A public scorner of the word of God,
Profane, idolatrous, popish, superstitious,
Impious in heart and in tyrannic act,
Void of wit, honesty, and temperance; 15
If Satan were my lord, as theirs, — our God
Pattern of all I should avoid to do;
Were I an enemy of my God and King
And of good men, as ye are; — I should merit
Your fearful state and gilt prosperity, 20
Which, when ye wake from the last sleep, shall turn
To cowls and robes of everlasting fire.
But, as I am, I bid ye grudge me not
The only earthly favour ye can yield,
Or I think worth acceptance at your hands, — 25
Scorn, mutilation, and imprisonment.
even as my Master did,
Until Heaven’s kingdom shall descend on earth,
Or earth be like a shadow in the light
Of Heaven absorbed — some few tumultuous years 30
Will pass, and leave no wreck of what opposes
His will whose will is power.
LAUD:
Officer, take the prisoner from the bar,
And be his tongue slit for his insolence.
BASTWICK:
While this hand holds a pen —
LAUD:
Be his hands —
JUXON:
Stop! 35
Forbear, my lord! The tongue, which now can speak
No terror, would interpret, being dumb,
Heaven’s thunder to our harm;…
And hands, which now write only their own shame,
With bleeding stumps might sign our blood away. 40
LAUD:
Much more such ‘mercy’ among men would be,
Did all the ministers of Heaven’s revenge
Flinch thus from earthly retribution. I
Could suffer what I would inflict.
[EXIT BASTWICK GUARDED.]
Bring up
The Lord Bishop of Lincoln. —
[TO STRATFORD.]
Know you not 45
That, in distraining for ten thousand pounds
Upon his books and furniture at Lincoln,
Were found these scandalous and seditious letters
Sent from one Osbaldistone, who is fled?
I speak it not as touching this poor person; 50
But of the office which should make it holy,
Were it as vile as it was ever spotless.
Mark too, my lord, that this expression strikes
His Majesty, if I misinterpret not.
[ENTER BISHOP WILLIAMS GUARDED.]
STRAFFORD:
‘Twere politic and just that Williams taste 55
The bitter fruit of his connection with
The schismatics. But you, my Lord Archbishop,
Who owed your first promotion to his favour,
Who grew beneath his smile —
LAUD:
Would therefore beg
The office of his judge from this High Court, — 60
That it shall seem, even as it is, that I,
In my assumption of this sacred robe,
Have put aside all worldly preference,
All sense of all distinction of all persons,
All thoughts but of the service of the Church. — 65
Bishop of Lincoln!
WILLIAMS:
Peace, proud hierarch!
I know my sentence, and I own it just.
Thou wilt repay me less than I deserve,
In stretching to the utmost
…
Scene 3. 1-69 Bring…utmost 1870; omitted 1824.
SCENE 4
HAMPDEN, PYM, CROMWELL, HIS DAUGHTER, AND YOUNG SIR HARRY VANE.
HAMPDEN:
England, farewell! thou, who hast been my cradle,
Shalt never be my dungeon or my grave!
I held what I inherited in thee
As pawn for that inheritance of freedom
Which thou hast sold for thy despoiler’s smile: 5
How can I call thee England, or my country? —
Does the wind hold?
VANE:
The vanes sit steady
Upon the Abbey towers. The silver lightnings
Of the evening star, spite of the city’s smoke,
Tell that the north wind reigns in the upper air. 10
Mark too that flock of fleecy-winged clouds
Sailing athwart St. Margaret’s.
HAMPDEN:
Hail, fleet herald
Of tempest! that rude pilot who shall guide
Hearts free as his, to realms as pure as thee,
Beyond the shot of tyranny, 15
Beyond the webs of that swoln spider…
Beyond the curses, calumnies, and [lies?]
Of atheist priests! … And thou
Fair star, whose beam lies on the wide Atlantic,
Athwart its zones of tempest and of calm, 20
Bright as the path to a beloved home
Oh, light us to the isles of the evening land!
Like floating Edens cradled in the glimmer
Of sunset, through the distant mist of years
Touched by departing hope, they gleam! lone regions, 25
Where Power’s poor dupes and victims yet have never
Propitiated the savage fear of kings
With purest blood of noblest hearts; whose dew
Is yet unstained with tears of those who wake
To weep each day the wrongs on which it dawns; 30
Whose sacred silent air owns yet no echo
Of formal blasphemies; nor impious rites
Wrest man’s free worship, from the God who loves,
To the poor worm who envies us His love!
Receive, thou young … of Paradise. 35
These exiles from the old and sinful world!
…
This glorious clime, this firmament, whose lights
Dart mitigated influence through their veil
Of pale blue atmosphere; whose tears keep green
The pavement of this moist all-feeding earth; 40
This vaporous horizon, whose dim round
Is bastioned by the circumfluous sea,
Repelling invasion from the sacred towers,
Presses upon me like a dungeon’s grate,
A low dark roof, a damp and narrow wall. 45
The boundless universe
Becomes a cell too narrow for the soul
That owns no master; while the loathliest ward
Of this wide prison, England, is a nest
Of cradling peace built on the mountain tops, — 50
To which the eagle spirits of the free,
Which range through heaven and earth, and scorn the storm
Of time, and gaze upon the light of truth,
Return to brood on thoughts that cannot die
And cannot be repelled. 55
Like eaglets floating in the heaven of time,
They soar above their quarry, and shall stoop
Through palaces and temples thunderproof.
SCENE 5
ARCHY: I’ll go live under the ivy that overgrows the terrace, and count the tears shed on its old [roots?] as the [wind?] plays the song of
‘A widow bird sate mourning
Upon a wintry bough.’ 5
[SINGS]
Heigho! the lark and the owl!
One flies the morning, and one lulls the night: —
Only the nightingale, poor fond soul,
Sings like the fool through darkness and light.
‘A widow bird sate mourning for her love 10
Upon a wintry bough;
The frozen wind crept on above,
The freezing stream below.
There was no leaf upon the forest bare.
No flower upon the ground, 15
And little motion in the air
Except the mill-wheel�
�s sound.’
Scene 5. 1-9 I’ll…light 1870; omitted 1824.
The Novels
University College, Oxford, where Shelley enrolled in 1810. Legend has it that the poet attended only one lecture while at Oxford, though he often read for sixteen hours a day.
ZASTROZZI
Being Shelley’s first published prose work, this short gothic novel was first published in 1810 in London by George Wilkie and John Robinson, displaying only the initials of the author’s name. The novel outlines Shelley’s atheistic worldview through the villain Zastrozzi, expressing the author’s earliest thoughts on irresponsible self-indulgence and violent revenge. Shelley wrote Zastrozzi at the age of seventeen, whilst attending his last year at Eton College, though it was not published until he was attending Oxford University.
The Gentleman’s Magazine, regarded as the first literary magazine of the time, published a favourable review of the novel in 1810: “A short, but well-told tale of horror, and, if we do not mistake, not from an ordinary pen. The story is so artfully conducted that the reader cannot easily anticipate the denouement.” The Critical Review, a conservative journal, on the other hand, called the main character Zastrozzi “one of the most savage and improbable demons that ever issued from a diseased brain.” The reviewer dismissed the novel: “We know not when we have felt so much indignation as in the perusal of this execrable production. The author of it cannot be too severely reprobated. Not all his ‘scintillated eyes,’ his ‘battling emotions,’ his ‘frigorific torpidity of despair’... ought to save him from infamy, and his volume from the flames.”
The 1810 title page
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHAPTER I.
— That their God
May prove their foe, and with repenting hand
Abolish his own works — This would surpass
Common revenge.
— Paradise Lost.
Torn from the society of all he held dear on earth, the victim of secret enemies, and exiled from happiness, was the wretched Verezzi!
All was quiet; a pitchy darkness in volved the face of things, when, urged by fiercest revenge, placed himself at the door of the inn where, undisturbed, Verezzi slept.
Loudly he called the landlord. The landlord, to whom the bare name of was terrible, trembling obeyed the summons.
“Thou knowest Verezzi the Italian? he lodges here.” “He does,” answered the landlord.
“Him, then, have I devoted to destruction,” exclaimed . “Let Ugo and Bernardo follow you to his apartment; I will be with you to prevent mischief.”
Cautiously they ascended — successfully they executed their revengeful purpose, and bore the sleeping Verezzi to the place, where a chariot waited to convey the vindictive ‘s prey to the place of its destination.
Ugo and Bernardo lifted the still sleeping Verezzi into the chariot. Rapidly they travelled onwards for several hours. Verezzi was still wrapped in deep sleep, from which all the movements he had undergone had been insufficient to rouse him.
and Ugo were masked, as was Bernardo, who acted as postition.
It was still dark, when they stopped at a small inn, on a remote and desolate heath; and waiting but to change horses, again advanced. At last day appeared — still the slumbers of Verezzi remained unbroken.
Ugo fearfully questioned as to the cause of his extraordinary sleep. Zastrozzi, who, however, was well acquainted with it, gloomily answered, “I know not.”
Swiftly they travelled during the whole of the day, over which nature seemed to have drawn her most gloomy curtain. — They stopped occasionally at inns to change horses and obtain refreshments.
Night came on — they forsook the beaten track, and, entering an immense forest, made their way slowly through the rugged underwood.
At last they stopped — they lifted their victim from the chariot, and bore him to a cavern, which yawned in a dell close by.
Not long did the hapless victim of unmerited persecution enjoy an oblivion which deprived him of a knowledge of his horrible situation. He awoke — and overcome by excess of terror, started violently from the ruffians’ arms.
They had now entered the cavern — Verezzi supported himself against a fragment of rock which jutted out.
“Resistance is useless,” exclaimed ; “following us in submissive silence can alone procure the slightest mitigation of your punishment.”
Verezzi followed as fast as his frame, weakened by unnatural sleep, and enfeebled by recent illness, would permit; yet, scarcely believing that he was awake, and not thoroughly convinced of the reality of the scene before him, he viewed every thing with that kind of inexplicable horror, which a terrible dream is wont to excite.
After winding down the rugged descent for some time, they arrived at an iron door, which at first sight appeared to be part of the rock itself. Every thing had till now been obscured by total darkness; and Verezzi, for the first time, saw the masked faces of his persecutors, which a torch brought by Bernardo rendered visible.
The massy door flew open.
The torches from without rendered the darkness which reigned within still more horrible; and Verezzi beheld the interior of this cavern as a place whence he was never again about to emerge — as his grave. Again he struggled with his persecutors, but his enfeebled frame was insufficient to support a conflict with the strong-nerved Ugo, and, subdued, he sank fainting into his arms.
His triumphant persecutor bore him into the damp cell, and chained him to the wall. An iron chain encircled his waist; his limbs, which not even a little straw kept from the rock, were fixed by immense staples to the flinty floor; and but one of his hands was left at liberty, to take the scanty pittance of bread and water which was daily allowed him.
Every thing was denied him but thought, which, by comparing the present with the past, was his greatest torment.
Ugo entered the cell every morning and evening, to bring coarse bread, and a pitcher of water, seldom, yet sometimes, accompanied by .
In vain did he implore mercy, pity, and even death: useless were all his enquiries concerning the cause of his barbarous imprisonment — a stern silence was maintained by his relentless gaoler.
Languishing in painful captivity, Verezzi passed days and nights seemingly countless, in the same monotonous uniformity of horror and despair. He scarcely now shuddered when the slimy lizard crossed his naked and motionless limbs. The large earth-worms, which twined themselves in his long and matted hair, almost ceased to excite sensations of horror.
Days and nights were undistinguishable from each other; and the period which he had passed there, though in reality but a few weeks, was lengthened by his perturbed imagination into many years. Sometimes he scarcely supposed that his torments were earthly, but that Ugo, whose countenance bespoke him a demon, was the fury who blasted his reviving hopes. His mysterious removal from the inn near Munich also confused his ideas, and he never could bring his thoughts to any conclusion on the subject which occupied them.
One evening, overcome by long watching, he sank to sleep, for almost the first time since his confinement, when he was aroused by a loud crash, which seemed to burst over the cavern. Attentively he listened — he even hoped, though hope was almost dead within his breast. Again he listened — again the same noise was repeated — it was but a violent thunderstorm which shook the elements above.
Convinced of the folly of hope, he addressed a prayer to his Creator — to Him who hears a suppliant from the bowels of the earth. His thoughts were elevated above terre
strial enjoyments — his sufferings sank into nothing on the comparison.
Whilst his thoughts were thus employed, a more violent crash shook the cavern. A scintillating flame darted from the cieling to the floor. Almost at the same instant the roof fell in.
A large fragment of the rock was laid athwart the cavern; one end being grooved into the solid wall, the other having almost forced open the massy iron door.
Verezzi was chained to a piece of rock which remained immoveable. The violence of the storm was past, but the hail descended rapidly, each stone of which wounded his naked limbs. Every flash of lightning, although now distant, dazzled his eyes, unaccustomed as they had been to the least ray of light.
The storm at last ceased, the pealing thunders died away in indistinct murmurs, and the lightning was too faint to be visible. Day appeared — no one had yet been to the cavern — Verezzi concluded that they either intended him to perish with hunger, or that some misfortune, by which they themselves had suffered, had occurred. In the most solemn manner, therefore, he now prepared himself for death, which he was fully convinced within himself was rapidly approaching.
His pitcher of water was broken by the falling fragments, and a small crust of bread was all that now remained of his scanty allowance of provisions.
A burning fever raged through his veins; and, delirious with despairing illness, he cast from him the crust which alone could now retard the rapid advances of death.
Oh! what ravages did the united efforts of disease and suffering make on the manly and handsome figure of Verezzi! His bones had almost started through his skin; his eyes were sunken and hollow; and his hair, matted with the damps, hung in strings upon his faded cheek. The day passed as had the morning — death was every instant before his eyes — a lingering death by famine — he felt its approaches: night came, but with it brought no change. He was aroused by a noise against the iron door: it was the time when Ugo usually brought fresh provisions. The noise lessened, at last it totally ceased — with it ceased all hope of life in Verezzi’s bosom. A cold tremor pervaded his limbs — his eyes but faintly presented to his imagination the ruined cavern — he sank, as far as the chain which encircled his waist would permit him, upon the flinty pavement; and, in the crisis of the fever which then occurred, his youth and good constitution prevailed.
CHAPTER II.
Percy Bysshe Shelley - Delphi Poets Series Page 126