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) (3 page)

“I accept the boon—and on the
conditions stipulated!” exclaimed the shepherd.

“’Tis well, Wagner——”

“What! you know my name!” cried
the old man. “And yet, me seems, I did not mention it to thee.”

“Canst thou not already perceive
that I am no common mortal?” demanded the stranger, bitterly. “And who I am,
and
 
 whence I derive my
power, all shall be revealed to thee so soon as the bond is formed that must
link us for eighteen months together! In the meantime, await me here!”

And the mysterious stranger
quitted the cottage abruptly, and plunged into the depths of the Black Forest.

One hour elapsed ere he
returned—one mortal hour, during which Wagner sat bowed over his miserably
scanty fire, dreaming of pleasure, youth, riches, and enjoyment; converting, in
imagination, the myriad sparks which shone upon the extinguishing embers into
piles of gold, and allowing his now uncurbed fancy to change the one single
room of the wretched hovel into a splendid saloon, surrounded by resplendent
mirrors and costly hangings, while the untasted fare for the stranger on the
rude fir-table, became transformed, in his idea, into a magnificent banquet
laid out, on a board glittering with plate, lustrous with innumerable lamps,
and surrounded by an atmosphere fragrant with the most exquisite perfumes.

The return of the stranger awoke
the old man from his charming dream, during which he had never once thought of
the conditions whereby he was to purchase the complete realization of the
vision.

“Oh! what a glorious reverie you
have dissipated!” exclaimed Wagner. “Fulfill but one tenth part of that
delightful dream——”

“I will fulfill it all!”
interrupted the stranger: then, producing a small vial from the bosom of his
doublet, he said, “Drink!”

The old man seized the bottle,
and speedily drained it to the dregs.

He immediately fell back upon the
seat, in a state of complete lethargy.

But it lasted not for many
minutes; and when he awoke again, he experienced new and extraordinary
sensations. His limbs were vigorous, his form was upright as an arrow; his
eyes, for many years dim and failing, seemed gifted with the sight of an eagle,
his head was warm with a natural covering; not a wrinkle remained upon his brow
nor on his cheeks; and, as he smiled with mingled wonderment and delight, the
parting lips revealed a set of brilliant teeth. And it seemed, too, as if by
one magic touch the long fading tree of his intellect had suddenly burst into
full foliage, and every cell of his brain was instantaneously stored with an
amount of knowledge, the accumulation of which stunned him for an instant, and
in the next appeared as familiar to him as if he had never been without it.

“Oh! great and powerful being,
whomsoever thou art,” exclaimed Wagner, in the full, melodious voice of a young
man of twenty-one, “how can I manifest to thee my deep, my boundless gratitude
for this boon which thou hast conferred upon me!”

“By thinking no more of thy lost
grand-child Agnes, but by preparing to follow me whither I shall now lead
thee,” replied the stranger.

“Command me: I am ready to obey
in all things,” cried Wagner. “But one word ere we set forth—who art thou,
wondrous man?”

 “Henceforth I have no
secrets from thee, Wagner,” was the answer, while the stranger’s eyes gleamed
with unearthly luster; then, bending forward, he whispered a few words in the
other’s ear.

Wagner started with a cold and
fearful shudder as if at some appalling announcement; but he uttered not a word
of reply—for his master beckoned him imperiously away from the humble cottage.

THE DEATH-BED—THE OATH—THE LAST
INJUNCTIONS

Our
 
tale commences in the middle of
the month of November, 1520, and at the hour of midnight.

In a magnificently furnished
chamber, belonging to one of the largest mansions of Florence, a nobleman lay
at the point of death.

The light of the lamp suspended
to the ceiling played upon the ghastly countenance of the dying man, the stern
expression of whose features was not even mitigated by the fears and
uncertainties attendant on the hour of dissolution.

He was about forty-eight years of
age, and had evidently been wondrously handsome in his youth: for though the
frightful pallor of death was already upon his cheeks, and the fire of his
large black eyes was dimmed with the ravages of a long-endured disease, still
the faultless outlines of the aquiline profile remained unimpaired.

The most superficial observer
might have read the aristocratic pride of his soul in the haughty curl of his
short upper lip,—the harshness of his domineering character in the lines that
marked his forehead,—and the cruel sternness of his disposition in the
expression of his entire countenance.

Without absolutely scowling as he
lay on that bed of death, his features were characterized by an inexorable severity
which seemed to denote the predominant influence of some intense passion—some
evil sentiment deeply rooted in his mind.

Two persons leant over the couch
to which death was so rapidly approaching.

One was a lady of about
twenty-five: the other was a youth of nineteen.

The former was eminently
beautiful; but her countenance was marked with much of that severity—that
determination—and even of that sternness, which characterized the dying
nobleman. Indeed, a single glance was sufficient to show that they stood in the
close relationship of father and daughter.

Her long, black, glossy hair now
hung disheveled over the shoulders that were left partially bare by the hasty
negligence with which she had thrown on a loose wrapper; and those shoulders
were of the most dazzling whiteness.

The wrapper was confined by a
broad band at the waist; and the slight drapery set off, rather than concealed,
the rich contours of a form of mature but admirable symmetry.

 Tall, graceful, and
elegant, she united easy motion with fine proportion; thus possessing the
lightness of the Sylph and the luxuriant fullness of the Hebe.

Her countenance was alike
expressive of intellectuality and strong passions. Her large black eyes were
full of fire, and their glances seemed to penetrate the soul. Her nose, of the
finest aquiline development,—her lips, narrow, but red and pouting, with the
upper one short and slightly projecting over the lower,—and her small,
delicately rounded chin, indicated both decision and sensuality: but the
insolent gaze of the libertine would have quailed beneath the look of sovereign
hauteur which flashed from those brilliant eagle eyes.

In a word, she appeared to be a
woman well adapted to command the admiration—receive the homage—excite the
passions—and yet repel the insolence of the opposite sex.

But those appearances were to
some degree deceitful; for never was homage offered to her—never was she
courted nor flattered.

Ten years previously to the time
of which we are writing—and when she was only fifteen—the death of her mother,
under strange and mysterious circumstances, as it was generally reported, made
such a terrible impression on her mind, that she hovered for months on the
verge of dissolution; and when the physician who attended upon her communicated
to her father the fact that her life was at length beyond danger, that
assurance was followed by the sad and startling declaration, that she had
forever lost the sense of hearing and the power of speech.

No wonder, then, that homage was
never paid nor adulation offered to Nisida—the deaf and dumb daughter of the
proud Count of Riverola!

Those who were intimate with this
family ere the occurrence of that sad event—especially the physician, Dr.
Duras, who had attended upon the mother in her last moments, and on the
daughter during her illness—declared that, up to the period when the malady
assailed her, Nisida was a sweet, amiable and retiring girl; but she had
evidently been fearfully changed by the terrible affliction which that malady
had left behind. For if she could no longer express herself in words, her eyes
darted lightnings upon the unhappy menials who had the misfortune to incur her
displeasure; and her lips would quiver with the violence of concentrated
passion, at the most trifling neglect or error of which the female dependents
immediately attached to her own person might happen to be guilty.

Toward her father she often
manifested a strange ebullition of anger—bordering even on inveterate spite,
when he offended her: and yet, singular though it were, the count was devotedly
attached to his daughter. He frequently declared that, afflicted as she was, he
was proud of her: for he was wont to behold in her flashing eyes—her curling
lip—and her haughty air, the reflection of his own proud—his own inexorable spirit.

The youth of nineteen to whom we
have alluded was Nisida’s brother; and much as the father appeared to dote upon
the
 
 daughter, was the son
proportionately disliked by that stern and despotic man.

Perhaps this want of affection—or
rather this complete aversion—on the part of the Count of Riverola toward the
young Francisco, owed its origin to the total discrepancy of character existing
between the father and son. Francisco was as amiable, generous-hearted, frank
and agreeable as his sire was austere, stern, reserved and tyrannical. The
youth was also unlike his father in personal appearance, his hair being of a
rich brown, his eyes of a soft blue, and the general expression of his
countenance indicating the fairest and most endearing qualities which can
possibly characterize human nature.

We must, however, observe, before
we pursue our narrative, that Nisida imitated not her father in her conduct
toward Francisco; for she loved him—she loved him with the most ardent
affection—such an affection as a sister seldom manifests toward a brother. It
was rather the attachment of a mother for her child; inasmuch as Nisida studied
all his comforts—watched over him, as it were, with the tenderest
solicitude—was happy when he was present, melancholy when he was absent, and
seemed to be constantly racking her imagination to devise new means to afford
him pleasure.

To treat Francisco with the least
neglect was to arouse the wrath of a fury in the breast of Nisida; and every
unkind look which the count inflicted upon his son was sure, if perceived by
his daughter, to evoke the terrible lightnings of her brilliant eyes.

Such were the three persons whom
we have thus minutely described to our readers.

The count had been ill for some
weeks at the time when this chapter opens; but on the night which marks that
commencement, Dr. Duras had deemed it his duty to warn the nobleman that he had
not many hours to live.

The dying man had accordingly
desired that his children might be summoned; and when they entered the
apartment, the physician and the priest were requested to withdraw.

Francisco now stood on one side
of the bed, and Nisida on the other; while the count collected his remaining
strength to address his last injunctions to his son.

“Francisco,” he said, in a cold
tone, “I have little inclination to speak at any great length; but the words I
am about to utter are solemnly important. I believe you entertain the most
sincere and earnest faith in that symbol which now lies beneath your hand.”

“The crucifix!” ejaculated the
young man. “Oh, yes, my dear father!—it is the emblem of that faith which
teaches us how to live and die!”

“Then take it up—press it to your
lips—and swear to obey the instructions which I am about to give you,” said the
count.

Francisco did as he was desired; and,
although tears were streaming from his eyes, he exclaimed, in an emphatic
manner, “I swear most solemnly to fulfill your commands, my dear
 
 father, so confident am I that
you will enjoin nothing that involves aught dishonorable!”

“Spare your qualifications,”
cried the count, sternly; “and swear without reserve—or expect my dying curse,
rather than my blessing.”

“Oh! my dear father,” ejaculated
the youth, with intense anguish of soul; “talk not of so dreadful a thing as
bequeathing me your dying curse! I swear to fulfill your injunctions—without
reserve.”

And he kissed the holy symbol.

“You act wisely,” said the count,
fixing his glaring eyes upon the handsome countenance of the young man, who now
awaited, in breathless suspense, a communication thus solemnly prefaced. “This
key,” continued the nobleman, taking one from beneath his pillow as he spoke,
“belongs to the door in yonder corner of the apartment.”

“That door which is never
opened!” exclaimed Francisco, casting an anxious glance in the direction indicated.

“Who told you that the door was
never opened,” demanded the count, sternly.

“I have heard the servants
remark——” began the youth in a timid, but still frank and candid manner.

“Then, when I am no more, see
that you put an end to such impertinent gossiping,” said the nobleman,
impatiently; “and you will be the better convinced of the propriety of thus
acting, as soon as you have learned the nature of my injunctions. That door,”
he continued, “communicates with a small closet, which is accessible by no
other means. Now my wish—my command is this:—Upon the day of your marriage,
whenever such an event may occur—and I suppose you do not intend to remain
unwedded all your life—I enjoin you to open the door of that closet. You must
be accompanied by your bride—and by no other living soul. I also desire that
this may be done with the least possible delay—the very morning—within the very
hour after you quit the church. That closet contains the means of elucidating a
mystery profoundly connected with me—with you—with the family—a mystery, the
developments of which may prove of incalculable service alike to yourself and
to her who may share your title and your wealth. But should you never marry,
then must the closet remain unvisited by
 
you
; nor need you trouble
yourself concerning the eventual discovery of the secret which it contains, by
any person into whose hands the mansion may fall at your death. It is also my
wish that your sister should remain in complete ignorance of the instructions
which I am now giving you. Alas! poor girl—she cannot hear the words which fall
from my lips! neither shall you communicate their import to her by writing, nor
by the language of the fingers. And remember that while I bestow upon you my
blessing—my dying blessing—may that blessing become a withering curse—the curse
of hell upon you—if in any way you violate one tittle of the injunctions which
I have now given you.”

“My dearest father,” replied the
weeping youth, who had listened with the most profound attention, to these extraordinary
 
 commands; “I would not for
worlds act contrary to your wishes. Singular as they appear to me, they shall
be fulfilled to the very letter.”

He received from his father’s
hand the mysterious key, which he had secured about his person.

“You will find,” resumed the
count after a brief pause, “that I have left the whole of my property to you.
At the same time my will specifies certain conditions relative to your sister
Nisida, for whom I have made due provision only in the case—which is, alas!
almost in defiance of every hope!—of her recovery from that dreadful affliction
which renders her so completely dependent upon your kindness.”

“Dearest father, you know how
sincerely I am attached to my sister—how devoted she is to me——”

“Enough, enough!” cried the
count; and overcome by the effort he had made to deliver his last injunction,
he fell back insensible on his pillow.

Nisida, who had retained her face
buried in her hands during the whole time occupied in the above conversation,
happened to look up at that moment; and, perceiving the condition of her
father, she made a hasty sign to Francisco to summon the physician and the
priest from the room to which they had retired.

This commission was speedily
executed, and in a few minutes the physician and the priest were once more by
the side of the dying noble.

But the instant that Dr.
Duras—who was a venerable looking man of about sixty years of age—approached
the bed, he darted, unseen by Francisco, a glance of earnest inquiry toward
Nisida, who responded by one of profound meaning, shaking her head gently, but
in a manner expressive of deep melancholy, at the same time.

The physician appeared to be
astonished at the negative thus conveyed by the beautiful mute; and he even
manifested a sign of angry impatience.

But Nisida threw upon him a look
of so imploring a nature, that his temporary vexation yielded to a feeling of
immense commiseration for that afflicted creature: and he gave her to
understand, by another rapid glance, that her prayer was accorded.