Zastrozzi (Horror Classic). Percy Bysshe Shelley
was all she could call her own. Claudine quickly disposed of her flowers, and accompanied by Verezzi, soon arrived at a little cottage near Passau. It was situated on a pleasant and cultivated spot; at the foot of a small eminence, on which it was situated, flowed the majestic Danube, and on the opposite side was a forest belonging to the Baron of Schwepper, whose vassal Claudine was.
Her little cottage was kept extremely neat; and, by the charity of the Baron, wanted none of those little comforts which old age requires.
Verezzi thought that, in so retired a spot, he might at least pass his time tranquilly, and elude Zastrozzi.
“What induced you,” said he to Claudine, as in the evening they sat before the cottage-door, “what induced you to make that offer this morning to me?”
“Ah!” said the old woman, “it was but last week that I lost my dear son, who was every thing to me: he died by a fever which he caught by his too great exertions in obtaining a livelihood for me; and I came to the market yesterday, for the first time since my son’s death, hoping to find some peasant who would fill his place, when chance threw you in my way.
“I had hoped that he would have outlived me, as I am quickly hastening to the grave, to which I look forward as to the coming of a friend, who would relieve me from those cares which, alas! but increase with my years.”
Verezzi’s heart was touched with compassion for the forlorn situation of Claudine. He tenderly told her that he would not forsake her; but if any opportunity occurred for ameliorating her situation, she should no longer continue in poverty.
Chapter 4
But let us return to Zastrozzi.—He had walked with Ugo on the heath, and had returned late. He was surprised to see no light in the cottage. He advanced to the door—he rapped violently—no one answered. “Very strange!” exclaimed Zastrozzi, as he burst open the door with his foot. He entered the cottage—no one was there: he searched it, and at last saw Bernardo lying, seemingly lifeless, at the foot of the staircase. Zastrozzi advanced to him, and lifted him from the ground: he had been but in a trance, and immediately recovered.
As soon as his astonishment was dissipated, he told Zastrozzi what had happened.
“What!” exclaimed Zastrozzi, interrupting him, “Verezzi escaped! Hell and furies! Villain, you deserve instant death; but thy life is at present necessary to me. Arise, go instantly to Rosenheim, and bring three of my horses from the inn there—make haste! begone!”
Bernardo trembling arose, and obeying Zastrozzi’s commands, crossed the heath quickly towards Rosenheim, a village about half a league distant on the north.
Whilst he was gone, Zastrozzi, agitated by contending passions, knew scarcely what to do. With hurried strides he paced the cottage. He sometimes spoke lowly to himself. The feelings of his soul flashed from his eyes—his frown was terrible.
“Would I had his heart reeking on my dagger, Signor!” said Ugo. “Kill him when you catch him, which you soon will, I am sure.”
“Ugo,” said Zastrozzi, “you are my friend; you advise me well.—But, no! he must not die.—Ah! by what horrible fetters am I chained—fool that I was— Ugo! he shall die—die by the most hellish torments. I give myself up to fate: —I will taste revenge; for revenge is sweeter than life: and even were I to die with him, and, as the punishment of my crime, be instantly plunged into eternal torments, I should taste superior joy in recollecting the sweet moment of his destruction. O! would that destruction could be eternal!”
The clattering of hoofs was heard, and Zastrozzi was now interrupted by the arrival of Bernardo—they instantly mounted, and the high-spirited steeds bore them swiftly across the heath.
Rapidly, for some time, were Zastrozzi and his companions borne across the plain. They took the same road as Verezzi had. They passed the pines where he reposed. They hurried on.
The fainting horses were scarce able to bear their guilty burthens. No one had spoken since they had left the clustered pines.
Bernardo’s horse, overcome by excessive fatigue, sank on the ground; that of Zastrozzi scarce appeared in better condition. —They stopped.
“What!” exclaimed Zastrozzi, “must we give up the search! Ah! I am afraid we must; our horses can proceed no farther —curse on the horses.
“But let us proceed on foot—Verezzi shall not escape me—nothing shall now retard the completion of my just revenge.”
As he thus spoke, Zastrozzi’s eye gleamed with impatient revenge; and, with rapid steps, he advanced towards the south of the heath.
Day-light at length appeared; still were the villain’s efforts to find Verezzi inefficient. Hunger, thirst, and fatigue, conspired to make them relinquish the pursuit—they lay at intervals upon the stony soil.
“This is but an uncomfortable couch, Signor,” muttered Ugo.
Zastrozzi, whose whole thoughts were centred in revenge, heeded him not, but nerved anew by impatient vengeance, he started from the bosom of the earth, and muttering curses upon the innocent object of his hatred, proceeded onwards. The day passed as had the morning and preceding night. Their hunger was scantily allayed by the wild berries which grew amid the heathy shrubs; and their thirst but increased by the brackish pools of water which alone they met with. They perceived a wood at some distance. “That is a likely place for Verezzi to have retired to, for the day is hot, and he must want repose as well as ourselves,” said Bernardo. “True,” replied Zastrozzi, as he advanced towards it. They quickly arrived at its borders: it was not a wood, but an immense forest, which stretched southward as far as Schauffhausen. They advanced into it.
The tall trees rising above their heads warded off the meridian sun; the mossy banks beneath invited repose: but Zastrozzi, little recking a scene so fair, hastily scrutinised every recess which might afford an asylum to Verezzi.
Useless were all his researches—fruitless his endeavours: still, however, though faint with hunger, and weary with exertion, he nearly sank upon the turf. His mind was superior to corporeal toil; for that, nerved by revenge, was indefatigable.
Ugo and Bernardo, overcome by the extreme fatigue which they had undergone, and strong as the assassins were, fell fainting on the earth.
The sun began to decline; at last it sank beneath the western mountain, and the forest-tops were tinged by its departing ray. The shades of night rapidly thickened.
Zastrozzi sat a while upon the decayed trunk of a scathed oak.
The sky was serene; the blue ether was spangled with countless myriads of stars: the tops of the lofty forest-trees waved mournfully in the evening wind; and the moon-beam penetrating at intervals, as they moved, through the matted branches, threw dubious shades upon the dark underwood beneath.
Ugo and Bernardo, conquered by irresistible torpor, sank to rest upon the dewy turf.
A scene so fair—a scene so congenial to those who can reflect upon their past lives with pleasure, and anticipate the future with the enthusiasm of innocence, ill accorded with the ferocious soul of Zastrozzi, which at one time agitated by revenge, at another by agonising remorse, or contending passions, could derive no pleasure from the past—anticipate no happiness in futurity.
Zastrozzi sat for some time immersed in heart-rending contemplations; but though conscience for a while reflected his past life in images of horror, again was his heart steeled by fiercest vengeance; and, aroused by images of insatiate revenge, he hastily arose, and, waking Ugo and Bernardo, pursued his course.
The night was calm and serene—not a cloud obscured the azure brilliancy of the spangled concave above—not a wind ruffled the tranquillity of the atmosphere below.
Zastrozzi, Ugo, and Bernardo, advanced into the forest. They had tasted no food,