Zastrozzi by Percy Bysshe Shelley Chapter 7 The Project Gutenberg version of this work used for this text does not include a Chapter VII. This was Shelleys intention. He apparently felt it was humorous to irregularly number the chapters. COMPLIMENTS OF WIKISOURCE Zastrozzi by Percy Bysshe Shelley Chapter 8 His head reposed upon Matildas bosom; he started from it violently, as if stung by a scorpion, and fell upon the floor. His eyes rolled horribly, and seemed as if starting from their sockets. Is she then dead? is Julia dead? in accents scarcely articulate exclaimed Verezzi. Ah, Matilda! was it you then who destroyed her? was it by thy jealous hand that she sank to an untimely grave?—Ah, Matilda! Matilda! say that she yet lives! Alas! what have I to do in this world without Julia?—an empty uninteresting void. Every word uttered by the hapless Verezzi spoke daggers to the agitated Matilda. Again overpowered by the acuteness of his sensations, he sank on the floor, and, in violent convulsions, he remained bereft of sense. Matilda again raised him—again laid his throbbing head upon her bosom.—Again, as recovering, the wretched Verezzi perceived his situation—overcome by agonising reflection, he relapsed into insensibility. One fit rapidly followed another, and at last, in a state of the wildest delirium, he was conveyed to bed. Matilda found, that a too eager impatience had carried her too far. She had prepared herself for violent grief, but not for the paroxysms of madness which now seemed really to have seized the brain of the devoted Verezzi. She sent for a physician—he arrived, and his opinion of Verezzis danger almost drove the wretched Matilda to desperation. Exhausted by contending passions, she threw herself on a sofa: she thought of the deeds which she had perpetrated to gain Verezzis love; she considered that, should her purpose be defeated, at the very instant which her heated imagination had portrayed as the commencement of her triumph; should all the wickedness, all the crimes, into which she had plunged herself, be of no avail—this idea, more than remorse for her enormities, affected her. She sat for a time absorbed in a confusion of contending thought: her mind was the scene of anarchy and horror: at last, exhausted by their own violence, a deep, a desperate calm took possession of her faculties. She started from the sofa, and, maddened by the idea of Verezzis danger, sought his apartment. On a bed lay Verezzi. A thick film overspread his eye, and he seemed sunk in insensibility. Matilda approached him—she pressed her burning lips to his—she took his hand—it was cold, and at intervals slightly agitated by convulsions. A deep sigh, at this instant, burst from his lips—a momentary hectic flushed his cheek, as the miserable Verezzi attempted to rise. Matilda, though almost too much agitated to command her emotions, threw herself into a chair behind the curtain, and prepared to watch his movements. Julia! Julia! exclaimed he, starting from the bed, as his flaming eye-balls were unconsciously fixed upon the agitated Matilda, where art thou? Ah! thy fair form now moulders in the dark sepulchre! would I were laid beside thee! thou art now an ethereal spirit! and then, in a seemingly triumphant accent, he added, But, ere long, I will seek thy unspotted soul—ere long I will again clasp my lost Julia! Overcome by resistless delirium, he was for an instant silent—his starting eyes seemed to follow some form, which imagination had portrayed in vacuity. He dashed his head against the wall, and sank, overpowered by insensibility, on the floor. Accustomed as she was to scenes of horror, and firm and dauntless as was Matildas soul, yet this was too much to behold with composure. She rushed towards him, and lifted him from the floor. In a delirium of terror, she wildly called for help. Unconscious of every thing around her, she feared Verezzi had destroyed himself. She clasped him to her bosom, and called on his name, in an ecstasy of terror. The domestics, alarmed by her exclamations, rushed in. Once again they lifted the insensible Verezzi into the bed—every spark of life seemed now to have been extinguished; for the transport of horror which had torn his soul was almost too much to be sustained. A physician was again sent for—Matilda, maddened by desperation, in accents almost inarticulate from terror, demanded hope or despair from the physician. He, who was a man of sense, declared his opinion, that Verezzi would speedily recover, though he knew not the event which might take place in the crisis of the disorder, which now rapidly approached. The remonstrances of those around her were unavailing, to draw Matilda from the bed-side of Verezzi. She sat there, a prey to disappointed passion, silent, and watching every turn of the hapless Verezzis countenance, as, bereft of sense, he lay extended on the bed before her. The animation which was wont to illumine his sparkling eye was fled: the roseate colour which had tinged his cheek had given way to an ashy paleness—he was insensible to all around him. Matilda sat there the whole day, and silently administered medicines to the unconscious Verezzi, as occasion required. Towards night, the physician again came. Matildas head thoughtfully leant upon her arm as he entered the apartment. Ah, what hope? what hope? wildly she exclaimed. The physician calmed her, and bid her not despair: then observing her pallid countenance, he said, he believed she required his skill as much as his patient. Oh! heed me not, she exclaimed; but how is Verezzi? will he live or die? The physician advanced towards the emaciated Verezzi—he took his hand. A burning fever raged through his veins. Oh, how is he? exclaimed Matilda, as, anxiously watching the humane physicians countenance, she thought a shade of sorrow spread itself over his features—but tell me my fate quickly, continued she: I am prepared to hear the worst—prepared to hear that he is even dead already. As she spoke this, a sort of desperate serenity overspread her features—she seized the physicians arm, and looked steadfastly on his countenance, and then, as if overcome by unwonted exertions, she sank fainting at his feet. The physician raised her, and soon succeeded in recalling her fleeted faculties. Overcome by its own violence, Matildas despair became softened, and the words of the physician operated as a balm upon her soul, and bid her feel hope. She again resumed her seat, and waited with smothered impatience for the event of the decisive crisis, which the physician could now no longer conceal. She pressed his burning hand in hers, and waited, with apparent composure, for eleven oclock. Slowly the hours passed—the clock of Passau tolled each lingering quarter as they rolled away, and hastened towards the appointed time, when the chamberdoor of Verezzi was slowly opened by Ferdinand. Ha! why do you disturb me now? exclaimed Matilda, whom the entrance of Ferdinand had roused from a profound reverie. Signora! whispered Ferdinand—Signor Zastrozzi waits below: he wishes to see you there. Ah! said Matilda thoughtfully, conduct him here. Ferdinand departed to obey her—footsteps were heard in the passage, and immediately afterwards Zastrozzi stood before Matilda. Matilda! exclaimed he, why do I see you here? what accident has happened which confines you to this chamber? Ah! replied Matilda, in an undervoice, look in that bed—behold Verezzi! emaciated and insensible—in a quarter of an hour, perhaps, all animation will be fled—fled for ever! continued she, as a deeper expression of despair shaded her beautiful features. Zastrozzi advanced to the foot of the bed—Verezzi lay, as if dead, before his eyes; for the ashy hue of his lips, and his sunken inexpressive eye, almost declared that his spirit was fled. Zastrozzi gazed upon him with an indefinable expression of insatiated vengeance—indefinable to Matilda, as she gazed upon the expressive countenance of her coadjutor in crime. Matilda! I want you; come to the lower saloon; I have something to speak to you of, said Zastrozzi. Oh! if it concerned my souls eternal happiness, I could not now attend, exclaimed Matilda, energetically: in less than a quarter of an hour, perhaps, all I hold dear on earth will be dead; with him, every hope, every wish, every tie which binds me to earth. Oh! exclaimed she, her voice assuming a tone of extreme horror, see how pale he looks! Zastrozzi bade Matilda farewell, and went away. The physician yet continued watching, in silence, the countenance of Verezzi: it still retained its unchanging expression of fixed despair. Matilda gazed upon it, and waited with the most eager, yet subdued impatience, for the expiration of the few minutes which yet remained— she still gazed. The features of Verezzis countenance were slightly convulsed. The clock struck eleven. His lips unclosed—Matilda turned pale with terror; yet mute, and absorbed by expectation, remained rooted to her seat. She raised her eyes, and hope again returned, as she beheld the countenance of the humane physician lighted up with a beam of pleasure. She could no longer contain herself, but, in an ecstasy of pleasure, as excessive as her grief and horror before had been violent, in rapid and hurried accents questioned the physician. The physician, with an expressive smile, pressed his finger on his lip. She understood the movement; and, though her heart was dilated with sudden and excessive delight, she smothered her joy, as she had before her grief, and gazed with rapturous emotion on the countenance of Verezzi, as, to her expectant eyes, a blush of animation tinged his before—pallid countenance. Matilda took his hand—the pulses yet beat with feverish violence. She gazed upon his countenance—the film, which before had overspread his eye, disappeared: returning expression pervaded its orbit, but it was the expression of deep, of rooted grief. The physician made a sign to Matilda to withdraw. She drew the curtain before her, and, in anxious expectation, awaited the event. A deep, a long-drawn sigh, at last burst from Verezzis bosom. He raised himself—his eyes seemed to follow some form, which imagination had portrayed in the remote obscurity of the apartment, for the shades of night were but partially dissipated by a lamp which burnt on a table behind. He raised his almost nerveless arm, and passed it across his eyes, as if to convince himself, that what he saw was not an illusion of the imagination. He looked at the physician, who sat near to and silent by the bedside, and patiently awaited whatever event that might occur. Verezzi slowly arose, and violently exclaimed, Julia! Julia! my longlost Julia, come! And then, more collectedly, he added, in a mournful tone, Ah no! you are dead; lost, lost for ever! He turned round, and saw the physician, but Matilda was still concealed. Where am I? inquired Verezzi, addressing the physician. Safe, safe, answered he: compose yourself; all will be well. Ah, but Julia? inquired Verezzi, with a tone so expressive of despair, as threatened returning delirium. Oh! compose yourself, said the humane physician: you have been very ill: this is but an illusion of the imagination; and even now, I fear, that you labour under that delirium which attends a brain-fever. Verezzis nerveless frame again sunk upon the bed—still his eyes were open, and fixed upon vacancy: he seemed to be endeavouring to arrange the confusion of ideas which pressed upon his brain. Matilda undrew the curtain; but, as her eye met the physicians, his glance told her to place it in its original situation. As she thought of the events of the day her heart was dilated by tumultuous, yet pleasurable emotions. She conjectured, that were Verezzi to recover, of which she now entertained but little doubt, she might easily erase from his heart the boyish passion which before had possessed it; might convince him of the folly of supposing that a first attachment is fated to endure for ever; and, by unremitting assiduity in pleasing him—by soft, quiet attentions, and an affected sensibility, might at last acquire the attainment of that object, for which her bosom had so long and so ardently panted. Soothed by these ideas, and willing to hear from the physicians mouth a more explicit affirmation of Verezzis safety than his looks had given, Matilda rose, for the first time since his illness, and, unseen by Verezzi, approached the physician.—Follow me to the saloon, said Matilda. The physician obeyed, and, by his fervent assurances of Verezzis safety and speedy recovery, confirmed Matildas fluctuating hopes. But, added the physician, though my patient will recover if his mind be unruffled, I will not answer for his re-establishment should he see you, as his disorder, being wholly on the mind, may be possibly augmented by— The physician paused, and left Matilda to finish the sentence; for he was a man of penetration and judgement, and conjectured that some sudden and violent emotion, of which she was the cause, occasioned his patients illness. This conjecture became certainty, as, when he concluded, he observed Matildas face change to an ashy paleness. May I not watch him—attend him? inquired Matilda imploringly. No, answered the physician: in the weakened state in which he now is, the sight of you might cause immediate dissolution. Matilda started, as if overcome by horror at the bare idea, and promised to obey his commands. The morning came—Matilda arose from a sleepless couch, and with hopes yet unconfirmed sought Verezzis apartment. She stood near the door, listening.—Her heart palpitated with tremulous violence, as she listened to Verezzis breathing—every sound from within alarmed her. At last she slowly opened the door, and, though adhering to the physicians directions in not suffering Verezzi to see her, she could not deny herself the pleasure of watching him, and busying herself in little offices about his apartment. She could hear Verezzi question the attendant collectedly, yet as a person who was ignorant where he was, and knew not the events which had immediately preceded his present state. At last he sank into a deep sleep—Matilda now dared to gaze on him: the hectic colour which had flushed his cheek was fled, but the ashy hue of his lips had given place to a brilliant vermilion—She gazed intently on his countenance. A heavenly, yet faint smile, diffused itself over his countenance—his hand slightly moved. Matilda, fearing that he would awake, again concealed herself. She was mistaken; for, on looking again, he still slept. She still gazed upon his countenance. The visions of his sleep were changed, for tears came fast from under his eyelids, and a deep sigh burst from his bosom. Thus passed several days: Matilda still watched, with most affectionate assiduity, by the bedside of the unconscious Verezzi. The physician declared that his patients mind was yet in too irritable a state to permit him to see Matilda, but that he was convalescent. One evening she sat by his bedside, and gazing upon the features of the sleeping Verezzi, felt unusual softness take possession of her soul—an indefinable and tumultuous emotion shook her bosom—-her whole frame thrilled with rapturous ecstasy, and seizing the hand, which lay motionless beside her, she imprinted on it a thousand burning kisses. Ah, Julia! Julia! is it you? exclaimed Verezzi, as he raised his enfeebled frame; but perceiving his mistake, as he cast his eyes on Matilda, sank back, and fainted. Matilda hastened with restoratives, and soon succeeded in recalling to life Verezzis fleeted faculties. Chapter 9 Art thou afraid To be the same in thine own act and valour As thou art in desire? wouldst thou have that Which thou esteemest the ornament of life. Or live a coward in thine own esteem. Letting I dare not wait upon I would? —Macbeth. For love is heaven, and heaven is love. —Lay of the Last Minstrel. The soul of Verezzi was filled with irresistible disgust, as, recovering, he found himself in Matildas arms. His whole frame trembled with chilly horror, and he could scarcely withhold himself from again fainting. He fixed his eyes upon the countenance—they met hers—an ardent fire, mingled with a touching softness, filled their orbits. In a hurried and almost inarticulate accent, he reproached Matilda with perfidy, baseness, and even murder. The roseate colour which had tinged Matildas cheek, gave place to an ashy hue—the animation which had sparkled in her eye, yielded to a confused expression of apprehension, as the almost delirious Verezzi uttered accusations he knew not the meaning of; for his brain, maddened by the idea of Julias death, was whirled round in an ecstasy of terror. Matilda seemed to have composed every passion: a forced serenity overspread her features, as, in a sympathising and tender tone, she entreated him to calm his emotions, and giving him a composing medicine, left him. She descended to the saloon. Ah! he yet despises me—he even hates me, ejaculated Matilda. An irresistible antipathy—irresistible, I fear, as my love for him is ardent, has taken possession of his soul towards me. Ah! miserable, hapless being that I am! doomed to have my fondest hope, my brightest prospect, blighted. Alive alike to the tortures of despair and the illusions of hope, Matilda, now in an agony of desperation, impatiently paced the saloon. Her mind was inflamed by a more violent emotion of hate towards Julia, as she recollected Verezzis fond expressions: she determined, however, that were Verezzi not to be hers, he should never be Julias. Whilst thus she thought, Zastrozzi entered The conversation was concerning Verezzi. How shall I gain his love, Zastrozzi? exclaimed Matilda. Oh! I will renew every tender office—I will watch by him day and night, and, by unremitting attentions, I will try to soften his flinty soul. But, alas! it was but now that he started from my arms in horror, and, in accents of desperation, accused me of perfidy—of murder. Could I be perfidious to Verezzi, my heart, which burns with so fervent a fire, declares I could not, and murder— Matilda paused. Would thou could say thou were guilty, or even accessary to that, exclaimed Zastrozzi, his eye gleaming with disappointed ferocity. Would Julia of Strobazzos heart was reeking on my dagger! Fervently do I join in that wish, my best Zastrozzi, returned Matilda: but, alas! what avail wishes—what avail useless protestations of revenge, whilst Julia yet lives?—yet lives, perhaps, again to obtain Verezzi—to clasp him constant to her bosom—and perhaps—oh, horror! perhaps to—. Stung to madness by the picture which her fancy had portrayed, Matilda paused. Her bosom heaved with throbbing palpitations; and, whilst describing the success of her rival, her warring soul shone apparent from her scintillating eyes. Zastrozzi, meanwhile, stood collected in himself; and scarcely heeding the violence of Matilda, awaited the issue of her speech. He besought her to calm herself, nor, by those violent emotions, unfit herself for prosecuting the attainment of her fondest hope. Are you firm? inquired Zastrozzi. Yes! Are you resolved? Does fear, amid the other passions, shake your soul? No, no—this heart knows not to fear—this breast knows not to shrink, exclaimed Matilda eagerly. Then be cool—be collected, returned Zastrozzi, and thy purpose is effected. Though little was in these words which might warrant hope, yet Matildas susceptible soul, as Zastrozzi spoke, thrilled with anticipated delight. My maxim, therefore, said Zastrozzi, through life has been, wherever I am, whatever passions shake my inmost soul, at least to appear collected. I generally am; for, by suffering no common events, no fortuitous casualty to disturb me, my soul becomes steeled to more interesting trials. I have a spirit, ardent, impetuous as thine; but acquaintance with the world has induced me to veil it, though it still continues to burn within my bosom. Believe me, I am far from wishing to persuade you from your purpose—No—any purpose undertaken with ardour, and prosecuted with perseverance, must eventually be crowned with success. Love is worthy of any risque—I felt it once, but revenge has now swallowed up every other feeling of my soul—I am alive to nothing but revenge. But even did I desire to persuade you from the purpose on which your heart is fixed, I should not say it was wrong to attempt it; for whatever procures pleasure is right, and consonant to the dignity of man, who was created for no other purpose but to obtain happiness; else, why were passions given us? why were those emotions, which agitate my breast, and madden my brain, implanted in us by nature? As for the confused hope of a future state, why should we debar ourselves of the delights of this, even though purchased by what the misguided multitude calls immorality? Thus sophistically argued, Zastrozzi.—His soul, deadened by crime, could only entertain confused ideas of immortal happiness; for in proportion as human nature departs from virtue, so far are they also from being able clearly to contemplate the wonderful operations, the mysterious ways of Providence. Coolly and collectedly argued Zastrozzi: he delivered his sentiments with the air of one who was wholly convinced of the truth of the doctrines he uttered,—a conviction to be dissipated by shunning proof. Whilst Zastrozzi thus spoke, Matilda remained silent,—she paused. Zastrozzi must have strong powers of reflection; he must be convinced of the truth of his own reasoning, thought Matilda, as eagerly she yet gazed on his countenance—Its unchanging expression of firmness and conviction still continued.—Ah! said Matilda, Zastrozzi, thy words are a balm to my soul, I never yet knew thy real sentiments on this subject; but answer me, do you believe that the soul decays with the body, or if you do not, when this perishable form mingles with its parent earth, where goes the soul which now actuates its movements? perhaps, it wastes its fervent energies in tasteless apathy, or lingering torments. Matilda, returned Zastrozzi, think not so; rather suppose, that by its own inmate and energetical exertions, this soul must endure for ever, that no fortuitous occurrences, no incidental events, can affect its happiness; but by daring boldly, by striving to verge from the beaten path, whilst yet trammelled in the chains of mortality, it will gain superior advantages in a future state. But religion! Oh Zastrozzi!— I thought thy soul was daring, replied Zastrozzi, I thought thy mind was towering; and did I then err, in the different estimate I had formed of thy character?—O yield not yourself, Matilda thus to false, foolish, and vulgar prejudices—for the present, farewell. Saying this, Zastrozzi departed. Thus, by an artful appeal to her passions, did Zastrozzi extinguish the faint spark of religion which yet gleamed in Matildas bosom. In proportion as her belief of an Omnipotent Power, and consequently her hopes of eternal salvation declined, her ardent and unquenchable passion for Verezzi increased, and a delirium of guilty love, filled her soul.— Shall I then call him mine for ever? mentally inquired Matilda; will the passion which now consumes me, possess my soul to all eternity? Ah! well I know it will; and when emancipated from this terrestrial form, my soul departs; still its fervent energies unrepressed, will remain; and in the union of soul to soul, it will taste celestial transports. An ecstasy of tumultuous and confused delight rushed through her veins: she stood for some time immersed in thought.—Agitated by the emotions of her soul, her every limb trembled—she thought upon Zastrozzis sentiments, she almost shuddered as she reflected; yet was convinced, by the cool and collected manner in which he had delivered them.—She thought on his advice, and steeling her soul, repressing every emotion, she now acquired that coolness so necessary to the attainment of her desire. Thinking of nothing else, alive to no idea but Verezzi, Matildas countenance assumed a placid serenity—she even calmed her soul, she bid it restrain its emotions, and the passions which so lately had battled fiercely in her bosom, were calmed. She again went to Verezzis apartment, but, as she approached, vague fears, lest he should have penetrated her schemes confused her: but his mildly beaming eyes, as she gazed upon them, convinced her, that the horrid expressions which he had before uttered, were merely the effect of temporary delirium. Ah, Matilda! exclaimed Verezzi, where have you been? Matildas soul, alive alike to despair and hope, was filled with momentary delight as he addressed her; but bitter hate, and disappointed love, again tortured her bosom, as he exclaimed in accents of heart-felt agony: Oh! Julia, my long-lost Julia! Matilda, said he, my friend, farewell; I feel that I am dying, but I feel pleasure,—oh! transporting pleasure, in the idea that I shall soon meet my Julia. Matilda, added he, in a softened accent, farewell for ever. Scarcely able to contain the emotions which the idea alone of Verezzis death excited, Matilda, though the crisis of the disorder, she knew, had been favorable, shuddered—bitter hate, even more rancorous than ever, kindled in her bosom against Julia, for to hear Verezzi talk of her with soul-subduing tenderness, but wound up her soul to the highest pitch of uncontrollable vengeance.—Her breast heaved violently, her dark eye, in expressive glances, told the fierce passions of her soul; yet, sensible of the necessity of controlling her emotions, she leaned her head upon her hand, and when she answered Verezzi, a calmness, a melting expression of grief, overspread her features. She conjured him in the most tender, the most soothing terms, to compose himself, and, though Julia was gone for ever, to remember that there was yet one in the world, one tender friend who would render the burden of life less insupportable. Oh! Matilda, exclaimed Verezzi, talk not to me of comfort, talk not of happiness, all that constituted my comfort, all to which I looked forward with rapturous anticipation of happiness, is fled—fled for ever. Ceaselessly did Matilda watch by the bed-side of Verezzi; the melting tenderness of his voice, the melancholy, interesting expression of his countenance, but added fuel to the flame which consumed her: her soul was engrossed by one idea; every extraneous passion was conquered, and nerved for the execution of its fondest purpose; a seeming tranquillity overspread her mind, not that tranquillity which results from conscious innocence, and mild delights, but that which calms every tumultuous emotion for a time; when firm in a settled purpose, the passions but pause, to break out with more resistless violence. In the mean time, the strength of Verezzis constitution overcame the malignity of his disorder, returning strength again braced his nerves, and he was able to descend to the saloon. The violent grief of Verezzi had subsided into a deep and settled melancholy; he could now talk of his Julia, indeed it was his constant theme; he spoke of her virtues, her celestial form, her sensibility, and by his ardent professions of eternal fidelity to her memory, unconsciously almost drove Matilda to desperation.—Once he asked Matilda how she died, for on the day when the intelligence first turned his brain, he waited not to hear the particulars, the bare fact drove him to instant madness. Matilda was startled at the question, yet ready invention supplied the place of a premeditated story. Oh! my friend, said she tenderly, unwillingly do I tell you, that for you she died; disappointed love, like a worm in the bud, destroyed the unhappy Julia; fruitless were all her endeavours to find you, till at last concluding that you were lost to her for ever, a deep melancholy by degrees consumed her, and gently led to the grave—she sank into the arms of death without a groan. And there shall I soon follow her, exclaimed Verezzi, as a severer pang of anguish and regret darted through his soul. I caused her death, whose life was far, far dearer to me than my own. But now it is all over, my hopes of happiness in this world are blasted, blasted for ever. As he said this, a convulsive sigh heaved his breast, and the tears silently rolled down his cheeks; for some time, in vain were Matildas endeavours to calm him, till at last, mellowed by time, and overcome by reflection, his violent and fierce sorrow was softened into a fixed melancholy. Unremittingly Matilda attended him, and gratified his every wish: she, conjecturing that solitude might be detrimental to him, often entertained parties, and endeavoured by gaiety to drive away his dejection, but if Verezzis spirits were elevated by company and merriment, in solitude again they sank, and a deeper melancholy, a severer regret possessed his bosom, for having allowed himself to be momentarily interested by any thing but the remembrance of his Julia; for he felt a soft, a tender and ecstatic emotion of regret, when retrospection portrayed the blissful time long since gone by, while happy in the society of her whom he idolised, he thought he could be never otherwise than then, enjoying the sweet, the serene delights of association with a congenial mind, he often now amused himself in retracing with his pencil, from memory, scenes which, though in his Julias society he had beheld unnoticed, yet were now hallowed by the remembrance of her: for he always associated the idea of Julia with the remembrance of those scenes which she had so often admired, and where, accompanied by her, he had so often wandered. Matilda, meanwhile, firm in the purpose of her soul, unremittingly persevered: she calmed her mind, and though, at intervals, shook by almost super-human emotions, before Verezzi a fixed serenity, a well- feigned sensibility, and a downcast tenderness, marked her manner. Grief, melancholy, a fixed, a quiet depression of spirits, seemed to have calmed every fiercer feeling, when she talked with Verezzi of his lost Julia: but, though subdued for the present, revenge, hate, and the fervour of disappointed love, burned her soul. Often, when she had retired from Verezzi, when he had talked with tenderness, as he was wont, of Julia, and sworn everlasting fidelity to her memory, would Matildas soul be tortured by fiercest desperation. One day, when conversing with him of Julia, she ventured to hint, though remotely, at her own faithful and ardent attachment. Think you, replied Verezzi, that because my Julias spirit is no longer enshrined in its earthly form, that I am the less devotedly, the less irrevocably hers?—No! no! I was hers, I am hers, and to all eternity shall be hers: and when my soul, divested of mortality, departs into another world, even amid the universal wreck of nature, attracted by congeniality of sentiment, it will seek the unspotted spirit of my idolised Julia.—Oh, Matilda! thy attention, thy kindness, calls for my warmest gratitude—thy virtue demands my sincerest esteem; but, devoted to the memory of Julia, I can love none but her. Matildas whole frame trembled with unconquerable emotion, as thus determinedly he rejected her; but, calming the more violent passions, a flood of tears rushed from her eyes; and, as she leant over the back of a sofa on which she reclined, her sobs were audible. Verezzis soul was softened towards her—he raised the humbled Matilda, and bid her be comforted, for he was conscious that her tenderness towards him deserved not an unkind return. Oh! forgive, forgive me! exclaimed Matilda, with well-feigned humility; I knew not what I said.-She then abruptly left the saloon. Reaching her own apartment, Matilda threw herself on the floor, in an agony of mind too great to be described. Those infuriate passions, restrained as they had been in the presence of Verezzi, now agitated her soul with inconceivable terror. Shook by sudden and irresistible emotions, she gave vent to her despair. Where, then, is the boasted mercy of God, exclaimed the frantic Matilda, if he suffer his creatures to endure agony such as this? or where his wisdom, if he implant in the heart passions furious— uncontrollable—as mine, doomed to destroy their happiness? Outraged pride, disappointed love, and infuriate revenge, revelled through her bosom. Revenge, which called for innocent blood—the blood of the hapless Julia. Her passions were now wound up to the highest pitch of desperation. In indescribable agony of mind, she dashed her head against the floor— she imprecated a thousand curses upon Julia, and swore eternal revenge. At last, exhausted by their own violence, the warring passions subsided-a calm took possession of her soul—she thought again upon Zastrozzis advice—Was she now cool? was she now collected? She was now immersed in a chain of thought; unaccountable, even to herself, was the serenity which had succeeded. Chapter 10 Persevering in the prosecution of her design, the time passed away slowly to Matilda; for Verezzis frame, becoming every day more emaciated, threatened, to her alarmed imagination, approaching dissolution.—Slowly to Verezzi; for he waited with impatience for the arrival of death, since nothing but misery was his in this world. Useless would it be to enumerate the conflicts in Matildas soul: suffice it to say, that they were many, and that their violence progressively increased. Verezzis illness at last assumed so dangerous an appearance, that Matilda, alarmed, sent for a physician. The humane man, who had attended Verezzi before, was from home, but one, skilful in his profession, arrived, who declared that a warmer climate could alone restore Verezzis health. Matilda proposed to him to remove to a retired and picturesque spot which she possessed in the Venetian territory. Verezzi, expecting speedy dissolution, and conceiving it to be immaterial where he died, consented; and indeed he was unwilling to pain one so kind as Matilda by a refusal. The following morning was fixed for the journey. The morning arrived, and Verezzi was lifted into the chariot, being yet extremely weak and emaciated. Matilda, during the journey, by every care, every kind and sympathising attention, tried to drive away Verezzis melancholy; sensible that, could the weight which pressed upon his spirits be removed, he would speedily regain health. But, no! it was impossible. Though he was grateful for Matildas attention, a still deeper shade of melancholy overspread his features; a more heart-felt inanity and languor sapped his life. He was sensible of a total distaste of former objects—objects which, perhaps, had formerly forcibly interested him. The terrific grandeur of the Alps, the dashing cataract, as it foamed beneath their feet, ceased to excite those feelings of awe which formerly they were wont to inspire. The lofty pine-groves inspired no additional melancholy, nor did the blooming valleys of Piedmont, or the odoriferous orangeries which scented the air, gladden his deadened soul. They travelled on—they soon entered the Venetian territory, where, in a gloomy and remote spot, stood the Castella di Laurentini. It was situated in a dark forest—lofty mountains around lifted their aspiring and craggy summits to the skies. The mountains were clothed half up by ancient pines and plane-trees, whose immense branches stretched far; and above, bare granite rocks, on which might be seen, occasionally, a scathed larch, lifted their gigantic and mishapen forms. In the centre of an amphitheatre, formed by these mountains, surrounded by wood, stood the Castella di Laurentini, whose grey turrets, and time-worn battlements, overtopped the giants of the forest. Into this gloomy mansion was Verezzi conducted by Matilda. The only sentiment he felt, was surprise at the prolongation of his existence. As he advanced, supported by Matilda and a domestic, into the castella, Matildas soul, engrossed by one idea, confused by its own unquenchable passions, felt not that ecstatic, that calm and serene delight, only experienced by the innocent, and which is excited by a return to the place where we have spent our days of infancy. No—she felt not this: the only pleasurable emotion which her return to this remote castella afforded, was the hope that, disengaged from the tumult of, and proximity to the world, she might be the less interrupted in the prosecution of her madly-planned schemes. Though Verezzis melancholy seemed rather increased than diminished by the journey, yet his health was visibly improved by the progressive change of air and variation of scenery, which must, at times, momentarily alleviate the most deep-rooted grief; yet, again in a fixed spot—again left to solitude and his own torturing reflections, Verezzis mind returned to his lost, his still adored Julia. He thought of her ever; unconsciously he spoke of her; and, by his rapturous exclamations, sometimes almost drove Matilda to desperation. Several days thus passed away. Matildas passion, which, mellowed by time, and diverted by the variety of objects, and the hurry of the journey, had relaxed its violence, now, like a stream pent up, burst all bounds. But one evening, maddened by the tender protestations of eternal fidelity to Julias memory which Verezzi uttered, her brain was almost turned. Her tumultuous soul, agitated by contending emotions, flashed from her eyes. Unable to disguise the extreme violence of her sensations, in an ecstasy of despairing love, she rushed from the apartment, where she had left Verezzi, and, unaccompanied, wandered into the forest, to calm her emotions, and concert some better plans of revenge; for, in Verezzis presence, she scarcely dared to think. Her infuriated soul burned with fiercest revenge: she wandered into the trackless forest, and, conscious that she was unobserved, gave vent to her feelings in wild exclamations. Oh! Julia! hated Julia! words are not able to express my detestation of thee. Thou hast destroyed Verezzi—thy cursed image, revelling in his heart, has blasted my happiness for ever; but, ere I die, I will taste revenge—oh! exquisite revenge! She paused—she thought of the passion which consumed her—Perhaps one no less violent has induced Julia to rival me, said she. Again the idea of Verezzis illness— perhaps his death—infuriated her soul. Pity, chased away by vengeance and disappointed passion, fled.—Did I say that I pitied thee? Detested Julia, much did my words belie the feelings of my soul. No— no—thou shalt not escape me.—Pity thee! Again immersed in corroding thought, she heeded not the hour, till looking up, she saw the shades of night were gaining fast upon the earth. The evening was calm and serene: gently agitated by the evening zephyr, the lofty pines sighed mournfully. Far to the west appeared the evening star, which faintly glittered in the twilight. The scene was solemnly calm, but not in unison with Matildas soul. Softest, most melancholy music, seemed to float upon the southern gale. Matilda listened—it was the nuns at a convent, chanting the requiem for the soul of a departed sister. Perhaps gone to heaven! exclaimed Matilda, as, affected by the contrast, her guilty soul trembled. A chain of horrible racking thoughts pressed upon her soul; and, unable to bear the acuteness of her sensations, she hastily returned to the castella. Thus, marked only by the varying paroxysms of the passions which consumed her, Matilda passed the time: her brain was confused, her mind agitated by the ill success of her schemes, and her spirits, once so light and buoyant, were now depressed by disappointed hope. What shall I next concert? was the mental inquiry of Matilda. Ah! I know not. She suddenly started—she thought of Zastrozzi. Oh! that I should have till now forgotten Zastrozzi, exclaimed Matilda, as a new ray of hope darted through her soul. But he is now at Naples, and some time must necessarily elapse before I can see him. Oh, Zastrozzi, Zastrozzi! would that you were here! No sooner had she well arranged her resolutions, which before had been confused by eagerness, than she summoned Ferdinand, on whose fidelity she dared to depend, and bid him speed to Naples, and bear a letter, with which he was intrusted, to Zastrozzi. Meanwhile Verezzis health, as the physician had predicted, was so much improved by the warm climate and pure air of the Castella di Laurentini, that, though yet extremely weak and emaciated, he was able, as the weather was fine, and the summer evenings tranquil, to wander, accompanied by Matilda, through the surrounding scenery. In this gloomy solitude, where, except the occasional and infrequent visits of a father confessor, nothing occurred to disturb the uniform tenour of their life, Verezzi was every thing to Matilda—she thought of him ever: at night, in dreams, his image was present to her enraptured imagination. She was uneasy, except in his presence; and her soul, shook by contending paroxysms of the passion which consumed her, was transported by unutterable ecstasies of delirious and maddening love. Her taste for music was exquisite; her voice of celestial sweetness; and her skill, as she drew sounds of soul-touching melody from the harp, enraptured the mind to melancholy pleasure. The affecting expression of her voice, mellowed as it was by the tenderness which at times stole over her soul, softened Verezzis listening ear to ecstasy. Yet, again recovering from the temporary delight which her seductive blandishments had excited, he thought of Julia. As he remembered her ethereal form, her retiring modesty, and unaffected sweetness, a more violent, a deeper pang of regret and sorrow assailed his bosom, for having suffered himself to be even momentarily interested by Matilda. Hours, days, passed lingering away. They walked in the evenings around the environs of the castella—woods, dark and gloomy, stretched far— cloud-capt mountains reared their gigantic summits high; and, dashing amidst the jutting rocks, foaming cataracts, with sudden and impetuous course, sought the valley below. Amid this scenery the wily Matilda usually led her victim. One evening when the moon, rising over the gigantic outline of the mountain, silvered the far-seen cataract, Matilda and Verezzi sought the forest. For a time neither spoke: the silence was uninterrupted, save by Matildas sighs, which declared that violent and repressed emotions tortured the bosom within. They silently advanced into the forest. The azure sky was spangled with stars—not a wind agitated the unruffled air—not a cloud obscured the brilliant concavity of heaven. They ascended an eminence, clothed with towering wood; the trees around formed an amphitheatre. Beneath, by a gentle ascent, an opening showed an immense extent of forest, dimly seen by the moon, which overhung the opposite mountain. The craggy heights beyond might distinctly be seen, edged by the beams of the silver moon. Verezzi threw himself on the turf. What a beautiful scene, Matilda! he exclaimed. Beautiful indeed, returned Matilda. I have admired it ever, and brought you here this evening on purpose to discover whether you thought of the works of nature as I do. Oh! fervently do I admire this, exclaimed Verezzi, as, engrossed by the scene before him, he gazed enraptured. Suffer me to retire for a few minutes, said Matilda. Without waiting for Verezzis answer, she hastily entered a small tuft of trees. Verezzi gazed surprised; and soon sounds of such ravishing melody stole upon the evening breeze, that Verezzi thought some spirit of the solitude had made audible to mortal ears ethereal music. He still listened—it seemed to die away—and again a louder, a more rapturous swell, succeeded. The music was in unison with the scene—it was in unison with Verezzis soul: and the success of Matildas artifice, in this respect, exceeded her most sanguine expectation. He still listened—the music ceased—and Matildas symmetrical form emerging from the wood, roused Verezzi from his vision. He gazed on her—her loveliness and grace struck forcibly upon his senses: her sensibility, her admiration of objects which enchanted him, flattered him; and her judicious arrangement of the music, left no doubt in his mind but that, experiencing the same sensations herself, the feelings of his soul were not unknown to her. Thus far every thing went on as Matilda desired. To touch his feeling had been her constant aim: could she find any thing which interested him; any thing to divert his melancholy; or could she succeed in effacing another from his mind, she had no doubt but that he would quickly and voluntarily clasp her to his bosom. By affecting to coincide with him in every thing—by feigning to possess that congeniality of sentiment and union of idea, which he thought so necessary to the existence of love, she doubted not soon to accomplish her purpose. But sympathy and congeniality of sentiment, however necessary to that love which calms every fierce emotion, fills the soul with a melting tenderness, and, without disturbing it, continually possesses the soul, was by no means consonant to the ferocious emotions, the unconquerable and ardent passion which revelled through Matildas every vein. When enjoying the society of him she loved, calm delight, unruffled serenity, possessed not her soul. No—but, inattentive to every object but him, even her proximity to him agitated her with almost uncontrollable emotion. Whilst watching his look, her pulse beat with unwonted violence, her breast palpitated, and, unconscious of it herself, an ardent and voluptuous fire darted from her eyes. Her passion too, controlled as it was in the presence of Verezzi, agitated her soul with progressively-increasing fervour. Nursed by solitude, and wound up, perhaps, beyond any pitch which anothers soul might be capable of, it sometimes almost maddened her. Still, surprised at her own forbearance, yet strongly perceiving the necessity of it, she spoke not again of her passion to Verezzi. Chapter 11 Chapter 12→ At last the day arrived when Matilda expected Ferdinands return. Punctual to his time Ferdinand returned, and told Matilda that Zastrozzi had, for the present, taken up his abode at a cottage, not far from thence, and that he there awaited her arrival. Matilda was much surprised that Zastrozzi preferred a cottage to her castella; but dismissing that from her mind, hastily prepared to attend him. She soon arrived at the cottage. Zastrozzi met her—he quickened his pace towards her. Well, Zastrozzi, exclaimed Matilda, inquiringly. Oh! said Zastrozzi, our schemes have all, as yet, been unsuccessful. Julia yet lives, and, surrounded by wealth and power, yet defies our vengeance. I was planning her destruction, when, obedient to your commands, I came here. Alas! exclaimed Matilda, I fear it must be ever thus: but, Zastrozzi, much I need your advice—your assistance. Long have I languished in hopeless love: often have I expected, and as often have my eager expectations been blighted by disappointment. A deep sigh of impatience burst from Matildas bosom, as, unable to utter more, she ceased. Tis but the image of that accursed Julia, replied Zastrozzi, revelling in his breast, which prevents him from becoming instantly yours. Could you but efface that! I would I could efface it, said Matilda: the friendship which now exists between us, would quickly ripen into love, and I should be for ever happy. How, Zastrozzi, can that be done? But, before we think of happiness, we must have a care to our safety: we must destroy Julia, who yet endeavours, by every means, to know the event of Verezzis destiny. But, surrounded by wealth and power as she is, how can that be done? No bravo in Naples dare attempt her life: no rewards, however great, could tempt the most abandoned of men to brave instant destruction, in destroying her; and should we attempt it, the most horrible tortures of the Inquisition, a disgraceful death, and that without the completion of our desire, would be the consequence. Think not so, Matilda, answered Zastrezzi; think not, because Julia possesses wealth, that she is less assailable by the dagger of one eager for revenge as I am; or that, because she lives in splendor at Naples, that a poisoned chalice, prepared by your hand, the hand of a disappointed rival, could not send her writhing and convulsed to the grave. No, no; she can die, nor shall we writhe on the rack. Oh! interrupted Matilda, I care not, if, writhing in the prisons of the Inquisition, I suffer the most excruciating torment; I care not if, exposed to public view, I suffer the most ignominious and disgraceful of deaths, if, before I die—if, before this spirit seeks another world, I gain my purposed design, I enjoy unutterable, and, as yet, inconceivable happiness. The evening meanwhile came on, and, warned by the lateness of the hour to separate, Matilda and Zastrozzi parted. Zastrozzi pursued his way to the cottage, and Matilda, deeply musing, retraced her steps to the castella. The wind was fresh, and rather tempestuous: light fleeting clouds were driven rapidly across the dark-blue sky. The moon, in silver majesty, hung high in eastern ether, and rendered transparent as a celestial spirit the shadowy clouds which at intervals crossed her orbit, and by degrees vanished like a vision in the obscurity of distant air. On this scene gazed Matilda—a train of confused thought took possession of her soul—her crimes, her past life, rose in array to her terror- struck imagination. Still burning love, unrepressed, unconquerable passion, revelled through every vein: her senses, rendered delirious by guilty desire, were whirled around in an inexpressible ecstasy of anticipated delight—delight, not unmixed by confused apprehensions. She stood thus with her arms folded, as if contemplating the spangled concavity of heaven. It was late—later than the usual hour of return, and Verezzi had gone out to meet Matilda. What! deep in thought, Matilda? exclaimed Verezzi, playfully. Matildas cheek, as he thus spoke, was tinged with a momentary blush; it however quickly passed away; and she replied, I was enjoying the serenity of the evening, the beauty of the setting sun, and then the congenial twilight induced me to wander farther than usual. The unsuspicious Verezzi observed nothing peculiar in the manner of Matilda; but, observing that the night air was chill, conducted her back to the castella. No art was left untried, no blandishment omitted, on the part of Matilda, to secure her victim. Every thing which he liked, she affected to admire: every sentiment uttered by Verezzi was always anticipated by the observing Matilda; but long was all in vain—long was every effort to obtain his love useless. Often, when she touched the harp, and drew sounds of enchanting melody from its strings, whilst her almost celestial form bent over it, did Verezzi gaze enraptured, and, forgetful of every thing else, yielding himself to a tumultuous oblivion of pleasure, listened entranced. But all her art could not draw Julia from his memory: he was much softened towards Matilda; he felt esteem, tenderest esteem—but he yet loved not. Thus passed the time.—Often would desperation, and an idea that Verezzi would never love her, agitate Matilda with most violent agony. The beauties of nature which surrounded the eastella had no longer power to interest: borne away on swelling thought, often, in the solitude of her own apartment, her spirit was wafted on the wings of anticipating fancy. Sometimes imagination portrayed the most horrible images for futurity: Verezzis hate, perhaps his total dereliction of her; his union with Julia, pressed upon her brain, and almost drove her to distraction, for Verezzi alone filled every thought; nourished by restless reveries, the most horrible anticipations blasted the blooming Matilda.—Sometimes, however, a gleam of sense shot across her soul: deceived by visions of unreal bliss, she acquired new courage, and fresh anticipations of delight, from a beam which soon withdrew its ray; for, usually sunk in gloom, her dejected eyes were fixed on the ground; though sometimes an ardent expression, kindled by the anticipation of gratified desire, flashed from their fiery orbits. Often, whilst thus agitated by contending emotions, her soul was shook, and, unconscious of its intentions, knew not the most preferable plan to pursue, would she seek Zastrozzi: on him, unconscious why, she relied much—his words were those of calm reflection and experience; and his sophistry, whilst it convinced her that a superior being exists not, who can control our actions, brought peace to her mind—peace to be succeeded by horrible and resistless conviction of the falsehood of her coadjutors arguments: still, however, they calmed her; and, by addressing her reason and passions at the same time, deprived her of the power of being benefited by either. The health of Verezzi, meanwhile, slowly mended: his mind, however, shook by so violent a trial as it had undergone, recovered not its vigour, but, mellowed by time, his grief, violent and irresistible as it had been at first, now became a fixed melancholy, which spread itself over his features, was apparent in every action, and, by resistance, inflamed Matildas passion to tenfold fury. The touching tenderness of Verezzis voice, the dejected softened expression of his eye, touched her soul with tumultuous yet milder emotions. In his presence she felt calmed; and those passions which, in solitude, were almost too fierce for endurance, when with him were softened into a tender though confused delight. It was one evening, when no previous appointment existed between Matilda and Zastrozzi, that, overcome by disappointed passion, Matilda sought the forest. The sky was unusually obscured, the sun had sunk beneath the western mountain, and its departing ray tinged the heavy clouds with a red glare.—The rising blast sighed through the towering pines, which rose loftily above Matildas head: the distant thunder, hoarse as the murmurs of the grove, in indistinct echoes mingled with the hollow breeze; the scintillating lightning flashed incessantly across her path, as Matilda, heeding not the storm, advanced along the trackless forest. The crashing thunder now rattled madly above, the lightnings flashed a larger curve, and at intervals, through the surrounding gloom, showed a scathed larch, which, blasted by frequent storms, reared its bare head on a height above. Matilda sat upon a fragment of jutting granite, and contemplated the storm which raged around her. The portentous calm, which at intervals occurred amid the reverberating thunder, portentous of a more violent tempest, resembled the serenity which spread itself over Matildas mind—a serenity only to be succeeded by a fiercer paroxysm of passion. TO BE CONTINUED TOMORROW
Posted on: Wed, 27 Nov 2013 17:06:01 +0000
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