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 Zastrozzi.
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
Zastrozzi’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 Zastrozzi: “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 Zastrozzi’s reply.
Zastrozzi, 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 Zastrozzi’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 Zastrozzi.
“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, Zastrozzi, 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 Zastrozzi, “that if you dare to brave
the dagger’s point--if you but make Verezzi owe his life to you----”
Zastrozzi 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 ether, 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 well-feigned sensibility,
characterised her downcast eye.
She waited, with the smothered impatience of expectation, for the
evening: then had Zastrozzi 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 Zastrozzi 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
anticipation 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, misshapen 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.
Matilda’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 Zastrozzi’s artifice had
opened to her view.
Visions of unreal bliss floated during the whole night in her
disordered fancy; her senses where 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 Zastrozzi. When she arrived at the cottage, she
learnt that he had walked forth.--She soon met him.
“Oh! Zastrozzi--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 Zastrozzi; “when once you possess
Verezzi, her destruction is of little consequence.”
The most horrible scheme of revenge at this instant glanced across
Zastrozzi’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
Zastrozzi, 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.