Zastrozzi by Percy Bysshe Shelley Chapter 16 COMPLIMENTS OF WIKISOURCE Fear, for their scourge, mean villains have; Thou art the torturer of the brave. - Marmion. One of the inquisitors raised his eyes; he put back the papers which he was examining, and in a solemn tone asked her name. My name is Matilda; my title La Contessa di Laurentini, haughtily she answered; nor do I know the motive for that inquiry, except it were to exult over my miseries, which you are, I suppose, no stranger to. Waste not your time, exclaimed the inquisitor sternly, in making idle conjectures upon our conduct; but do you know for what you are summoned here? No, replied Matilda. Swear that you know not for what crime you are here imprisoned, said the inquisitor. Matilda took the oath required. As she spoke, a dewy sweat burst from her brow, and her limbs were convulsed by the extreme of horror, yet the expression of her countenance was changed not. What crime have you committed which might subject you to the notice of this tribunal? demanded he, in a determined tone of voice. Matilda gave no answer, save a smile of exulting scorn. She fixed her regards upon the inquisitor: her dark eyes flashed fiercely, but she spoke not. Answer me, exclaimed he, what to confess might save both of us needless trouble. Matilda answered not, but gazed in silence upon the inquisitors countenance. He stamped thrice—four officials rushed in, and stood at some distance from Matilda. I am unwilling, said the inquisitor, to treat a female of high birth with indignity; but if you confess not instantly, my duty will not permit me to withhold the question. A deeper expression of contempt shaded Matildas beautiful countenance: she frowned, but answered not. You will persist in this foolish obstinacy? exclaimed the inquisitor.—Officials, do your duty. Instantly the four, who till now had stood in the back-ground, rushed forwards: they seized Matilda, and bore her into the obscurity of the apartment. Her dishevelled ringlets floated in negligent luxuriance over her alabaster bosom: her eyes, the contemptuous glance of which had now given way to a confused expression of alarm, were almost closed; and her symmetrical form, as borne away by the four officials, looked interestingly lovely. The other inquisitor, who, till now, busied by the papers which lay before him, had heeded not Matildas examination, raised his eyes, and beholding the form of a female, with a commanding tone of voice, called to the officials to stop. Submissively they obeyed his order.— Matilda, released from the fell hands of these relentless ministers of justice, advanced to the table. Her extreme beauty softened the inquisitor who had spoken last. He little thought that, under a form so celestial, so interesting, lurked a heart depraved, vicious as a demons. He therefore mildly addressed her; and telling her that, on some future day, her examination would be renewed, committed her to the care of the officials, with orders to conduct her to an apartment better suited to her rank. The chamber to which she followed the officials was spacious and well furnished, but large iron bars secured the windows, which were high, and impossible to be forced. Left again to solitude, again to her own gloomy thoughts—her retrospection but horror and despair—her hopes of futurity none—her fears many and horrible—Matildas situation is better conceived than described. Floating in wild confusion, the ideas which presented themselves to her imagination were too horrible for endurance. Deprived, as she was, of all earthly happiness, fierce as had been her passion for Verezzi, the disappointment of which sublimed her brain to the most infuriate delirium of resistless horror, the wretched Matilda still shrunk at death—she shrunk at the punishment of those crimes, in whose perpetration no remorse had touched her soul, for which, even now, she repented not, but as they had deprived her of terrestrial enjoyments. She thought upon the future state— she thought upon the arguments of Zastrozzi against the existence of a Deity: her inmost soul now acknowledged their falsehood, and she shuddered as she reflected that her condition was irretrievable. Resistless horror revelled through her bosom: in an intensity of racking thought she rapidly paced the apartment; at last, overpowered, she sank upon a sofa. At last the tumultuous passions, exhausted by their own violence, subsided: the storm, which so lately had agitated Matildas soul, ceased; a serene calm succeeded, and sleep quickly overcame her faculties. Confused visions flitted in Matildas imagination whilst under the influence of sleep; at last they assumed a settled shape. Strangely brilliant and silvery clouds seemed to flit before her sight: celestial music, enchanting as the harmony of the spheres, serened Matildas soul, and, for an instant, her situation forgotten, she lay entranced. On a sudden the music ceased; the azure concavity of heaven seemed to open at the zenith, and a being, whose countenance beamed with unutterable beneficence, descended. It seemed to be clothed in a transparent robe of flowing silver: its eye scintillated with super-human brilliancy, whilst her dream, imitating reality almost to exactness, caused the entranced Matilda to suppose that it addressed her in these words:— Poor sinning Matilda! repent, it is not yet too late.—Gods mercy is unbounded. —Repent! and thou mayest yet be saved. These words yet tingled in Matildas ears; yet were her eyes lifted to heaven, as if following the visionary phantom who had addressed her in her dream, when, much confused, she arose from the sofa. A dream so like reality made a strong impression upon Matildas soul. The ferocious passions, which so lately had battled fiercely in her bosom, were calmed: she lifted her eyes to heaven: they beamed with an expression of sincerest penitence; for sincerest penitence, at this moment, agonised whilst it calmed Matildas soul. God of mercy! God of heaven! exclaimed Matilda; my sins are many and horrible, but I repent. Matilda knew not how to pray; but God, who from the height of heaven penetrates the inmost thoughts of terrestrial hearts, heard the outcast sinner, as in tears of true and agonising repentance she knelt before him. She despaired no longer—She confided in the beneficence of her Creator; and, in the hour of adversity, when the firmest heart must tremble at his power, no longer a hardened sinner, demanded mercy. And mercy, by the All-benevolent of heaven, is never refused to those who humbly, yet trusting in his goodness, ask it. Matildas soul was filled with a celestial tranquillity. She remained upon her knees in mute and fervent thought: she prayed; and, with trembling, asked forgiveness of her Creator. No longer did that agony of despair torture her bosom. True, she was ill at ease: remorse for her crimes deeply affected her; and though her hopes of salvation were great, her belief in God and a future state firm, the heavy sighs which burst from her bosom, showed that the arrows of repentance had penetrated deeply. Several days passed away, during which the conflicting passions of Matildas soul, conquered by penitence, were mellowed into a fixed and quiet depression. Chapter 17 Si fractus illabatur orbis, Impavidum ferient ruinæ - Horace. At last the day arrived, when, exposed to a public trial, Matilda was conducted to the tribunal of il consiglio di dieci. The inquisitors were not, as before, at a table in the middle of the apartment; but a sort of throne was raised at one end, on which a stern-looking man, whom she had never seen before, sat: a great number of Venetians were assembled, and lined all sides of the apartment. Many, in black vestments, were arranged behind the superiors throne; among whom Matilda recognised those who had before examined her. Conducted by two officials, with a faltering step, a pallid cheek, and downcast eye, Matilda advanced to that part of the chamber where sat the superior. The dishevelled ringlets of her hair floated unconfined over her shoulders: her symmetrical and elegant form was enveloped in a thin white robe. The expression of her sparkling eyes was downcast and humble; yet, seemingly unmoved by the scene before her, she remained in silence at the tribunal. The curiosity and pity of every one, as they gazed on the loveliness of the beautiful culprit, was strongly excited. Who is she? who is she? ran in inquiring whispers round the apartment.— No one could tell. Again deep silence reigned—not a whisper interrupted the appalling calm. At last the superior, in a sternly solemn voice, said— Matilda Contessa di Laurentini, you are here arraigned on the murder of La Marchesa di Strobazzo: canst thou deny it? canst thou prove to the contrary? My ears are open to conviction. Does no one speak for the accused? He ceased: uninterrupted silence reigned. Again he was about—again, with a look of detestation and horror, he had fixed his penetrating eye upon the trembling Matilda, and had unclosed his mouth to utter the fatal sentence, when his attention was arrested by a man who rushed from the crowd, and exclaimed, in a hurried tone— La Contessa di Laurentini is innocent. Who are you, who dare assert that? exclaimed the superior, with an air of doubt. I am, answered he, Ferdinand Zeilnitz, a German, the servant of La Contessa di Laurentini, and I dare assert that she is innocent. Your proof, exclaimed the superior, with a severe frown. It was late, answered Ferdinand, when I entered the apartment, and then I beheld two bleeding bodies, and La Contessa di Laurentini, who lay bereft of sense on the sofa. Stop! exclaimed the superior. Ferdinand obeyed. The superior whispered to one in black vestments, and soon four officials entered, bearing on their shoulders an open coffin. The superior pointed to the ground: the officials deposited their burden, and produced, to the terror-struck eyes of the gazing multitude, Julia, the lovely Julia, covered with innumerable and ghastly gashes. All present uttered a cry of terror—all started, shocked and amazed, from the horrible sight; yet some, recovering themselves, gazed at the celestial loveliness of the poor victim to revenge, which, unsubdued by death, still shone from her placid features. A deep-drawn sigh heaved Matildas bosom; tears, spite of all her firmness, rushed into her eyes; and she had nearly fainted with dizzy horror; but, overcoming it, and collecting all her fortitude, she advanced towards the corse of her rival, and, in the numerous wounds which covered it, saw the fiat of her future destiny. She still gazed on it—a deep silence reigned—not one of the spectators, so interested were they, uttered a single word —not a whisper was heard through the spacious apartment. Stand off! guilt-stained, relentless woman, at last exclaimed the superior fiercely: is it not enough that you have persecuted, through life, the wretched female who lies before you—murdered by you? Cease, therefore, to gaze on her with looks as if your vengeance was yet insatiated. But retire, wretch: officials, take her into your custody; meanwhile, bring the other prisoner. Two officials rushed forward, and led Matilda to some distance from the tribunal; four others entered, leading a man of towering height and majestic figure. The heavy chains with which his legs were bound, rattled as he advanced. Matilda raised her eyes—Zastrozzi stood before her. She rushed forwards—the officials stood unmoved. Oh, Zastrozzi! she exclaimed— dreadful, wicked has been the tenour of our life; base, ignominious, will be its termination: unless we repent, fierce, horrible, may be the eternal torments which will rack us, ere four and twenty hours are elapsed. Repent then, Zastrozzi; repent! and as you have been my companion in apostasy to virtue, follow me likewise in dereliction of stubborn and determined wickedness. This was pronounced in a low and faltering voice. Matilda, replied Zastrozzi, whilst a smile of contemptuous atheism played over his features—Matilda, fear not: fate wills us to die: and I intend to meet death, to encounter annihilation, with tranquillity. Am I not convinced of the non-existence of a Deity? am I not convinced that death will but render this soul more free, more unfettered? Why need I then shudder at death? why need any one, whose mind has risen above the shackles of prejudice, the errors of a false and injurious superstition. Here the superior interposed, and declared he could allow private conversation no longer. Quitting Matilda, therefore, Zastrozzi, unappalled by the awful scene before him, unshaken by the near approach of agonising death, which he now fully believed he was about to suffer, advanced towards the superiors throne. Every one gazed on the lofty stature of Zastrozzi, and admired his dignified mein and dauntless composure, even more than they had the beauty of Matilda. Every one gazed in silence, and expected that some extraordinary charge would be brought against him. The name of Zastrozzi, pronounced by the superior, had already broken the silence, when the culprit, gazing disdainfully on his judge, told him to be silent, for he would spare him much needless trouble. I am a murderer, exclaimed Zastrozzi; I deny it not: I buried my dagger in the heart of him who injured me; but the motives which led me to be an assassin were at once excellent and meritorious; for I swore, at a loved mothers death-bed, to revenge her betrayers falsehood. Think you, that whilst I perpetrated the deed I feared the punishment? or whilst I revenged a parents cause, that the futile torments which I am doomed to suffer here, had any weight in my determination? No—no. If the vile deceiver, who brought my spotless mother to a tomb of misery, fell beneath the dagger of one who swore to revenge her —if I sent him to another world, who destroyed the peace of one I loved more than myself in this, am I to be blamed? Zastrozzi ceased, and, with an expression of scornful triumph, folded his arms. Go on! exclaimed the superior. Go on! go on! echoed from every part of the immense apartment. He looked around him. His manner awed the tumultuous multitude; and, in uninterrupted silence, the spectators gazed upon the unappalled Zastrozzi, who, towering as a demi-god, stood in the midst. Am I then called upon, said he, to disclose things which bring painful remembrances to my mind? Ah! how painful! But no matter; you shall know the name of him who fell beneath this arm: you shall know him, whose memory, even now, I detest more than I can express. I care not who knows my actions, convinced as I am, and convinced to all eternity as I shall be, of their rectitude.—Know, then, that Olivia Zastrozzi was my mother; a woman in whom every virtue, every amiable and excellent quality, I firmly believe to have been centred. The father of him who by my arts committed suicide but six days ago in La Contessa di Laurentinis mansion, took advantage of a moment of weakness, and disgraced her who bore me. He swore with the most sacred oaths to marry her—but he was false. My mother soon brought me into the world—the seducer married another; and when the destitute Olivia begged a pittance to keep her from starving, her proud betrayer spurned her from his door, and tauntingly bade her exercise her profession. —The crime I committed with thee, perjured one! exclaimed my mother as she left his door, shall be my last! —and, by heavens! she acted nobly. A victim to falsehood, she sank early to the tomb, and, ere her thirtieth year, she died—her spotless soul fled to eternal happiness.—Never shall I forget, though but fourteen when she died—never shall I forget her last commands.—My son, said she, my Pietrino, revenge my wrongs —revenge them on the perjured Verezzi —revenge them on his progeny for ever. And, by heaven! I think I have revenged them. Ere I was twenty-four, the false villain, though surrounded by seemingly impenetrable grandeur; though forgetful of the offence to punish which this arm was nerved, sank beneath my dagger. But I destroyed his body alone, added Zastrozzi, with a terrible look of insatiated vengeance: time has taught me better: his sons soul is hell-doomed to all eternity: he destroyed himself; but my machinations, though unseen, effected his destruction. Matilda di Laurentini! Hah! why do you shudder?. When, with repeated stabs, you destroyed her who now lies lifeless before you in her coffin, did you not reflect upon what must be your fate? You have enjoyed him whom you adored —you have even been married to him— and, for the space of more than a month, have tasted unutterable joys, and yet you are unwilling to pay the price of your happiness—by heavens I am not! added he, bursting into a wild laugh.— Ah! poor fool, Matilda, did you think it was from friendship I instructed you how to gain Verezzi?—No, no—it was revenge which induced me to enter into your schemes with zeal; which induced me to lead her, whose lifeless form lies yonder, to your house, foreseeing the effect it would have upon the strong passions of your husband. And now, added Zastrozzi, I have been candid with you. Judge, pass your sentence—but I know my doom; and, instead of horror, experience some degree of satisfaction at the arrival of death, since all I have to do on earth is completed. Zastrozzi ceased; and, unappalled, fixed his expressive gaze upon the superior. Surprised at Zastrozzis firmness, and shocked at the crimes of which he had made so unequivocal an avowal, the superior turned away in horror. Still Zastrozzi stood unmoved, and fearlessly awaited the fiat of his destiny. The superior whispered to one in black vestments. Four officials rushed in, and placed Zastrozzi on the rack. Even whilst writhing under the agony of almost insupportable torture his nerves were stretched, Zastrozzis firmness failed him not; but, upon his soul-illumined countenance, played a smile of most disdainful scorn; and with a wild convulsive laugh of exulting revenge—he died. THE END.
Posted on: Sat, 30 Nov 2013 17:37:56 +0000
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