Wagner, the Wehr-Wolf

by George W. M. Reynolds

For, far as the eye could reach, on the western side of Florence, and commencing at the distance of about a quarter of a mile from the city, a mass of innumerable tents and pavilions showed where the Ottoman army was encamped! Myriads of banners, of all colors, floated from the tall javelins to which they were affixed before the entrance of the chief officers’ tents, and in front of the entire encampment waved, at the summit of a spear planted in the ground, the three crescents, which invariably accompany the march of a Turkish army. The sunbeams glittered on thousands of bright crescents; and the brazen pommels of the mounted sentinels’ saddles shone like burnished gold. It was, indeed, a grand and imposing spectacle:—and the din of innumerable voices mingling with the sounds of martial music, reached the ears of those Florentines who, more daring than the rest, advanced nearly up to the outposts of the encampment.

But in the meantime, a scene of profound and touching interest had taken place in the gorgeous pavilion of the grand vizier.

While it was yet dark—and ere that martial panorama of tents and pavilions developed itself to the admiring and astonished eyes of the Florentines—two females, closely muffled in handsome cashmere shawls, which had been presented to them for the purpose, were treading the Ottoman encampment, under the guidance of the messengers to whom they had been consigned.

It is hardly necessary to inform the reader that these females were the elder Signora Francatelli and her beautiful niece Flora.

Their sudden and most unexpected deliverance from the terrible dungeons of the inquisition, and the profound respect with which they were treated by those into whose charge the familiars of the holy office had surrendered them, inspired them with the most lively joy; and their congratulations were expressed by frequent pressures of each other’s hands as they proceeded in company with their guides. But they knew not by whom, or how, nor wherefore they had been released—and yet a vague suspicion, founded solely on the fact that their conductors wore the Ottoman garb, that Alessandro must be in some way connected with the matter, had entered their minds. It was, at all events, clear that no harm was intended them, for they were not treated as prisoners, and thus they hastened on in confidence and hope.

It was not until they had left the city some distance behind, that the bright moon showed them a confused mass of white objects in front; and they were both marveling what the strange and unknown spectacle could be, when their party was suddenly challenged by the sentries of an outpost. The leader of the little escort gave the watchword; and now, as the two females drew nearer to the encampment, the mass of white objects became more shapely, until, in a few minutes, the pointed tops of the tents and pavilions stood out in strong relief against the now purple sky.

What could this unusual spectacle mean? They were still in the dungeons of the inquisition when the alarm, caused by an approaching army, had circulated through Florence; and the rumor had not reached their ears. For the first time since the moment of their release they now hung back, and manifested signs of fear.

“Be not terrified, ladies,” said the chief of the escort, speaking in excellent Italian; “ye have no cause for apprehension! Before you spread the innumerable tents of the Ottoman army; and it is to the presence of this mighty host that ye are indebted for your freedom.”

“But whither are you taking us?” inquired Flora, scarcely reassured.

“To the pavilion of his Highness, Ibrahim-Pasha, the grand vizier of the glorious Sultan Solyman,” answered the Turk; “and at the hands of that powerful minister ye will receive naught but honorable and kind treatment.”