WAGNER IN SEARCH OF NISIDA.
The reader may perhaps be surprised that Fernand Wagner should have been
venturous enough to trust himself to the possibilities of a protracted
voyage, since every month his form must undergo a frightful change--a
destiny which he naturally endeavored to shroud in the profoundest
secrecy.
But it must be recollected that the Mediterranean is dotted with
numerous islands; and he knew that, however changeable or adverse the
winds might be, it would always prove an easy matter to make such
arrangements as to enable him to gain some port a few days previously to
the close of the month. Moreover, so strong, so intense was his love for
Nisida, that, even without the prospect afforded by this calculation, he
would have dared all perils, incurred all risks, exposed himself to all
hostile chances, rather than have remained inactive while he believed
her to be in the power of a desperate, ruthless bandit. For, oh! ever
present to his mind was the image of the lost fair one; by day, when the
sun lighted up with smiles the dancing waves over which his vessel
bounded merrily, merrily; and by night, when the moon shone like a
silver lamp amidst the curtains of heaven's pavilion.
His was not the love which knows only passionate impulse: it was a
constant, unvarying tender sentiment--far, far more pure, and therefore
more permanent, than the ardent and burning love which Nisida felt for
him. His was not the love which possession would satiate and enjoyment
cool down: it was a feeling that had gained a soft yet irresistible
empire over his heart.
And that love of his was nurtured and sustained by the most generous
thoughts. He pictured to himself the happiness he should experience in
becoming the constant companion of one whose loss of hearing and of
speech cut her off as it were from that communion with the world which
is so grateful to her sex: he imagined to himself, with all the fond
idolatry of sincere affection, how melodiously soft, how tremulously
clear would be her voice, were it restored to her, and were it first
used to articulate the delicious language of love. And then he thought
how enchanting, how fascinating, how fraught with witching charms, would
be the conversation of a being endowed with so glorious an intellect,
were she able to enjoy the faculty of speech. Thus did her very
imperfections constitute a ravishing theme for his meditation; and the
more he indulged in dreams like these, the more resolute did he become
never to rest until he had discovered and rescued her.
Seven days had elapsed since the ship sailed from Leghorn; and Sicily
had already been passed by, when the heavens grew overclouded, and
everything portended a storm. The captain, whom Wagner had placed in
charge of his vessel, adopted all the precautions necessary to encounter
the approaching tempest; and soon after the sun went down on the seventh
night a hurricane suddenly swept the surface of the Mediterranean. The
ship bent to the fury of the gust--her very yards were deep in the
water. But when the rage of that dreadful squall subsided, the gallant
bark righted again, and bounded triumphantly over the foaming waves.
A night profoundly dark set in; but the white crests of the billows were
visible through that dense obscurity: while the tempest rapidly
increased in violence, and all the dread voices of the storm, the
thunder in the heavens, the roaring of the sea, and the gushing sounds
of the gale, proclaimed the fierceness of the elemental war. The wind
blew not with that steadiness which the skill of the sailor and the
capacity of the noble ship were competent to meet, but in long and
frequent gusts of intermittent fury. Now rose the gallant bark on the
waves, as if towering toward the starless sky, in the utter blackness of
which the masts were lost; then it sank down into the abyss, the foam of
the boiling billows glistening far above, on all sides, amidst the
obscurity. What strange and appalling noises are heard on board a ship
laboring in a storm--the cracking of timber, the creaking of elastic
planks, the rattling of the cordage, the flapping of fragments of sails,
the failing of spars, the rolling of casks got loose, and at times a
tremendous crash throughout the vessel, as if the whole framework were
giving way and the very sides collapsing!
And amidst those various noises and the dread sounds of the storm, the
voices of the sailors were heard--not in prayer nor subdued by
terror--but echoing the orders issued by the captain, who did not
despair of guiding--nay, fighting, as it were, the ship through the
tumultuous billows and against the terrific blast.
Again a tremendous hurricane swept over the deep: it passed, but not a
spar remained to the dismantled bark. The tapering masts, the long
graceful yards were gone, the cordage having snapped at every point
where its support was needed--snapped by the fury of the tempest, as if
wantonly cut by a sharp knife. The boats--the crew's last alternative of
hope--had likewise disappeared. The ship was now completely at the mercy
of the wild raging of the winds and the fury of the troubled waters; it
no longer obeyed its helm, and there were twenty men separated, all save
_one_, from death only by a few planks and a few nails! The sea now
broke so frequently over the vessel that the pumps could scarcely keep
her afloat; and at length, while it was yet dark, though verging toward
the dawn, the sailors abandoned their task of working at those pumps.
Vainly did the captain endeavor to exercise his authority--vainly did
Wagner hold out menaces and promises by turns; death seemed imminent,
and yet those men, who felt that they were hovering on the verge of
destruction, flew madly to the wine-stores.
Then commenced a scene of the wildest disorder amidst those desperate
men; and even the captain himself, perceiving that they could laugh, and
shout, and sing, in the delirium of intoxication, rushed from the side
of Wagner and joined the rest. It was dreadful to hear the obscene jest,
the ribald song, and the reckless execration, sent forth from the cabin,
as if in answer to the awful voices in which Nature was then speaking to
the world. But scarcely had a faint gleam appeared in the orient
sky--not quite a gleam, but a mitigation of the intenseness of the
night--when a tremendous wave--a colossus amongst giants--broke over the
ill-fated ship, while a terrible crash of timber was for a moment heard
in unison with the appalling din of the whelming billows. Wagner was the
only soul on deck at that instant: but the fury of the waters tore him
away from the bulwark to which he had been clinging, and he became
insensible.
When he awoke from the stupor into which he had been plunged, it was
still dusk, and the roar of the ocean sounded in his ears with deafening
din.
But he was on land, though where he knew not. Rising from the sand on
which he had been cast, he beheld the billows breaking on the shore at
the distance of only a few paces; and he retreated further from their
reach. Then he sat down, with his face toward the east, anxiously
awaiting the appearance of the morn that he might ascertain the nature
and the aspect of the land on which he had been cast. By degrees the
glimmering which had already subdued the blackness of night into the
less profound obscurity of duskiness, grew stronger; and a yellow
luster, as of a far-distant conflagration, seemed to struggle against a
thick fog. Then a faint roseate streak tinged the eastern horizon,
growing gradually deeper in hue, and spreading higher and wider--the
harbinger of sunrise; while, simultaneously, the features of the land on
which Wagner was thrown began to develop themselves like specters
stealing out of complete security; till at length the orient luster was
caught successively by a thousand lofty pinnacles of rock; and finally
the majestic orb itself appeared, lighting up a series of verdant
plains, delicious groves, glittering lakes, pellucid streams, as well as
the still turbulent ocean and the far-off mountains which had first
peeped from amidst the darkness.
Fair and delightful was the scene that thus developed itself to the eyes
of Wagner; but as his glance swept the country which rose
amphitheatrically from the shore not a vestige of the presence of man
could be beheld. No smoke curled from amidst the groves, no church spire
peeped from amongst the trees; nor had the wilderness of nature been
disturbed by artificial culture.
He turned toward the ocean; there was not a trace of his vessel to be
seen. But further along the sand lay a dark object, which he approached,
with a shudder, for he divined what it was.
Nor was he mistaken; it was the swollen and livid corpse of one of the
sailors of his lost ship.
Wagner's first impulse was to turn away in disgust, but a better feeling
almost immediately animated him: and, hastening to the nearest grove, he
broke off a large bough, with which he hollowed a grave in the sand. He
deposited the corpse in the hole, throwing back the sand which he had
displaced, and thus completed his Christian task.
During his visit to the grove, he had observed with delight that the
trees were laden with fruit; and he now returned thither to refresh
himself by means of the banquet thus bountifully supplied by nature.
Having terminated his repast, he walked further inland. The verdant
slope stretched up before him, variegated with flowers, and glittering
with morning dew. As he advanced, the development of all the features of
that land--lakes and woods; hills undulating like the sea in sunset,
after hours of tempest: rivulets and crystal streams, each with its own
peculiar murmurs, but all of melody; groves teeming with the most
luxurious fruit of the tropics, and valleys carpeted with the brightest
green, varied with nature's own embroidery of flowers--the development
of this scene was inexpressibly beautiful, far surpassing the finest
efforts of creative fancy.
Wagner seated himself on a sunny bank, and fell into a profound
meditation. At length, glancing rapidly around, he exclaimed aloud, as
if in continuation of the chain of thoughts which had already occupied
his mind, "Oh, if Nisida were here--here, in this delicious clime, to be
my companion! What happiness--what joy! Never should I regret the world
from which this isle--for an isle it must be--is separated! Never should
I long to return to that communion with men from which we should be cut
off! Here would the eyes of my Nisida cast forth rays of joy and
gladness upon everything around; here would the sweetest transitions of
sentiment and feeling take place! Nisida would be the island queen; she
should deck herself with these flowers, which her fair hands might weave
into wildly fantastic arabesques! Oh! all would be happiness--a
happiness so serene, that never would the love of mortals he more truly
blessed! But, alas!" he added, as a dreadful thought broke rudely upon
this delightful vision, "I should be compelled to reveal to her my
secret--the appalling secret of my destiny: that when the period for
transformation came round, she might place herself in safety----"
Wagner stopped abruptly, and rose hastily from his seat on the sunny
bank. The remembrance of this dreadful fate had spoiled one of the most
delicious waking dreams in which he had ever indulged; and, dashing his
hands against his forehead, he rushed wildly toward the chain of
mountains which intersected the island.
But suddenly he stopped short, for on the ground before him lay the
doublet of a man--a doublet of the fashion then prevalent in Italy. He
lifted it up, examined it, but found nothing in the pockets; then,
throwing it on the ground, he stood contemplating it for some minutes.
Could it be possible that he was in some part of Italy? that the ship
had been carried back to the European Continent during the tempest of
the night? No; it was impossible that so lovely a tract of land would
remain uninhabited, if known to men. The longer he reflected the more he
became convinced that he was on some island hitherto unknown to
navigators, and on which some other shipwrecked individual had probably
been cast. Why the doublet should have been discarded he could well
understand, as it was thick and heavy, and the heat of the sun was
already intense, although it was not yet near the meridian.
Raising his eyes from the doublet which had occasioned these
reflections, he happened to glance toward a knot of fruit trees at a
little distance; and his attention was drawn to a large bough which hung
down as if almost broken away from the main stem. He approached the
little grove; and several circumstances now confirmed his suspicion that
he was not the only tenant of the island at that moment. The bough had
been forcibly torn down, and very recently, too; several of the fruits
had been plucked off, the little sprigs to which they had originally
hung still remaining and bearing evidence to the fact. But if additional
proof were wanting of human presence there, it was afforded by the
half-eaten fruits that were strewed about.
Wagner now searched for the traces of footsteps; but such marks were not
likely to remain in the thick rich grass, which if trampled down, would
rise fresh and elastic again with the invigorating dew of a single
night. The grove, where Wagner observed the broken bough and the
scattered fruits, was further from the shore than the spot where he had
found the doublet; and he reasoned that the man, whoever he might be,
had thrown away his garment, when overpowered by the intensity of the
heat, and had then sought the shade and refreshment afforded by the
grove. He therefore concluded that he had gone inland, most probably
toward the mountains, whose rocky pinnacles, of every form, now shone
with every hue in the glorious sunlight.
Overjoyed at the idea of finding a human being in a spot which he had at
first deemed totally uninhabited, and filled with the hope that the
stranger might be able to give him some information relative to the
geographical position of the isle, and even perhaps aid him in forming a
raft by which they might together escape from the oasis of the
Mediterranean, Wagner proceeded toward the mountains. By degrees the
wondrous beauty of the scene became wilder, more imposing, but less
bewitching, and when he reached the acclivities of the hill, the groves
of fruits and copses of myrtles and citrons, of vines and almond shrubs,
were succeeded by woods of mighty trees.
Further on still the forests ceased and Fernand entered on a wild region
of almost universal desolation, yet forming one of the sublimest
spectacles that nature can afford. The sounds of torrents, as yet
concealed from his view, and resembling the murmur of ocean's waves,
inspired feelings of awe; and it was now for the first time since he
entered on the region of desolation, having left the clime of loveliness
nearly a mile behind, that his attention was drawn to the nature of the
soil, which was hard and bituminous in appearance.
The truth almost immediately struck him: there was a volcano amongst
those mountains up which he was ascending; and it was the lava which had
produced that desolation, and which, cold and hardened, formed the soil
whereon he walked. It was now past midday; and he seated himself once
more to repose his limbs, wearied with the fatigues of the ascent and
overcome by the heat that was there intolerable. At the distance of
about two hundred yards on his right was a solitary tree, standing like
a sign to mark the tomb of nature's vegetation. Upon this tree his eyes
were fixed listlessly, and he was marveling within himself how that
single scion of the forest could have been spared, when the burning
lava, whenever the eruption might have taken place, had hurled down and
reduced to cinders its verdant brethren.
Suddenly his attention was more earnestly riveted upon the dense and
wide-spreading foliage of that tree; for the boughs were shaken in an
extraordinary manner, and something appeared to be moving about amongst
the canopy of leaves. In another minute a long, unmistakable, appalling
object darted forth--a monstrous snake--suspending itself by the tail to
one of the lower boughs, and disporting playfully with its hideous head
toward the ground. Then, with a sudden coil, it drew itself back into
the tree, the entire foliage of which was shaken with the horrible
gambolings of the reptile.
Wagner remembered the frightful spectacle which he had beholden in
Ceylon, and an awful shudder crept through his frame; for, although he
knew that he bore a charmed life, yet he shrank with a loathing from the
idea of having to battle with such a horrible serpent. Starting from the
ground, he rushed--flew, rather than ran, higher up the acclivity, and
speedily entered on a wild scene of rugged and barren rocks: but he
cared not whither the windings of the natural path which he now pursued
might lead him, since he had escaped from the view of the hideous
boa-constrictor gamboling in the solitary tree.
Wearied with his wanderings, and sinking beneath the oppressive heat of
the sun, Wagner was rejoiced to find a cavern in the side of a rock,
where he might shelter and repose himself. He entered, and lay down upon
the hard soil; the sounds of the torrents, which rolled still unseen
amidst the chasms toward which he had approached full near, produced a
lulling influence upon him, and in a few minutes his eyes were sealed in
slumber. When he awoke he found himself in total darkness. He started
up, collected his scattered ideas, and advanced to the mouth of the
cavern.
The sun had set: but outside the cave an azure twilight prevailed, and
the adjacent peaks of the mountains stood darkly out from the partially
though faintly illuminated sky.
While Wagner was gazing long and intently upon the sublime grandeur of
the scene, a strange phenomenon took place. First a small cloud appeared
on the summit of an adjacent hill; then gradually this cloud became more
dense and assumed a human shape. Oh! with what interest--what deep,
enthusiastic interest, did Fernand contemplate the spectacle; for his
well-stored mind at once suggested to him that he was now the witness of
that wondrous optical delusion, called the mirage.
Some human being in the plain on the other side of that range of
mountains was the subject of that sublime scene; might it not be the
individual of whom he was in search, the owner of the doublet? But, ah!
wherefore does Wagner start with surprise?
The shadow of that human being, as it gradually assumed greater density
and a more defined shape--in a word, as it was now properly developed by
the reflection of twilight--wore the form of a female! Were there, then,
many inhabitants on the opposite side of the mountains? or was there
only one female, she whose reflected image he now beheld? He knew not;
but at all events the pleasure of human companionship seemed within his
reach; the presence of the doublet had convinced him that there was
another man upon the island, and now the mirage showed him the semblance
of a woman!
Vast--colossal--like a dense, dark, shapely cloud, stood that reflected
being in the sky; for several minutes it remained thus, and though
Wagner could trace no particular outline of features, yet it seemed to
him as if the female were standing in a pensive attitude. But as the
twilight gradually subsided, or rather yielded to the increasing
obscurity, the image was absorbed likewise in the growing gloom; until
the dusky veil of night made the entire vault above of one deep,
uniform, purple hue. Then Wagner once more returned to the cavern, with
the resolution of crossing the range of hills on the ensuing morn.