The Real Shelley. New Views of the Poet's Life. Vol. 1 (of 2)Jeaffreson, John Cordy
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The Real Shelley. New Views of the Poet's Life. Vol. 1 (of 2)
Jeaffreson, John Cordy
Poets, English -- 19th century -- Biography; Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 1792-1822
'_Madness--fiercest madness--revelled through his brain._ He raised
the poniard high, but Julia rushed forwards, and in accents of
desperation, in a voice of alarmed tenderness, besought him to spare
himself--to spare her--for all might yet be well.
'_"Oh! never, never!" exclaimed Verezzi, frantically, "no peace but in
the grave for me. I am--I am--married to Matilda."_
'Saying this, he fell backwards upon a sofa in strong convulsions, yet
his hand still firmly grasped the fatal poniard.
'Matilda, meanwhile, fixedly contemplated the scene. Fiercest passions
raged through her breast: vengeance, disappointed love--disappointed
in the instant, too, when she had supposed happiness to be hers for
ever, rendered her bosom the scene of wildest anarchy.
'Yet she spoke not--she moved not--but collected in herself, stood
waiting the issue of that event, which had so unexpectedly dissolved
_her visions of air-built ecstasy_.
'Serened to firmness from despair, Julia administered everything which
could restore Verezzi with the most unremitting attention. At last he
recovered. _He slowly raised himself, and starting from the sofa where
he lay, his eyes rolling wildly_, and his whole frame convulsed by
fiercest agitation, _he raised the dagger which he still retained,
and, with a bitter smile of exultation, plunged it into his
bosom!--His soul fled without a groan, and his body fell to the floor,
bathed in purple blood._'
THE DAGGER SCENE IN 'ST. IRVYNE.'
'_"Wilt thou be mine?" exclaimed the enraptured Olympia, as a ray of
hope arose in her mind. "Never! never can I," groaned the agitated
Wolfstein, "I am irrevocably, indissolutely another's."--Maddened by
this death-blow to all expectations of happiness_, which the deluded
Olympia had so fondly anticipated, she leaped wildly from the bed. A
light and flowing night-dress alone veiled her form; her alabaster
bosom was shaded by the light ringlets of her hair which rested
unconfined upon it. She threw herself at the feet of Wolfstein. On a
sudden, as if struck by some thought, she started convulsively from
the earth: for an instant she paused.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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