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) (27 page)

And oh! what would her brother
think of her absence? what would Fernand conjecture? And what perils might not
at that moment envelop her lover, while she was not near to succor him by means
of her artifice, her machinations, or her gold. Ten thousand-thousand
maledictions upon Stephano, who was the cause of all her present misery! Ten
thousand-thousand
 
 maledictions
on her own folly for not having exerted all her energies and all her faculties
to escape from his power, ere she was conveyed on board the corsair ship, and
it was too late!

But useless now were regrets and
repinings; for the past could not be recalled, and the future might have much
happiness in store for Nisida. For oh! sweetest comes the hope which is lured
back because its presence is indispensable; and, oppressed as Nisida was with
the weight of her misfortunes, her soul was too energetic, too sanguine, too
impetuous to yield to despair.

Day after day passed, and still
not a ship appeared. Nisida did not penetrate much further into the island than
the valley which we have described, and whither she was accustomed to repair to
gather the flowers that she wove into diadems. She lingered for the most part
near the shore on which she had been thrown, fearing lest, if away, a ship
might pass in her absence.

Each day she bathed her beauteous
form in the Mediterranean; each day she devoted some little time to the
adornment of her person with wreaths of flowers. She wove crowns for her
head—necklaces, bracelets, and scarfs,—combining the flowers so as to form the
most wild and fanciful devices, and occasionally surveying herself in the
natural mirror afforded her by the limpid stream. Purposely wearing an apparel
as scanty as possible, on account of the oppressive heat which prevailed during
each day of twelve long hours, and which was not materially moderated at night,
she supplied to some extent the place of the superfluous garments thus thrown
aside, by means of tissues of cool, refreshing, fragrant flowers.

Thus, by the time she had been
ten or twelve days upon the island, her appearance seemed most admirably to
correspond with her new and lonely mode of life, and the spot where her
destinies had cast her. Habited in a single linen garment, confined round the
slender waist with a cestus of flowers, and with light slippers upon her feet,
but with a diadem of roses on her head, and with wreaths round her bare arms,
and her equally bare ankles, she appeared to be the goddess of that island—the
genius of that charming clime of fruits, and verdure, and crystal streams, and
flowers. The majesty of her beauty was softened, and thus enhanced, by the
wonderful simplicity of her attire; the dazzling brilliancy of her charms was
subdued by the chaste, the innocent, the primitive aspect with which those
fantastically woven flowers invested her. Even the extraordinary luster of her
fine dark eyes was moderated by the gaudy yet elegant assemblage of hues formed
by those flowers which she wore. Was it not strange that she whose soul we have
hitherto seen bent on deeds or schemes of stern and important nature—who never
acted without a motive, and whose mind was far too deeply occupied with worldly
cares and pursuits to bestow a thought on trifles—who, indeed, would have
despised herself had she wasted a moment in toying with a flower, or watching
the playful motions of a bird,—was it not strange that Nisida should have
become so changed as we now find her in that island of which she was the queen?

Conceive that same Nisida who
planned dark plots against
 
 Flora
Francatelli, now tripping along the banks of the sunlit stream, bedecked with
flowers and playing with the swans. Imagine that same being, who dealt death to
Agnes, now seated beneath the shade of myrtles and embowering vines,
distributing bread or pomegranate seeds to the birds that hopped cheerfully
around her. Picture to yourself that woman of majestic beauty, whom you have
seen clad in black velvet and wearing a dark thick veil, now weaving for
herself garments of flowers, and wandering in the lightest possible attire by
the seashore, or by the rippling stream, or amidst the mazes of the fruit-laden
groves.

And sometimes, as she sat upon
the yellow sand, gazing on the wavelets of the Mediterranean, that were racing
one after another, like living things from some far off region, to that lovely
but lonely isle, it would seem as if all the low and sweet voices of the
sea—never loud and sullen now, since the night of storm which cast her on that
strand—were heard by her, and made delicious music to her ears! In that island
must we leave her now for a short space,—leave her to her birds, her flowers,
and her mermaid-sports in the sea,—leave her also to her intervals of dark and
dismal thoughts, and to her long, but ineffectual watchings for the appearance
of a sail in the horizon.

THE WEHR-WOLF

It
 
was the last day of the month;
and the hour of sunset was fast approaching. Great was the sensation that
prevailed throughout the city of Florence. Rumor had industriously spread, and
with equal assiduity exaggerated, the particulars of Fernand Wagner’s trial,
and the belief that a man on whom the horrible destiny of a Wehr-Wolf had been
entailed, was about to suffer the extreme penalty of the law, was generally
prevalent.

The great square of the ducal
palace, where the scaffold was erected, was crowded with the Florentine
populace; and the windows were literally alive with human faces. Various were
the emotions and feelings which influenced that mass of spectators. The
credulous and superstitious—forming more than nine-tenths of the whole
multitude—shook their heads, and commented amongst themselves, in subdued whispers,
on the profane rashness of the chief judge, who dared to doubt the existence of
such a being as a Wehr-Wolf. The few who shared the skepticism of the judge
applauded that high functionary for his courage in venturing so bold a stroke
in order to destroy what he and they deemed an idle superstition.

But the great mass were dominated
by a profound and indeed most painful sensation of awe; curiosity induced them
to remain, though their misgivings prompted them to fly from the spot which had
been fixed upon for the execution. The flowers of Florentine loveliness—and
never in any age did the republic boast of so much female beauty—were present:
but bright eyes
 
 flashed
forth uneasy glances, and snowy bosoms beat with alarms, and fair hands
trembled in the lover’s pressure. In the midst of the square was raised a high
platform covered with black cloth, and presenting an appearance so ominous and
sinister that it was but little calculated to revive the spirits of the timid.
On this scaffold was a huge block: and near the block stood the headsman,
carelessly leaning on his ax, the steel of which was polished and bright as
silver. A few minutes before the hour of sunset, the chief judge, the
procurator fiscal, the two assistant-judges, and the lieutenant of sbirri,
attended by a turnkey and several subordinate police officers, were repairing
in procession along the corridor leading to the doomed prisoner’s cell.

The chief judge alone was
dignified in manner; and he alone wore a demeanor denoting resolution and at
the same time self-possession. Those who accompanied him were, without a single
exception, a prey to the most lively fear; and it was evident that had they
dared to absent themselves they would not have been present on this occasion.
At length the door of the prisoner’s cell was reached; and there the procession
paused.

“The moment is now at hand,” said
the chief judge, “when a monstrous and ridiculous superstition, imported into
our country from that cradle and nurse of preposterous legends—Germany—shall be
annihilated forever. This knave who is about to suffer has doubtless propagated
the report of his lupine destiny, in order to inspire terror and thus prosecute
his career of crime and infamy with the greater security from chances of
molestation. For this end he painted the picture which appalled so many of you
in the judgment hall, but which, believe, my friends, he did not always believe
destined to retain its sable covering. Well did he know that the curiosity of a
servant or of a friend would obtain a peep beneath the mystic veil; and he
calculated that the terror with which he sought to invest himself would be
enhanced by the rumors and representations spread by those who had thus
penetrated into its feigned secrets. But let us not waste that time which now
verges toward a crisis, whereby doubt shall be dispelled and a ridiculous
superstition destroyed forever.”

At this moment a loud, a
piercing, and an agonizing cry burst from the interior of the cell.

“The knave has overheard me, and
would fain strike terror to your hearts!” exclaimed the chief judge; then in a
still louder tone, he commanded the turnkey to open the door of the dungeon.
But when the man approached, so strange, so awful, so appalling were the sounds
which came from the interior of the cell, that he threw down the key in dismay
and rushed from the dreadful vicinity.

“My lord, I implore you to
pause!” said the procurator fiscal, trembling from head to foot.

“Would you have me render myself
ridiculous in the eyes of all Florence?” demanded the chief judge sternly.

Yet, so strange were now the
noises which came from the interior of the dungeon—so piercing the cries of
agony—so violent the rustling and tossing on the stone floor, that for the
first time
 
 this bold
functionary entertained a partial misgiving, as if he had indeed gone too far.
But to retreat was impossible; and, with desperate resolution, the chief judge
picked up the key and thrust it into the lock.

His assistants, the procurator
fiscal, and the sbirri drew back with instinctive horror, as the bolts groaned
in the iron work which held them; the chain fell with a clanking sound; and as
the door was opened, the horrible monster burst forth from the dungeon with a
terrific howl. Yells and cries of despair reverberated through the long
corridor: and those sounds were for an instant broken by that of the falling of
a heavy body.

’Twas the chief judge, hurled
down and dashed violently against the rough uneven masonry, by the mad
careering of the Wehr-Wolf as the monster burst from his cell. On, on he sped,
with the velocity of lightning, along the corridor, giving vent to howls of the
most horrifying description.

Fainting with terror, the
assistant judges, the procurator fiscal, and the sbirri were for a few moments
so overcome by the appalling scene they had just witnessed, that they thought
not of raising the chief judge, who lay motionless on the pavement. But at
length some of the police-officers so far recovered themselves as to be able to
devote attention to that high functionary—it was, however, too late—his skull
was fractured by the violence with which he had been dashed against the rough
wall, and his brains were scattered on the pavement. Those who now bent over
his disfigured corpse exchanged looks of unutterable horror.

In the meantime the Wehr-Wolf had
cleared the corridor, rapid as an arrow shot from the bow; he sprung, bounding
up a flight of steep stone stairs as if the elastic air bore him on, and
rushing through an open door, burst suddenly upon the crowd that was so anxiously
waiting to behold the procession issue thence.

Terrific was the yell that the
multitude sent forth—a yell formed of a thousand combining voices, so long, so
loud, so wildly agonizing, that never had the welkin rung with so appalling an
ebullition of human misery before! Madly rushed the wolf amidst the people,
dashing them aside, overturning them, hurling them down, bursting through the
mass too dense to clear a passage of its own accord, and making the scene of
horror more horrible still by mingling his hideous howlings with the cries—the
shrieks—the screams that escaped from a thousand tongues.

No pen can describe the awful
scene of confusion and death which now took place. Swayed by no panic fear, but
influenced by terrors of dreadful reality, the people exerted all their force
to escape from that spot; and thus the struggling, crushing, pushing, crowding,
fighting, and all the oscillations of a multitude set in motion by the direst
alarms, were succeeded by the most fatal results. Women were thrown down and
trampled to death, strong men were scarcely able to maintain their footing,
many females were literally suffocated in the pressure of the
 
 crowd, and mothers with young
children in their arms excited no sympathy.

Never was the selfishness of human
nature more strikingly displayed than on this occasion: no one bestowed a
thought upon his neighbor: the chivalrous Florentine citizens dashed aside the
weak and helpless female who barred his way with as little remorse as if she
were not a being of flesh and blood; and even husbands forgot their wives,
lovers abandoned their mistresses, and parents waited not an instant to succor
their daughters.

Oh! it was a terrible thing to
contemplate, that dense mass, oscillating furiously like the waves of the sea,
sending up to heaven such appalling sounds of misery, rushing furiously toward
the avenues of egress, falling back baffled and crushed, in the struggle where
only the very strongest prevailed, laboring to escape from death, and fighting
for life, fluctuating and rushing, and wailing in maddening excitement like a
raging ocean. Oh! all this wrought a direful sublimity, with those cries of
agony and that riot of desperation. And all this while the wolf pursued its
furious career, amid the mortal violence of a people thrown into horrible
disorder, pursued its way with savage howls, glaring eyes, and foaming mouth,
the only living being there that was infuriate and not alarmed, battling for
escape, and yet unhurt.

As a whirlpool suddenly assails
the gallant ship, makes her agitate and rock fearfully for a few moments and
then swallows her up altogether, so was the scaffold in the midst of the square
shaken to its very basis for a little space, and then hurled down, disappearing
altogether amidst the living vortex.

In the balconies and at the
windows overlooking the square, the awful excitement spread like wild-fire, and
a real panic prevailed among those who were at least beyond the reach of
danger. But horror paralyzed the power of sober reflection, and the hideous
spectacle of volumes of human beings battling, and roaring, and rushing, and
yelling in terrific frenzy, produced a kindred effect, and spread the wild
delirium among the spectators at those balconies and those windows. At length,
in the square below, the crowds began to pour forth from the gates, for the
Wehr-Wolf had by this time cleared himself a passage and escaped from the midst
of that living ocean so fearfully agitated by the storms of fear. But even when
the means of egress were thus obtained, the most frightful disorder prevailed,
the people rolling in heaps upon heaps, while infuriate and agile men ran on
the tops of the compact masses, and leapt in their delirium, as with barbarous
intent.

On—on sped the Wehr-Wolf, dashing
like a whirlwind through the streets leading to the open country, the white
flakes of foam flying from his mouth like spray from the prow of a vessel, and
every fiber of his frame vibrating as if in agony. And oh! what dismay—what
terror did that monster spread in the thoroughfares through which he passed;
how wildly, how madly flew the men and women from his path; how piteously
screamed the children at the house-doors in the poor neighborhoods! But, as if
sated with the destruction already wrought
 
 in
the great square of the palace, the wolf dealt death no more in the precincts
of the city; as if lashed on by invisible demons, his aim, or his instinct, was
to escape.

The streets are threaded, the
suburbs of the city are passed, the open country is gained; and now along the bank
of the Arno rushes the monster, by the margin of that pure stream to whose
enchanting vale the soft twilight lends a more delicious charm.

On the verge of a grove, with its
full budding branches all impatient for the spring, a lover and his mistress were
murmuring fond language to each other. In the soft twilight blushed the maiden,
less in bashfulness than in her own soul’s emotion, her countenance displaying
all the magic beauty not only of feature but of feeling; and she raised her
large blue eyes in the dewy light of a sweet enthusiasm to the skies, as the
handsome youth by her side pressed her fair hand and said, “We must now part
until to-morrow, darling of my soul! How calmly has this day, with all its life
and brightness, passed away into the vast tomb of eternity. It is gone without
a single hour’s unhappiness for us—gone without leaving a regret on our
minds—gone, too, without clouds in the heavens or mists upon the earth, most
beautiful even at the moment of its parting! Tomorrow, beloved one, will unite
us again in your parents’ cot, and renewed happiness——”

The youth stopped, and the maiden
clung to him in speechless terror: for an ominous sound, as of a rushing animal
and then a terrific howl, burst upon their ears! No time had they for flight,
not a moment even to collect their scattered thoughts. The infuriate wolf came
bounding over the greensward, the youth uttered a wild and fearful cry, a
scream of agony burst from the lips of the maiden as she was dashed from her
lover’s arms, and in another moment the monster had swept by.

But what misery, what desolation
had his passage wrought! Though unhurt by his glistening fangs—though unwounded
by his sharp claws, yet the maiden—an instant before so enchanting in her
beauty, so happy in her love—lay stretched on the cold turf, the cords of life
snapped suddenly by that transition from perfect bliss to the most appalling
terror!

And still the wolf rushed madly,
wildly on.

*****

It was an hour past sunrise; and
from a grove in the immediate neighborhood of Leghorn a man came forth. His
countenance, though wondrously handsome, was deadly pale; traces of mental
horror and anguish remained on those classically chiseled features, and in
those fine eloquent eyes. His garments were soiled, blood-stained, and torn.

This man was Fernand Wagner. He
entered the city of Leghorn, and purchased a change of attire, for which he
paid from a purse well filled with gold. He then repaired to a hostel, or
public tavern, where he performed the duties of the toilet, and obtained the
refreshment of which he appeared to stand so much in need. By this time his
countenance was again composed; and the change which new attire and copious
ablution had made in his appearance, was so great that no one
 
 who had seen him issue from the
grove and beheld him now, could have believed in the identity of the person.
Quitting the hostel, he repaired to the port, where he instituted inquiries
relative to a particular vessel which he described, and which had sailed from
Leghorn upward of a fortnight previously.