A Strange Story — CompleteLytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
Science
A Strange Story — Complete
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century
conviction that it came too late to avail me: it could not restore to me
the mind, the love, the life of my life, which lay dark and shattered in
the brain of my guileless Lilian. Secretly I felt a sullen resentment.
I knew that to the crowd the resentment was unjust. The world itself is
but an appearance; who can blame it if appearances guide its laws? But
to those who had been detached from the crowd by the professions of
friendship,--those who, when the slander was yet new, and might have
been awed into silence had they stood by my side,--to the pressure of
their hands, now, I had no response.
Against Mrs. Poyntz, above all others, I bore a remembrance of
unrelaxed, unmitigable indignation. Her schemes for her daughter’s
marriage had triumphed: Jane was Mrs. Ashleigh Sumner. Her mind was,
perhaps, softened now that the object which had sharpened its worldly
faculties was accomplished: but in vain, on first hearing of my
affliction, had this she-Machiavel owned a humane remorse, and, with all
her keen comprehension of each facility that circumstances gave to
her will, availed herself of the general compassion to strengthen the
popular reaction in favour of Lilian’s assaulted honour; in vain had
she written to me with a gentleness of sympathy foreign to her habitual
characteristics; in vain besought me to call on her; in vain waylaid
and accosted me with a humility that almost implored forgiveness. I
vouchsafed no reproach, but I could imply no pardon. I put between her
and my great sorrow the impenetrable wall of my freezing silence.
One word of hers at the time that I had so pathetically besought her
aid, and the parrot-flock that repeated her very whisper in noisy
shrillness would have been as loud to defend as it had been to defame;
that vile letter might never have been written. Whoever its writer, it
surely was one of the babblers who took their malice itself from the
jest or the nod of their female despot; and the writer might have
justified herself in saying she did but coarsely proclaim what the
oracle of worldly opinion, and the early friend of Lilian’s own mother,
had authorized her to believe.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account