Devereux — Volume 06Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
History
Devereux — Volume 06
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
Great Britain -- History -- Anne, 1702-1714 -- Fiction
Now, then, he found the advantage of the dissensions with each other
which he had either sown or mellowed in our breasts. He came to turn
those wrathful thoughts which when he last saw me I had expressed
towards you to the favor and success of his design. He found my mind
strangely altered, but he affected to applaud the change. He questioned
me respecting my uncle's health, and I told him what had really
occurred; namely, that my uncle had on the preceding day read over to me
some part of a will which he had just made, and in which the vast bulk
of his property was bequeathed to you. At this news Montreuil must have
perceived at once the necessity of winning my consent to his project;
for, since I had seen the actual testament, no fraudulent transfer of
the property therein bequeathed could take place without my knowledge
that some fraud had been recurred to. Montreuil knew me well; he knew
that avarice, that pleasure, that ambition, were powerless words with
me, producing no effect and affording no temptation: but he knew that
passion, jealousy, spiritual terrors, were the springs that moved every
part and nerve of my moral being. The two former, then, he now put into
action; the last he held back in reserve. He spoke to me no further
upon the subject he had then at heart; not a word further on the
disposition of the estates: he spoke to me only of Isora and of you; he
aroused, by hint and insinuation, the new sleep into which all those
emotions--the furies of the heart--had been for a moment lulled. He
told me he had lately seen Isora; he dwelt glowingly on her beauty; he
commended my heroism in resigning her to a brother whose love for her
was little in comparison to mine, who had, in reality, never loved
/me/,--whose jests and irony had been levelled no less at myself than at
others. He painted your person and your mind, in contrast to my own, in
colors so covertly depreciating as to irritate more and more that vanity
with which jealousy is so woven, and from which, perhaps (a Titan son of
so feeble a parent), it is born. He hung lingeringly over all the
treasure that you would enjoy and that I--I, the first discoverer, had
so nobly and so generously relinquished.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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