Tales of terror
of an evil spirit that had visited him in his slumbers. His mother was
shocked at such evident symptoms of derangement. She remembered the
fate of her husband, and implored Reginald, as the last descendant of
a great house, to recruit his health and raise his spirits by travel.
Only with great difficulty was he induced to quit the home of his
infancy. The expostulations of his mother, however, at last prevailed,
and he left the Castle di Venoni for the sunny land of Italy.
Months passed, and a constant succession of novelty had produced
so beneficial an effect, that scarcely any traces remained of the
mysterious malady which had so suddenly overtaken him. Occasionally,
however, his mind was disturbed and gloomy, but a perpetual recurrence
of amusement diverted the influence of past recollection, and rendered
him at least as tranquil as it was in the power of his nature to
permit. He continued for years abroad, during which time he wrote
frequently to his mother, who still continued at the Castle di Venoni,
and at last announced his intention of settling at Venice. He had
remained but a few months in the city, when, at the gay period of the
Carnival, he was introduced, as a foreign nobleman, to the beautiful
daughter of the Doge. She was amiable, accomplished, and endowed with
every requisite to ensure permanent felicity. Reginald was charmed
with her beauty, and infatuated with the excelling qualities of her
mind. After a time he confessed his attachment, and was informed with a
blush that the affection was mutual. Nothing, therefore, remained but
application to the Doge, who was instantly addressed on the subject,
and implored to consummate the felicity of the young couple. The
request was attended with success, and the happiness of the lovers was
complete.
On the day fixed for the wedding, a brilliant assemblage of beauty
thronged the ducal palace of St. Mark. All Venice crowded to the
festival, and, in the presence of the gayest noblemen of Italy,
Reginald Count di Venoni received the hand of Marcelia, the envied
daughter of the Doge. In the evening, a masqued festival was given at
the palace; but the young couple, anxious to be alone, escaped from the
scene of revelry, and hurried in a gondola to the old palace that had
been prepared for their reception on the grand canal.
It was a fine moonlight night. The stars were reflected in the silver
bosom of the Adriatic. The sounds of music and sweet voices singing,
mellowed and softened by distance, were wafted to them on the gentle
breeze. Venice seemed to glitter with tens of thousands of lamps, and
the gondoliers, as they passed and repassed, uttered their peculiar
cries.
The young couple felt supremely happy, and they directed their
boatman to propel the boat leisurely along, that they might enjoy the
enrapturing beauty of the scene; for Venice--the sea set jewel--had
never looked more beautiful, and the languid air of the summer night
begot a delicious sense of dreaminess and a forgetfulness of the pain
and misery of the world.
As Reginald lay back with his head pillowed in the lap of his bride
he happened to turn his eyes to the west, and there beheld his star
of nativity as brilliant as ever. Instantly his mind reverted to that
awful night when the old wizard died, and he remembered the dull red
meteor, and the weird prophecy. He became so agitated that his wife was
alarmed, and inquired the reason of it; but he only laughed, said it
was merely a passing memory that disturbed him, and soon her kisses and
caresses restored him to serenity.
The succeeding six months were uninterrupted by a single untoward
incident. He passionately loved Marcelia, and was beloved in return.
His rough, uncouth nature had been smoothed down and refined by his
wife and the society in which he moved. He felt supremely happy, and
though at times a remembrance of the awful night in the ruins of
Rudstein disturbed him, he managed to shake off the influence, and find
a soothing balm in the caresses of his young bride.
One day, however, there came to him an urgent message to repair to his
birthplace without delay, as his mother lay at the point of death.
Although he had never borne her any very strong affection, he felt it
was his duty to obey the summons, and so in company with his wife he
journeyed with all speed to the Black Forest.
On reaching the castle he found that his mother was already in the
throes of death, and delirious; as soon as he entered her presence she
rose up in her bed, without seeming to recognise him, and cursed him
for being an unnatural and unfilial son. It was an awful scene, and
affected Reginald in an appalling manner. Without recanting a word,
or, indeed, noticing him in any way, she fell back on her pillow and
expired.
For some days Reginald was prostrated, and when his gentle and loving
wife tried to soothe and comfort him he repulsed her furiously, until
she was broken-hearted. But when he recovered his senses he lavished
caresses upon her, and gave every manifestation that he loved her
devotedly. A few days later, however, he was wandering with Marcelia
through a very picturesque and beautiful part of the forest, when
they seated themselves on a bank overlooking a stream. For some little
time Reginald remained absorbed in thought, then he began to pick up
handfuls of earth and scatter them in the water, and, with a wild glare
in his eyes, he mumbled:
‘This is a hateful world. All is dust and vanity. Nothing brings joy,
or contentment, or peace. I am the last of my race. Why seek longer to
support a rotten fabric. My kindred have squandered their substance,
and destroyed the vitality of the family. Let us follow my mother
through the gates of death. Come, give me your hand, Marcelia, and we
will die together.’
His wife was horribly alarmed, and used every endeavour to soothe him;
presently he grew calmer, and rose and allowed her to lead him away.
They continued to wander further afield, at his request, until night
closed, and the stars were burning. Brilliant above all the rest shone
the fatal western planet, the star of Reginald’s nativity. He gazed
at it for some time with horror, and pointed it out to the notice of
Marcelia.
‘The hand of heaven is in it!’ he mentally exclaimed, ‘and the proud
fortunes of Venoni hasten to a close.’ At this instant the ruined tower
of Rudstein appeared in sight, with the moon shining fully upon it. ‘It
is the place,’ resumed the maniac, ‘where a deed of blood must be done,
and I am fated to perpetrate it! But fear not, my poor girl,’ he added,
in a milder tone, while the tears sprang to his eyes, ‘your husband
cannot harm you; he may be wretched, but he never shall be guilty!’
Although Marcelia was dreadfully alarmed she concealed her feelings as
much as possible, and induced him to hurry back. When he reached the
castle he looked ghastly ill, and, going to bed, sank into a sort of
coma.
Night waned, morning dawned on the upland hills of the scenery, and
with it came a renewal of Reginald’s disorder. The day was stormy, and
in unison with the troubled feeling of his mind. He rose with the dawn,
and, without a word to anyone, went off into the forest, nor did he
return until the evening. Distressed beyond measure at his absence,
she waited in dread suspense for his return, and sat at her casement
gazing across the vast expanse of forest, which the westering sun was
now flooding with a crimson light. Suddenly her door flew open, and
Reginald made his appearance. His eyes were red and seemed to blaze
with the light of madness, while his whole frame was convulsed as if he
suffered from agonising spasms of pain.
‘It was not a dream,’ he exclaimed, ‘I have seen her, and she has
beckoned us to follow.’
‘Seen her, seen who?’ asked Marcelia, alarmed at his frenzy.
‘My mother,’ replied the maniac. ‘Listen while I tell you the strange
story. I thought, as I was wandering in the forest, a sylph of heaven
approached, and revealed the countenance of my mother. I flew to join
her, but was withheld by a wizard, who pointed to the western star.
On a sudden loud shrieks were heard, and the sylph assumed the guise
of a demon. Her figure towered to an awful height, and she pointed in
scornful derision to you; yes, to you, my wife. With rage she drew you
towards me. I seized--I murdered you, and strange cries and groans
filled the air. I heard the voice of the fiendish astrologer shouting
as from a charnel house, “Your destiny is accomplished, and the victim
may retire with honour.” Then, I thought, the fair front of heaven was
obscured, and thick gouts of clotted clammy blood showered down in
torrents from the blackened clouds of the west. The star shot through
the air, and--the phantom of my mother again beckoned me to follow.’
The maniac ceased, and rushed in agony from the apartment. Marcelia
followed, and discovered him leaning in a trance against the wainscot
of the library. With gentlest motion she drew his hand in hers, and
led him into the open air. They rambled on, heedless of the gathering
storm, until they discovered themselves at the base of the tower of
Rudstein. Suddenly the maniac paused. A horrid thought seemed flashing
across his brain, as with giant grasp he seized Marcelia in his arms,
and bore her to the fatal apartment. In vain she shrieked for help,
for pity. ‘Dear Reginald, it is Marcelia who speaks, you cannot surely
harm her.’ He heard--he heeded not, nor once staid his steps till
he reached the room of death. On a sudden his countenance lost its
wildness, and assumed a more fearful, but composed look of determined
madness. He advanced to the window, dragged away the rotting curtain,
and gazed on the stormy face of heaven. Dark clouds flitted across the
horizon, and thunder echoed in the distance. To the west the fatal star
was still visible, but shone with sickly lustre. At this instant a
flash of lightning illumined the whole apartment, and threw a broad red
glare upon a skeleton that mouldered upon the floor. Reginald observed
it with affright, and remembered the unburied astrologer. He advanced
to Marcelia, and, pointing to the rising moon, ‘A dark cloud is sailing
by,’ he shudderingly exclaimed, ‘but ere the full orb again shines
forth you shall die; I will accompany you in death, and hand in hand
will we pass into the presence of our people.’
The poor girl shrieked for pity, but her voice was lost in the angry
ravings of the storm.
The cloud in the meantime sailed on--it approached--the moon was
dimmed, darkened, and finally buried in its gloom. The maniac marked
the hour, and rushed with a fearful cry towards his victim. With
murderous resolution he grasped her throat, while the helpless hand
and half-strangled articulation implored his compassion. After one
final struggle the hollow death-rattle announced that life was
extinct, and that the murderer held a corpse in his arms. An interval
of reason now occurred, and on the partial restoration of his mind
Reginald discovered himself the unconscious murderer of Marcelia.
Madness--deepest madness again took possession of his faculties. He
laughed--he shouted aloud with the unearthly yellings of a fiend, and
in the raging violence of his delirium he rushed out, climbed to the
summit of the tower, and hurled himself headlong from it.
In the morning the bodies of the young couple were discovered, and
buried in the same tomb. The fatal ruin of Rudstein still exists,
but is now commonly avoided as the residence of the spirits of the
departed. Day by day it slowly crumbles to earth, and affords a shelter
for the night raven or the wild things of the forests. Superstition
has consecrated it to herself, and the tradition of the country has
invested it with all the awful appendages of a charnel house. The