“Holy Virgin! this is maddening!” cried Wagner. “Nisida—be reasonable; how can I assist thee? how can I enable thee to cross that sea which appears to us boundless? And thou accusest me of not loving thee, Nisida! Oh! this is too cruel!”
“No, it is thou who art cruel!” exclaimed Nisida, in an impassioned tone. “I know that you are not a being of an ordinary stamp, that your intellect is as wonderful as your person is godlike,—and that you possess a mine of knowledge in the extent of which no mortal can equal thee. Is it strange—is it marvelous, then, that I should implore thee to exert thy powers—the vast powers of thy glorious intelligence, to forward my design? Nay, seek not to interrupt me, Fernand, denial is vain! A secret voice continues to whisper within me that thou art able to do all I ask; I know not the means to be used—I seek not to know them; but that thou hast such means within thy reach, is a conviction firmly impressed upon my mind. Here, then, Fernand, at thy feet, on my knees, do I implore thee, beseech thee, not to refuse the boon which I, thy loving wife, crave at the hands of thee, my husband, as if I were a humble suppliant suing at the footstool of a throned king!”
“Nisida, Nisida!” cried Fernand, painfully excited by this sudden movement on her part, and endeavoring to rise: “what means so strange a proceeding? Rise, dearest, rise; it is not to me that you must thus humble yourself!”
“No; I will not quit this suppliant attitude until you shall have granted my request—my prayer,” said Nisida. “Refuse me not, my Fernand. Oh! I implore you not to refuse me! Whatever means be within your reach, exert them on my behalf. A brother’s interest, the remembrance of a solemn vow breathed only to my lamented and much-wronged mother—and the safeguard of a mystery, the discovery of which by curious and prying eyes would heap infamy and disgrace upon the family that bears the name of Riverola—all these reasons render me thus anxious to return to Italy. And if you keep me here, Fernand, I shall pine away—I shall perish before your eyes, and you will repent of your harshness when it is too late. Or else,” she added, speaking with wild rapidity, “I shall be reduced to despair, and in a moment of excitement shall seek death in those silent waters, or climb yon craggy mountains to fling myself headlong from their summit.”
“Nisida, your menaces are maddening as your supplications to me are vain and useless!” said Wagner, himself now laboring under a fearful excitement. “Rise, I implore you, rise, and let us endeavor to converse more calmly—more rationally.”
“Yes—I will rise,” said Nisida, now affecting a sullen haughtiness, and preparing to wield another of the weapons which the demon had placed in her hand: “I rise, Fernand, because I feel that I was wrong thus to abase myself—I, who bear the proud name of Riverola;”—and she tossed her head indignantly. “Well—it seems that you are resolved to keep me chained to your side on this island. Be it so: but henceforth let there be no mistrust—no mystery—no secrets between us. If Italy must be forgotten forever, then this isle shall become our world, and our thoughts shall travel not beyond its confines. All shall be mutual confidence—a reciprocal outpouring of our minutest thoughts. On that condition only will existence here be tolerable to us both. And now as a proof that thou wilt assent to this proposal—than which nothing can be more rational—let our new life of mutual confidence date from this moment. Tell me then, my Fernand,” she proceeded, assuming a winning manner, and throwing as much pathos as possible into her sweetly musical voice—that voice which gave new and indescribable, charms to the soft Italian language—“tell me then, my Fernand, wherefore thou quittest me at certain intervals—why thou invariably seekest on those occasions the opposite side of the island—and whether thou wilt in future suffer me to be the companion of those journeys?”
“Thou be my companion—thou, Nisida!” exclaimed Wagner, his whole frame convulsed with mental agony. “Merciful Heaven! what fiend has prompted thee thus to speak! Nisida,” he said, suddenly exercising a strong mastery over his emotions, as he seized her hand and pressed it with spasmodic violence—“Nisida, as thou valuest our happiness seek not to penetrate into my secret—proffer not that mad request again!”
And dropping her hand he paced the shore with the agitation of reviving excitement.
“Fernand,” said Nisida, approaching him, and once more speaking in a resolute and even severe tone—“listen to me. When we met upon the island, an accident of a terrible nature led me to forget my vow of self-imposed dumbness; and when the excitement occasioned by that accident had somewhat passed you were in doubt whether you had really heard my voice or had been deluded by fevered imagination. It would have been easy for me to simulate dumbness again; and you would have believed that the bewilderment of the dread scene had misled you. But I chose not to maintain a secret from thee—and I confess that my long supposed loss of two glorious faculties was a mere deed of duplicity on my part. At that time you said that you also had explanations to give; and yet months and months have passed by, and confidence has not begotten confidence. Let this mistrust on your part cease. Reveal to me the cause of these frequent excursions across the mountains; or else the next time that you set out on one of these mysterious journeys, I shall assuredly become your companion.”
“Now, Nisida,” exclaimed Wagner, his heart rent with indescribable tortures—“it is you who are cruel—you are unjust!”