Edward Trelawny: (a Biographical Sketch)

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W.H. Luke, 1882 - 36 pages
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Page 18 - Byronic sense of sin and capacity for inner suffering, wholly foreign to the "pagan" Trelawny as she sketched his character elsewhere. Shortly after meeting him, she wrote in her journal for January 19, 1822: Trelawney is extravagant — un giovane stravagante — partly natural and partly perhaps put on, but it suits him well, and if his abrupt but not unpolished manners be assumed, they are nevertheless in unison with his Moorish face (for he looks Oriental yet not Asiatic), his dark hair, his...
Page 28 - Full fathom five thy father lies, Of his bones are coral made : Those are pearls that were his eyes, Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea change, Into something rich and strange.
Page 25 - After asking her a few questions, I went up the stairs, and, unannounced, entered the room. I neither spoke, nor did they question me. Mrs. Shelley's large grey eyes were fixed on my face. I turned away. Unable to bear this horrid silence, with a convulsive effort she exclaimed— " Is there no hope ? " I did not answer, but left the room, and sent the servant with the children to them.
Page 26 - ... and I have now been well rewarded. In my outline of events, you will see how, unasked, he returned with Jane and me from Leghorn to Lerici ; how he stayed with us miserable creatures twelve days there, endeavouring to keep up our spirits; how he left us on Thursday, and, finding our misfortune confirmed, then, without rest, returned on Friday to us, and again without rest, returned with us to Pisa on Saturday. These were no common services. Since that, he has gone through by himself all the annoyances...
Page 28 - But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange." This quotation, by its double meaning, alludes both to the manner of his death and his genius ; and I think the element on which his soul took wing, and the subtle essence of his being mingled, may still retain him in some other shape. The water may keep the dead, as the earth may, and fire and air.
Page 27 - to apply for, nor bishop's licence to exhume the body. The custode or guardian who dwelt within the enclosure and had the key of the" gate seemed to have uncontrolled power within his domain, and scudi impressed with the image of Saint Peter with the two keys^. ruled him. Without more ado, masons were hired, and two tombs built in the recess. In one of these, when completed, I deposited the box, with Shelley's ashes, and covered it in with solid stone, inscribed with a Latin epitaph, written by...
Page 26 - ... he launched forth into, as it were, an overflowing and eloquent praise of my divine Shelley, till I was almost happy that I was thus unhappy, to be fed by the praise of him, and to dwell on the eulogy that his loss thus drew from his friend.
Page 21 - In fact, his pride and vanity mastered him, and he made no effort to conceal or to control their dominion, reckless how it marred his worldly advantages. Amidst the general homage paid to his genius, his vanity reverted to his early disappointments, when he was baffled and compelled to fly, and though Parthian-like he discharged his arrows on his pursuers, he lost the battle. Shelley had a far loftier spirit. His pride was spiritual. When attacked, he neither fled nor stood at bay, nor altered his...
Page 22 - Is this your study?" I asked. "Yes," he answered, "and these trees are my books — they tell no lies. You are sitting on the stool of inspiration," he exclaimed. "In those three pines the weird sisters are imprisoned, and this," pointing to the water, "is their cauldron of black broth.
Page 24 - ... in the absence of direct evidence to the contrary. I had buoyed up their spirits by maintaining that it was not impossible but that the friends still lived ; now I had to extinguish the last hope of these forlorn women. I had ridden fast, to prevent any ruder messenger from bursting in upon them. As I stood on the threshold of their house, the bearer, or rather confirmer, of news which would rack every fibre of their quivering frames to the utmost, I paused, and, looking at the sea, my memory...

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