Wagner the Wehr-wolf/Chapter LX

It was verging toward midnight, and the moon was concealed behind dark clouds, when a tall figure, muffled in a cloak, climbed over the railing which inclosed one portion of the spacious garden attached to the Riverola Palace. That person was Fernand Wagner. He had arrived in Florence two days before that on which Nisida returned to the ancestral dwelling:—he had entered the city boldly and openly in the joyous sun-light—and yet no one molested him. He even encountered some of the very sbirri who had arrested him in the preceding month of February; they saluted him respectfully—thus showed that they recognized him—but offered not to harm him. His trial, his condemnation, and his escape appeared all to have been forgotten. He repaired to his mansion; his servants, who had remained in possession of the dwelling, received him with demonstrations of joy and welcome as if he had just returned under ordinary circumstances from a long journey. Truly, then, he was blessed by the protection of Heaven. And—more wondrous still—on entering his favorite room he beheld all his pictures in their proper places, as if none of them had ever been removed—as if the confiscation of several by the criminal tribunal had never taken place. Over the one which had proclaimed the secret of his doom to the judges and the audience on the occasion of his trial, still hung the black cloth; and an undefinable curiosity—no, not a sentiment of curiosity, but one of hope—impelled him to remove the covering. And how exquisite was his joy, how great his amazement, how sincere his thanksgivings, when he beheld but a blank piece of canvas. The horrible picture of the Wehr-Wolf, a picture which he had painted when in a strangely morbid state of mind—had disappeared. Here was another sign of Heaven's goodness—a further proof of celestial mercy.

On instituting inquiries, Fernand had learnt that Donna Nisida had not yet come back to Florence: but he employed trusty persons to watch and give him notice of her arrival the instant it should occur. Thus Nisida had not been half an hour at the Riverola mansion when Fernand was made acquainted with her return. From the conversation which had taken place between them at various times on the island, and as the reader is well aware, Wagner felt convinced that Nisida would again simulate deafness and dumbness; and he was therefore desirous to avoid giving her any surprise by appearing abruptly before her—a proceeding which might evoke a sudden ejaculation, and thus betray her secret. Moreover, he knew not whether circumstances would render his visits, made in a public manner, agreeable to her: and, perhaps—pardon him, gentle reader—perhaps he was also curious to learn whether she still thought of him, or whether the excitement of her return had absorbed all tender feelings of that nature.

Influenced by these various motives, Wagner muffled himself in a long Tuscan cloak and repaired to the vicinity of the Riverola mansion. He passed through the gardens without encountering any one, and, perceiving a side door open, he entered the building. Ascending the stairs, he thought that he should be acting in accordance with the advice given him by Rosencrux, and also consistent with prudence, were he at once to seek an interview with Nisida privately. He therefore repaired in the direction of the principal saloons of the palace; but losing his way amidst the maze of corridors, he was about to retire, when he beheld the object of his search, the beautiful Nisida, enter a room with a lamp in hand. He now felt convinced that he should meet her alone, and he hurried after her. In pursuance of his cautious plan, he opened the door gently, and was already in the middle of the apartment, when he perceived Nisida standing by the side of a bed, and with her head fixed in that immovable manner which indicates intent gazing upon some object. Instantly supposing that some invalid reposed in that couch, and now seized with a dreadful alarm lest Nisida, on beholding him, should utter a sudden ejaculation which would betray the secret of her feigned dumbness, Fernand considerately retreated with all possible speed: nor was he aware that Nisida had observed him, much less that his appearance there had excited such fears in her breast, those fears being greatly enhanced by his negligence in leaving the door open behind him.

Oh! had Nisida known it was thou, Fernand Wagner, how joyous, how happy she would have been; for the conviction that she bore the pledge of your mutual passion had made her heart yearn that eve to meet with thee again. And was it a like attraction on thy part, or the mysterious influence that now guided all thy movements, which induced thee at midnight to enter the Riverola gardens again, that thou mightest be, as it were, upon the same spot where she dwelt, and scent the fragrance of the same flowers that perfumed the atmosphere which she breathed? Oh! doubtless it was that mysterious influence; for thou hast now that power within thee which made thee strong to resist all the blandishments of the siren, and to prefer the welfare of thine own soul to aught in this world beside!

We said, then, at the commencement of this chapter that Fernand entered the Riverola gardens shortly after midnight. But scarcely had he crossed the iron railings, turned into the nearest path formed by shrubs and evergreens, when he was startled by hearing another person enter the grounds in the same unceremonious manner. Fernand accordingly stood aside in the deep shade of the trees; and in a few moments a figure, muffled like himself in a cloak, passed him rapidly by. Wagner was debating in himself what course he should pursue—for he feared that some treachery was intended toward Nisida—when to his boundless surprise, he heard the mysterious visitant say in a low tone. "Is it you, lady?"—to which question the unmistakable and never-to-be-forgotten voice of his Nisida answered, "'Tis I, Demetrius. Follow me noiselessly, and breathe not another word for the present!"

Fernand was shocked and grieved at what he had just heard, and which savored so strongly of an intrigue. Had not his ears deceived him? was this the Nisida from whom he had parted but little more than three weeks back, and who had left him that tender note which he had found in the hut on the island? But he had no time for reflection; the pair were moving rapidly toward the mansion—and Wagner unhesitatingly followed, his footsteps being soundless on the damp soil of the borders of flowers, and his form being concealed by the shade of the tall evergreens which he skirted.

He watched Nisida and her companion until they disappeared by a small private door at the back of the mansion; and this door was by them incautiously left unlocked, though shut close. It opened rapidly to Wagner's hand, and he found himself at the foot of a dark staircase, the sound of ascending steps on which met his ears. Up that narrow flight he sped, noiselessly but hastily; and in a few moments he was stopped by another door which had just closed behind those whom he was following. Here he was compelled to pause, in the hope that the partition might not be so thick as completely to intercept the sounds of the voices in the chamber; but after listening with breathless attention for a few minutes, he could not catch even the murmuring of a whisper. It now struck him that Nisida and her companion might have passed on into a room more remote than the one to which that door had admitted them; and he resolved to follow on. Accordingly, he opened the door with such successful precaution that not a sound—not even the creaking of the hinge was the result; and he immediately perceived that there was a thick curtain within; for it will be recollected that this door was behind the drapery of Nisida's bed. At the same time, a light, somewhat subdued by the thick curtain, appeared; and the sound of voices met Fernand's ears.

"Signor," said the melodious voice of Nisida, in its sweetest, softest tones, "it is due to myself to tender fitting excuse for introducing you thus into my private chamber; but the necessity of discoursing together without fear of interruption, and in some place that is secure from the impertinence of eavesdroppers, must serve as an apology."

"Lady," replied Demetrius, "it needed no explanation of your motive in bringing me hither to command on my part that respect which is due to you."

A weight was removed from Wagner's mind: it was assuredly no tender sentiment that had brought Nisida and the Greek together this night; and the curiosity of Fernand was therefore excited all the more strongly.

"We will not waste time in unnecessary parlance," resumed

Nisida, after a short pause; "nor must you seek to learn the causes—the powerful causes, which have urged me to impose upon myself the awful sacrifice involved in the simulation of loss of speech and hearing. Suffice it for you to know that, when on board the Kapitan-Pasha's ship, I overheard every syllable of the conversation which one day took place between the apostate Ibrahim and yourself,—a conversation wherein you gave a detailed account of all your proceedings at Florence, and in the course of which you spoke feelingly of your sister Calanthe."

"Alas! poor Calanthe!" exclaimed Demetrius, in a mournful tone; "and is she really no more?"

"Listen to me while I relate the manner in which I became aware of her fate," said Nisida.

She then explained the treacherous visit of the grand vizier to the cabin wherein she had slept on board the Ottoman admiral's ship—the way in which the Ethiopian slave had interfered to save her—and the conversation that had taken place between Ibrahim and the negro, revealing the dread fate of Calanthe.

"Is it possible that I have served so faithfully a man possessed of such a demon-heart?" cried Demetrius. "But I will have vengeance, lady; yes, the murdered Calanthe shall be avenged!"

"And I too must have vengeance upon the proud and insolent vizier who sought to violate all the laws of hospitality in respect to me," observed Nisida, "and who seeks to marry his sister, the low-born Flora, the sister of the base renegade, to the illustrious scion of the noble house of Riverola! Vengeance, too, must I have upon the wretch Antonio, the panderer to my father's illicit and degrading amours—the miscreant who sought to plunder this mansion, and who even dared to utter threats against me in that conversation with his accomplice Venturo, which you, signor, overheard in the streets of Florence. This game wretch it is, too, who consigned my brother to the custody of banditti; and though, for certain reasons, I deplore not that captivity which Francisco has endured, inasmuch as it has effectually prevented him from interesting himself on behalf of Flora Francatelli, yet as Antonio was animated by vengeance only in so using my brother, he shall pay the penalty due on account of all his crimes!"

"And in the task of punishing Antonio, lady," said Demetrius, "shall I be right glad to aid—for did not the villain deceive me infamously in respect to the dispatches which I sought to forward to Constantinople when last I was at Florence? and, not contented with that vile treachery, even plotted with his accomplice Venturo against my life."

"Vengeance, then, upon our enemies, Demetrius!" exclaimed Nisida. "And this is how our aims shall be accomplished," she continued, in a lower and less excited tone: "The ambitious views of Ibrahim Pasha must experience a signal defeat; and as he is too powerful to be personally injured by us, we must torture his soul by crushing his relations—we must punish him through the medium of his sister and his aunt. This evening I had a long discourse with Dr. Duras, who is devoted to my interests, and over whom I wield a wondrous power of persuasion. He has undertaken to induce his brother, Angelo Duras, to abandon the cause of the Francatellis; and the inquisition will, therefore, deal with them as it lists. Father Marco I can also manage as I will; he understands the language in which the deaf and dumb converse, for he has so long been confessor to our family. To-morrow I will undertake to send him to Rome on some charitable mission connected with the church. Thus the only persons whom you secured when last you were in Florence, in the interests of the Francatellis, will cease to watch over them; and, as they are accused of being accomplices in the sacrilege perpetrated in the Carmelite Convent, naught will save them from the flames of the auto-da-fe."

"Oh! spirit of the murdered Calanthe," exclaimed Demetrius, with savage joy, "thou wilt be avenged yet! And thou, false vizier, shalt writhe in the flames at the stake!"

"Now, as for Antonio, and the rest of the banditti who stormed the convent and gave freedom to the hated Flora—who have likewise captured my brother—and who have so long been a terror to Florence," continued Nisida; "we must annihilate them all at one blow; not a soul of the gang must be spared!"

Nisida knew full well that at least some of the banditti were acquainted with the fact that she was the murderess of Agnes, and that they could also tell an awkward tale of how she sought to bribe them to rescue Fernand Wagner in case of an adverse judgment on the part of the criminal tribunal. The total annihilation of the horde was consequently the large aim at which she aspired, and her energetic mind shrunk not from any difficulties that might appear in the way toward the execution of that object.

"The design is grand, but not without its obstacles," observed Demetrius. "Your ladyship will moreover adopt measures to rescue the Lord Count of Riverola first."

"By means of gold everything can be accomplished amongst villains," returned Nisida, "and the necessary preliminaries to the carrying out of our object rest with you, signor. To-morrow morning must you seek Antonio. He knows not that you suspect his villainy and, as you will say nothing relative to the failure in the arrival of your dispatches at Constantinople, he will rest secure in the belief that you have not yet discovered that deed of treachery. You must represent yourself as the mortal enemy of the Count of Riverola, and so speak as to lead Antonio to confess to you where he is and offer to become the instrument of your vengeance. Then bribe Antonio heavily to deliver up Francisco into your power to-morrow night at a particular hour, and at a place not far from the spot where you know the secret entrance of the banditti's stronghold to be."

"All this, lady," said Demetrius, "can be easily arranged. Antonio would barter his soul for gold; much more readily, then, will he sell the Count of Riverola to one who bids high for the possession of the noble prisoner."

"But this is not all," resumed Nisida, "'tis merely the preface to my plan. So soon as the shades of to-morrow's evening shall have involved the earth in obscurity, a strong party of your soldiers, properly disguised, but well armed, must repair in small sections, or even singly, to that grove where you have already obtained a clew to the entrance of the robbers' stronghold. Let them conceal themselves amongst the trees in the immediate vicinity of the enormous chestnut that overhangs the precipice. When the robbers emerge from their lurking-place with Francisco, your soldiers will immediately seize upon them. Should you then discover the secret of the entrance to the stronghold, the object will be gained,—your men will penetrate into the subterranean den,—and the massacre of the horde will prove an easy matter. But should it occur that those banditti who may be employed in leading forth my brother, do shut up the entrance of their den so speedily that your dependents discover not its secrets, then must we trust to bribery or threats to wrest that secret from the miscreants. At all events Antonio will be present to accompany Francisco to the place which you will appoint to meet them; and as the villain will fall into your power, it will perhaps prove less difficult to induce him to betray his comrades, than it might be to persuade any of the banditti themselves."

"Lady, your plan has every element of success," observed Demetrius; "and all shall be done as you suggest. Indeed, I will myself conduct the expedition. But should you thus at once effect the release of Don Francisco, will he not oppose your designs relative to the condemnation of Flora Francatelli by the inquisition?"

"Dr. Duras is well acquainted with the precise process," answered Nisida; "and from him I learnt that the third examination of the prisoners will take place to-morrow, when judgment will be pronounced should no advocate appear to urge a feasible cause of delay."

"The arrests took place on the 3d of July," said Demetrius; "and Angelo Duras undertook to obtain a postponement for three months. To-morrow, lady, is but the 26th of September."

"True," responded Nisida; "but were a delay granted, it would be for eight days—and thus you perceive how nicely Angelo Duras had weighed all the intricacies of the case, and how accurately he had calculated the length of the term to be gained by the exercise of the subtleties of the inquisitorial law. Therefore, as no advocate will appear to demand delay, Flora is certain to be condemned to-morrow night, and the release of Francisco may take place simultaneously—for when once the grand inquisitor shall have pronounced the extreme sentence, no human power can reverse it. And now," added Nisida, "but one word more. The grand vizier commanded you to dispatch a courier daily to Leghorn with full particulars of all your proceedings; see that those accounts be of a nature to lull the treacherous Ibrahim into security—for, were he to learn that his aunt and sister are in dread peril, he would be capable of marching at the head of all his troops to sack the city of Florence."

"Fear not on that subject, lady," answered Demetrius. "I will so amuse the demon-hearted grand vizier by my dispatches, that he shall become excited with joyous hopes—so that the blow—the dread blow which we are preparing for him—may be the more terribly severe."

The Greek then rose to take his leave of Donna Nisida; and Wagner, having closed the secret door as noiselessly as he had opened it, hurried away from the Riverola mansion bewildered and grieved at all he had heard—for he could no longer conceal from himself that a very fiend was incarnate in the shape of her whom be had loved so madly.

Having tossed on a feverish couch for upward of an hour,—unable to banish from his mind the cold blooded plot which Nisida and Demetrius had resolved upon in order to consign Flora Francatelli and her equally innocent aunt to the stake,—Wagner at last slept through sheer exhaustion. Then Christianus Rosencrux appeared to him in a dream and said:—"Heaven hath chosen thee as the instrument to defeat the iniquitous purposes of Riverola in respect of two guiltless and deserving women. Angelo Duras is an upright man; but he is deluded and misled by the representations made to him by Nisida, through his brother, the physician, relative to the true character of Flora. In the evening at nine o'clock, hie to Angelo Duras—command him in the name of justice and humanity, to do his duty toward his clients—and he will obey thee. Then, having performed this much, speed thou without delay to Leghorn, and seek the grand vizier, Ibrahim Pasha. To him shalt thou merely state that Demetrius is a traitor, and that tremendous perils hang over the heads of the vizier's much-loved relatives. Manifest no hatred to the vizier on account of his late treacherous intention with regard to the honor of Nisida: for vengeance belongeth not to mortals. And in these measures only, of all the deeply ramified plots and designs which thou didst hear discussed between Nisida and Demetrius, shall thou interfere. Leave the rest to Heaven."

The founder of the Rosicrucians disappeared: and when Fernand awoke late in the day—for his slumber had been long and deep—he remembered the vision which he had seen, and resolved to obey the order he had received.

Beneath the massive and heavy tower of the Palazzo del Podesta, or Ducal Palace of Florence, was the tribunal of the holy inquisition. Small, low, and terribly somber in appearance was this court—with walls of the most solid masonry, an arched roof, and a pavement formed of vast blocks of dark-veined marble. Thither the light of heaven never penetrated; for it was situate far below the level of the earth, and at the very foundation of that tower which rose, frowning and sullen, high above. Iron lamps diffused a lurid luster around, rendering ghastly the countenance alike of the oppressors and the oppressed; and when it was deemed necessary to invest the proceedings with a more awe-inspiring solemnity than usual, torches, borne by the familiars or officers of the inquisition, were substituted for these iron lamps. Over the judgment-seat was suspended a large crucifix. On one side of the court were three doors,—one communicating with the corridor and flight of stone steps leading to and from the tribunal; the second affording admission into the torture-chamber and the third opening to the prisons of the inquisition.

It was about seven o'clock in the evening, on the 26th of September, that Flora Francatelli and her aunt were placed before the grand inquisitor, to be examined for the second time. When the familiars, habited in their long, black, ecclesiastical dresses with the strange cowls or hoods shading their stern and remorseless countenances, led in the two females from the separate cells in which they had been confined, the first and natural impulse of the unhappy creatures was to rush into each other's arms;—but they were immediately torn rudely asunder, and so stationed in the presence of the grand inquisitor as to have a considerable interval between them.

But the glances which the aunt and niece exchanged, gave encouragement and hope to each other, and the sentiments which prompted those glances were really cherished by the persecuted females; inasmuch as Father Marco, who had been permitted to visit them occasionally, dropped sundry hints of coming aid, and powerful, though invisible, protection—thereby cheering their hearts to some little extent, and mitigating the intensity of their apprehensions. Flora was very pale—but never, perhaps, had she appeared more beautiful—for her large blue eyes expressed the most melting softness, and her dark brown hair hung disheveled over her shoulders, while her bosom heaved with the agitation of suspense.

"Woman," said the grand inquisitor, glancing first to the aunt and then to the niece, his eyes, however, lingering upon the latter, "know ye of what ye are accused? Let the younger speak first."

"My lord," answered Flora, in a firmer tone than might have been expected from the feelings indicated by her outward appearance, "when on a former occasion I stood in the presence of your eminence, I expressed my belief that secret enemies were conspiring, for their own bad purposes, to ruin my beloved relative and myself; and yet I call Heaven to witness my solemn declaration that knowingly and willfully we have wronged no one by word or deed."

"Young woman," exclaimed the grand inquisitor, "thou hast answered my questions evasively. Wast thou not an inmate of that most holy sanctuary, the convent of Carmelite nuns? wast thou not there the companion of Giulia of Arestino? did not a sacrilegious horde of miscreants break into the convent, headed or at least accompanied by a certain Manuel d'Orsini who was the lover of the countess? was not this invasion of the sacred place undertaken to rescue that guilty woman? and did she not find an asylum at the abode of your aunt, doubtless with your connivance, until the day of her arrest?"

"None of those circumstances, my lord," replied Flora, "do I attempt to deny: but it is so easy to give them a variety of colorings, some of which, alas! may seem most unfavorable to my venerable relative and to myself. Oh, my lord, do with me what thou wilt," exclaimed Flora, clasping her hands together in a single paroxysm of anguish; "but release that aged woman, suffer not my beloved aunt—my more than mother to be thus persecuted! have mercy, my lord, upon her—oh! have mercy, great judge, upon her."

"Flora—dearest Flora," cried Dame Francatelli, the tears trickling fast down her countenance, "I do not wish to leave you—I do not seek to be set free—I will stay in this dreadful place so long as you remain a prisoner also; for though we are separated——"

"Woman," exclaimed the grand inquisitor, not altogether unmoved by this touching scene, "the tribunal cannot take heed of supplications and prayers of an impassioned nature. It has to do with facts, not feelings."

At this moment there was a slight sensation amongst the familiars stationed near the door of the judgment-hall; and an individual who had just entered the court, and who wore the black robe and the cap or toque of a counselor, advanced toward the grand inquisitor.

"My lord," said the advocate, with a reverential bow, "the day after the arrest of these females, I submitted to the council of state a memorial, setting forth certain facts which induced the president of the council to issue his warrant to order the postponement of the second examination of the two prisoners now before your eminence, until this day."

"And the case has been postponed accordingly," answered the grand inquisitor. "It will now proceed, unless reasonable cause be shown for further delay. The prisoners are obstinate. Instead of confessing their heinous crimes, and throwing themselves on the mercy of Heaven—for past the hope of human mercy they are—they assuredly break forth into impassioned language, savoring of complaint. Indeed, the younger attributes to the machinations of unknown enemies the position in which she is placed. Yet have we positive proof that she was leagued with those who perpetrated the sacrilege which ended in the destruction of the Carmelite Convent; and the elder prisoner gave refuge not only to the young girl, her niece, but also to a woman more guilty still—thus rendering herself infamous as one who encouraged and concealed the enemies of the church, instead of giving them up to the most holy inquisition. Wherefore," continued the grand inquisitor, "it remaineth only for me to order the prisoners to be put to the torture, that they may confess their crimes and receive the condemnation which they merit."

At the terrible word "torture," Dame Francatelli uttered a cry of agony—but it was even more on account of her beloved niece than herself; while Flora, endowed with greater firmness than her aunt, would have flown to console and embrace her, had not the familiars cruelly compelled the young maiden to retain her place.

"My lord," said Angelo Duras—for he was the advocate who appeared on behalf of the prisoners—"I formally and earnestly demand a delay of eight days ere this final examination be proceeded with."

"It is impossible," returned the grand inquisitor, while his words went like ice-shafts to the hearts of the unhappy women. "In addition to the charges against them which I have already glanced at, it appeareth that one Alessandro Francatelli, who is nearly related to them both, hath abjured the Christian faith and become a Mussulman. This fact was reported many months ago to the council of state: and in the cottage lately habited by the prisoners was found a costly set of jewels, ornamented with sundry Moslem devices and symbols, all of which are hateful to the true Catholic. It is therefore natural to suppose that they themselves have secretly abjured their country's religion, and have already received the reward of their apostasy."

"No—never, never!" exclaimed the aunt, clasping her hands together, and showing more anguish by this cruel suspicion than by any other portion of the treatment which she had received at the hands of the inquisition.

On her side, Flora appeared to be astounded at the accusation made against her aunt and herself by the grand inquisitor.

"My lord," said Angelo Duras, "the very statement which has just been put forth by your eminence furnishes a new ground whereon I base my requisition for a delay of eight days, in order to prepare a fitting defense on behalf of the prisoners. The council of state is now sitting in deliberation on certain demands made by the newly arrived Ottoman envoy, and should your eminence refuse my requisition for a delay, it will be my duty forthwith to apply to that august body."

The grand inquisitor endeavored to reason with the advocate on the inconvenience of obstructing the business of the tribunal—but Angelo Duras, knowing that he had the law on his side, was firm; and the judge was finally compelled to accord the delay. Flora and her aunt were accordingly conveyed back each to her separate cell; while Angelo Duras retired, murmuring to himself, "I shall doubtless offend my brother by my conduct in this respect, after my solemn promise to him to abandon the cause of the Francatellis; but I prefer having obeyed that young man of godlike aspect and persuasive manner who visited me ere now to abjure me not to neglect my duty."

The next case that occupied the attention of the grand inquisitor on the present occasion was that of the Jew Isaachar ben Solomon. The old man was indeed a miserable spectacle. His garments hung loosely about his wasted and attenuated form—his countenance was wan and ghastly—but the fire of his eyes was not altogether quenched. He was heavily chained—and, as he walked between the two familiars who led him into the tribunal, he could scarcely drag himself along. For the persecuted old man had been confined for nearly seven months in the prison of the inquisition; and during that period he had suffered acutely with the damps of his dungeon—the wretched food doled out to him—and the anguish occasioned by conscious innocence unjustly accused of a dreadful crime.

"Jew," said the grand inquisitor, "when last thou wast examined by me, thou didst obstinately refuse to confess thy grievous sins. This is the day for the final investigation of thy case: and thou mayst produce witnesses in thy favor, if thou canst."

"My lord," replied Isaachar ben Solomon, in a weak and tremulous voice, "unless Heaven should work a miracle in my favor, I have no hope in this life. I do not fear death, my lord; for, persecuted, reviled, despised, accused as I am, I can yet lay my hand on my heart and say I have never injured a fellow-creature. But, my lord," he continued, his voice growing stronger with excitement, "it is sufficient that I am a Jew to insure my condemnation; and yet strange indeed is that Christian faith, or rather should I say, most inconsistent is the conduct of those who profess it, in so far as this ruthless persecution of my race is concerned. For where, my lord, is your charity, where is your tolerance, where is your mercy? If I be indeed involved in mental darkness, 'tis for you to enlighten me with argument, not coerce me with chains. Never have I insulted a Christian on account of his creed: wherefore should I be insulted in mine? Granting that the Jew is in error, he surely deserves pity, not persecution. For how came I by the creed which I profess? Even as your lordship obtained yours, which is that of Christian. Our parents reared us each in the belief which they respectively professed; and there is no more merit due to your eminence for being a Christian, than there is blame to be attached to me for being a Jew. Had all the religions of the earth been submitted to our consideration when we were children, and had it been said to each of us, 'Select a faith for yourself,' then there might be some merit in choosing the one most popular and the most assuredly conducive to personal safety. But such was not the case, my lord; and I am a Jew for the same reason that you are a Christian—and I cling to the creed of my forefathers even as you adhere tenaciously to that faith which your ancestors have handed down to you. Reproach me not, then, because I am a Jew. And now I will pass to another subject, my lord," continued Isaachar, becoming more and more animated as he proceeded.

"I am accused of a fearful crime, of murder. The evidence rests upon the fact that stains of blood were observed upon the floor of a room in my house. The answer is simple. Two men—one of noble birth, the other a robber, fought in the room; and the blood of one of them flowed from a slight wound. This is the truth—and yet I know that I am not believed. Merciful heavens! of what would you accuse me? Of murder!—and it was hinted, when last I stood before your eminence, that the Jews have been known to slay Christian children as an offering to Heaven. My lord, the Jews worship the same God as the Christians—for the Christians adopt that book in which the Jews put faith. Then I appeal to your eminence whether the God whom the Christians worship would delight in such sacrifices?—and as you must answer 'Nay,' the reply acquits the Jews also of the hideous calumny sought to be affixed upon us. The Jews, my lord, are a merciful and humane race. The records of your tribunals will prove that the Jews are not addicted to the shedding of blood. They are too patient—enduring—and resigned, to be given to vengeance. Behold how they cling to each other—how they assist each other in distress;—and charity is not narrowed to small circles, my lord, it is a sentiment which must become expansive, because it nourisheth itself and is cherished by those good feelings which are its only reward. Think you, my lord, that if I saw a fellow-creature starving in the street, I should wait to ask him whether he were a Christian, a Jew, or a Mussulman? Oh! no—no; the world's bread was given for men of all nations and all creeds!"

Isaachar would have continued his address to the grand inquisitor; but sheer exhaustion compelled him to desist—and he would have sunk upon the cold marble, had not the familiars supported him.

"By his own words is he convicted of disbelief in the most holy Catholic faith," said the grand inquisitor. "But I find, by a memorial which was addressed to me many mouths ago—indeed, very shortly after the arrest of this miserable unbeliever—and signed by Manuel Marquis of Orsini, that the said marquis hath important evidence to give on behalf of the Jew. Now, though Manuel d'Orsini be himself a prisoner of the holy office, yet as he hath not yet been judged, he is a competent witness."

Orders were then given to introduce the marquis; and Isaachar ben Solomon murmured to himself, "Is it possible that the young man can have felt sympathy for me? Ah, then I was not mistaken in him; in spite of his dissipation and his wildness he possesses a generous heart."

In a few minutes the Marquis of Orsini was led into the judgment-hall. He was chained;—but he carried his head erect—and, though his countenance was pale and careworn, his spirit was not crushed. He bowed respectfully, but not cringingly, to the grand inquisitor, and bestowed a friendly nod of recognition upon the Jew.

"This memorial, dated in the month of March last, was signed by you?" said the grand inquisitor interrogatively, as he displayed a paper to the marquis.

"That memorial was signed by me," answered Orsini, in a firm tone, "and I rejoice that your eminence has at length granted me an opportunity of explaining the matter hinted at therein. Your eminence sits there, it is presumed, to administer justice; then let justice be done toward this innocent man—albeit that he is a Jew—for solemnly do I declare that the blood which stained the floor in Isaachar's house flowed from my right arm. And it may not be amiss to observe," continued the marquis, "that the worthy Jew there did not only bind the wound for me with as much care as if I myself had been an Israelite, or he a Christian—but he moreover offered me the aid of his purse; and therefore am I under obligations to him which I can never wholly discharge. In good sooth, my lord," added Manuel, in whom neither a lengthened imprisonment nor the awful solemnity of the present scene could entirely subdue the flippancy which was habitual to his speech,—"in good sooth, my lord, he is a splendid specimen of a Jew—and I pray your eminence to discharge him forthwith."

"This levity ill becometh you, Manuel d'Orsini," said the grand inquisitor; "for you yourself are in terrible danger."

Then, upon a signal given, the familiars conveyed the marquis back to his dungeon: but ere he left the judgment-hall, he had the satisfaction of beholding the Jew's eyes fixed upon him with an expression of boundless gratitude and deep sympathy. Tears, too, were trickling down the cheeks of the Israelite: for the old man thought within himself, "What matters it if the rack dislocate my limbs? But it is shocking—oh! it is shocking to reflect that thy fellow-creatures, noble youth, shall dare to deface and injure that godlike form of thine!"

"Jew," suddenly exclaimed the grand inquisitor, "I put no faith in the testimony of the witness who has just appeared in thy favor. Confess thy sins—avow openly that thou hast murdered Christian children to obtain their blood for use in thy sacrifices—and seek forgiveness from Heaven by embracing the faith of Jesus!"

The unhappy Israelite was so appalled by the open, positive, and undisguised manner in which an atrocious charge was revived against him, that he lost all power of utterance, and stood stupefied and aghast.

"Away with him to the torture-chamber!" cried the grand inquisitor, in a stern and remorseless tone.

"Monster!" exclaimed the Jew, suddenly recovering his speech, as that dreadful mandate warned him that he would now require all his energy—all his presence of mind:—"monster!" he repeated, in a voice indicative of loathing and contempt;—"and thou art a Christian!"

The familiars hurried Isaachar away to the torture-chamber, which, as we before stated, opened upon the tribunal. And terrible, indeed, was the appearance of that earthly hell—that terrestrial hades, invented by fiends in human shape—that den of horrors constituting, indeed, a fitting foretaste of trans-stygian torment! The grand inquisitor followed the victim and the familiars into this awful place: and, on a signal being given by that high functionary, Isaachar was stripped of all his upper clothing, and stretched on the accursed rack. Then commenced the torture—the agonizing torture by means of that infernal instrument, a torture which dislocated the limbs, appeared to tear the members asunder, and produced sensations as if all the nerves of the body were suddenly being drawn out through the brain.

"Dost thou confess? and wilt thou embrace the Christian faith?" demanded the grand inquisitor from time to time.

"I have nothing to confess—I will not renounce the creed of my forefathers!" answered Isaachar in a tone of bitter agony, as he writhed upon the rack, while every fresh shock and jerk of the infernal engine seemed as if it would tear the very life out of him. But the old man remained firm in the declaration of his innocence of the dreadful crime imputed to him: stanch also to his creed did he remain; and having endured the full extent of that special mode of torture, he was borne back to his dungeon, cruelly injured, with dislocated limbs, blood streaming from his mouth and nostrils, and these terrible words of the grand inquisitor ringing in his ears—"Obstinate and impenitent one, Satan claims thee as his own; therefore art thou condemned to death by fire at the approaching auto-de-fe!"

Half an hour afterward another human being lay stretched upon that accursed rack, and agonizing—oh! most agonizing were the female shrieks and rending screams which emanated from the lips of the tortured victim, but which reached not beyond the solid masonry of those walls and the massive iron-plated door. The white and polished arms were stretched out in a position fearfully painful beyond the victim's head, and the wrists were fastened to a steel bar by means of a thin cord, which cut through flesh, muscle and nerve to the very bone! The ankles were attached in a similar manner to a bar at the lower end of the rack, and thus from the female's hands and feet thick clots of gore fell on the stone pavement. But even the blood flowed not so fast from her lacerated limbs as streamed the big drops of agony from her distorted countenance—that countenance erst so beautiful, and so well beloved by thee, Manuel d'Orsini! For, oh! upon that rack lay stretched the fair and half-naked form of Giulia of Arestino, its symmetry convulsing in matchless tortures, the bosom palpitating awfully with the pangs of that earthly hell, and the exquisitely-modeled limbs enduring all the hideous pains of dislocation, as if the fibers that held them in their sockets were drawn out to a tension at which they must inevitably snap in halves!

But who gazes on that awful spectacle? whose ears drink in those agonizing screams, as if they made a delicious melody? With folded arms, compressed lips, and remorseless, though ashy pale countenance, the old Lord of Arestino stands near the rack; and if his eyes can for a moment quit that feast which they devour so greedily, it is but to glance with demoniac triumph toward Manuel d'Orsini, whom an atrocious refinement of cruelty, suggested by the vengeful count himself, has made a spectator of that appalling scene! And terrible are the emotions which rend the heart of the young marquis! But he is powerless—he cannot stretch forth a hand to save his mistress from the hellish torments which she is enduring, nor can he even whisper a syllable to inspire her with courage to support them. For he is bound tightly—the familiars, too, have him in their iron grasp, and he is gagged! Nevertheless he can see, and he can hear; he can behold the rending tortures of the rack—and he is compelled to listen to the piercing screams which the victim sends forth. If he close his eyes upon the horrible spectacle, imagination instantly makes it more horrible even still; and, moreover, in the true spirit of a chivalrous not in dictionaries] heart, he seeks by the tenderness of his glances to impart at least a gleam of solace to the soul of her who has undergone so much, and is suffering now so much more, through her fatal love of him! The grand inquisitor, who is an intimate friend of the Count of Arestino, ministers well and fiathfully to the infernal vengeance of that old Italian noble: for he remorseless judge urges on the torturers to apply the powers of the rack to the fullest extent; and while the creaking sound of wheels mingles with the cracking noise of dislocating limbs, the Count of Arestino exclaims, "I was once humane and benevolent, Giulia, but thy conduct has made me a fiend!"

"A fiend!" shrieked the tormented woman: "Oh! yes—yes—thou art a fiend—a very fiend—I have wronged thee—but this vengeance is horrible—mercy—mercy!—oh! for one drop of water—mercy—mercy!"

The rack gave the last shock of which its utmost power was capable—a scream more dreadful, more agonizing, more piercing than any of its predecessors, rent this time the very walls of the torture-chamber: and with this last outburst of mortal agony, the spirit of the guilty Giulia fled forever! Yet was not the vengeance of the Count of Arestino satisfied; and the grand inquisitor was prepared to gratify the hellish sentiment to the fullest extent. The still warm and palpitating corpse of the countess was hastily removed from the rack: and the familiars stripped—nay, tore off the clothing of Manuel d'Orsini. The countenance of the young nobleman was now terribly somber, as if the darkest thoughts were occupying his inmost soul, and his eyes were bent fixedly on the dreadful engine, to the tortures of which it appeared to be his turn to submit.

The familiars, in order to divest him of his garments, and also to stretch him in such a way on the rack that his arms might be fastened over his head to the upper end of that instrument, had removed the chains and cords which had hitherto bound him. And now the fatal moment seemed to be at hand, and the familiars already grasped him rudely to hurl him on the rack, when, as if suddenly inspired by a superhuman strength, the young nobleman dashed the men from him; then, with lightning speed, he seized a massive iron bar that was used to move the windlass of the rack, and in another instant, before a saving arm could intervene, the deadly instrument struck down the Count of Arestino at the feet of the grand inquisitor, who started back with a cry of horror! The next moment the marquis was again powerless and secure in the grasp of the familiars—but he had accomplished his purpose, he had avenged his mistress and himself—and the old Lord of Arestino lay, with shattered skull, a corpse upon the cold pavement of the torture-chamber!

"Back—back with the murderer to his dungeon!" exclaimed the grand inquisitor, in a tone of fearful excitement and rage. "We must not afford him a chance of dying upon that engine of torture. No—no: the lingering flames of the auto-da-fe are reserved for the Marquis d'Orsini!"

And in pursuance of the sentence thus pronounced, Manuel was hurried away to his dark and solitary cell, there to remain a prey to all the dreadful thoughts which the occurrences of that fatal evening were so well calculated to marshal in horrible array to his imagination.