Wagner, the Wehr-Wolf

by George W. M. Reynolds

Thus the glory of that sunrise had no charms for her; although never had the orb of day come forth with greater pomp, nor to shine on a lovelier scene. No words can convey an idea of the rapid development of every feature in the landscape, the deeper and deepening tint of the glowing sky, the roseate hue of the mountain-peaks as they stood out against the cloudless orient, and the rich emerald shades of the woods sparkling with fruit. The fragrant rose and the chaste lily, the blushing peony and the gaudy tulip, and all the choicest flowers of that delicious clime, expanded into renewed loveliness to greet the sun: and the citron and the orange, the melon and the grape, the pomegranate and the date drank in the yellow light to nourish their golden hues.

Nisida’s eyes glanced rapidly over the vast expanse of waters, and swept the horizon: but there was not a sail, nor even a cloud which imagination might transform into the white wing of a distant ship. And now upon the golden sand the lovely Nisida put off her garments one by one: and set at liberty the dark masses of her shining hair, which floated like an ample veil of raven blackness over the dazzling whiteness of her skin. Imagination might have invested her forehead with a halo, so magnificent was the lustrous effect of the sun upon the silken glossiness of that luxuriant hair.

The Mediterranean was the lady’s bath: and, in spite of the oppressive nature of the waking thoughts which had succeeded her delicious dream, in spite of that conviction of loneliness which lay like a weight of lead upon her soul, she disported in the waters like a mermaid.

Now she plunged beneath the surface, which glowed in the sun like a vast lake of quicksilver: now she stood in a shallow spot, where the water rippled no higher than her middle, and combed out her dripping tresses; then she waded further in, and seemed to rejoice in allowing the little wavelets to kiss her snowy bosom. No fear had she, indeed, no thought of the monsters of the deep: could the fair surface of the shining water conceal aught dangerous or aught terrible? Oh! yes, even as beneath that snowy breast beat a heart stained with crime, often agitated by ardent and impetuous passions, and devoured by raging desire.

For nearly an hour did Nisida disport in Nature’s mighty bath until the heat of the sun became so intense that she was compelled to return to the shore and resume her apparel. Then she took some bread in her hand, and hastened to the groves to pluck the cooling and delicious fruits whereof there was so marvelous an abundance. She seated herself on a bed of wild flowers on the shady side of a citron and orange grove, surrounded by a perfumed air. Before her stretched the valley, like a vast carpet of bright green velvet fantastically embroidered with flowers of a thousand varied hues. And in the midst meandered the crystal stream, with stately swans and an infinite number of other aquatic birds floating on its bosom. And the birds of the groves, too, how beautiful were they, and how joyous did they seem! What variegated plumage did they display, as they flew past the Lady Nisida, unscared by her presence! Some of them alighted from the overhanging boughs, and as they descended swept her very hair with their wings; then, almost to convince her that she was not an unwelcome intruder in that charming land, they hopped round her, picking up the crumbs of bread which she scattered about to attract them.

For the loneliness of her condition had already attuned the mind of this strange being to a susceptibility of deriving amusement from incidents which a short time previously she would have looked upon as the most insane triflings;—thus was the weariness of her thoughts relieved by disporting in the water, as we ere now saw her, or by contemplating the playfulness of the birds. Presently she wandered into the vale, and gathered a magnificent nosegay of flowers: then the whim struck her that she would weave for herself a chaplet of roses; and as her work progressed, she improved upon it, and fashioned a beauteous diadem of flowers to protect her head from the scorching noonday sun.

But think not, O reader! that while thus diverting herself with trivialities of which you would scarcely have deemed the haughty—imperious—active disposition of Nisida of Riverola to be capable—think not that her mind was altogether abstracted from unpleasant thoughts. No—far, very far from that! She was merely relieved from a portion of that weight which oppressed her; but her entire burden could not be removed from her soul. There were moments when her grief amounted almost to despair. Was she doomed to pass the remainder of her existence in that land? was it really an island and unknown to navigators? She feared so: for did it join a continent, its loveliness and fruitfulness would not have permitted it to remain long unoccupied by those who must of necessity discover it.

And oh! what would her brother think of her absence? what would Fernand conjecture? And what perils might not at that moment envelop her lover, while she was not near to succor him by means of her artifice, her machinations, or her gold. Ten thousand-thousand maledictions upon Stephano, who was the cause of all her present misery! Ten thousand-thousand maledictions on her own folly for not having exerted all her energies and all her faculties to escape from his power, ere she was conveyed on board the corsair ship, and it was too late!

But useless now were regrets and repinings; for the past could not be recalled, and the future might have much happiness in store for Nisida. For oh! sweetest comes the hope which is lured back because its presence is indispensable; and, oppressed as Nisida was with the weight of her misfortunes, her soul was too energetic, too sanguine, too impetuous to yield to despair.

Day after day passed, and still not a ship appeared. Nisida did not penetrate much further into the island than the valley which we have described, and whither she was accustomed to repair to gather the flowers that she wove into diadems. She lingered for the most part near the shore on which she had been thrown, fearing lest, if away, a ship might pass in her absence.