Zastrozzi/Chapter 16
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 inquisitor's 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 Matilda's 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 Matilda's 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 demon's.
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—Matilda's 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 Matilda's soul, ceased; a serene calm succeeded, and sleep quickly overcame her faculties.
Confused visions flitted in Matilda's 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 Matilda's 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.—God's mercy is unbounded. —Repent! and thou mayest yet be saved."
"These words yet tingled in Matilda's 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 Matilda's 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 Matilda's 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.
Matilda's 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 Matilda's soul, conquered by penitence, were mellowed into a fixed and quiet depression.