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 Matilda’s passion to tenfold fury.
The touching tenderness of Verezzi’s 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 , 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 Matilda’s 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 Matilda’s mind — a serenity only to be succeeded by a fiercer paroxysm of passion.
CHAPTER XII.
Still sat Matilda upon the rock — she still contemplated the tempest which raged around her.
The battling elements paused: an uninterrupted silence, deep, dreadful as the silence of the tomb, succeeded. Matilda heard a noise — footsteps were distinguishable, and looking up, a flash of vivid lightning disclosed to her view the towering form of .
His gigantic figure was again involved in pitchy darkness, as the momentary lightning receded. A peal of crashing thunder again madly rattled over the zenith, and a scintillating flash announced ‘s approach, as he stood before Matilda.
Matilda, surprised at his approach, started as he addressed her, and felt an indescribable awe, when she reflected on the wonderful casualty which, in this terrific and tempestuous hour, had led them to the same spot.
“Doubtless his feelings are violent and irresistible as mine: perhaps these led him to meet me here.”
She shuddered as she reflected; but smothering the sensations of alarm which she had suffered herself to be surprised by, she asked him what had led him to the forest.
“The same which led you here, Matilda,” returned : “the same influence which actuates us both, has doubtless inspired that congeniality which, in this frightful storm, led us to the same spot.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Matilda, “how shall I touch the obdurate Verezzi’s soul? he still despises me — he declares himself to be devoted to the memory of his Julia; and that although she be dead, he is not the less devotedly hers. What can be done?”
Matilda paused; and, much agitated, awaited ‘s reply.
, meanwhile, stood collected in himself, and firm as the rocky mountain which lifts its summit to heaven.
“Matilda,” said he, “to-morrow evening will pave the way for that happiness which your soul has so long panted for, if, indeed, the event which will then occur does not completely conquer Verezzi. But the violence of the tempest increases — let us seek shelter.”
“Oh! heed not the tempest,” said Matilda, whose expectations were raised to the extreme of impatience by ‘s dark hints—”heed not the tempest, but proceed, if you wish not to see me expiring at your feet.”
“You fear not the tumultuous elements — nor do I,” replied—”I assert again, that if to-morrow evening you lead Verezzi to this spot — if, in the event which will here occur, you display that presence of mind, which I believe you to possess, Verezzi is yours.”
“Ah! what do you say, , that Verezzi will be mine?” inquired Matilda, as the anticipation of inconceivable happiness dilated her soul with sudden and excessive delight.
“I say again, Matilda,” returned , “that if you dare to brave the dagger’s point — if you but make Verezzi owe his life to you—”
paused, and Matilda acknowledged her insight of his plan, which her enraptured fancy represented as the basis of her happiness.
“Could he, after she had, at the risk of her own life, saved his, unfeelingly reject her? Would those noble sentiments, which the greatest misfortunes were unable to extinguish, suffer that? — No.”
Full of these ideas, her brain confused by the ecstatic anticipation of happiness which pressed upon it, Matilda retraced her footsteps towards the castella.
The violence of the storm which so lately had raged was passed — the thunder, in low and indistinct echoes, now sounded through the chain of rocky mountains, which stretched far to the north — the azure, and almost cloudless either, was studded with countless stars, as Matilda entered the castella, and, as the hour was late, sought her own apartment.
Sleep fled not, as usual, from her pillow; but, overcome by excessive drowsiness, she soon sank to rest.
Confused dreams floated in her imagination, in which she sometimes supposed that she had gained Verezzi; at others, that, snatched from her ardent embrace, he was carried by an invisible power over rocky mountains, or immense and untravelled heaths, and that, in vainly attempting to follow him, she had lost herself in the trackless desert.
Awakened from disturbed and unconnected dreams, she arose.
The most tumultuous emotions of rapturous exultation filled her soul as she gazed upon her victim, who was sitting at a window which overlooked the waving forest.
Matilda seated herself by him, and most enchanting, most pensive music, drawn by her fingers from a harp, thrilled his soul with an ecstasy of melancholy; tears rolled rapidly down his cheeks; deep drawn, though gentle sighs heaved his bosom: his innocent eyes were mildly fixed upon Matilda, and beamed with compassion for one, whose only wish was gratification of her own inordinate desires, and destruction to his opening prospects of happiness.
She, with a ferocious pleasure, contemplated her victim; yet, curbing the passions of her soul, a meekness, a wellfeigned sensibility, characterised her downcast eye.
She waited, with the smothered impatience of expectation, for the evening: then, had affirmed, that she would lay a firm foundation for her happiness.
Unappalled, she resolved to brave the dagger’s point: she resolved to bleed; and though her life-blood were to issue at the wound, to dare the event.
The evening at last arrived: the atmosphere was obscured by vapour, and the air more chill than usual; yet, yielding to the solicitations of Matilda, Verezzi accompanied her to the forest.
Matilda’s bosom thrilled with inconceivable happiness, as she advanced towards the spot: her limbs, trembling with ecstasy, almost refused to support her. Unwonted sensations — sensations she had never felt before, agitated her bosom; yet, steeling her soul, and persuading herself that celestial transports would be the reward of firmness, she fearlessly advanced.
The towering pine-trees waved in the squally wind — the shades of twilight gained fast on the dusky forest — the wind died away, and a deep, a gloomy silence reigned.
They now had arrived at the spot which had asserted would be the scene of an event which might lay the foundation of Matilda’s happiness.
She was agitated by such violent emotions, that her every limb trembled, and Verezzi tenderly asked the reason of her alarm.
“Oh! nothing, nothing!” returned Matilda; but, stung by more certain anticip
ation of ecstasy by his tender inquiry, her whole frame trembled with tenfold agitation, and her bosom was filled with more unconquerable transport.
On the right, the thick umbrage of the forest trees, rendered undistinguishable any one who might lurk there; on the left, a frightful precipice yawned, at whose base a deafening cataract dashed with tumultuous violence; around, mishapen and enormous masses of rock; and beyond, a gigantic and blackened mountain, reared its craggy summit to the skies.
They advanced towards the precipice. Matilda stood upon the dizzy height — her senses almost failed her, and she caught the branch of an enormous pine which impended over the abyss.
“How frightful a depth!” exclaimed Matilda.
“Frightful indeed,” said Verezzi, as thoughtfully he contemplated the terrific depth beneath.
They stood for some time gazing on the scene in silence.
Footsteps were heard — Matilda’s bosom thrilled with mixed sensations of delight and apprehension, as, summoning all her fortitude, she turned round. — A man advanced towards them.
“What is your business?” exclaimed Verezzi.
“Revenge!” returned the villain, as, raising a dagger high, he essayed to plunge it in Verezzi’s bosom, but Matilda lifted her arm, and the dagger piercing it, touched not Verezzi. Starting forward, he fell to the earth, and the ruffian instantly dashed into the thick forest.
Matilda’s snowy arm was tinged with purple gore: the wound was painful, but an expression of triumph flashed from her eyes, and excessive pleasure dilated her bosom: the blood streamed fast from her arm, and tinged the rock whereon they stood with a purple stain.
Verezzi started from the ground, and seeing the blood which streamed down Matilda’s garments, in accents of terror demanded where she was wounded.
“Oh! think not upon that,” she exclaimed, “but tell me — ah! tell me,” said she, in a voice of well-feigned alarm, “are you wounded mortally? Oh! what sensations of terror shook me, when I thought that the dagger’s point, after having pierced my arm, had drunk your life-blood.”
“Oh!” answered Verezzi, “I am not wounded; but let us haste to the castella.”
He then tore part of his vest, and with it bound Matilda’s arm. Slowly they proceeded towards the castella.
“What villain, Verezzi,” said Matilda, “envious of my happiness, attempted his life, for whom I would ten thousand times sacrifice my own? Oh! Verezzi, how I thank God, who averted the fatal dagger from thy heart!”
Verezzi answered not; but his heart, his feelings, were irresistibly touched by Matilda’s behaviour. Such noble contempt of danger, so ardent a passion, as to risk her life to preserve his, filled his breast with a tenderness towards her; and he felt that he could now deny her nothing, not even the sacrifice of the poor remains of his happiness, should she demand it.
Matilds’s breast meanwhile swelled with sensations of unutterable delight: her soul, borne on the pinions of anticipated happiness, flashed in triumphant glances from her fiery eyes. She could scarcely forbear clasping Verezzi in her arms, and claiming him as her own; but prudence, and a fear of in what manner a premature declaration of love might be received, prevented her.
They arrived at the castella, and a surgeon from the neighbouring convent was sent for by Verezzi.
The surgeon soon arrived, examined Matilda’s arm, and declared that no unpleasant consequences could ensue. — Retired to her own apartment, those transports, which before had been allayed by Verezzi’s presence, now, unrestrained by reason, involved Matilda’s senses in an ecstasy of pleasure.
She threw herself on the bed, and, in all the exaggerated colours of imagination, portrayed the transports which ‘s artifice has opened to her view.
Visions of unreal bless floated during the whole night in her disordered fancy: her senses were whirled around in alternate ecstasies of happiness and despair, as almost palpable dreams pressed upon her disturbed brain.
At one time she imagined that Verezzi, consenting to their union, presented her his hand: that at her touch the flesh crumbled from it, and, a shrieking spectre, he fled from her view: again, silvery clouds floated across her sight, and unconnected, disturbed visions occupied her imagination till the morning.
Verezzi’s manner, as he met Matilda the following morning, was unusually soft and tender; and in a voice of solicitude, he inquired concerning her health.
The roseate flush of animation which tinged her cheek, the triumphant glance of animation which danced in her scintillating eye, seemed to render the inquiry unnecessary.
A dewy moisture filled her eyes, as she gazed with an expression of tumultuous, yet repressed rapture, upon the hapless Verezzi.
Still did she purpose, in order to make her triumph more certain, to protract the hour of victory; and, leaving her victim, wandered into the forest to seek . When she arrived at the cottage, she learnt that he had walked forth. — She soon met him.
“Oh! — my best Zastrozzi!” exclaimed Matilda, “what a source of delight have you opened to me! Verezzi is mine — oh! transporting thought! will be mine for ever. That distant manner which he usually affected towards me, is changed to a sweet, an ecstatic expression of tenderness. Oh! Zastrozzi, receive my best, my most fervent thanks.”
“Julia need not die then,” muttered ; “when once you possess Verezzi, her destruction is of little consequence.”
The most horrible scheme of revenge at this instant glanced across ‘s mind.
“Oh! Julia must die,” said Matilda, “or I shall never be safe; such an influence does her image possess over Verezzi’s mind, that I am convinced, were he to know that she lived, an estrangement from me would be the consequence. Oh! quickly let me hear that she is dead. I can never enjoy uninterrupted happiness until her dissolution.”
“What you have just pronounced is Julia’s death-warrant,” said , as he disappeared among the thick trees.
Matilda returned to the castella.
Verezzi, at her return, expressed a tender apprehension, lest, thus wounded, she should have hurt herself by walking; but Matilda quieted his fears, and engaged him in interesting conversation, which seemed not to have for its object the seduction of his affection; though the ideas conveyed by her expressions were so artfully connected with it, and addressed themselves so forcibly to Verezzi’s feelings, that he was convinced he ought to love Matilda, though he felt that within himself, which, in spite of reason — in spite of reflection — told him that it was impossible.
CHAPTER XIII.
The enticing smile, the modest-seeming eye.
Beneath whose beauteous beams, belying heaven.
Lurk searchless cunning, cruelty, and death.
— Thomson.
Still did Matilda’s blandishments — her unremitting attention — inspire Verezzi with a softened tenderness towards her. — He regarded her as one who, at the risk of her own life, had saved his; who loved him with an ardent affection, and whose affection was likely to be lasting: and though he could not regard her with that enthusiastic tenderness with which he even yet adored the memory of his Julia, yet he might esteem her — faithfully esteem her — and felt not that horror at uniting himself with her as formerly. But a conversation which he had with Julia recurred to his mind: he remembered well, that when they had talked of their speedy marriage, she had expressed an idea, that a union in this life might endure to all eternity; and that the chosen of his heart on earth, might, by congeniality of sentiment, be united in heaven.
The idea was hallowed by the remembrance of his Julia; but chasing it, as an unreal vision, from his mind, again his high sentiments of gratitude prevailed.
Lost in these ideas, involved in a train of thought, and unconscious where his footsteps led him, he quitted the castella. His reverie was interrupted by low murmurs, which seemed to float on the silence of the forest: it was scarcely audible, yet Verezzi felt an undefinable wish to know what it was. He advanced towards it — it was Matilda’s voice.
> Verezzi approached nearer, and from within heard her voice in complaints. — He eagerly listened. — Her sobs rendered the words, which in passionate exclamations burst from Matilda’s lips, almost inaudible. He still listened — a pause in the tempest of grief which shook Matilda’s soul seemed to have taken place.
“Oh! Verezzi — cruel, unfeeling Verezzi!” exclaimed Matilda, as a fierce paroxysm of passion seized her brain—”will you thus suffer one who adores you, to linger in hopeless love, and witness the excruciating agony of one who idolises you, as I do, to madness?”
As she spoke thus, a long-drawn sigh closed the sentence.
Verezzi’s mind was agitated by various emotions as he stood; but rushing in at last, raised Matilda in his arms, and tenderly attempted to comfort her.
She started as he entered — she heeded not his words; but, seemingly overcome by shame, cast herself at his feet, and hid her face in his robe.
He tenderly raised her, and his expressions convinced her, that the reward of all her anxiety was now about to be reaped.
The most triumphant anticipation of transports to come filled her bosom; yet, knowing it to be necessary to dissemble — knowing that a shameless claim on his affections would but disgust Verezzi, she said —
“Oh! Verezzi, forgive me: supposing myself to be alone — supposing no one overheard the avowal of the secret of my soul, with which, believe me, I never more intended to have importuned you, what shameless sentiments — shameless even in solitude — have I not given vent to. I can no longer conceal, that the passion with which I adore you is unconquerable, irresistible: but, I conjure you, think not upon what you have this moment heard to my disadvantage; nor despise a weak unhappy creature, who feels it impossible to overcome the fatal passion which consumes her.
“Never more will I give vent, even in solitude, to my love — never more shall the importunities of the hapless Matilda reach your ears. To conquer a passion fervent, tender as mine, is impossible.”
Percy Bysshe Shelley Page 133