Pelham — Volume 05Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
History
Pelham — Volume 05
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
Adventure stories; English fiction -- 19th century; Great Britain -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction
We proceeded but a few yards before we were again stopped by a
precipitous ascent, and as Lord Chester was then earnestly engaged in
praising his horse to one of the cavalcade, I had time to remark the
spot. At the foot of the hill we were about slowly to ascend, was a
broad, uninclosed patch of waste land; a heron, flapping its enormous
wings as it rose, directed my attention to a pool overgrown with rushes,
and half-sheltered on one side by a decayed tree, which, if one might
judge from the breadth and hollowness of its trunk, had been a refuge to
the wild bird, and a shelter to the wild cattle, at a time when such were
the only intruders upon its hospitality; and when the country, for miles
and leagues round, was honoured by as little of man's care and
cultivation as was at present the rank waste which still nourished its
gnarled and venerable roots. There was something remarkably singular and
grotesque in the shape and sinuosity of its naked and spectral branches:
two of exceeding length stretched themselves forth, in the very semblance
of arms held out in the attitude of supplication; and the bend of the
trunk over the desolate pond, the form of the hoary and blasted summit,
and the hollow trunk, half riven asunder in the shape of limbs, seemed to
favour the gigantic deception. You might have imagined it an antediluvian
transformation, or a daughter of the Titan race, preserving in her
metamorphosis her attitude of entreaty to the merciless Olympian.
This was the only tree visible; for a turn of the road and the unevenness
of the ground, completely veiled the house we had passed, and the few low
firs and sycamores which made its only plantations. The sullen pool--its
ghost-like guardian--the dreary heath around, the rude features of the
country beyond, and the apparent absence of all human habitation,
conspired to make a scene of the most dispiriting and striking
desolation. I know not how to account for it, but as I gazed around in
silence, the whole place appeared to grow over my mind, as one which I
had seen, though dimly and drearily, before; and a nameless and
unaccountable presentiment of fear and evil sunk like ice into my heart.
We ascended the hill, and the rest of the road being of a kind better
adapted to expedition, we mended our pace and soon arrived at the goal of
our journey.
The race-ground had its customary compliment of knaves and fools--the
dupers and the duped. Poor Lady Chester, who had proceeded to the ground
by the high road (for the way we had chosen was inaccessible to those who
ride in chariots, and whose charioteers are set up in high places,) was
driving to and fro, the very picture of cold and discomfort; and the few
solitary carriages which honoured the course, looked as miserable as if
they were witnessing the funeral of their owner's persons, rather than
the peril of their characters and purses.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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