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) (57 page)

“My brother Angelo came to me
very late last night and informed me that a sense of imperious duty compelled
him to change his mind relative to the two women Francatelli. He accordingly
appeared on their behalf, and obtained a delay of eight days. But nothing can
save them from condemnation at the end of this period, unless indeed immense
interests be made on their account with the duke. My brother alone deserves
your blame, dear friend; let not your anger fall on your affectionate and
devoted servant.

“Jeronymo
Duras”

Nisida bit her lips with
vexation. She now regretted she had effected the liberation of Francisco before
she was convinced that Flora was past the reach of human mercy;—but, in the
next moment she resumed her haughty composure, as she said within herself, “My
brother may essay all
 
his
 
influence: but mine shall prevail!”

Scarcely had she established this
determination in her mind, when the door was burst open, and Francisco—pale,
ghastly, and with eyes wandering wildly—staggered into the apartment.

Nisida, who really felt deeply on
his account, sprung forward—received him in her arms—and supported him to a
seat.

“Oh! Nisida, Nisida!” he
exclaimed aloud, in a tone expressive of deep anguish; “what will become of
your unfortunate brother? But it is not you who have done this! No—for you were
not in Florence at the time which beheld the cruel separation of Flora and
myself!”

And, throwing himself on his
sister’s neck, he burst into tears. He had apostrophized her in the manner just
related, not because he fancied that she could hear or understand him; but
because he forgot, in the maddening paroxysms of his grief, that Nisida was (as
he believed) deaf and dumb! She wound her
 
 arms
round him—she pressed him to her bosom—she covered his pale forehead with
kisses; while her heart bled at the sight of his alarming sorrow.

Suddenly he started up—flung his
arms wildly about—and exclaimed, in a frantic voice, “Bring me my steel
panoply! give me my burgonet—my cuirass—and my trusty sword;—and let me arouse
all Florence to a sense of its infamy in permitting that terrible inquisition
to exist! Bring me my armor, I say—the same sword I wielded on the walls of
Rhodes—and I will soon gather a trusty band to aid me!”

But, overcome with excitement, he
fell forward—dashing his head violently upon the floor, before Nisida could
save him. She pealed the silver bell that was placed upon the breakfast-table,
and assistance soon came. Francisco was immediately conveyed to his chamber—Dr.
Duras was sent for—and on his arrival, he pronounced the young nobleman to be
laboring under a violent fever. The proper medical precautions were adopted;
and the physician was in a few hours able to declare that Francisco was in no
imminent danger, but that several days would elapse ere he could possibly
become convalescent. Nisida remained by his bedside, and was most
assiduous—most tender—most anxious in her attentions toward him; and when he
raved, in his delirium, of Flora and the inquisition, it went to her very heart
to think that she was compelled by a stern necessity to abstain from exerting
her influence to procure the release of one whose presence would prove of far
greater benefit to the sufferer than all the anodynes and drugs which the skill
of Dr. Duras might administer!

THE SICK-ROOM—FLORENCE IN DISMAY

It
 
was about an hour past daybreak
on the 1st of October,—five days after the incidents related in the three
preceding chapters. Nisida, worn out with long watchings and vigils in her
brother’s chamber, had retired to her own apartment; but not before she had
seen Francisco fall into a sleep which, under the influence of a narcotic
ordered by the physician, promised to be long and soothing. The lady had not
quitted the chamber of the invalid ten minutes, when the door was slightly
opened; and some one’s looks were plunged rapidly and searchingly into the
room:—then the visitor, doubtless satisfied by the result of his survey, stole
cautiously in.

He advanced straight up to the
table which stood near the bed, drew a small vial from the bosom of his
doublet—and poured its crystal contents into the beverage prepared to quench
the thirst of the invalid. Then, as he again secured the vial about his person,
he murmured, “The medicament of Christian Rosencrux will doubtless work greater
wonders than those of Dr. Duras, skilled though the latter be!”

Having thus mused to himself, the
visitor shook Francisco gently; and the young count awoke, exclaiming
petulantly that he was athirst. A goblet of the beverage containing the
Rosicrucian
 
 fluid, was
immediately conveyed to his lips, and he drank the refreshing draught with
eagerness.

The effect was marvelous,
indeed;—a sudden tinge of healthy red appeared upon the cheeks a moment before
so ashy pale—and fire once more animated the blue eyes—and Francisco recovered
complete consciousness and self-possession for the first time since the dread
morning when he was attacked with a dangerous illness.

He closed his eyes for a few
minutes; and when he opened them again, he was surprised to perceive by his
bedside a young, well-attired, and very handsome man, whose countenance
appeared to be familiar to him.

“Count of Riverola,” said the
visitor, bending over him, and speaking in a low but kind tone, “despair not!
Succor is at hand—and ere forty-eight hours shall have passed away, your
well-beloved Flora will be free!”

Joy lighted up the countenance of
the young nobleman, as these delightful words met his ears; and, seizing his
consoler’s hand, he exclaimed:

“A thousand thanks for this
assurance! But, have we not met before?—or was it in those wild dreams which
have haunted my imagination that I have seen thee?”

“Yes—we have met before, count,”
was the reply. “Dost thou not remember Fernand Wagner?”

Francisco passed his hand across
his brow, as if to settle his scattered thoughts: then, at the expiration of a
few moments, he said: “Oh! yes—I recollect you—I know that I had conceived a
great friendship for you, when some strange incident—I cannot remember what,
and it is of no matter—parted us!”

“Do not excite yourself too much
by racking your memory to decipher the details of the past,” returned Wagner.
“I dare not stay another minute with you now: therefore listen attentively to
what more I have to say. Yield yourself not up to despondency—on the contrary,
cherish every hope that is dear to you. Within a few days Flora shall be yours!
Yes—solemnly do I assure you that all shall take place as I affirm. But
 
YOUR
 
agency is not needed to insure her
liberation: Heaven will make use of
 
OTHER
 
means.
Compose your mind, then,—and suffer not yourself to be tortured by vain fears
as to the future. Above all, keep my visit to thee a profound secret—intimate
not to thy sister Nisida that thou hast seen me. Follow my counsel in all these
respects—and happiness is in store for thee!”

Fernand pressed the young count’s
hand warmly as he terminated these rapidly delivered injunctions, and then
retreated from the chamber ere the invalid had time to utter a syllable
indicative of his gratitude.

But how different was Francisco
now—how different did Nisida find him, on her return to his room, from what he
was when she had left him two hours before! Nor less was Dr. Duras astonished,
at his next visit, to perceive that his patient had made in those two hours as
rapid strides toward convalescence
 
as
he could barely have hoped to see accomplished in a week.

In obedience to a hint rapidly
conveyed by a signal from Nisida to the physician, the latter touched gently
upon the subject of Flora Francatelli; but Francisco, resolute in his endeavors
to follow the advice of Fernand Wagner, and to avoid all topics calculated to
excite, responded briefly, and immediately spoke on another matter.

But he did not think the less
deeply on that interesting subject. No; he cherished the image of his Flora,
and the hope of being yet united to her, with an enthusiasm which a love so
ardent as his passion alone could feel.

And Nisida congratulated herself
on the conviction which she now very naturally entertained, that he had
resigned himself to the loss of the young maiden, and was exerting his utmost
to banish her altogether from his memory!

Throughout the day Francisco
continued to improve rapidly, and on the following morning he was enabled to
leave his couch. Indeed, his recovery was so marvelously quick that Dr. Duras
considered it to be a perfect phenomenon in the history of medicine; and Nisida
looked upon the physician, whom she conceived to be the author of this
remarkable change, with unfeigned admiration.

It was verging toward the hour of
sunset, the 2d of October, when a rumor of a most alarming nature circulated
with the celerity of wild-fire through the city of Florence. At first the
report was received with contemptuous incredulity; but by degrees—as
circumstances tended to confirm it—as affrighted peasants came flying into the
town from their country homes, bearing the dread tidings, the degenerate and
voluptuous Florentines gave way to all the terrors which, in such cases, were too
well adapted to fill the hearts of an emasculated people with dismay.

For, while the dwellers of the
City of Flowers were thinking only of the gay festival which invariably
commenced their winter season, while the nobles and wealthy burghers were
whiling their time pleasantly in the regilding and decoration of their palaces
or mansions, while the duke was projecting splendid banquets, and the members
of the council of state were dreaming of recreation and enjoyment, rather than
of the duties of office, while, too, preparations were being made for the
approaching
 
auto-da-fe
—that terrible
spectacle which the inquisition annually offered to the morbid tastes of a
priest-ridden people—while, in a word, Florence seemed wrapped up in security
and peace—at such a moment the astounding intelligence arrived, that a mighty
army was within a few hours’ march of the sovereign city of Tuscany!

Yes; this was the news that
suddenly spread confusion and dismay throughout Florence, the news which told
how the Ottoman fleet, for some days past moored off the port of Leghorn, had
vomited forth legions, and how the formidable force was approaching at a rapid
rate, under the command of the
 
 grand
vizier in person, the seraskier and sipehsalar of the armies of the sultan!

The moment these things were
bruited abroad in the city, Demetrius, the Greek, fled secretly; for he too
well understood that his treacherous intentions had, in some unaccountable
manner, transpired, and reached the ears of Ibrahim Pasha. Nisida was perfectly
astounded; and, for the first time in her life, she felt her energies
paralyzed—all her powers of combination suddenly laid prostrate. As for
Francisco, he could not help thinking that the invasion of Italy by the Turks
was connected with the succor so mysteriously, but confidently promised by
Wagner; although he was not only ignorant of the relationship subsisting
between the grand vizier and his beloved Flora, but was even unaware of the
fact that this high functionary was the same Ibrahim whose prisoner he had been
for a few hours on a former occasion in the Island of Rhodes.

The council of state assembled to
deliberate upon the proper course which should be adopted at so critical a
moment; but when the resources of Florence and the means of resisting the invaders
were scrutinized, when it was discovered that there were not three thousand
soldiers to defend the place, nor arms sufficient to equip more than fifteen
hundred volunteers in addition to the regular force, all idea of attempting to
make a stand against an army which was in reality twenty thousand strong, but
which the exaggerations of fear had trebled in amount, was ultimately
abandoned.

The sun went down, and was
succeeded by no illuminations that night. Florence was in mourning. A spell had
fallen upon the City of Flowers; her streets were deserted; and within the
houses, those who possessed wealth were busily engaged in concealing their gold
and jewels in cellars, holes dug in the ground, or at the bottom of wells. The
general consternation was terrific indeed; and the solemn stillness which
prevailed throughout the town so lately full of animation and happiness was
even more dreadful than that which had accompanied the plague two centuries
before.

It was near midnight when
messengers from the grand vizier, who was now within three miles’ march of the
city, arrived at the western gate, and demanded admission, that they might
obtain an immediate audience of the duke. The request was directly complied
with, and the envoys were conducted to the palazzo, where the prince
immediately assembled the council of state to receive them, himself presiding.

The audience was in other
respects strictly private; but the nature of the interview was soon proved to
have been most unexpectedly pacific; for two hours after the reception of the
envoys, criers proceeded throughout the city, proclaiming the joyful news that
the grand vizier had of his own accord proposed such terms as the council of
state had not hesitated to accept.

Thus, at two o’clock in the
morning, were the Florentines at first alarmed by hearing the monotonous voices
of the criers breaking upon the solemn stillness; but their fear changed into
 
 gladness ineffable, ere those
functionaries had uttered a dozen words of the proclamation which they were
intrusted to make.

What the terms were did not
immediately transpire; but two circumstances which occurred ere it was
daybreak, and which, though conducted with considerable secrecy, nevertheless
soon became generally known—these circumstances, we say, afforded ample scope
for comment and gossip.

The first was the occupation of
the Riverola Palace by the Ottoman soldiers who had accompanied Demetrius as an
escort, and whom he had left in Florence; and the second was the fact that two
females, closely muffled up, were removed from the prison of the inquisition,
and delivered over to the charge of the grand vizier’s messengers, who conveyed
them out of the city.

But the curiosity excited by
these incidents was absorbed in the general anxiety that was evinced by the
Florentine people to feast their eyes with the grand, interesting, and imposing
spectacle which the dawn of day revealed to their view.

For, far as the eye could reach,
on the western side of Florence, and commencing at the distance of about a
quarter of a mile from the city, a mass of innumerable tents and pavilions
showed where the Ottoman army was encamped! Myriads of banners, of all colors,
floated from the tall javelins to which they were affixed before the entrance
of the chief officers’ tents, and in front of the entire encampment waved, at
the summit of a spear planted in the ground, the three crescents, which
invariably accompany the march of a Turkish army. The sunbeams glittered on
thousands of bright crescents; and the brazen pommels of the mounted sentinels’
saddles shone like burnished gold. It was, indeed, a grand and imposing
spectacle:—and the din of innumerable voices mingling with the sounds of
martial music, reached the ears of those Florentines who, more daring than the
rest, advanced nearly up to the outposts of the encampment.

But in the meantime, a scene of
profound and touching interest had taken place in the gorgeous pavilion of the
grand vizier.

While it was yet dark—and ere
that martial panorama of tents and pavilions developed itself to the admiring
and astonished eyes of the Florentines—two females, closely muffled in handsome
cashmere shawls, which had been presented to them for the purpose, were
treading the Ottoman encampment, under the guidance of the messengers to whom
they had been consigned.

It is hardly necessary to inform
the reader that these females were the elder Signora Francatelli and her
beautiful niece Flora.

Their sudden and most unexpected
deliverance from the terrible dungeons of the inquisition, and the profound
respect with which they were treated by those into whose charge the familiars
of the holy office had surrendered them, inspired them with the most lively
joy; and their congratulations were expressed by frequent pressures of each
other’s hands as they proceeded in company with their guides. But they knew not
by whom, or how, nor wherefore they had been released—and yet a vague
 
 suspicion, founded solely on the
fact that their conductors wore the Ottoman garb, that Alessandro must be in
some way connected with the matter, had entered their minds. It was, at all
events, clear that no harm was intended them, for they were not treated as
prisoners, and thus they hastened on in confidence and hope.