eyes did thus contemplate made a profound
impression upon thy mind is proved by the pictures now hanging to the walls of
thy late dwelling.”

“But wherefore this recapitulation
of everything I know so well already?” asked Wagner.

“To remind thee of the advantages
of that power which Faust, thy master, possessed, and which ceased to be
available to thee when the term of his compact with myself arrived. Yes,”
continued the demon emphatically, “the powers which he possessed may be
possessed by thee—and thou may’st, with a single word, at once and forever
shake off the trammels of thy present doom—the doom of a Wehr-Wolf!”

“Oh! to shake off those trammels,
were indeed a boon to be desired!” exclaimed Wagner.

“And to possess the power to
gratify thy slightest whim,” resumed the demon, “to possess the power to
transport thyself at will to any clime, however distant—to be able to defy the
machinations of men and the combination of adverse circumstances, such as have
plunged thee into this dungeon—to be able, likewise, to say to thy beloved
Nisida, ‘Receive back the faculties which thou hast lost——’”

And again was the smile sinister
and strange that played upon
 
 the
lips of the demon. But Wagner noticed it not. His imagination was excited by
the subtle discourse to which he had lent so ready an ear.

“And hast
 
thou
 
the power,” he cried impatiently, “to
render me thus powerful?”

“I have,” answered the demon.

“But the terms—the conditions—the
compact!” exclaimed Wagner, in feverish haste, though with foreboding
apprehension.

“
Thine immortal soul
!”
responded the fiend, in a low but sonorous and horrifying whisper.

“No—no!” shrieked Wagner,
covering his face with his hands. “Avaunt, Satan, I defy thee! Ten thousand,
thousand times preferable is the doom of the Wehr-Wolf, appalling even though
that be!” With folded arms and scornful countenance, did the demon stand gazing
upon Wagner, by the light of the supernatural luster which filled the cell.

“Dost thou doubt my power?” he
demanded, in a slow and imperious tone. “If so, put it to the test, unbelieving
mortal that thou art! But remember—should’st thou require evidence of that
power which I propose to make available to thee, it must not be to give thee
liberty, nor aught that may enhance thy interest.”