A Strange Story — CompleteLytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
Science
A Strange Story — Complete
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century
I took care not to lose the confidence of the good wife by parading too
quickly my disbelief in the phantom her husband declared that he had
seen; but as the story itself seemed at once to decide the nature of the
fit to be epileptic, I began to tell her of similar delusions which, in
my experience, had occurred to those subjected to epilepsy, and
finally soothed her into the conviction that the apparition was clearly
reducible to natural causes. Afterwards, I led her on to talk about
Sir Philip Derval, less from any curiosity I felt about the absent
proprietor than from a desire to re-familiarize her own mind to his
image as a living man. The steward had been in the service of Sir
Philip’s father, and had known Sir Philip himself from a child. He was
warmly attached to his master, whom the old woman described as a man of
rare benevolence and great eccentricity, which last she imputed to his
studious habits. He had succeeded to the title and estates as a minor.
For the first few years after attaining his majority, he had mixed much
in the world. When at Derval Court his house had been filled with gay
companions, and was the scene of lavish hospitality; but the estate
was not in proportion to the grandeur of the mansion, still less to the
expenditure of the owner. He had become greatly embarrassed; and some
love disappointment (so it was rumoured) occurring simultaneously with
his pecuniary difficulties, he had suddenly changed his way of life,
shut himself up from his old friends, lived in seclusion, taking to
books and scientific pursuits, and as the old woman said vaguely and
expressively, “to odd ways.” He had gradually by an economy that,
towards himself, was penurious, but which did not preclude much
judicious generosity to others, cleared off his debts; and, once more
rich, he had suddenly quitted the country, and taken to a life of
travel. He was now about forty-eight years old, and had been eighteen
years abroad. He wrote frequently to his steward, giving him minute and
thoughtful instructions in regard to the employment, comforts, and homes
of the peasantry, but peremptorily ordering him to spend no money on the
grounds and mansion, stating as a reason why the latter might be allowed
to fall into decay, his intention to pull it down whenever he returned
to England.
I stayed some time longer than my engagements well warranted at my
patient’s house, not leaving till the sufferer, after a quiet sleep, had
removed from his bed to his armchair, taken food, and seemed perfectly
recovered from his attack.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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