Devereux — Volume 04Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
History
Devereux — Volume 04
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
Great Britain -- History -- Anne, 1702-1714 -- Fiction
However with his characteristic affectation of bounding ambition, and
consequently hope, to no one object in particular, and of mingling
affairs of light importance with those of the most weighty, Lord
Bolingbroke might pretend not to recur to, or to dwell upon, his causes
of resentment, from that time they never ceased to influence him to a
great, and for a statesman an unpardonable, degree. We cannot, however,
blame politicians for their hatred, until, without hating anybody, we
have for a long time been politicians ourselves; strong minds have
strong passions, and men of strong passions must hate as well as love.
The next two years passed, on my part, in perpetual intrigues of
diplomacy, combined with an unceasing though secret endeavour to
penetrate the mystery which hung over the events of that dreadful night.
All, however, was m vain. I know not what the English police may be
hereafter, but, in my time, its officers seem to be chosen, like honest
Dogberry's companions, among "the most senseless and fit men." They
are, however, to the full, as much knaves as fools; and perhaps a wiser
posterity will scarcely believe that, when things of the greatest value
are stolen, the owners, on applying to the chief magistrate, will often
be told that no redress can be given there, while one of the officers
will engage to get back the goods, upon paying the thieves a certain sum
in exchange: if this is refused, your effects are gone forever! A
pretty state of internal government!
It was about a year after the murder that my mother informed me of an
event which tore from my heart its last private tie; namely, the death
of Aubrey. The last letter I had received from him has been placed
before the reader; it was written at Devereux Court, just before he left
it forever. Montreuil had been with him during the illness which proved
fatal, and which occurred in Ireland. He died of consumption; and when
I heard from my mother that Montreuil dwelt most glowingly upon the
devotion he had manifested during the last months of his life, I could
not help fearing that the morbidity of his superstition had done the
work of physical disease. On this fatal news, my mother retired from
Devereux Court to a company of ladies of our faith, who resided
together, and practised the most ascetic rules of a nunnery, though they
gave not to their house that ecclesiastical name. My mother had long
meditated this project, and it was now a melancholy pleasure to put it
into execution. From that period I rarely heard from her, and by little
and little she so shrank from all worldly objects that my visits, and I
believe even those of Gerald, became unwelcome and distasteful.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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