The sun began to decline; at last it sank beneath the western mountain, and the forest-tops were tinged by its departing ray. The shades of night rapidly thickened.
sat a while upon the decayed trunk of a scathed oak.
The sky was serene; the blue ether was spangled with countless myriads of stars: the tops of the lofty forest-trees waved mournfully in the evening wind; and the moon-beam penetrating at intervals, as they moved, through the matted branches, threw dubious shades upon the dark underwood beneath.
Ugo and Bernardo, conquered by irresistible torpor, sank to rest upon the dewy turf.
A scene so fair — a scene so congenial to those who can reflect upon their past lives with pleasure, and anticipate the future with the enthusiasm of innocence, ill accorded with the ferocious soul of , which at one time agitated by revenge, at another by agonising remorse, or contending passions, could derive no pleasure from the past — anticipate no happiness in futurity.
sat for some time immersed in heart-rending contemplations; but though conscience for a while reflected his past life in images of horror, again was his heart steeled by fiercest vengeance; and, aroused by images of insatiate revenge, he hastily arose, and, waking Ugo and Bernardo, pursued his course.
The night was calm and serene — not a cloud obscured the azure brilliancy of the spangled concave above — not a wind ruffled the tranquillity of the atmosphere below.
, Ugo, and Bernardo, advanced into the forest. They had tasted no food, save the wild berries of the wood, for some time, and were anxious to arrive at some cottage, where they might procure refreshments. For some time the deep silence which reigned was uninterrupted.
“What is that?” exclaimed , as he beheld a large and magnificent building, whose battlements rose above the lofty trees. It was built in the Gothic style of architecture, and appeared to be inhabited.
The building reared its pointed casements loftily to the sky: their treillaged ornaments were silvered by the clear moon-light, to which the dark shades of the arches beneath formed a striking contrast. A large portico jutted out: they advanced towards it, and attempted to open the door.
An open window on one side of the casement arrested ‘s attention. “Let us enter that,” said he. — They entered. It was a large saloon, with many windows. Every thing within was arranged with princely magnificence. — Four ancient and immense sofas in the apartment invited repose.
Near one of the windows stood a table, with an escrutoire on it; a paper lay on the ground near it.
, as he passed, heedlessly took up the paper. He advanced nearer to the window, thinking his senses had deceived him when he read, “La Contessa di Laurentini;” but they had not done so, for La Contessa di Laurentini still continued on the paper. He hastily opened it; and the letter, though of no importance, convinced him that this must have been the place to which Matilda said that she had removed.
Ugo and Bernardo lay sleeping on the sofas. , leaving them as they were, opened an opposite door — it led into a vaulted hall — a large flight of stairs rose from the opposite side — he ascended them — He advanced along a lengthened corridor — a female in white robes stood at the other end — a lamp burnt near her on the balustrade. She was in a reclining attitude, and had not observed his approach. Zastrozzi recognised her for Matilda. He approached her, and beholding Zastrozzi before her, she started back with surprise. For a while she gazed on him in silence, and at last exclaimed, “Zastrozzi! ah! are we revenged on Julia? am I happy? Answer me quickly. Well by your silence do I perceive that our plans have been put into execution. Excellent Zastrozzi! accept my most fervent thanks, my eternal gratitude.”
“Matilda!” returned , “would I could say that we were happy! but, alas! it is but misery and disappointment that causes this my so unexpected visit. I know nothing of the Marchesa di Strobazzo — less of Verezzi. I fear that I must wait till age has unstrung my now so fervent energies; and when time has damped your passion, perhaps you may gain Verezzi’s love. Julia is returned to Italy — is even now in Naples; and, secure in the immensity of her possessions, laughs at our trifling vengeance. But it shall not be always thus,” continued Zastrozzi, his eyes sparkling with inexpressible brilliancy; “I will accomplish my purpose; and, Matilda, thine shall likewise be effected. But, come, I have not tasted food for these two days.”
“Oh! supper is prepared below,” said Matilda. Seated at the supper-table, the conversation, enlivened by wine, took an animated turn. After some subjects, irrelevant to this history, being discussed, Matilda said, “Ha! but I forgot to tell you, that I have done some good: I have secured that diabolical Paulo, Julia’s servant, who was of great service to her, and, by penetrating our schemes, might have even discomfited our grand design. I have lodged him in the lowest cavern of those dungeons which are under this building — will you go and see him?” answered in the affirmative, and seizing a lamp which burnt in a recess of the apartment, followed Matilda.
The rays of the lamp but partially dissipated the darkness as they advanced through the antiquated passages. They arrived at a door: Matilda opened it, and they quickly crossed a grass-grown court-yard.
The grass which grew on the lofty battlements waved mournfully in the rising blast, as Matilda and entered a dark and narrow casement. — Cautiously they descended the slippery and precipitous steps. The lamp, obscured by the vapours, burnt dimly as they advanced. They arrived at the foot of the staircase. “Zastrozzi!” exclaimed Matilda. Zastrozzi turned quickly, and, perceiving a door, obeyed Matilda’s directions.
On some straw, chained to the wall, lay Paulo.
“O pity! stranger, pity!” exclaimed the miserable Paulo.
No answer, save a smile of most expressive scorn, was given by . They again ascended the narrow staircase, and, passing the court-yard, arrived at the supper-room.
“But,” said , again taking his seat, “what use is that fellow Paulo in the dungeon? why do you keep him there?”
“Oh!” answered Matilda, “I know not; but if you wish” —
She paused, but her eye expressively filled up the sentence.
poured out an overflowing goblet of wine. He summoned Ugo and Bernardo—”Take that,” said Matilda, presenting them a key — One of the villains took it, and in a few moments returned with the hapless Paulo.
“Paulo!” exclaimed loudly, “I have prevailed on La Contessa to restore your freedom: here,” added he, “take this; I pledge you to your future happiness.”
Paulo bowed low — he drank the poisoned potion to the dregs, and, overcome by sudden and irresistible faintness, fell at ‘s feet. Sudden convulsions shook his frame, his lips trembled, his eyes rolled horribly, and, uttering an agonised and lengthened groan, he expired.
“Ugo! Bernardo! take that body and bury it immediately,” cried . “There, Matilda, by such means must Julia die: you see, that the poisons which I possess are quick in their effect.”
A pause ensued, during which the eyes of and Matilda spoke volumes to each guilty soul.
The silence was interrupted by Matilda. Not shocked at the dreadful outrage which had been committed, she told to come out into the forest, for that she had something for his private ear.
“Matilda,” said , as they advanced along the forest, “I must not stay here, and waste moments in inactivity, which might be more usefully employed: I must quit you to-morrow — I must destroy Julia.”
“,” returned Matilda, “I am so far from wishing you to spend your time here in ignoble listlessness, that I will myself join your search. You shall to Italy — to Naples — watch Julia’s every movement, attend her every step, and in the guise of a friend destroy her: but beware, whilst you assume the softness of the dove, to forget not the cunning of the serpent. On you I depend for destroying her, my own exertions shall find Verezzi; I myself will gain his love — Julia must die, and expiate the crime of daring to rival me, with her hated blood.”
Whilst thus they conversed, whilst they planned the
se horrid schemes of destruction, the night wore away.
The moon-beam darting her oblique rays from under volumes of louring vapour, threatened an approaching storm. The lurid sky was tinged with a yellowish lustre — the forest-tops rustled in the rising tempest — big drops fell — a flash of lightning, and, instantly after, a peal of bursting thunder, struck with sudden terror the bosom of Matilda. She, however, immediately overcame it, and regarding the battling element with indifference, continued her discourse with .
They wore out the night in many visionary plans for the future, and now and then a gleam of remorse assailed Matilda’s heart. Heedless of the storm, they had remained in the forest late. Flushed with wickedness, they at last sought their respective couches, but sleep forsook their pillow.
In all the luxuriance of extravagant fancy, Matilda portrayed the symmetrical form, the expressive countenance, of Verezzi; whilst , who played a double part, anticipated, with ferocious exultation, the torments which he she loved was eventually fated to endure, and changed his plan, for a sublimer mode of vengeance was opened to his view.
Matilda passed a night of restlessness and agitation: her mind was harassed by contending passions, and her whole soul wound up to deeds of horror and wickedness. ‘s countenance, as she met him in the breakfast-parlour, wore a settled expression of determined revenge—”I almost shudder,” exclaimed Matilda, “at the sea of wickedness on which I am about to embark! But still, Verezzi — ah! for him would I even lose my hopes of eternal happiness. In the sweet idea of calling him mine, no scrupulous delicacy, no mistaken superstitious fear, shall prevent me from deserving him by daring acts — No! I am resolved,” continued Matilda, as, recollecting his graceful form, her soul was assailed by tenfold love —
“And I am likewise resolved,” said ; “I am resolved on revenge — my revenge shall be gratified. Julia shall die, and Verezzi—”
paused; his eye gleamed with a peculiar expression, and Matilda thought he meant more than he had said — she raised her eyes — they encountered his.
The guilt-bronzed cheek of was tinged with a momentary blush, but it quickly passed away, and his countenance recovered its wonted firm and determined expression.
“!” exclaimed Matilda,—”should you be false — should you seek to deceive me — But, no, it is impossible. — Pardon, my friend — I meant not what I said — my thoughts are crazed—”
“Tis well,” said , haughtily.
“But you forgive my momentary, unmeaning doubt?” said Matilda, and fixed her unmeaning eyes on his countenance.
“It is not for us to dwell on vain, unmeaning expressions, which the soul dictates not,” returned ; “and I sue for pardon from you, for having, by ambiguous expressions, caused the least agitation: but, believe me, Matilda, we will not forsake each other; your cause is mine; distrust between us is foolish. — But, farewell for the present; I must order Bernardo to go to Passau, to purchase horses.”
The day passed on; each waited with impatience for the arrival of Bernardo.—”Farewell, Matilda,” exclaimed , as he mounted the horses which Bernardo brought; and, taking the route of Italy, galloped off.
CHAPTER V.
Her whole soul wrapped up in one idea, the guilty Matilda threw herself into a chariot which waited at the door, and ordered the equipage to proceed towards Passau.
Left to indulge reflection in solitude, her mind recurred to the object nearest her heart — to Verezzi.
Her bosom was scorched by an ardent and unquenchable fire; and while she thought of him, she even shuddered at the intenseness of her own sensations.
“He shall love me — he shall be mine — mine for ever,” mentally ejaculated Matilda.
The streets of Passau echoed to La Contessa di Laurentini’s equipage, before, roused from her reverie, she found herself at the place of destination; and she was seated in her hotel in that city, before she had well arranged her unsettled ideas. She summoned Ferdinand, a trusty servant, to whom she confided every thing.—”Ferdinand,” said she, “you have many claims on my gratitude: I have never had cause to reproach you with infidelity in executing my purposes — add another debt to that which I already owe you: find Il Conte Verezzi within three days, and you are my best friend.” Ferdinand bowed, and prepared to execute her commands. Two days passed, during which Matilda failed not to make every personal inquiry, even in the suburbs of Passau.
Alternately depressed by fear, and revived by hope, for three days was Matilda’s mind in a state of disturbance and fluctuation. The evening of the third day, of the day on which Ferdinand was to return, arrived. Matilda’s mind, wound up to the extreme of impatience, was the scene of conflicting passions. — She paced the room rapidly.
A servant entered, and announced supper.
“Is Ferdinand returned?” hastily inquired Matilda.
The domestic answered in the negative. — She sighed deeply, and struck her forehead.
Footsteps were heard in the antichamber without.
“There is Ferdinand!” exclaimed Matilda, exultingly, as he entered—”Well, well! have you found Verezzi? Ah! speak quickly! ease me of this horrible suspense.”
“Signora!” said Ferdinand, “it grieves me much to be obliged to declare, that all my endeavours have been inefficient to find Il Conte Verezzi — .”
“Oh, madness! madness!” exclaimed Matilda; “is it for this that I have plunged into the dark abyss of crime? — is it for this that I have despised the delicacy of my sex, and, braving consequences, have offered my love to one who despises me — who shuns me, as does the barbarous Verezzi? But if he is in Passau — if he is in the environs of the city, I will find him.”
Thus saying, despising the remonstrances of her domestics, casting off all sense of decorum, she rushed into the streets of Passau. A gloomy silence reigned through the streets of the city; it was past midnight, and every inhabitant seemed to be sunk in sleep — sleep which Matilda was almost a stranger to. Her white robes floated on the night air — her shadowy and dishevelled hair flew over her form, which, as she passed the bridge, seemed to strike the boatmen below with the idea of some supernatural and ethereal form.
She hastily crossed the bridge — she entered the fields on the right — the Danube, whose placid stream was scarcely agitated by the wind, reflected her symmetrical form, as, scarcely knowing what direction she pursued, Matilda hastened along its banks. Sudden horror, resistless despair, seized her brain, maddened as it was by hopeless love.
“What have I to do in this world, my fairest prospect blighted, my fondest hope rendered futile?” exclaimed the frantic Matilda, as, wound up to the highest pitch of desperation, she attempted to plunge herself into the river.
But life fled; for Matilda, caught by a stranger’s arm, was prevented from the desperate act.
Overcome by horror, she fainted.
Some time did she lie in a state of torpid insensibility, till the stranger, filling his cap with water from the river, and sprinkling her pallid countenance with it, recalled to life the miserable Matilda.
What was her surprise, what was her mingled emotion of rapture and doubt, when the moon-beam disclosed to her view the countenance of Verezzi, as in anxious solicitude he bent over her elegantly-proportioned form!
“By what chance,” exclaimed the surprised Verezzi, “do I see here La Contessa di Laurentini? did not I leave you at your Italian castella? I had hoped you would have ceased to persecute me, when I told you that I was irrevocably another’s.”
“Oh, Verezzi!” exclaimed Matilda, casting herself at his feet, “I adore you to madness — I love you to distraction. If you have one spark of compassion, let me not sue in vain — reject not one who feels it impossible to overcome the fatal, resistless passion which consumes her.”
“Rise, Signora,” returned Verezzi—”rise; this discourse is improper — it is not suiting the dignity of your rank, or the delicacy of your sex: but suffer me to conduct you to yon cottage, where, perhaps, you ma
y deign to refresh yourself, or pass the night.”
The moon-beams played upon the tranquil waters of the Danube, as Verezzi silently conducted the beautiful Matilda to the humble dwelling where he resided.
Claudine waited at the door, and had begun to fear that some mischance had befallen Verezzi, as, when he arrived at the cottage-door, it was long past his usual hour of return.
It was his custom, during those hours when the twilight of evening cools the air, to wander through the adjacent rich scenery, though he seldom prolonged his walks till midnight.
He supported the fainting form of Matilda as he advanced towards Claudine. The old woman’s eyes had lately failed her, from extreme age; and it was not until Verezzi called to her that she saw him, accompanied by La Contessa di Laurentini.
“Claudine,” said Verezzi, “I have another claim upon your kindness: this lady, who has wandered beyond her knowledge, will honour our cottage so far as to pass the night here. If you would prepare the pallet which I usually occupy for her, I will repose this evening on the turf, and will now get supper ready. Signora,” continued he, addressing Matilda, “some wine would, I think, refresh your spirits; permit me to fill you a glass of wine.”
Matilda silently accepted his offer — their eyes met — those of Matilda were sparkling and full of meaning.
“Verezzi!” exclaimed Matilda, “I arrived but four days since at Passau — I have eagerly inquired for you — oh! how eagerly! — Will you accompany me to-morrow to Passau?”
“Yes,” said Verezzi, hesitatingly.
Claudine soon joined them. Matilda exulted in the success of her schemes, and Claudine being present, the conversation took a general turn. The lateness of the hour, at last, warned them to separate.
Verezzi, left to solitude and his own reflections, threw himself on the turf, which extended to the Danube below. — Ideas of the most gloomy nature took possession of his soul; and, in the event of the evening, he saw the foundation of the most bitter misfortunes.
Percy Bysshe Shelley - Delphi Poets Series Page 128