A Strange Story — Volume 07Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
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A Strange Story — Volume 07
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century
It had been originally purchased as "a special survey," comprising twenty
thousand acres, with the privilege of pasture over forty thousand more.
In very little of this land, though it includes some of the most fertile
districts in the known world, has cultivation been even commenced. At the
time I entered into possession, even sheep were barely profitable; labour
was scarce and costly. Regarded as a speculation, I could not wonder that
my predecessor fled in fear from his domain. Had I invested the bulk of
my capital in this lordly purchase, I should have deemed myself a ruined
man; but a villa near London, with a hundred acres, would have cost me as
much to buy, and thrice as much to keep up. I could afford the investment
I had made. I found a Scotch bailiff already on the estate, and I was
contented to escape from rural occupations, to which I brought no
experience, by making it worth his while to serve me with zeal. Two
domestics of my own, and two who had been for many years with Mrs.
Ashleigh, had accompanied us: they remained faithful and seemed contented.
So the clockwork of our mere household arrangements went on much the same
as in our native home. Lilian was not subjected to the ordinary
privations and discomforts that await the wife even of the wealthy
emigrant. Alas! would she have heeded them if she had been?
The change of scene wrought a decided change for the better in her health
and spirits, but not such as implied a dawn of reviving reason. But her
countenance was now more rarely overcast. Its usual aspect was glad with
a soft mysterious smile. She would murmur snatches of songs, that were
partly borrowed from English poets, and partly glided away into what
seemed spontaneous additions of her own,--wanting intelligible meaning,
but never melody nor rhyme. Strange, that memory and imitation--the two
earliest parents of all inventive knowledge--should still be so active,
and judgment--the after faculty, that combines the rest into purpose and
method-be annulled!
Julius Faber I see continually, though his residence is a few miles
distant. He is sanguine as to Lilian's ultimate recovery; and, to my
amazement and to my envy, he has contrived, by some art which I cannot
attain, to establish between her and himself intelligible communion. She
comprehends his questions, when mine, though the simplest, seem to her in
unknown language; and he construes into sense her words, that to me are
meaningless riddles.
"I was right," he said to me one day, leaving her seated in the garden
beside her quiet, patient mother, and joining me where I lay--listless yet
fretful--under the shadeless gum-trees, gazing not on the flocks and
fields that I could call my own, but on the far mountain range, from which
the arch of the horizon seemed to spring,--"I was right," said the great
physician; "this is reason suspended, not reason lost. Your wife will
recover; but--"
"But what?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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