A Strange Story — Volume 07Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
General
A Strange Story — Volume 07
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century
"But I am not sick of my mind, as you seem to be of yours; I am only
somewhat tired of the little cage in which, since it has been alone, it
ruffles its plumes against the flimsy wires that confine it from wider
space. I shall take up my home for a time with the new-married couple:
they want me. Ashleigh Sumner has come into parliament. He means to
attend regularly and work hard, but he does not like Jane to go into the
world by herself, and he wishes her to go into the world, because he wants
a wife to display his wealth for the improvement of his position. In
Ashleigh Sumner's house I shall have ample scope for my energies, such as
they are. I have a curiosity to see the few that perch on the wheels of
the State and say, 'It is we who move the wheels!' It will amuse me to
learn if I can maintain in a capital the authority I have won in a country
town; if not, I can but return to my small principality. Wherever I live
I must sway, not serve. If I succeed--as I ought, for in Jane's beauty
and Ashleigh's fortune I have materials for the woof of ambition, wanting
which here, I fall asleep over my knitting--if I succeed, there will be
enough to occupy the rest of my life. Ashleigh Sumner must be a power;
the power will be represented and enjoyed by my child, and created and
maintained by me! Allen Fenwick, do as I do. Be world with the world,
and it will only be in moments of spleen and chagrin that you will sigh to
think that the heart may be void when the mind is full. Confess you envy
me while you listen."
"Not so; all that to you seems so great appears to me so small! Nature
alone is always grand, in her terrors as well as her charms. The World
for you, Nature for me. Farewell!"
"Nature!" said Mrs. Poyntz, compassionately. "Poor Allen Fenwick! Nature
indeed,--intellectual suicide! Nay, shake hands, then, if for the last
time."
So we shook hands and parted, where the wicket-gate and the stone stairs
separated my blighted fairy-land from the common thoroughfare.
CHAPTER LXVIII.
That night as I was employed in collecting the books and manuscripts which
I proposed to take with me, including my long-suspended physiological
work, and such standard authorities as I might want to consult or refer to
in the portions yet incompleted, my servant entered to inform me, in
answer to the inquiries I had sent him to make, that Miss Brabazon had
peacefully breathed her last an hour before. Well! my pardon had perhaps
soothed her last moments; but how unavailing her death-bed repentance to
undo the wrong she had done!
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.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account