Wagner, the Wehr-Wolf Part 11

"You can--you may, dearest girl!" exclaimed the young count. "And now I know that you love me! But many months must elapse ere I can call thee mine; and, indeed, a remorse smites my heart that I have dared to think of my own happiness, so soon after a mournful ceremony has consigned a parent to the tomb. Heaven knows that I do not the less deplore his loss--but wherefore art thou so pale, so trembling, Flora?"

"Meseems that a superst.i.tious awe of evil omens has seized upon my soul," returned the maiden, in a tremulous tone. "Let us retire, my lord; the Lady Nisida may require my services elsewhere."

"Nisida!" repeated Francisco, as if the mention of his sister's name had suddenly awakened new ideas in his mind.

"Ah! my lord," said Flora, sorrowfully, "you now perceive that there is at least one who may not learn with satisfaction the alliance which your lords.h.i.+p would form with the poor and humble dependent."

"Nay, by my patron saint, thou hast misunderstood me!" exclaimed the young count warmly. "Nisida will not oppose her brother's happiness; and her strong mind will know how to despise those conventional usages which require that high birth should mate with high birth, and wealth ally itself to wealth. Yes; Nisida will consult my felicity alone; and when I ere now repeated her name as it fell from your lips, it was in a manner reproachful to myself, because I have retained my love for thee a secret from her. A secret from Nisida! Oh! I have been cruel, unjust, not to have confided in my sister long ago! And yet," he added more slowly, "she might reproach me for my selfishness in bestowing a thought on marriage soon, so very soon, after a funeral! Flora, dearest maiden, circ.u.mstances demand that the avowal which accident and opportunity have led me this day to make, should exist as a secret, known only unto yourself and me. But, in a few months I will explain all to my sister, and she will greet thee as her brother's chosen bride. Are thou content, Flora, that our mutual love should remain thus concealed until the proper time shall come for its revelation?"

"Yes, my lord, and for many reasons," was the answer.

"For many reasons, Flora!" exclaimed the young count.

"At least for more than one," rejoined the maiden. "In the first instance, it is expedient your lords.h.i.+p should have due leisure to reflect upon the important step which you propose to take--a step conferring so much honor on myself, but which may not insure your happiness."

"If this be a specimen of thy reasons, dear maiden," exclaimed Francisco, laughing, "I need hear no more. Be well a.s.sured," he added seriously, "that time will not impair the love I experience for you."

Flora murmured a reply which did not reach Wagner, and immediately afterward the sound of her light steps was heard retreating from the adjacent room. A profound silence of a few minutes occurred; and then Francisco also withdrew.

Wagner had been an unwilling listener to the preceding conversation; but while it was in progress, he from time to time threw looks of love and tenderness on his beautiful companion, who returned them with impa.s.sioned ardor.

Whether it were that her irritable temper was impatient of the restraint imposed upon herself and her lover by the vicinity of others, or whether she was annoyed at the fact of her brother and Flora being so long together (for Wagner had intimated to her who their neighbors were, the moment he had recognized their voices), we cannot say; but Nisida showed an occasional uneasiness of manner, which she, however, studied to subdue as much as possible, during the scene that took place in the adjoining apartment.

Fernand did not offer to convey to her any idea of the nature of the conversation which occupied her brother and Flora Francatelli; neither did she manifest the least curiosity to be enlightened on that head.

The moment the young lovers had quitted the next room Wagner intimated the fact to Nisida; but at the same instant, just as he was about to bestow upon her a tender caress, a dreadful, an appalling reminiscence burst upon him with such overwhelming force that he fell back stupefied on the sofa.

Nisida's countenance a.s.sumed an expression of the deepest solicitude, and her eloquent, sparkling eyes, implored him to intimate to her what ailed him.

But, starting wildly from his seat, and casting on her a look of such bitter, bitter anguish, that the appalling emotions thus expressed struck terror to her soul--Fernand rushed from the room.

Nisida sprung to the window; and, though the obscurity of the evening now announced the last flickerings of the setting sunbeams in the west, she could perceive her lover das.h.i.+ng furiously on through the s.p.a.cious gardens that surrounded the Riverola Palace.

On--on he went toward the River Arno; and in a few minutes was out of sight.

Alas! intoxicated with love, and giving himself up to the one delightful idea--that he was with the beauteous Nisida--then, absorbed in the interest of the conversation which he had overheard between Francisco and Flora--Wagner had forgotten until it was nearly too late, _that the sun was about to set on the last day of the month_.

CHAPTER XII.

THE WEHR-WOLF.

'Twas the hour of sunset.

The eastern horizon, with its gloomy and somber twilight, offered a strange contrast to the glorious glowing hues of vermilion, and purple, and gold, that blended in long streaks athwart the western sky.

For even the winter sunset of Italy is accompanied with resplendent tints--as if an emperor, decked with a refulgent diadem, were repairing to his imperial couch.

The declining rays of the orb of light bathed in molten gold the pinnacles, steeples, and lofty palaces of proud Florence, and toyed with the limpid waves of the Arno, on whose banks innumerable villas and casinos already sent forth delicious strains of music, broken only by the mirth of joyous revelers.

And by degrees as the sun went down, the palaces of the superb city began to shed light from their lattices, set in rich sculptured masonry; and here and there, where festivity prevailed, grand illuminations sprung up with magical quickness, the reflection from each separate galaxy rendering it bright as day far, far around.

Vocal and instrumental melody floated through the still air; and the perfume of exotics, decorating the halls of the Florentine n.o.bles, poured from the widely-opened portals, and rendered the air delicious.

For Florence was gay that evening--the last day of each month being the one which the wealthy lords and high-born ladies set apart for the reception of their friends.

The sun sank behind the western hills; and even the hothouse flowers closed up their buds--as if they were eyelids weighed down by slumber, and not to wake until the morning should arouse them again to welcome the return of their lover--that glorious sun!

Darkness seemed to dilate upon the sky like an image in the midst of a mirage, expanding into superhuman dimensions--then rapidly losing its shapeliness, and covering the vault above densely and confusedly.

But, by degrees, countless stars began to stud the colorless canopy of heaven, like gems of orient splendor; for the last--last flickering ray of the twilight in the west had expired in the increasing obscurity.

But, hark! what is that wild and fearful cry?

In the midst of a wood of evergreens on the banks of the Arno, a man--young, handsome, and splendidly attired--has thrown himself upon the ground, where he writhes like a stricken serpent, in horrible convulsions.

He is the prey of a demoniac excitement: an appalling consternation is on him--madness is in his brain--his mind is on fire.

Lightnings appear to gleam from his eyes, as if his soul were dismayed, and withering within his breast.

"Oh! no--no!" he cries with a piercing shriek, as if wrestling madly, furiously, but vainly against some unseen fiend that holds him in his grasp.

And the wood echoes to that terrible wail; and the startled bird flies fluttering from its bough.

But, lo! what awful change is taking place in the form of that doomed being? His handsome countenance elongates into one of savage and brute-like shape; the rich garments which he wears become a rough, s.h.a.ggy, and wiry skin; his body loses its human contours, his arms and limbs take another form; and, with a frantic howl of misery, to which the woods give horribly faithful reverberations, and, with a rush like a hurling wind, the wretch starts wildly away, no longer a man, but a monstrous wolf!

On, on he goes: the wood is cleared--the open country is gained. Tree, hedge, and isolated cottage appear but dim points in the landscape--a moment seen, the next left behind; the very hills appear to leap after each other.

A cemetery stands in the monster's way, but he turns not aside--through the sacred inclosure--on, on he goes. There are situated many tombs, stretching up the slope of a gentle acclivity, from the dark soil of which the white monuments stand forth with white and ghastly gleaming, and on the summit of the hill is the church of St. Benedict the Blessed.

From the summit of the ivy-grown tower the very rooks, in the midst of their cawing, are scared away by the furious rush and the wild howl with which the Wehr-Wolf thunders over the hallowed ground.

At the same instant a train of monks appear round the angle of the church--for there is a funeral at that hour; and their torches flaring with the breeze that is now springing up, cast an awful and almost magical light on the dark gray walls of the edifice, the strange effect being enhanced by the prismatic reflection of the lurid blaze from the stained gla.s.s of the oriel window.

The solemn spectacle seemed to madden the Wehr-Wolf. His speed increased--he dashed through the funeral train--appalling cries of terror and alarm burst from the lips of the holy fathers--and the solemn procession was thrown into confusion. The coffin-bearers dropped their burden, and the corpse rolled out upon the ground, its decomposing countenance seeming horrible by the glare of the torch-light.

The monk who walked nearest the head of the coffin was thrown down by the violence with which the ferocious monster cleared its pa.s.sage; and the venerable father--on whose brow sat the snow of eighty winters--fell with his head against a monument, and his brains were dashed out.

On, on fled the Wehr-Wolf, over mead and hill, through valley and dale.

The very wind seemed to make way: he clove the air--he appeared to skim the ground--to fly.

Through the romantic glades and rural scenes of Etruria the monster sped--sounds, resembling shrieking howls, bursting ever and anon from his foaming mouth--his red eyes glaring in the dusk of the evening like ominous meteors--and his whole aspect so full of appalling ferocity, that never was seen so monstrous, so terrific a spectacle!

A village is gained; he turns not aside, but dashes madly through the little street formed by the huts and cottages of the Tuscan vine-dressers.