To drive
away these gloomy thoughts, he again examined the features of his
accomplice.
"Now," said he, leaning over him, "his eyelids fill with blood. What
sufferings! how protracted! and under what varied forms! Oh!" added he,
with a bitter smile, "when nature becomes cruel, and plays the part of
tormentor, she defies the most ferocious combinations of men. Oh! this face
is frightful. These frequent convulsions which overspread it contract it,
and at times render it fearful." Without, the tempest redoubled its fury.
"What a storm!" said Polidori, throwing himself into a chair, and leaning
his face on his hands. "What a night! what a night! Nothing could be more
fatal for the situation of Jacques."
After a long silence, Polidori resumed, "When I think of the past, when I
think of the ambitious projects which, in concert with Sarah, I founded on
the youth and inexperience of the prince--how many events! by what degrees
have I fallen into the state of criminal degradation in which I live! I,
who had thought to effeminate this prince, and make him the docile
instrument of the advancement of which I had dreamed! From preceptor I
expected to become minister. And notwithstanding my learning, my mind, from
misdeed to misdeed I have attained the last degree of infamy. Behold me, in
fine, the jailer of my accomplice. Oh, yes! the prince is without pity.
Better a thousand times for Jacques Ferrand to have placed his head on the
block; better a thousand times the wheel, fire, the molten lead which burns
and sinks into the flesh, than the torments this wretch endures.
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