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Updated: June 28, 2025
"Yet I must inform you of things foreign to this cruel event. I have just learned that your step-mother, who has been for some days in Paris, without doubt, leaves to-night for Normandy, taking with her Polidori, alias Bradamanti. This will tell you of the dangers your father is threatened with, and allow me to give you some advice.
"It is true that very few persons unite, like Jacques Ferrand, riches to piety, intelligence to charity," said Polidori, with an ironical smile which escaped the notice of the good abbe. At this new and sarcastic eulogium the hand of the notary was clinched; he cast from under his spectacles a look of deadly hatred on Polidori.
Hearing some one speaking with vehemence in the cabinet of the notary, the abbe, not wishing to hear, walked rapidly toward the door, and knocked. "Come in," said a voice with an Italian accent, and the priest found himself face to face with Jacques Ferrand and Polidori. It would seem that the clerks were not wrong when they prophesied the death of their employer at no distant day.
His f. was Gabriele Rossetti, an Italian scholar, who came to England in 1824, and was Prof. of Italian in King's Coll., London. His mother was Frances Polidori, English on her mother's side, so that the poet was three-fourths Italian, and one-fourth English. He was ed. at King's Coll.
Ferrand, exhausted by this frightful raving, fell back foaming on his chair, and threw his arms wildly about, uttering hollow and inarticulate sounds. This fit of convulsive and despairing rage by no means astonished Polidori.
Here, there, everywhere, sheets of fire thousands of shining atoms," cried the notary, raising himself; then, uttering a cry of pain, he placed his hands on his eyes. "But I am blinded! the burning light pierces my eyelids! it consumes me! Put out that light! it casts an infernal flame." "No more doubt," said Polidori; "his sight is stricken in the same manner as his hearing was just now.
"Thunder and blood!" cried Jacques, in a voice choked with rage; "my fortune entirely swallowed up in these stupid good works! I, who despise and execrate men; I, who have only lived to deceive and despoil them; I found philanthropic establishments to be forced to do it by infernal means! But is it the devil, then, who is your master?" he cried, with fury, stopping abruptly before Polidori.
You wrote me from Normandy that you wished to consult me on some grave affairs." "Have you not always been my adviser since good Dr. Polidori referred me to you? Apropos, have you heard from him?" asked Madame d'Orbigny, in a careless manner. "Since his departure from Paris he has not written me once," answered the notary, no less indifferently.
Polidori, a learned but hypocritical man, who hoped to be the future Richelieu over the puppet he trusted to convert Prince Rudolph into. The lady and her brother combined with Polidori against the youthful prince, whose only ally was his true friend, an English baronet, Sir Walter Murphy.
Rudolph smiled, and went on with the perusal of the letter of Madame d'Harville. "At the sight of Sir Walter, Polidori was petrified; my step-mother fell from one surprise into another; my father, alarmed at this scene, and weakened by sickness, was obliged to seat himself in a chair.
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