Paul Clifford — CompleteLytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
General
Paul Clifford — Complete
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
Brigands and robbers -- Fiction
The evening prior to that morning in which the above conversation
occurred, Brandon passed alone in his lodging at --------. He had
felt himself too unwell to attend the customary wassail, and he sat
indolently musing in the solitude of the old-fashioned chamber to which
he was consigned. There, two wax-candles on the smooth, quaint table
dimly struggled against the gloom of heavy panels, which were relieved
at unfrequent intervals by portraits in oaken frames, dingy, harsh,
and important with the pomp of laced garments and flowing wigs. The
predilection of the landlady for modern tastes had, indeed, on each
side of the huge fireplace suspended more novel masterpieces of the fine
arts. In emblematic gorgeousness hung the pictures of the four Seasons,
buxom wenches all, save Winter, who was deformedly bodied forth in the
likeness of an aged carle. These were interspersed by an engraving of
Lord Mauleverer, the lieutenant of the neighbouring county, looking
extremely majestical in his peer's robes; and by three typifications of
Faith, Hope, and Charity,--ladies with whom it may be doubted if the
gay earl ever before cultivated so close an intimacy. Curtains, of that
antique chintz in which fasces of stripes are alternated by rows of
flowers, filled the interstices of three windows; a heavy sideboard
occupied the greater portion of one side of the room; and on the
opposite side, in the rear of Brandon, a vast screen stretched its
slow length along, and relieved the unpopulated and as it were desolate
comfort of the apartment.
Pale and imperfectly streamed the light upon Brandon's face, as he sat
in his large chair, leaning his cheek on one hand, and gazing with the
unconscious earnestness of abstraction on the clear fire. At that moment
a whole phalanx of gloomy thought was sweeping in successive array
across his mind. His early ambition, his ill-omened marriage, the causes
of his after-rise in the wrong-judging world, the first dawn of his
reputation, his rapid and flattering successes, his present elevation,
his aspiring hope of far higher office, and more patrician honours,--all
these phantoms passed before him in checkered shadow and light; but ever
with each stalked one disquieting and dark remembrance,--the loss of his
only son.
Weaving his ambition with the wish to revive the pride of his hereditary
name, every acquisition of fortune or of fame rendered him yet
more anxious to find the only one who could perpetuate these hollow
distinctions to his race.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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