More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
he beheld his child dashed to pieces, and almost buried under an enormous helmet, an hundred times more large than any casque ever made for human being, and shaded
with a proportionable quantity of black feathers.
observed that the miraculous helmet was exactly like that on the figure in black marble of Alfonso the Good, one of their former princes, in the church of St. Nicholas.
obeisance,
Manfred, at this news, grew perfectly frantic; and, as if he sought a subject on which to vent the tempest within him, he rushed again on the young peasant, crying—
“Think no more of him,” interrupted Manfred; “he was a sickly, puny child, and Heaven has perhaps taken him away, that I might not trust the honours of my house on so frail a foundation. The line of Manfred calls for numerous supports. My
foolish fondness for that boy blinded the eyes of my prudence—but it is better as it is. I hope, in a few years, to have reason to rejoice at the death of Conrad.”
In short, Isabella, since I cannot give you my son, I offer you myself.”
At that instant the portrait of his grandfather, which hung over the bench where they had been sitting, uttered a deep sigh, and heaved its breast.
she determined to make herself the first sacrifice, if fate had marked the present hour for their destruction.
Ashamed, too, of his inhuman treatment of a Princess who returned every injury with new marks of tenderness and duty, he felt returning love forcing itself into his eyes; but not less ashamed of feeling remorse towards one against whom he was inwardly
meditating a yet more bitter outrage, he curbed the yearnings of his heart, and did not dare to lean even towards pity. The next transition of his soul was to exquisite villainy.
whose passions wanted little fuel to throw them into a blaze,
“And on this slight foundation, on a silly girl’s report,” said Manfred, “thou didst hazard my displeasure?” “I fear no man’s displeasure,” said Theodore, “when a woman in distress puts herself under my protection.”
“Heavens! Bianca,” said the Princess softly, “do I dream? or is not that youth the exact resemblance of Alfonso’s picture in the gallery?”
desisted.
We are all reptiles, miserable, sinful creatures. It is piety alone that can distinguish us from the dust whence we sprung, and whither we must return.”
At the same instant the sable plumes on the enchanted helmet, which still remained at the other end of the court, were tempestuously agitated, and nodded thrice, as if bowed by some invisible wearer.
“Heaven,” replied Manfred, “does not send Heralds to question the title of a lawful Prince. I doubt whether it even notifies its will through Friars—but that is your affair, not mine.
peremptory
“Forbear!”
absconding,
They separated each to her chamber, with more expressions of ceremony and fewer of affection than had passed between them since their childhood.
author of my being.
Can I live to have her close my eyes?”
Her sinking pulse and the damp coldness of her hand soon dispelled all hopes of recovery.
He printed a thousand kisses on her clay- cold hands, and uttered every expression that despairing love could dictate.
