 Chapter 8, which immediately follows Chapter 6 of Tsastrotsi, a Romance. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. Tsastrotsi, a Romance, by Percy Biss Shelley. Chapter 8. His head reposed upon Matilda's 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 accent scarcely articulate exclaimed Veretsi. 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 Veretsi 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 Veretsi 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 Veretsi. She sent for a physician. He arrived, and his opinion of Veretsi's 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 Veretsi's 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 Veretsi's danger, sought his apartment. On her bed lay Veretsi. 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 an interval slightly agitated by convulsions. A deep sigh at this instant burst from his lips. A momentary hectic flushed his cheek, as the miserable Veretsi 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 eyeballs were unconsciously fixed upon the agitated Matilda. Where art thou? 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 Matilda's 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 everything around her, she feared Veretzi 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 Veretzi 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, maddened by desperation, in accents almost in articulate from terror demanded hope or despair from the physician. He, who was a man of sense, declared his opinion that Veretzi 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 bedside of Veretzi. She sat there, a prey to disappointed passion, silent and watching every turn of the hapless Veretzi's countenance, as bereft of sense he lay extended on the bed before her. The animation which was won't to illumine his sparkling eye was fled. The rosy at 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 Veretzi, as occasion required. Towards night the physician again came. Matilda's head thoughtfully lent 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 Veretzi? will he live or die? The physician advanced towards the emaciated Veretzi. He took his hand. A burning fever raged through his veins. Oh, how is he? exclaimed Matilda, as anxiously watching the humane physician's 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 physician's 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, Matilda's 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 o'clock. Slowly the hours passed. The clock of Passau told each lingering quarter as they rolled away, and hastened towards the appointed time, when the chamber door of Veretzi was slowly opened by Ferdinand. Ah! why do you disturb me now? exclaimed Matilda, whom the entrance of Ferdinand had roused from a profound reverie. Signora! whispered Ferdinand. Signor 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 Sastrozi immediately afterwards 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 under-voice. Look in that bed! Behold Veretzi! Emaciate it and insensible! In a quarter of an hour, perhaps, all animation will be fled. Fled forever! continued she, as a deeper expression of despair shaded her beautiful features. Sastrozi advanced to the foot of the bed. Veretzi 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. Sastrozi gazed upon him with an indefinable expression of insatiated vengeance. Indefinable to Matilda, as she gazed upon the expressive countenance of her co-adjecter in crime. Matilda, I want you. Come to the lower saloon. I have something to speak to you of. Said Sastrozi. Oh! if it concerned my soul's 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, a voice assuming a tone of extreme horror. See how pale he looks! Sastrozi bade Matilda farewell and went away. The physician yet continued watching in silence the countenance of Veretzi. 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 Veretzi's 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 Veretzi, 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 Veretzi's 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 nervous 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. Veretzi slowly arose and violently exclaimed, Julia, Julia, my long-lost Julia, come! And then, more collectively, he added in a mournful tone, Ah, no, you are dead, lost, lost forever. He turned round and saw the physician, but Matilda was still concealed. Where am I, inquired Veretzi, addressing the physician? Safe, safe, answered he. Compose yourself, all will be well. Ah, but Julia, inquired Veretzi, 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. Veretzi's nervous 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 Veretzi 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 forever, and by unremitting aciduity 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 physician's mouth a more explicit affirmation of Veretzi's safety than his looks had given, Matilda rose for the first time since his illness, and unseen by Veretzi approached the physician. Follow me to the saloon, said Matilda. The physician obeyed, and by his fervent assurances of Veretzi's safety and speedy recovery confirmed Matilda's 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 judgment, and conjectured that some sudden and violent emotion of which she was the cause occasioned his patient's illness. This conjecture became certainty, as, when he concluded, he observed Matilda's 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 bear idea, and promised to obey his commands. The morning came. Matilda arose from a sleepless couch, and with hopes yet unconfirmed, sought Veretzi's apartment. She stood near the door listening. Her heart palpitated with tremulous violence, as she listened to Veretzi's breathing. Every sound from within alarmed her. At last she slowly opened the door, and though adhering to the physician's directions in not suffering Veretzi 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 Veretzi question the attendant collectively, 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. The heavenly, yet faint smile diffused itself over his countenance, his hand slightly moved. Matilda, fearing that he would wake, again concealed herself. She was mistaken, for onlooking 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 affection at aciduity, by the bedside of the unconscious Veretzi. The physician declared that his patient's 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 Veretzi, 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 Veretzi, 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 Veretzi's fleeted faculties. Sastrozi Romance by Percy Bish Shelley 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 Veretzi was filled with irresistible disgust, as recovering he found himself in Matilda's 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 rosy at colour which had tinged Matilda's 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 Veretzi uttered accusations he knew not the meaning of, for his brain, maddened by the idea of Julia's death, was world 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 blight it. 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 Veretzi's fond expressions. She determined, however, that where Veretzi not to be hers, he should never be Julius. Whilst thus she thought, Sastrozi entered. The conversation was concerning Veretzi. How shall I gain his love? exclaimed Matilda. Ah, 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 Veretzi? 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 accessory to that? exclaimed Sastrozi, his eye gleaming with disappointed ferocity. Would Julia of Strobatso's heart was reeking on my dagger? Favantly do I join in that wish, my best Sastrozi, returned Matilda. But alas, what avail wishes? What avail useless protestations of revenge, whilst Julia yet lives? Yet lives perhaps again to obtain Veretzi, 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. Sastrozi, 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, and fit herself for prosecuting the attainment of her fondest hope. Are you firm, inquired Sastrozi? 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 Sastrozi, and thy purpose is affected. Though little was in these words which might warrant hope, yet Matilda's susceptible soul, as Sastrozi spoke, thrilled with anticipated delight. My maxim, therefore, said Sastrozi, through life has been wherever I am, whatever passions shake my inmost soul, at least to appear collected. I generally am. 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 risk. 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 collectively argued Zastrozzi. He delivered his sentiments with the air of one who was totally 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 torment. Matilda returned Zastrozzi, think not so. Rather suppose that by its own innate and energetical exertions this soul must endure forever, 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 trampled 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? Oh 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 Matilda's bosom. In proportion as her belief of an omnipotent power, and consequently her hopes of eternal salvation declined, her ardent and unquenchable passion for Veretzi 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 Zastrozzi's sentiments. She almost shuddered as she reflected, yet was convinced by the cool and collected manner in which she had delivered them. She thought on his advice, and stealing 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 Veretzi, Matilda's 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 Veretzi's 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 Veretzi, where have you been? Matilda's 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 heartfelt 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 forever. Scarcely able to contain the emotions which the idea alone of Veretzi's 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 Veretzi 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 Veretzi, 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 forever, 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 Veretzi, talk not to me of comfort, talk not of happiness, all that constituted my comfort, all to which I look forward with rapturous anticipation of happiness, is fled, fled forever. Ceaselessly did Matilda watch by the bedside of Veretzi, 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 nerfed for the execution of its fondest purpose. A seeming tranquility overspread her mind. Not that tranquility 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 meantime, the strength of Veretzi's 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 Veretzi 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 inventions 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 she were lost to her forever, 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 Viretsi, as a severe a 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 forever. As he said this, a convulsive sigh heaved his breast, and the tears silently rolled down his cheeks. For some time in vain where Matilda's 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 Viretsi's spirits were elevated by company and merriment, in solitude again they sank, and a deeper melancholy, a severe regret possessed his bosom, for having allowed himself to be momentarily interested by anything 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 Julia's 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 wondered. Matilda, meanwhile, firm in the purpose of her soul, unremittingly persevered. She calmed her mind, and though at intervals shook by almost superhuman emotions, before Veretzi affixed serenity. A well-famed sensibility and a downcast tenderness marked her manner. Grief, melancholy, affixed a quiet depression of spirits, seemed to have calmed every fierce a feeling when she talked with Veretzi of his lost Julia. But those subdued for the present, revenge, hate, and the fervour of disappointed love burned her soul. Often when she had retired from Veretzi, when he had talked with tenderness, as he was won't, of Julia, and sworn everlasting fidelity to her memory, would Matilda's 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 Veretzi, that because my Julia 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. O 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. Matilda's whole frame trembled with unconquerable emotion, as thus determinately 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. Veretzi's 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-famed 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 Veretzi, 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, reveled 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 implicated a thousand curses upon Julia, 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 Zastrotzi's advice. Was she now cool, or she now collected? She was now immersed in a chain of thought. Unaccountable, even to herself, was the serenity which had succeeded. End of chapter 9. Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere Surrey. Chapter 10 of Zastrotzi, a romance. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. Zastrotzi, a romance. By Percy Bish Shelley. Chapter 10. Persevering in the prosecution of her design, the time passed away slowly to Matilda, for Veretzi's frame, becoming every day more emaciated, threatened to her alarmed imagination, approaching dissolution. Slowly to Veretzi, 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 Matilda's soul. Suffice it to say that they were many, and that their violence progressively increased. Veretzi's illness at last assumed so dangerous an appearance that Matilda alarmed, sent for a physician. The humane man who had attended Veretzi before was from home, but one skillful in his profession arrived, who declared that a warmer climate could alone restore Veretzi's health. Matilda proposed to him to remove to a retired and picturesque spot which she possessed in the Venetian territory. Veretzi, 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 Veretzi was lifted into the chariot, being yet extremely weak and emaciated. Matilda, during the journey, by every care, every kind and sympathizing attention, tried to drive away Veretzi's 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 Matilda's attention, a still deeper shade of melancholy overspread his features. A more heartfelt 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 odouriferous 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 plain trees whose immense branches stretched far, and above bare granite rocks, on which might be seen occasionally a scathed larch lifted their gigantic and misshapen forms. In the centre of an amphitheatre formed by these mountains, surrounded by woods, stood the Castella di Laurentini, whose grey turrets and time-worn battlements overtopped the giants of the forest. Into this gloomy mansion was Veretzi 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, Matilda's 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 Veretzi's 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, Veretzi's 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. Matilda's 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 Julia's memory which Veretzi uttered, her brain was almost turned. Her tumult to a 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 Veretzi, and unaccompanied, wandered into the forest to calm her emotions and concert some better plans of revenge. For in Veretzi's 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 Veretzi, thy cursed image, reveling 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 Veretzi's illness, perhaps his death, infuriated her soul. Pity, chased away by vengeance and disappointed passion, fled. Did I say I pitied thee? Detested Julia? Much did my words be lie 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's 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 Matilda's 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 Tsastradtsi. Oh, that I should have till now forgotten, 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, Tsastradtsi, Tsastradtsi, would that she 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 entrusted to Tsastradtsi. Meanwhile, Ferdtsi's 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 tenor of their life. Ferdtsi was everything 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 Ferdtsi's 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-capped 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 Ferdtsi sought the forest. For a time neither spoke. The silence was uninterrupted, saved by Matilda's 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 in 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. Ferdtsi 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 Ferdtsi, as engrossed by the scene before him, he gazed, enraptured. Suffer me to retire for a few minutes, said Matilda. Without waiting for Ferdtsi's answer, she hastily entered a small tuft of trees. Ferdtsi gazed surprised, and soon sounds of such ravishing melody stole upon the evening breeze, that Ferdtsi 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 Ferdtsi's soul, and the success of Matilda's artifice in this respect exceeded her most sanguine expectation. He still listened, the music ceased, and Matilda's symmetrical form emerging from the wood roused Ferdtsi 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 everything went on as Matilda desired. To touch his feeling had been her constant aim. Could she find anything which interested him, anything 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 everything, 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 reveled through Matilda's 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 Viretsi, agitated her soul with progressively increasing fervour, nursed by solitude, and wound up perhaps beyond any pitch which another 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 Viretsi. End of chapter 10. Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere Surrey. Chapter 11 of Zastroidsi, a romance. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. Zastroidsi, a romance. By Percy Bish Shelley. Chapter 11. At last the day arrived when Matilda expected Ferdinand's return. Punctual to his time, Ferdinand returned, and told Matilda that Zastroidsi 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 Zastroidsi preferred a cottage to her castella, but dismissing that from her mind hastily prepared to attend him. She soon arrived at the cottage. Zastroidsi met her. He quickened his pace towards her. Well, Zastroidsi exclaimed Matilda inquiringly. Oh, said Zastroidsi, 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 Zastroidsi, 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 Matilda's bosom, as unable to utter more she ceased. Just but the image of that accursed Julia, replied Zastroidsi, reveling in his breast, which prevents him from becoming instantly yours. Could you but efface that? I wish I could efface it, said Matilda. The friendship which now exists between us would quickly ripen into love, and I should be forever happy. How, Zastroidsi, 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 Veretzi's 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 torches of the Inquisition, a disgraceful death, and that without the completion of our desire would be the consequence. Think not so, Matilda, and Zastroidsi. 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 splendour 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 by Tilda, I cannot, 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 Zastroidsi parted. Zastroidsi 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 banished 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, reveled through every vein. Her senses rendered delirious by guilty desire, where 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 Veretzi had gone out to meet Matilda. What, deep in thought, Matilda! exclaimed Veretzi playfully. Matilda's 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 wonder farther than usual. The unsuspicious Veretzi 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. Everything which he liked, she effected to admire. Every sentiment uttered by Veretzi 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 Veretzi gaze enraptured, and forgetful of everything 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 Veretzi would never love her, agitate Matilda with most violent agony. The beauties of nature which surrounded the castella had no longer power to interest. Born 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. Veretzi's hate, perhaps his total dereliction of her. His union with Julia pressed upon her brain, and almost drove her to destruction, for Veretzi alone filled every thought. Nourished by restless reveries, the most horrible anticipations blasted the blooming Matilda. Sometimes, however, a gleam of scents 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, while 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 Zastrotzi? On him, unconscious why, she relied much, his words with 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 co-adjetor's 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 Veretzi, meanwhile, slowly mended. His mind, however, shook by so violent a trial as it had undergone, recovered not its vigor, 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 Veretzi'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 Zastrovci, 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 paroxism of passion. End of chapter 11. Recording by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere Surrey. Chapter 12 of Zastrozzi, A Romance. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. Zastrozzi, A Romance. By Percy Bish Shelley. Chapter 12. 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 peel 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 as 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 Veretzi's soul? He still despises me. He declares himself to be devoted to the memory of his Julia. And 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, tomorrow 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 Veretzi. 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 tomorrow evening you lead Veretzi to this spot, if in the event which will here occur you display that presence of mind which I believe you to possess, Veretzi is yours. What do you say, Zastrozzi, that Veretzi will be mine? inquired Matilda as the anticipation of inconceivable happiness dilated her soul with sudden and excessive delight. I say again, Matilda, return Zastrozzi, that if you dare to brave the dagger's point, if you but make Veretzi 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 past. 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 Veretzi. At others that snatched from her ardent embrace, he was carried by an invisible power over rocky mountains, or immense and untraveled 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-famed 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, the Red Sea 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. Unwanted sensations, sensations she had never felt before agitated her bosom. Yet, stealing 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, gloomy silence reigned. They had now 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 Veretzi 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 umbridge of the forest trees rendered undistinguishable anyone 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 Veretzi, 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 Veretzi. Revenge! returned the villain, as raising a dagger high, he essayed to plunge it in Veretzi's bosom. But Matilda lifted her arm, and the dagger piercing it touched not Veretzi. 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. Veretzi 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-famed 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 Veretzi, 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, Veretzi, said Matilda, envious of my happiness, attempted his life, for whom I would ten thousand times sacrifice my own. Oh, Veretzi, how I thank God, who averted the fatal dagger from thy heart! Veretzi 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, born on the pinions of anticipated happiness, flashed in triumphant glances from her fiery eyes. She could scarcely forbear clasping Veretzi 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 Veretzi. 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 Veretzi'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 Tsastrotzi's artifice had opened to her view. Visions of unreal bliss 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 Veretzi, 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. Veretzi'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 rosy at 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 Veretzi. 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 Zastrotzi. When she arrived at the cottage she learnt that he had walked forth. She soon met him. Oh, my best Zastrotzi! exclaimed Matilda. What a source of delight have you open to me! Veretzi is mine! Oh, transporting thought will be mine forever! That distant manner which he usually affected towards me is changed to a sweet and ecstatic expression of tenderness. Oh, Zastrotzi, receive my best, my most fervent thanks. Julia need not die, then, muttered Zastrotzi, when once you possess Veretzi her destruction is of little consequence. The most horrible scheme of revenge at this instant glanced across Zastrotzi's mind. Oh, Julia must die, said Matilda, or I shall never be safe! Such an influence does her image possess over Veretzi's mind, that I am convinced where 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 Zastrotzi, as he disappeared among the thick trees. Matilda returned to the Castella. Veretzi, at her return, expressed a tender apprehension, less 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 Veretzi'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.