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) (25 page)

“And any other evidence thou wilt
give me?” asked Wagner, a sudden idea striking him.

“Yes,” answered the demon, who
doubtless divined his thoughts, for again did a scornful smile play upon his
lips. “I will convince thee, by any manifestation thou may’st demand, subject
to the condition ere now named, I will convince thee that I am he whose power
was placed at the disposal of thy late master, Faust, and by means of which
thou wast transported, along with him, to every climate on the earth.”

“I will name my wish,” said
Wagner.

“Speak!” cried the fiend.

“Show me the Lady Nisida as she
now is,” exclaimed Fernand, his heart beating with the hope of beholding her
whom he loved so devotedly; for, with all the jealousy of a lover, was he
anxious to convince himself that she was thinking of him.

“Ah! ’tis the same as with Faust
and his Theresa,” murmured the demon to himself; then aloud he said, “Rather
ask me to show you the Lady Nisida as she will appear four days hence.”

“Be it so!” cried Wagner, moved
by the mysterious warning those words appeared to convey.

The demon extended his arm, and
chanted in deep, sonorous tones, the following incantation:

“Ye powers of darkness who obey

Eternally my potent sway,

List to thy sovereign master’s
call!

Transparent make this dungeon
wall;

And now annihilated be

The space ’twixt Florence and the
sea!

Let the bright luster of the morn

In golden glory steep Leghorn;

 Show where the dancing
wavelets sport

Round the gay vessels in the
port,

Those ships whose gilded lanterns
gleam

In the warm sun’s refulgent beam;

And whose broad pennants kiss the
gale,

Woo’d also by the spreading
sail!—

Now let this mortal’s vision mark

Amidst that scene the corsair’s
bark,

Clearing the port with swan-like
pride;

Transparent make the black hull’s
side,

And show the curtain’d cabin,
where

Of earth’s fair daughters the
most fair—

Sits like an image of despair,

Mortal, behold! thy Nisida is
there!”

The strange phantasmagorian
spectacle rapidly developed itself in obedience to the commands of the demon.

First, it appeared to Wagner that
the supernatural luster which pervaded the dungeon, gathered like a curtain on
one side and occupied the place of the wall. This wondrous light became transparent,
like a thin golden mist; and then the distant city of Leghorn
appeared—producing an effect similar to that of the dissolving views now
familiar to every one. The morning sun shone brightly on the fair scene; and a
forest of masts stood out in bold relief against the western sky. The gilded
lanterns on the poops of the vessels—the flags and streamers of various
hues—the white sails of those ships that were preparing for sea—and the richly
painted pinnaces that were shooting along in the channel between the larger
craft rendered the scene surpassingly gay and beautiful.

But amidst the shipping, Wagner’s
eyes were suddenly attracted by a large galley, with three masts—looking most
rakish with its snow-white sail, its tapering spars, its large red streamer,
and its low, long, and gracefully sweeping hull, which was painted jet black.
On its deck were six pieces of brass ordnance; and stands of fire-arms were
ranged round the lower parts of the masts.

Altogether, the appearance of
that vessel was as suspicious and menacing as it was gallant and graceful; and
from the incantation of the demon, Wagner gleaned its real nature.

And now—as that corsair-ship
moved slowly out of the port of Leghorn—its black side suddenly seemed to open,
or at least to become transparent; and the interior of a handsomely fitted up
cabin was revealed.

Fernand’s heart had already sunk
within him through foreboding apprehension; but now an ejaculation of mingled
rage and grief burst from his lips, when, on a sofa in that cabin, he beheld
his loved—his dearly loved Nisida, seated “like an image of despair,”
motionless and still, as if all the energies of her haughty soul, all the
powers of her strong mind had been suddenly paralyzed by the weight of
misfortune!

Wagner stood gazing—unable to
utter another word beyond that one ejaculation of mingled rage and
grief—gazing—gazing, himself a kindred image of despair, upon this mysterious
and unaccountable scene.

 But gradually the interior
of the cabin grew more and more indistinct, until it was again completely shut
in by the black side of the harbor—her dark hull disappearing by degrees, and
melting away in the distance. Wagner dashed his open palm against his forehead,
exclaiming, “Oh! Nisida—Nisida! who hath torn thee from me!”

And he threw himself upon a seat,
where he remained absorbed in a painful reverie, with his face buried in his
hands—totally unmindful of the presence of the demon.

Two or three minutes
passed—during which Fernand was deliberating within himself whether he were the
sport of a wild and fanciful vision, or whether he had actually received a
warning of the fate which hung over Nisida.

“Art thou satisfied with the
proof of my power?” demanded a deep voice, sounding ominously upon his ear.

He raised his hand with a spasmodic
start; before him stood the demon with folded arms and scornful expression of
countenance—and though the phantasmagorian scene had disappeared, the
supernatural luster still pervaded the dungeon.

“Fiend!” cried Wagner,
impatiently; “thou hast mocked—thou hast deceived me!”

“Thus do mortals ever speak, even
when I give them a glimpse of their own eventual fate, through the medium of
painful dreams and hideous nightmares,” said the demon, sternly.

“But who has dared—or rather, who
 
will
 
dare—for that vision is a prospective
warning of a deed to happen four days hence—who, then, I ask, will dare to
carry off the Lady Nisida—my own loved and loving Nisida?” demanded Wagner,
with increased impatience.

“Stephano Verrina, the formidable
captain of the Florentine banditti, has this night carried away thy lady-love,
Wagner,” replied the demon. “Thou hast yet time to save her; though the steed
that bears her to Leghorn be fleet and strong, I can provide thee with a
fleeter and a stronger. Nay, more—become mine, consent to serve me as Faust
served me, and within an hour, within a minute if thou wilt, Nisida shall be
restored to thee, she shall be released from the hands of her captors, thou
shalt be free, and thy head shall be pillowed on her bosom, in whatever part of
the earth it may suit thee thus to be united to her. Reflect, Wagner—I offer
thee a great boon—nay, many great boons: the annihilation of those trammels
which bind thee to the destiny of a wehr-wolf, power unlimited for the rest of
thy days, and the immediate possession of that Nisida whom thou lovest so
fondly, and who is so beautiful, so exceedingly beautiful.”

Desperate was the struggle that
took place in the breast of Wagner. On one side was all he coveted on earth; on
the other was the loss of the immortal soul. Here the possession of
Nisida—there her forced abduction by a brigand; here his earthly happiness
might be secured at the expense of his eternal welfare—there his eternal
welfare must be renounced if he decided in favor of his earthly happiness. What
was he to do? Nisida
 
 was
weighing in the balance against his immortal soul: to have Nisida he must
renounce his God!

Oh! it was maddening—maddening,
this bewilderment!

“An hour—an hour to reflect!” he
cried, almost frantically.

“Not a quarter of an hour,”
returned the demon, “Nisida will be lost to you—haste—decide!”

“Leave me—leave me for five
minutes only!”

“No—no, not for a minute.
Decide—decide!”

Wagner threw up his arms in the
writhings of his ineffable anguish:—his right hand came in contact with a
crucifix that hung against the wall; and he mechanically clutched it—not with
any motive prepense—but wildly, unwittingly.

Terrific was the expression of
rage which suddenly distorted the countenance of the demon: the lightnings of
ineffable fury seemed to flash from his eyes and play upon his contracting
brow;—and yet a strong spasmodic shuddering at the same time convulsed his
awful form; for as Wagner clung to the crucifix to prevent himself from falling
at the feet of the malignant fiend, the symbol of Christianity was dragged by
his weight from the wall—and, as Wagner reeled sideways, the cross which he
retained with instinctive tenacity in his grasp, waved across the demon’s face.

Then, with a terrific howl of
mingled rage and fear, the fiend fell back and disappeared through the earth—as
if a second time hurled down in headlong flight before the thunderbolts of
heaven. Wagner fell upon his knees and prayed fervently.

THE TRIAL OF FERNAND WAGNER

On
 
the ensuing morning Wagner stood
before the judge of the Criminal Tribunal of the Republic.

The judgment hall was a large and
lofty room in the Palazzo del Podesta, or ducal palace. The judges sat in
antique and richly carved chairs, placed on a platform, beneath a canopy of
purple velvet fringed with gold.

On the left, at a handsome desk
covered with papers, was seated the procurator fiscal or attorney-general of
the republic, distinguished in attire from the judges only by the fact of the
ermine upon his scarlet robe being narrower than theirs. Opposite to this
functionary was a bench whereon the witnesses were placed. The prisoner stood
between two sbirri in a small pew, in the center of the court. Defendants in
civil cases were alone permitted in that age and country to retain counsel in
their behalf; persons accused of crimes were debarred this privilege. Wagner
was therefore undefended.

The proceedings of the tribunal
were usually conducted privately; but about a dozen gentlemen and twice as many
ladies had obtained orders of admission on this occasion, the case having
produced considerable sensation in Florence, on account of the reputed wealth
of the accused. Perhaps, also, the rumor that he was a young man endowed with
extraordinary personal attractions,
 
 had
exercised its influence upon the susceptible hearts of the Florentine ladies.
Certain it is, that when he was conducted into the judgment hall, his
strikingly handsome exterior—his air of modest confidence—his graceful gait,
and his youthful appearance, so far threw into the back-ground the crime
imputed to him, that the ladies present felt their sympathies deeply enlisted
in his behalf.

The usher of the tribunal having
commanded silence in a loud voice, the chief judge began the usual
interrogatory of the prisoner.

To the questions addressed to
him, the accused replied that his name was Fernand Wagner; that he was a native
of Germany; that he had no profession, avocation nor calling; that he was
possessed of a large fortune; and that having traveled over many parts of the
world, he settled in Florence, where he had hoped to enjoy a tranquil and
peaceful existence.

“The murdered female was reputed
to be your sister,” said the chief judge. “Was such the fact?”

“She was a near relative,”
answered Wagner.

“But was she your sister?” demanded
the procurator fiscal.

“She was not.”

“Then in what degree of
relationship did she stand toward you?” asked the chief judge.

“I must decline to reply to that
question.”

“The tribunal infers, therefore,
that the murdered female was not related to you at all,” observed the judge.
“Was she not your mistress?”

“No, my lord!” cried Wagner,
emphatically. “As truly as Heaven now hears my assertion, it was not so!”

“Was she your wife?” demanded the
chief judge.

A negative answer was given.

The chief judge and the
procurator fiscal then by turns questioned and cross-questioned the prisoner in
the most subtle manner, to induce him state the degree of relationship
subsisting between himself and Agnes; but he either refused to respond to their
queries, or else answered direct ones by means of a positive denial.

The lieutenant of the sbirri was
at length called upon to give an account of the discovery of the dead body and
the suspicious circumstances which had led to the arrest of Wagner. Two of
these circumstances appeared to be very strong against him. The first was the
soiled and blood-stained appearance of the garments which were found in his
chamber; the other was the exclamation—“But how know you that it is Agnes who
is murdered?”—uttered before any one had informed who had been murdered.

Wagner was called upon for an
explanation. He stated that he had been out the whole night; that the blood
upon his garments had flowed from his own body, which had been scratched and
torn in the mazes of the woods; that on his return home he met Agnes in the
garden; that he had left her there; and that he was told a young lady had been
assassinated in the
 
 vicinity
of his dwelling, he immediately conceived that the victim must be Agnes.

When questioned concerning the
motives of his absence from home during the entire night he maintained a
profound silence; but he was evidently much agitated and excited by the queries
thus put to him. He said nothing about the stranger-lady who had so frequently
terrified Agnes; because, in relating the proceedings of that mysterious female
in respect to his deceased grand-daughter—especially the incident of the
abstraction of the antique jewels which the late Count of Riverola had given to
her—he would have been compelled to enter into details concerning the
 
amour
 
between those who were no more. And
this subject he was solicitous to avoid, not only through respect for the
memory of the murdered Agnes, but also to spare the feelings of Count Francisco
and Donna Nisida.

The judges and the procurator
fiscal, rinding that they could elicit nothing from Wagner relative to the
cause of his absence from home during the night preceding the murder, passed on
to another subject.

“In an apartment belonging to
your residence,” said the chief judge, “there are several pictures and
portraits.”

Wagner turned pale and trembled.
The judge made a signal to an officer of the court, and that functionary
quitted the judgment hall. In a few minutes he returned, followed by three
subordinates bearing the two portraits mentioned in the sixth chapter of this
tale, and also the frame covered over with the large piece of black cloth. On
perceiving this last object, Wagner became paler still, and trembled violently.

“There are six other pictures in
the room whence these have been taken,” said the judge; “but these six are not
of a character to interest the tribunal. We however require explanations
concerning the two portraits and the frame with the black cloth cover now
before us.”

The greatest excitement at
present prevailed amongst the audience.

“On one of the portraits,”
continued the chief judge, “there is an inscription to this effect,—
F., Count of A., terminated his career on the
1st. of August, 1517.
—What does this inscription mean?”

“It means that Faust, Count of
Aurana, was a nobleman with whom I traveled during a period of eighteen
months,” replied Wagner; “and he died on the day mentioned in that
inscription.”

“The world has heard strange
reports relative to Faust,” said the chief judge, in a cold voice and with
unchanged manner, although the mention of that name had produced a thrill of
horror on the part of his brother judges and the audience. “Art thou aware that
rumor ascribes to him a compact with the Evil One?”

Wagner gazed around him in
horrified amazement, for the incident of the preceding night returned with such
force to his mind that he could scarcely subdue an agonizing ebullition of
emotion.

 The chief judge next
recited the inscription on the other portrait:—“
F. W. January 7th, 1516. His last day thus.
” But
Wagner maintained a profound silence, and neither threats nor entreaties could
induce him to give the least explanation concerning that inscription.

“Let us then proceed to examine
this frame with the black cloth cover,” said the chief judge.

“My lord,” whispered one of his
brother judges, “in the name of the Blessed Virgin! have naught more to do with
this man. Let him go forth to execution: he is a monster of atrocity, evidently
a murderer, doubtless leagued with the Evil One, as Faust, of whose acquaintance
he boasts, was before him——”

“For my part, I credit not such
idle tales,” interrupted the chief judge, “and it is my determination to sift
this matter to the very foundation. I am rather inclined to believe that the
prisoner is allied with the banditti who infest the republic, than with any
preterhuman powers. His absence from home during the entire night, according to
his own admission, his immense wealth, without any ostensible resources, all
justify my suspicion. Let the case proceed,” added the chief judge aloud; for
he had made the previous observations in a low tone. “Usher, remove the black
cloth from the picture!”

“No! no!” exclaimed Wagner,
wildly: and he was about to rush from the dock, but the sbirri held him back.
The usher’s hand was already on the black cloth.

“I beseech your lordship to
pause!” whispered the assistant judge who had before spoken.

“Proceed!” exclaimed the
presiding functionary in a loud authoritative tone; for he was a bold and
fearless man.

And scarcely were these word uttered,
when the black cloth was stripped from the frame; and the usher who had removed
the covering recoiled with a cry of horror, as his eyes obtained a glimpse of
the picture which was now revealed to view.

“What means this folly?”
ejaculated the chief judge. “Bring the picture hither.”

The usher, awed by the manner of
this great functionary, raised the picture in such a way that the judges and
the procurator fiscal might obtain a full view of it.

“A Wehr-Wolf!” ejaculated the
assistant judge, who had previously remonstrated with his superior; and his
countenance became pale as death.

The dreadful words were echoed by
other tongues in the court; and a panic fear seized on all save the chief judge
and Wagner himself. The former smiled contemptuously, the latter had summoned
all his courage to aid him to pass through this terrible ordeal without
confirming by his conduct the dreadful suspicion which had been excited in
respect to him.

For, oh! the subject of that
picture was indeed awful to contemplate! It had no inscription, but it
represented, with the most painful and horrifying fidelity, the writhings and
agonizing throes of the human being during the progress of transformation into
the lupine monster. The countenance of the unhappy man had already elongated
into one of savage and
 
 brute-like
shape; and so admirably had art counterfeited nature, that the rich garments
seemed changed into a rough, shaggy, and wiry skin! The effect produced by that
picture was indeed of thrilling and appalling interest!

“A Wehr-Wolf!” had exclaimed one
of the assistant judges: and while the voices of several of the male spectators
in the body of the court echoed the words mechanically, the ladies gave vent to
screams, as they rushed toward the doors of the tribunal. In a few moments that
part of the court was entirely cleared.

“Prisoner!” exclaimed the chief
judge, “have you ought more to advance in your defense, relative to the charge
of murder?”

“My lord, I am innocent!” said
Wagner, firmly but respectfully.

“The tribunal pronounces you
guilty!” continued the chief judge: then, with a scornful smile toward his
assistants and the procurator fiscal—who all three, as well as the sbirri and
the officers of the court were pale and trembling with vague fear—the presiding
functionary continued thus:—“The tribunal condemns you, Fernand Wagner, to
death by the hand of the common headsman; and it is now my duty to name the day
and fix the hour for your execution. Therefore I do ordain that the sentence
just pronounced be carried into effect precisely at the hour of sunset on the
last day of the present month!”

“My lord! my lord!” exclaimed the
procurator fiscal; “the belief is that on the last day of each month, and at
the hour of sunset——”

“I am aware of the common
superstition,” interrupted the chief judge, coldly and sternly; “and it is to
convince the world of the folly of putting faith in such legends that I have
fixed that day and that hour in the present instance. Away with the prisoner to
his dungeon.”

And the chief judge waved his
hand imperiously, to check any further attempts at remonstrance; but his
assistant functionaries, the procurator fiscal and the officers of the court,
surveyed him with mingled surprise and awe, uncertain whether they ought to
applaud his courage or tremble at his rashness. Wagner had maintained a calm
and dignified demeanor during the latter portion of the proceedings; and,
although the sbirri who had charge of him ventured not to lay a finger upon
him, he accompanied them back to the prison of the Palazzo del Podesta.