stung me. Then again I would
abjure and despise Genoa, that little corner of the world. I would
return to Paris, where so many of my friends swarmed; where my services
would be eagerly accepted; where I would carve out fortune with my
sword, and might, through success, make my paltry birthplace, and the
false Torella, rue the day when they drove me, a new Coriolanus, from
her walls. I would return to Paris--thus, on foot--a beggar--and present
myself in my poverty to those I had formerly entertained sumptuously.
There was gall in the mere thought of it.

The reality of things began to dawn upon my mind, bringing despair in
its train. For several months I had been a prisoner: the evils of my
dungeon had whipped my soul to madness, but they had subdued my
corporeal frame. I was weak and wan. Torella had used a thousand
artifices to administer to my comfort; I had detected and scorned them
all--and I reaped the harvest of my obduracy. What was to be
done?--Should I crouch before my foe, and sue for forgiveness?--Die
rather ten thousand deaths!--Never should they obtain that victory!
Hate--I swore eternal hate! Hate from whom?--to whom?--From a wandering
outcast--to a mighty noble. I and my feelings were nothing to them:
already had they forgotten one so unworthy. And Juliet!--her angel-face
and sylph-like form gleamed among the clouds of my despair with vain
beauty; for I had lost her--the glory and flower of the world! Another
will call her his!--that smile of paradise will bless another!

Even now my heart fails within me when I recur to this rout of
grim-visaged ideas. Now subdued almost to tears, now raving in my agony,
still I wandered along the rocky shore, which grew at each step wilder
and more desolate. Hanging rocks and hoar precipices overlooked the
tideless ocean; black caverns yawned; and for ever, among the sea-worn
recesses, murmured and dashed the unfruitful waters. Now my way was
almost barred by an abrupt promontory, now rendered nearly impracticable
by fragments fallen from the cliff. Evening was at hand, when, seaward,
arose, as if on the waving of a wizard's wand, a murky web of clouds,
blotting the late azure sky, and darkening and disturbing the till now
placid deep. The clouds had strange fantastic shapes; and they changed,
and mingled, and seemed to be driven about by a mighty spell. The waves
raised their white crests; the thunder first muttered, then roared from
across the waste of waters, whic