“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 background, 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 superhuman 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.