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Updated: June 28, 2025
Polidori had ultimately to be dismissed, and, after some years of vicissitude, committed suicide. The Shelleys left for England in September, and Byron made an excursion with Hobhouse through the Bernese Oberland.
"Polidori," murmured Jacques Ferrand, still stretched on the bed, and with his eyes closed. "Polidori, what noise was that?" "A chimney has fallen down," answered Polidori, in a low tone; "a frightful hurricane shakes the house to its foundations. The night is horrible, horrible!" The notary did not hear, and half turning his head, whispered, "Polidori, are you there?"
"You shall not go out from here; it is my interest that you should remain." "You prevent me from going to find Cecily; my interest wills that you should die. Hold then!" said the notary, in a hollow voice. Polidori uttered a cry. "Scoundrel! you have stabbed me in the arm; but the wound is slight; you shall not escape me." "Your wound is mortal.
"It is, do you see," answered the notary, in a voice sunk to a whisper, "it is not the thought of death it is annihilation. And Cecily!" "And you hope!" cried Polidori, astonished. "I hope not; I possess " "What?" "The remembrance." "But you will never see her again; she has delivered up your head!"
"See, M. l'Abbe," added Polidori, with emphasis, "what pious resignation! My poor friend is always the same; he only finds a solace for his sufferings in doing good." "I do not deserve these praises, have the goodness to dispense with them," said the notary, dryly, with difficulty concealing his anger. "To the Lord alone belongs the appreciation of good and evil; I am only a miserable sinner."
At this moment the storm was at its height; a chimney, blown down by the violence of the wind, fell on the roof and into the court with a noise like thunder. Jacques Ferrand, suddenly aroused from his state of torpor, moved on the bed. A hollow groan attracted the attention of Polidori. "He is awaking from his stupor," said he, approaching him slowly.
"Oh!" murmured Polidori, "my arm stiffens a mortal coldness seizes me my knees tremble under me my blood thickens in my veins my head turns. Help!" cried the accomplice of Ferrand, collecting all his strength for a last cry; "help! I die!" And he sunk under his own weight upon the floor.
"Farewell; tomorrow I will call and see you again. Adieu, sir adieu, my friend, my worthy, pious friend!" The priest went out, and Jacques Ferrand and Polidori remained alone. Hardly had the abbe gone than Jacques Ferrand uttered a terrible imprecation.
M. l'Abbe," said Polidori, who seemed to take delight in torturing his victim, as is said vulgarly, by pricks of a pin, "my poor friend neglects his health too much. Tell him to be more careful of himself, if not for his own sake, for his friends', or, at least, for the unfortunates of whom he is the hope and support." "Enough! enough!" murmured the notary.
The physiognomy of Polidori formed a contrast with that of the notary; nothing could be more bitterly, more coldly ironical than the expression of this scoundrel; a forest of fiery red hair, interspersed with some silvered locks, crowned his high and wrinkled forehead; his penetrating eyes, green as the ocean wave, were close to his hooked nose; his mouth, with its thin lips, expressed wickedness and sarcasm.
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