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) (50 page)

Fernand desired the
barber-surgeon to shave his superfluous beard and trim his hair; and while that
individual was preparing his lather and sharpening his razor in the most
approved style of the craft, Wagner asked in a seemingly careless tone, “What
news have you, good master, in Syracuse?”

“Naught of importance, signor,”
was the reply; “mere everyday matters. Syracuse is indeed wretchedly dull.
There were only two murders and three attempts at assassination reported to the
lieutenant of police this morning, and that is nothing for a town usually so
active and bustling as ours. For my part, I don’t know what has come over the
people? I stepped as far as the dead-house just now to view the body of a young
lady, unclaimed as yet, who had her head nearly severed from her trunk last
night; and then I proceeded to the great square to see whether any executions
are to take place to-morrow; but really there is nothing of any consequence to
induce one to stir abroad in Syracuse just at this moment.”

 “Murders and attempts at
assassination are matters of very common occurrence amongst you, then?” said
Wagner, inquiringly.

“We get a perfect surfeit of
them, signor,” returned the barber, now applying the soap to his customer’s
face. “They fail to create any sensation now, I can assure you. Beside, one
gets tired of executions.”

“Naturally enough,” said Fernand.
“But I have heard that there are some very extraordinary personages in
Syracuse; indeed, there is one who has lived to a remarkable age——”

“The oldest person I know of, is
the Abbot of St. Mary’s,” interrupted the barber, “and he——”

“And he——” repeated Wagner, with
feverish impatience.

“Is ninety-seven and three
months, signor; a great age, truly,” responded the barber-surgeon.

Fernand’s hopes were immediately
cooled down; but thinking that he ought to put his inquiry in a direct manner,
he said: “Then it is not true that you have in Syracuse an individual who has
reached the wondrous age of a century three-score and two?”

“Holy Virgin have mercy upon you,
signor!” ejaculated the barber, “if you really put faith in the absurd stories
that people tell about the Rosicrucians!”

“Ah! then the people of Syracuse
do talk on such matters?” said Wagner, conceiving that he had obtained a clew
to the aim and object of his inquiry.

“Have you never heard, signor, of
the Order of the Rosy Cross?” demanded the barber, who was naturally of a
garrulous disposition, and who now appeared to have entered on a favorite
subject.

“I have heard, in my travels,
vague mention made of such an order,” answered Fernand; “but I never
experienced any curiosity to seek to learn more—and, indeed, I may say, that I
know nothing of the Rosicrucians save their mere name.”

“Well, signor,” continued the
barber, “for common pass-talk, it is as good a subject as any other; but no one
shall ever persuade me either that there is really such an order as the
Brothers of the Rosy Cross, or that it is possible for human beings to attain
the powers attributed to that fraternity.”

“You interest me much by your
remarks, good leech,” exclaimed Fernand; “I pray you to give me further
explanation.”

“With infinite pleasure, signor,
since you appear to desire it,” returned the barber, still pursuing his
tonsorial duties. “You must know that there are many wild legends and stories
abroad concerning these invisible beings denominated Rosicrucians. But the one
which gains most general credence is that the brotherhood was founded by a
certain Christianus Rosencrux, a German philosopher, who fancied that the arts
and sciences might be developed in such a manner as to confer the greatest
possible blessings on the human race.”

“Then the aims of Rosencrux are
entirely good and philanthropic?” said Wagner, interrogatively.

“As a matter of course, signor,”
said the barber; “and therefore,
 
 if
such a man ever did live, he must have been an insane visionary—for who would
believe that knowledge could possibly make us richer, happier, or better? All
the philosophy in the universe could never convert this shop into a palace.”

“But you are wandering from your
subject, my good friend,” gently remonstrated Fernand.

“I crave your pardon, signor. Let
me see. Oh, I recollect; we were talking of Christianus Rosencrux. Well,
signor, the fabled philosopher was a monk, and a very wise as well as a very
good man. I am only telling you the most generally received legend, mind, and
would not have you think that I believe it myself. So this Rosencrux, finding
that his cloistral existence was inconvenient for the prosecution of his
studies, traveled into the East, and spent many years in acquiring the
knowledge handed down to the wise men of those climes by the ancient Magi and
Chaldeans. He visited Egypt, and learnt many wonderful secrets by studying the
hieroglyphics on the Egyptian pyramids. I forget how long he remained in the
East; but it is said that he visited every place of interest in the Holy Land,
and received heavenly inspirations on the spot where our Saviour was crucified.
On his return to Europe, he saw full well that if he revealed all his knowledge
at once, he would be put to death by the inquisition as a wizard, and the world
would lose the benefit of all the learning he had acquired. So says the legend;
and it goes on to recite that Christianus Rosencrux then founded the order of
the Rosy Cross, which was nothing more or less than a brotherhood of wise men
whom he initiated in all his secrets, with the intention that they should
reveal from time to time small portions thereof, and thus give to the world by
very slow degrees that immense amount of knowledge which he supposed would have
stupefied and astounded everybody if made public all at once.”

“Strange—most strange,” thought
Wagner within himself, “that I should never have gleaned all these details
before, eager as my inquiries and researches in the pursuit of knowledge have
been. But Heaven has willed everything for the best; and it is doubtless
intended that my salvation shall proceed from the very quarter which was least
known to me, and concerning which I have manifested the most contemptuous
indifference, in the sphere of knowledge!”

“You appear to be much
interested, signor,” said the barber, “in this same tale of Christianus
Rosencrux. But there is too much intelligence depicted on your countenance to
allow me to suppose that you will place any reliance on the absurd story. How
is it possible, signor, that an order could have existed for so many years
without any one member ever having betrayed the secrets which bind them all
together? Moreover, their place of abode and study is totally unknown to the
world; and if they inhabited the deepest caverns under the earth accident must,
sooner or later, have led to its discovery. Believe me, signor, ’tis naught
save a ridiculous legend; though a poor, ignorant man myself, I hope I have too
much good sense and too much respect for my father-confessor, to suppose for a
minute
 
 that there is on
earth any set of men more learned than the holy ministers of the church.”

“How long ago is Christianus
Rosencrux reported to have lived?” demanded Wagner, suddenly interrupting the
garrulous and narrow-minded Sicilian.

“There we are again!” he
ejaculated. “The credulous declare that Rosencrux discovered in the East the
means of prolonging existence, and though he was born as far back as the year
1359, he is still alive.”

Had not the barber turned aside
at that precise instant to fill an ewer and place a towel for his customer’s
use, he would have been surprised by the sudden start and the expression of
ineffable joy which denoted Fernand’s emotions, as by a rapid calculation
mentally made, our hero perceived that if Rosencrux were born in 1359, and
alive at that moment—namely, in 1521—his age would be exactly one hundred and
sixty-two!

“It is Christianus Rosencrux,
then,” he said to himself, “whom I have inquired for—whom I am to see—and who
will dissolve the spell that has been placed upon me. But where shall I seek
him? whither shall I go to find his secret abode?”

The duties of the barber were
completed; and Wagner threw down a piece of gold, saying, “Keep that coin,
friend, for your discourse has greatly interested me, and has indeed well
deserved it.”

The poor old man had never
possessed in all his life so much money at one time; and so vast was his joy that
he could only mutter a few broken sentences to express his gratitude.

“I require not thanks, my good
friend,” said Wagner. “But one word ere I depart. Knowest thou the spot which
rumor indicates as the abode of that sect of whom we have been speaking?”

“Nay, excellent signor,” replied
the barber; “there your question masters me; for in this case rumor goes not to
such a length as to afford hints for an investigation which would prove its
utter fallacy. All that I have heard, signor, concerning the Rosicrucians, you
have learnt from my lips; and I know no more.”

Wagner, finding that further
inquiry in that quarter was useless, took leave of the old man, and traversing
the suburb, entered the town of Syracuse.

Fernand
 
was now at a loss how to act. He
felt convinced that it was useless to institute any further inquiries relative
to the whereabouts of the secret Order of the Rosy Cross; because, had popular
rumor ever hinted at any clew in that respect, the garrulous and inquisitive
barber would have been sure to hear of it. He was not, however, disheartened.
No—very far from that; for he was confident that the same supernal power that
had hitherto directed him, and which was rapidly clearing away all obstacles in
his path toward perfect emancipation from the influence of the evil one, would
carry him to a successful and
 
 triumphant
issue. Throwing himself, therefore, entirely on the wisdom and mercy of Heaven,
he roamed about the town of Syracuse, without any settled object in view, until
he was much wearied and it was very late. He then entered a miserable hostel,
or inn—the best, however, that he could discover; and there, having partaken of
some refreshment, he retired to the chamber allotted to him. Sleep soon visited
his eyes; but he had not long enjoyed the sweets of slumber, when that balmy
repose was interrupted either by a touch or sound, he knew not which. Starting
up in his couch, he perceived a tall figure, muffled in a huge dark mantle, and
wearing a slouched broad-brimmed hat, standing by the side of the bed.

“Rise, Fernand Wagner,” said a
mild but masculine voice, “and follow me. He whom thou seekest has sent me to
lead thee to him.”

Wagner did not hesitate to obey
this mandate, which he felt certain was connected with the important business
that had borne him to Syracuse. His apparel was speedily assumed; and he said,
“I am ready to follow thee, stranger, whoever thou art, and whithersoever thou
mayst lead; for my faith is in Heaven.”

“Those who have faith shall
prosper,” observed the stranger, in a solemn tone.

He then led the way noiselessly
down the steep staircase of the inn, and issued forth by the front gate,
closely followed by Wagner. In deep silence did they proceed through the dark,
narrow, and tortuous streets, leaving at length the town behind them, and then
entering upon a barren and uneven waste. By degrees an object, at first dimly
seen in the distance, and by the uncertain moonlight, which was constantly
struggling with the dark clouds of a somewhat tempestuous night, assumed a more
defined appearance, until a mass of gigantic ruins at length stood out from the
somber obscurity. In a few moments the moon shone forth purely and brightly;
and its beams, falling on decayed buttresses, broken Gothic arches, deep
entrance-ways, remnants of pinnacles and spires, massive walls of ruined
towers, gave a wildly romantic and yet not unpicturesque aspect to the remains
of what was evidently once a vast monastic institution. The muffled stranger
led the way amongst the ruins, and at last stopped at a gate opening into a
small square inclosure formed by strong iron railings, seven feet high and
shaped at the points like javelins. Passing through the gateway, the guide
conducted Wagner into a cemetery, which was filled with the marble tombs of the
mitered abbots who had once held sway over the monastery and the broad lands
attached to it.

“You behold around you,” said the
muffled stranger, waving his arm toward the ruins, “all that remains of a
sanctuary once the most celebrated in Sicily for the piety and wisdom of its
inmates. But a horrible crime, a murder perpetrated under circumstances
unusually diabolical, the criminal being no less a person than the last lord
abbot himself, and the victim a beauteous girl whom he had seduced, rendered
this institution
 
 accursed
in the eyes of God and man. The monks abandoned it: and the waste over which
you have passed is now the unclaimed but once fertile estate belonging to the
abbey. The superstition of the Sicilians has not failed to invent terrific
tales in connection with these ruins: and the belief that each night at twelve
o’clock the soul of the guilty abbot is driven by the scourge of the demon
through the scene alike of his episcopal power and his black turpitude,
effectually prevents impertinent or inconvenient intrusion.”

The observation with which the
muffled stranger concluded his brief narrative, convinced Wagner that it was
amongst those ruins the brethren of the Rosy Cross had fixed their secret
abode. But he had no time for reflection, inasmuch as his guide hurried him on
amidst the tombs, on which the light of the silver moon now streamed with a
power and an effect that no dark cloud for the time impaired. Stopping at the
base of one of the most splendid monuments in the cemetery, the muffled
stranger touched some secret spring, and a large marble block immediately
opened like a door, the aperture revealing a narrow flight of stone steps.
Wagner was directed to descend first, a command which he obeyed without
hesitation, his guide closing the marble entrance ere he followed. For several
minutes the two descended in total darkness. At length, a faint, glimmering
light met Wagner’s view; and as he proceeded it grew stronger and stronger,
until it became of such dazzling brilliancy that his eyes ached with the
supernatural splendor. That glorious luster was diffused from a silver lamp,
hanging to the arched roof of a long passage, or corridor of masonry, to which
the stone steps led.

“Fernand Wagner,” said the guide,
in his mild and somewhat monotonous voice, “thou now beholdest the eternal lamp
of the Rosicrucians. For a hundred and twenty years has that lamp burnt with as
powerful a luster as that which it now sheds forth; and never once—no, not once
during that period, has it been replenished. No human hand has touched it since
the day when it was first suspended there by the great founder of our sect.”

All doubt was now dispelled from
the mind of Wagner—if a doubt he had even for a moment entertained since the
muffled stranger had summoned him from the inn:—he was indeed in the secret
abode of the holy sect of the Rosy Cross! His guide, too, was a member of that
brotherhood—and there, almost too dazzling to gaze upon, burnt the eternal lamp
which was the symbol of the knowledge cherished by the order! Wagner turned to
gaze in wonder and admiration upon his guide: and beneath the broad brim of the
slouched hat, he beheld a countenance venerable with years, imposing with
intelligence, and benevolent with every human charity. “Wise and philanthropic
Rosicrucian!” exclaimed Wagner, “I offer thee my deepest gratitude for having
permitted me to enter this sanctuary. But how camest thou to learn that I
sought admittance hither? and unveil to me the great mysteries of this place.”

“We are the servants of holy
angels, who reveal to us in visions
 
 the
will of the Most High,” answered the Rosicrucian; “and they who commanded me to
bring thee hither, will induce thine heart to retain our secret inviolable.”

“Not for worlds,” cried Wagner,
with an enthusiasm which denoted sincerity, “would I betray ye!”

“’Tis well,” said the
Rosicrucian, with philosophic calmness—as if he put more faith in the
protecting influence of Heaven than in the promises of man. “I shall not
accompany thee further. Follow that passage: at the extremity there are two
corridors branching off in different directions; but thou wilt pursue the one
leading to the right. Proceed fearlessly, and stop not till thou shalt stand in
the presence of the founder of the sect.”

Fernand hastened to obey these
directions, and having threaded the two passages, he entered a large and
rudely-hollowed cavern, where the feelings of mingled awe and suspense with
which he had approached it were immediately changed into deep veneration and
wonder as he found himself in the presence of one who, by his appearance, he
knew could he none other than Christianus Rosencrux! Never had Fernand beheld a
being of such venerable aspect; and, though old—evidently very old, as indeed
Wagner knew him to be—yet the founder of the celebrated Rosicrucians manifested
every appearance of possessing a vigorous constitution, as he was assuredly
endowed with a magnificent intellect. His beard was long and white as snow; a
century and three score years had not dimmed the luster of his eyes; and his
form, though somewhat bent, was masculine and well-knit. He was seated at a
table covered with an infinite variety of scientific apparatus; and articles of
the same nature were strewed upon the ground. To the roof hung an iron lamp,
which indeed burnt faintly after the brilliant luster of the eternal flame that
Wagner had seen in the passage; but its flickering gleam shone lurid and
ominous on a blood-red cross suspended to the wall. Fernand drew near the
table, and bowed reverentially to the Rosicrucian chief, who acknowledged his
salutation with a benignant smile.

“Wagner,” he said, in a firm but
mild tone, “I have been forewarned of thy coming, and am prepared to receive
thee. Thy constant and unvarying faith in Heaven has opened to thee the gates
of salvation; and it is mine to direct thee how to act, that the dreadful doom
which thou hast drawn upon thyself may be annihilated soon and forever.”

The venerable man paused, and
Fernand again bowed lowly and with profound respect.

“So soon as the morning’s sun
shall have revisited this hemisphere,” continued Rosencrux, “thou must depart
for Italy. Start not, Fernand—but prepare to obey that power which will sustain
thee. On arriving in Italy, proceed direct to Florence; and fear not to enter
that city even in the broad daylight. Thou wilt not be harmed! There await the
current of those circumstances that must lead to the grand event which is
ordained to break the spell that has cast upon thee the doom of a Wehr-Wolf.
For as thou didst voluntarily unite thyself in the face of
 
 heaven with Donna Nisida of
Riverola, so it is decreed, for the wisest purposes, that a circumstance
intimately connected with her destiny must become a charm and a talisman to
change thine own. On thine arrival in Florence, therefore, seek not to avoid
Lady Nisida; but rather hasten at once to her presence—and again I say, a
supernal power will protect thee from any baneful influence which she might
still exercise over thee. For, the spell that the evil one hath cast upon thee,
Fernand Wagner, shall be broken only on that day and in that hour when thine
eyes shall behold the skeletons of two innocent victims suspended to the same
beam!”

Having uttered these words in a
louder and hurried, but not the less impressive tone, than he had at first
used, Christianus Rosencrux motioned impatiently for Wagner to depart. And
Fernand, amazed and horrified at the dreadful words which had met his ears,
retreated from the cavern and sped rapidly back to the spot where he had
quitted his guide, whom he found waiting his return beneath the undying lamp.
The Rosicrucian conducted Wagner in silence from that deep and subterranean
abode beneath the tomb; thence through the cemetery amidst the ruins of the
monastery—and across the wild waste, back to Syracuse; nor did the muffled
brother of the Rosy Cross take leave of Fernand until they had reached the door
of the hostel. There they parted, the Rosicrucian invoking a blessing upon the
head of Wagner, who regained his chamber without disturbing the other inmates
of the house: but with the conflicting emotions of ardent hopes and appalling
fears, and holy aspirations, filling his breast. By degrees, however, as he was
enabled to reason to himself with increasing calmness, the fears and the doubts
became fainter and fainter, while the hopes and the aspirations grew stronger
and stronger: and at length, throwing himself upon his knees, he exclaimed
fervently, “O Lord, deal with me as thou wilt—thy will be done!”

It was late in the afternoon of a
sultry day, toward the close of September, or, to be more particular, on the
25th of that month, that a numerous and brilliant cavalcade, on emerging from a
grove which bounded one of the sinuosities of the Arno, came within sight of
the towers and pinnacles of Florence.

On the white felt turbans of a
hundred and fifty Ottoman soldiers glistened the crescent, the symbol of
Islamism; and their steel-sheathed scimiters and the trappings of their horses
sent forth a martial din as they were agitated by the rapidity of the march.

Forty-eight slaves, also mounted
on steeds procured at Leghorn, followed the soldiers with a short interval
between the two corps, and in the space thus left, rode the Greek Demetrius and
Lady Nisida of Riverola. The latter wore the garb of her sex, and sat upon her
horse with the grace of an amazonian queen.

The moment the cavalcade came in
sight of the fair City of Flowers, a flush of joy and triumph suddenly diffused
itself over Nisida’s countenance; and her lips were simultaneously compressed
to prevent the utterance of that exclamation of gladness which her heart sent
up to her tongue.

 Demetrius now commanded a
temporary halt; addressing himself to a Turkish youth, who had been attached to
his person in the capacity of secretary, he said, “Yakoub, hie thou in advance,
with an escort of two soldiers and two slaves, and push on to Florence. There
seek an immediate interview with the president of the council of state, and
acquaint that high functionary with the tidings of my approach. Thou wilt inform
him that I am about to enter Florence in the peaceful capacity of envoy from
the puissant and most glorious Ibrahim Pasha, the vizier of the sultan, to
treat on divers matters interesting to the honor of the Ottoman Porte and the
welfare of all Italy. In the meantime, I shall so check our speed that we may
not reach the city until after sunset, which arrangement will afford you two
full hours to accomplish the mission which I now trust to thee.”