Wagner the Werewolf
By George W. M. Reynolds
Attempted Read: Feb 2009
Rating: Goddamn.
Just… goddamn. I saw this at Strand Books and spent MONTHS hemming and hawing over whether or not I should put my money toward it.
Pro: It’s a book from the 1800s about a werewolf in the 1500s. HOT DAMN it’s historical fiction^2 with a shot of supernatural!
Con: There must be a reason that Dickens has survived and this guy, who was more popular in the day, did not. I think I’ve found the reason. Several, actually.
Pro: George W. M. Reynolds sounds like a pretty awesome dude. According to the notes in the book, several internet sources, and that definitive expert, Wiki, he was a progressive atheist who was also a general asshole to people. I have to like that.
Con: The language is so… so… SO… dated.
“Oh, Manuel!” ejaculated the countess, still forgetting the presence of the bandit: “thou hast——”
Yeah, I know. “Ejaculated” used to be a perfectly good way of describing how someone said something. It still looks WEIRD. And it’s in here 57 times, in a book that is just under 500 pages. That’s an ejaculation once every eight pages. That’s kinda pushing my limits.
Con: …it’s old fiction. It’s fiction that was serialized. It was meant to keep suspense high. That means everything is dramatic, people fall in love instantly, and there’s a lot of thee’s and thou’s.
But this may be the worst. You should keep in mind that Nisida and Fernando are siblings, and Nisida is deaf and dumb so she speaks in sign language.
Upward of two months had passed away since the occurrences related in the preceding chapter, and it was now the 31st of January, 1521.
The sun was verging toward the western hemisphere, but the rapid flight of the hours was unnoticed by Nisida and Fernand Wagner, as they were seated together in one of the splendid saloons of the Riverola mansion.
Their looks were fixed on each other’s countenance; the eyes of Fernand expressing tenderness and admiration, those of Nisida beaming with all the passions of her ardent and sensual soul.
Suddenly the lady raised her hands, and by the rapid play of the fingers, asked, “Fernand, do you indeed love me as much as you would have me believe I am beloved?”
“Never in this world was woman so loved as you,” he replied, by the aid of the same language.
“And yet I am an unfortunate being—deprived of those qualities which give the greatest charm to the companionship of those who love.”
“But you are eminently beautiful, my Nisida; and I can fancy how sweet, how rich-toned would be your voice, could your lips frame the words, ‘I love thee!’”
A profound sigh agitated the breast of the lady; and at the same time her lips quivered strangely, as if she were essaying to speak.
Wagner caught her to his breast; and she wept long and plenteously. Those tears relieved her; and she returned his warm, impassioned kisses with an ardor that convinced him how dear he had become to that afflicted, but transcendently beautiful being. On her side, the blood in her veins appeared to circulate like molten lead; and her face, her neck, her bosom were suffused with burning blushes.
At length, raising her head, she conveyed this wish to her companion: “Thou hast given me an idea which may render me ridiculous in your estimation; but it is a whim, a fancy, a caprice, engendered only by the profound affection I entertain for thee. I would that thou shouldst say, in thy softest, tenderest tones, the words ‘I love thee!’ and, by the wreathing of thy lips, I shall see enough to enable my imagination to persuade itself that those words have really fallen upon my ears.”
Fernand smiled assent; and, while Nisida’s eyes were fixed upon him with the most enthusiastic interest, he said, “I love thee!”
The sovereign beauty of her countenance was suddenly lighted up with an expression of ineffable joy, of indescribable delight; and, signaling the assurance, “I love thee, dearest, dearest Fernand!” she threw herself into his arms.
That’s right. They’re siblings. This is the point at which I have decided to put the book DOWN. It’s just getting silly now. And weird.
Wagner, the actual werewolf, was gifted with youth when he was cursed. So when he runs into his granddaughter, looking like her peer, he has some trouble explaining to her…
“Then, who art thou that knowest all this?” exclaimed Agnes, casting looks of alarm upon her companion.
“Thou shalt soon learn who I am,” was the reply.
Agnes still gazed upon him in mingled terror and wonder; for his words had gone to her heart, and she remembered how he had embraced her when she first encountered him in the church. His manners, too, were so mild, so kind, so paternal toward her; and yet he seemed but a few years older than herself.
“You have gazed upon the portrait of the old man,” he continued, “as he appeared on that memorable evening which sealed his fate!”
Agnes started wildly.
“Yes, sealed his fate, but spared him his life!” said the unknown, emphatically. “As he is represented in that picture, so was he sitting mournfully over the sorry fire, for the morrow’s renewal of which there was no wood! At that hour a man appeared—appeared in the midst of the dreadful storm which burst over the Black Forest. This man’s countenance is now known to thee; it is perpetuated in the other portrait to which I directed thine attention.”
“There is something of a wild and fearful interest in the aspect of that man,” said Agnes, casting a shuddering glance behind her, and trembling lest the canvas had burst into life, and the countenance whose lineaments were depicted thereon was peering over her shoulder.
“Yes, and there was much of wild and fearful interest in his history,” was the reply; “but of that I cannot speak—no, I dare not. Suffice it to say that he was a being possessed of superhuman powers, and that he proffered his services to the wretched—the abandoned—the deserted Wagner. He proposed to endow him with a new existence—to restore him to youth and manly beauty—to make him rich—to embellish his mind with wondrous attainments—to enable him to cast off the wrinkles of age——”
“Holy Virgin! now I comprehend it all!” shrieked Agnes, throwing herself at the feet of her companion: “and you—you——”
“I am Fernand Wagner!” he exclaimed, folding her in his embrace.
…or, maybe it’s not so hard. Either wya, it’s just silly. Too, too silly for me.
Thank you to Project Gutenberg for enabling me to pull such large quotes from a public domain text.
