OF BULWI 
 
PROSE ROMANCES 
 
 PLAYS AND COMEDIES 
 
 OF BULWER 
 
INTRODUCTIONS TO 
 THE PROSE ROMANCES 
 PLAYS AND COMEDIES 
 
 OF 
 
 EDWARD BULWER 
 LORD LYTTON 
 
 BY 
 
 E. G. BELL 
 
 ^^ 
 
 CHICAGO 
 WALTER M. HILL 
 
 1914 
 
COPYBrOHT, 1914 
 BY E. G. BELI. 
 
 THE TORCH PRBSS 
 
 CKOAR IIAI>IOS 
 
 IOWA 
 
INSCRIBED TO 
 
 C. E. Wyman, Esq. 
 
 ST. PAUL, MINN. 
 IN TRIBUTE OP RESPECT 
 AND ADMIRATION 
 
 331020 
 
PREFACE 
 
 O recall to the many who value Bulwer 
 some of the exquisite and noble char- 
 acters he created and a few of the 
 truths he sought to enforce; to ac- 
 quaint new readers with the purpose 
 of the several works and facilitate the just ap- 
 praisement of their merits; and to record one 
 estimate of the productions of an author who, in 
 accordance with precedent, must wait a couple of 
 centuries, before his country produces a critic 
 capable of comprehending his power, wisdom, and 
 mastery of art, is the object of this attempt to 
 explain and appreciate the achievements of a 
 great writer in the realm of romance. Another 
 volume will deal with his poems, essays, criticisms, 
 and speeches, for the romances are but half of his 
 works. 
 
 Because of the vague notions prevalent con- 
 cerning literature, poetry, and romance, an essay 
 treating of these precedes the articles on the 
 romances and their author. 
 
 The chapter on Bulwer is largely derived from 
 the writings of his wife, and the two publications 
 
8 PREFACE 
 
 of her executrix. Material for a more detailed 
 and much stronger presentation than is here made 
 exists in these works, of which a further exposition 
 may become necessary. 
 
 The aim of this volume is to help those who de- 
 sire to read Bulwer understandingly. None of the 
 papers exhausts its subject, but if the reader is 
 stimulated to examine and discover for himself, 
 the purpose of the work will have been accom- 
 plished. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Preface 
 
 Literature — Poetry — Romance 
 
 BULWER 
 
 Bulwer's Romances . 
 
 First Period : 
 Falkland 
 Pelham 
 The Disowned 
 Devereux 
 Paul Clifford 
 Asmodeus at Large 
 
 Second Period: 
 
 Eugene Aram 
 
 godolphin . 
 
 Pilgrims op the Rhine 
 
 Last Days of Pompeii 
 
 Rienzi . 
 
 Leila . 
 
 Calderon 
 
 Maltravers 
 Short Stories 
 
 Third Period : 
 
 Night and Morning 
 Zanoni . 
 
 7 
 13 
 29 
 61 
 
 65 
 67 
 72 
 
 77 
 81 
 87 
 
 89 
 95 
 100 
 104 
 112 
 120 
 123 
 124 
 136 
 
 141 
 147 
 
10 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 The Last op the Barons . 
 
 163 
 
 LUCRETIA 
 
 181 
 
 Harold 
 
 192 
 
 Pausanias 
 
 204 
 
 Fourth Period : 
 
 
 The Caxtons 
 
 209 
 
 My Novel 
 
 219 
 
 What Will He Do With It! . 
 
 230 
 
 Fifth Period : 
 
 
 A Strange Story .... 
 
 238 
 
 The Coming Race . . 
 
 251 
 
 Kenelm Chillingly .... 
 
 271 
 
 The Parisians 
 
 280 
 
 Plays and Comedies : 
 
 
 Prerequisites to Great Plays . 
 
 294 
 
 Bulwer's Connection with the Stage 
 
 302 
 
 The Acting Play .... 
 
 310 
 
 The Duchess de la Valliere . 
 
 314 
 
 The Lady of Lyons 
 
 327 
 
 Richelieu 
 
 339 
 
 The Rightful Heir . 
 
 357 
 
 The House of Darnley 
 
 366 
 
 Money 
 
 372 
 
 Not So Bad As We Seem . 
 
 383 
 
 Walpole 
 
 394 
 
BULWER 
 
LITERATURE — POETRY — ROMANCE 
 
 LITERATURE is the inclusive term for the several 
 productions of those artists who by means of 
 words and symbols used appropriately, either 
 chronicle and record observations, discoveries, facts, 
 methods, and events ; or represent characters, moods, feel- 
 ings, emotions, passions, and the conflict of these. Its 
 service to mankind is analogous to that which memory 
 performs for the individual. It has the same object as 
 all art, viz., that of increasing man's knowledge, refining 
 his judgments, and developing his perceptions, and like 
 other arts it can be degraded to base uses. 
 
 Memory retains the results of observations, reflections, 
 experiences, and communications. Its stores are in- 
 creased, and drawn upon as aids, in two distinct exer- 
 cises of the intellect. 
 
 One of these is by experiment, measurement, accumu- 
 lation of details, qualities, and particulars, and a step- 
 by-step progress toward certainty; the object being ex- 
 actitude or truth, the method reasoning, and the result 
 science. For the purpose of its records, its use of words 
 and symbols is precise and even technical. Details are 
 exhaustively considered, and only after careful examina- 
 tion of many particulars are deductions arrived at, or 
 generalizations ventured upon. In its extreme examples 
 it becomes profound and abstruse, as in pure mathe- 
 
14 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 matics ; and affords interest and benefit only to the few 
 who have laboriously mastered the branches of learning 
 which require for their advancement and comprehension 
 the exercise and use of this development of the reasoning 
 method. In proportion as a work is rigorously scientific, 
 will its appeal be limited to scientists only. 
 
 The other way of employing the intellect is by con- 
 jecture, assumption, and apt combinations; discarding 
 the unnecessary, simplifying the complex, ignoring 
 minor details, and avoiding the actual. Characters, in- 
 cidents, and situations are not copied but created, or 
 combined into new wholes from parts selected because 
 of their suitability. It does not imitate, it represents: 
 it does not argue or demonstrate, it declares and asserts ; 
 it does not measure, it compares; it disregards the local 
 or particular, noticing only prominencies or general 
 characteristics. Its aim is perfection, of which beauty 
 is a synonym, its method the imaginative, and its results 
 poetry. In its representations it avoids the vulgar, the 
 harsh, the restricted, and the commonplace, preferring 
 the noble, the graceful, and the grand. Its rarest 
 achievements have little contact with earth or humanity. 
 They revel in the ethereal, and therefore provide en- 
 joyment only for those who delight in the mystic and 
 transcendental. A work of pure poetry will be esteemed 
 by poets only. 
 
 Neither Science nor Poetry restricts itself to but one of 
 these methods. Science begins with imagining, and then 
 by reasoning proceeds to substantiate its conjecture ; but 
 apart from this commencement, every evidence of a re- 
 sort to imagination detracts from the worth of the dis- 
 
LITERATURE — POETRY — ROMANCE 15 
 
 quisition in which it is indulged. And poetry would 
 dissipate its energy in fantasy, if it did not employ rea- 
 son in guidance, in selecting its materials, and in con- 
 structing its fabric; but if the use of the methods of 
 reasoning is permitted to obtrude in poetry, the work is 
 to that extent blemished. 
 
 The regions which are severally adventured into by 
 the intellect in reasoning and in imagining, and the dif- 
 ferent procedures necessary in each instance, parallel the 
 relations borne by the expanses of sea and land to phys- 
 ical man, and his varying methods of traversing them. 
 Imagination, like the mariner, dares into a realm having 
 more of the vast, the wondrous, and the mysterious ; and 
 as the explorations of navigators have increased the 
 bounds of the known, so the poets have enriched, en- 
 larged, and beautified all intellectual life. 
 
 For its purposes of recording and representing. Litera- 
 ture combines its materials into two fabrics: verse, the 
 necessity of which is regularity, wherein the syllabic 
 construction of sentences is constrained into equivalence 
 with the time-beats measuring the succession of words 
 and pauses composing its lines, which may use or dis- 
 pense with recurring rhymes, and resort to elisions and 
 inversions when necessary; and prose, where a series of 
 words is broken by pauses occurring irregularly, which 
 uses rhythm but avoids rhyme. Verse aims at saying 
 things memorably and demands close attention; prose 
 strives to express things clearly and is more easilj^ com- 
 prehended. 
 
 Poetical passages may occur anywhere, in any book, 
 but productions which are poetry are the results of the 
 
16 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 imaginative exercise of the intellect, in which reason- 
 ing has been used in guidance and restraint, but not as 
 a contributive factor. Such works address the imagin- 
 ation, and arouse emotion, wonder, and aspiration, and 
 their greatness reflects and evidences the degree to which 
 the authors have developed their intellects in both rea- 
 soning and imagining, the familiarity with man and his 
 world acquired by study and action; and the range of 
 experience and observation with which they have en- 
 riched their memories. For though a natural aptitude 
 may be desirable, it alone is not sufficient. There is no 
 instance of lasting greatness in poetry having been 
 achieved without persistent culture and accumulated 
 knowledge. The poets who are honored through the 
 ages have been as remarkable for their attainments as 
 for their productions. 
 
 The essentials of poetry are : first, suggestiveness, which 
 provides enduring worth and abounding interest, and is 
 originated in creations, new revealings, new ideas, or new 
 applications and aspects of old ideas. This subtle power 
 may be compacted into a phrase or a line, or it may 
 pervade an entire production, gaining accumulating force 
 as the work proceeds. Second, evocation, the faculty of 
 calling up associated ideas, or remembrances of similar 
 scenes, thoughts, experiences, or feelings. It has no 
 connected continuance, but detached effects are produced 
 by a sentence or series of sentences, each of which is ex- 
 panded by the witchery of the stimulated memory into a 
 succession of similitudes and related ideas, and the lines 
 which possess this power haunt the reader, and give 
 charm to the poem. 
 
LITERATURE — POETRY — ROMANCE 17 
 
 The term poetry is often incorrectly applied to any 
 composition in which measured lines are used. The 
 cause of this general misuse of the word is partly that 
 song, the most familiar kind of poetry, is usually in 
 metre; partly that verse is conducive to terseness, one 
 of the qualities of good poetry. But an elaborate scien- 
 tific treatise has been written in verse, and much prose 
 is poetry, while some verse is mere rhyming. Not the 
 regularity of the lines, but the nature of the matter, is 
 the determining factor. 
 
 The lyrical quality is sometimes assumed to be the dis- 
 tinguishing attribute of poetry, and apparent spontaneity 
 is regarded as of more importance than examples sanc- 
 tion, or facts confirm. We know that each happy col- 
 location of words and pleasing ripple of syllables, though 
 seemingly innocent of choice or change or labor, is 
 the result of repeated revisions and re-arrangements ; and 
 the impetuous flow of a writer's periods is, at best, but 
 a characteristic of style, a fluctuant merit in the presen- 
 tation, rather than an integral element of the work. It 
 is a narrow and perverse view which regards a quality 
 of style as more important than the informing principle 
 of the production. ' ' The thought is the Muse, the versi- 
 fication but her dress." If the poet lacks imaginative 
 capacity, no fluency in his lines will compensate the de- 
 ficiency. Dr. Pemberton demonstrated that in style 
 Glover's Leonidas is superior to Milton's Paradise Lost, 
 but despite the doctor's proofs Paradise Lost is poetry, 
 and Leonidas is merely verse. 
 
 Pan from the reed produced song, and it is consistent 
 with our idea of the half -god, half-beast, that his strains 
 
18 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 would be addressed to common feelings, and that spon- 
 taneity would be an essential in his productions. There- 
 fore those who maintain that the poet is one obsessed by 
 some overmastering emotion, feeling, or mood, who voices 
 this in apparently unpremeditated song, have warrant 
 for their belief. 
 
 But after Pan came Apollo, and he from the lyre elicit- 
 ed music quite other than that given forth by the reed. 
 To enlighten, to dignify, to console, and to warn, are 
 potentialities inseparable from our conception of godhood, 
 and these qualities necessarily pertain to the productions 
 of the followers of * ' the lord of the unerring bow. ' ' 
 
 Though the simple and the unpremeditated have for 
 all time been varieties of poetry, they are neither the only 
 nor the highest kinds. Such songs as accompanied the 
 Bacchic processions had their origin from Pan. These 
 which call The Nine to aid in artistically condensing 
 knowledge, experience, passion, and thought into noble 
 form, proceed from a higher source, and have a loftier 
 importance. Though each of these may in form and man- 
 ner assume the appearance of the other, the relative im- 
 portance of the intentional and the spontaneous is as 
 fixed and positive as that of the god amd the half -god. 
 
 The kinds of poetry are many, but that which deals 
 most directly with human nature has always been re- 
 garded as of the greatest importance. The Drama and 
 Epopee have ever ranked as the most admirable achieve- 
 ments of the artist in words. In these, character is dis- 
 played, and the highest potency of suggestion is attained 
 when by depicting the crimes and ruin of evil persons 
 lessons and warnings are insinuated, or when by ex- 
 
LITERATURE — POETRY — ROMANCE 19 
 
 amples of restrained desire, disciplined emotion, and 
 worthy aspiration, embodied in noble characters who by- 
 patient and wise conduct overcome the temptation, trials, 
 and untoward happenings which beset human life, emula- 
 tion is incited and magnanimity promoted in many whom 
 axiom or exhortation would fail to impress, — for exam- 
 ple, has advantages over precept. 
 
 The ancient classification of the forms of poetry ac- 
 cording to whether they were recited or represented has 
 long been outgrown, and both the epic and the drama 
 have in modern time been supplanted in popularity and 
 effectiveness by prose fiction. 
 
 Poetry, whether in the form of epic, play, or romance, 
 can be assigned to two major classes, the purpose of the 
 work determining in which division it belongs. If its 
 chief aim is to display an admirable character to the end 
 that emulation may be aroused, it is heroic. If it depicts 
 erring or evil persons and its intent is warning, it is 
 tragic. The Odyssey is an heroic epic, showing a wary 
 and patient man as an example to others. The Iliad is a 
 tragic epic, setting forth the fatal effects of wrath. The 
 themes of plays have usually been chosen for tragic pur- 
 poses, but Henry V is an heroic presentation ; and in the 
 patriotic prince who refrains from involving Denmark in 
 his meditated vengeance, an heroic aspect is given to the 
 character of Hamlet. 
 
 Comedy aims only at the amending of manners or con- 
 duct, making use of banter and ridicule to effect its pur- 
 pose. Its characters are necessarily less fine and noble 
 than those of the play, and its examples constitute a 
 minor class. Those productions which are ' ' not intended 
 
20 PROSE ROIVIANCES OF BULWER 
 
 for the stage" may fitly be distinguished as dramas. 
 
 As the older forms of epic and play have continued to 
 lose attraction for both poets and audiences, prose fiction 
 has increased in favor, enlarged its domain, appropriated 
 the effects of its elders, and assumed their mission. The 
 names romance and novel are now applied without dis- 
 crimination, for the original distinctions have become ob- 
 solete. To these works in which the imaginative method 
 has been followed, where heroic or tragic purpose is evi- 
 dent in the design, where the characters and incidents are 
 creations or idealizations, and the reflections in force and 
 appropriateness approximate to those occurring in the 
 epic or the play, the term Romance may advantageously 
 be restricted; reserving the designation ''Novel" for 
 works which copy or transcribe from actualities and deal 
 with the commonplace or the transient, and thereby ex- 
 ploit the field of the journalist. 
 
 Epic, play, and romance share the same province — 
 man's actions and emotions influenced in their progres- 
 sion and succession by passion, situation, and conflicting 
 purposes. They depict these by means of the figures 
 through which the poet translates into such apprehensible 
 representation as his craftsmanship enables him to com- 
 mand, the images and ideas first called into being in his 
 mind, and then cogitated until they assume fitting form 
 on his page. 
 
 The epic recites the successive incidents pertaining to a 
 greaf^eVenl^ not pausing to explain or account for the 
 checks and hindrances which retard, or the happy acci- 
 dents which facilitate the consummation, but rapidly re- 
 lating the occurrences, displaying the personages in 
 speech and deed, and avoiding all digressions. 
 
LITERATURE — POETRY — ROMANCE 21 
 
 The play concerns itself with how and why the repre- 
 sented happenings came about, exhibits conduct under the 
 stress of contending passions, and accounts for the ac- 
 tions of its characters, whose minds and purposes are its 
 chief interest, their physical qualities being borrowed 
 from the actors. Its events are severely concentrated, 
 and each incident is made to advance the action toward a 
 situation which combines, in one culmination, the crisis 
 of the passion and the development of the character. 
 
 The romance originally confined itself to recounting the 
 exploits of some much-doing individual, and consisted of 
 a series of adventures loosely joined together, without any 
 semblance of arranged plot. But there is little now that 
 the play accomplishes w^hich the romance does not suc- 
 cessfully attempt. It differs, however, in being much 
 longer, and therefore less rapid, sustained, and progres- 
 sive in its action ; in being addressed to the one, instead 
 of the many, which necessitates restraints, and greater 
 particularization ; and in requiring more description, for 
 the romancist must explain and depict all that the play- 
 wright depends upon the actor and his accessories to fur- 
 nish. But though greater latitude is allowed in these 
 particulars, in each there is peril in excess. Description 
 may easily assume too great a proportion ; and unneces- 
 sary and episodical incidents which have no bearing upon 
 the purpose, or didactic disquisitions in the guise of con- 
 versations which neither elucidate the motives of the char- 
 a£itfir_s_nor affect the action except to delay it, may un- 
 duly prolong the work, to its injury. 
 
 Description of inanimate objects is the lowest form of 
 poetry, and great writers make very sparing use of it. 
 They describe the emotions a scene excites, or the mood 
 
22 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 it awakens, and if it is connected with some important 
 event they briefly summarise the conspicuous features so 
 as to fix it in the memory of the reader. But they do 
 n»t indulge in protracted description, because canvas and 
 pigments are the proper means by which the impression 
 of many objects seen simultaneously is best conveyed. 
 Words can only represent the several details of a scene 
 as a succession of items, rarely distinct and never in due 
 proportion; and no matter how cleverly the poet may 
 simulate in words the picture of the artist, the perform- 
 ance will be inadequate, disproportionate, and probably 
 false, as compared to the result produced by the use of 
 the appropriate medium. 
 
 The interest of a romance is derived from the combined 
 A qualities of its construction, its characters, its incidents, 
 / the knowledge it evidences, and the degree of that mastery 
 /^l. of technical methods called style which it displays. 
 
 In construction, plot is an advantage. Many works 
 achieve popularity solely because of the skill and in- 
 genuity with which they have been planned, and though 
 estimable productions have been written without a pre- 
 meditated design, the lack of it impairs their interest. 
 Plot gives backbone to the sequence of incidents which 
 provides variety and affords occasion for developing char- 
 acter and carrying to completion the purpose of the work. 
 The symmetrical relation of the parts to the whole, of de- 
 tails to the general effect ; the due proportionment of in- 
 cident, colloquy, and the recital which sacrificing the vi- 
 vacity of dialogue gains in the clearness and despatch 
 with which it conveys to the reader matters it is essential 
 he should know ; these require consideration and thought, 
 
LITERATURE — POETRY — ROMANCE 23 
 
 and are facilitated when plot is part of the construction. 
 
 Characters are of greater importance than the story 
 they take part in. The works which continue in peren- 
 nial favor, age after age, owe their immortality to the 
 personages they display and depict, and even lyrical 
 poems are regarded with greater interest when it is 
 discovered that they reveal the singer's self, express 
 his joys and sorrows, and shadow forth his own per- 
 sonality. 
 
 The enduring characters in poetry are not transcrip- 
 tions from actual individuals, but large generalizations 
 of powers and qualities, transcending in capacity, ut- 
 terance, and experiences the human beings with whom 
 we come in contact, but conforming in conduct and re- 
 sponsibility to what we recognise as human conditions. 
 They are possible to humanity, but not common to man- 
 kind. We acknowledge the reality of Achilles, Ulysses, 
 Nestor, CEdypus, Hamlet, Lear, Macbeth, Don Quixote, 
 but none ever saw their originals. 
 
 The highest order of peraonages in poetry are the cre- 
 ations which surpass humanity in their qualities and en- 
 dowments, but are conceivable and assented to because 
 they act in consistence with the conditions in which 
 they are placed ; the author 's page being their world. 
 Prometheus, Satan, Mephistopheles, are such characters. 
 The epithets "beautiful" and ''perfect" are applied to 
 objects which manifest superiority over others of a like 
 kind; but when a force, or deed, or object is grand 
 or admirable in such degree that comparison with any- 
 thing else is impossible, it can only be described as sub- 
 lime. These creations are of that order. 
 
24 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 Fictional characters are appreciable precisely as are 
 those met with in ordinary life. The merely physically 
 excellent are inferior to the cultivated, the intellectually 
 notable are above the prominent, and the supremely 
 wise, and good, and great, are superior to all others. 
 
 Revealing and unfolding character is preferable to 
 describing it. It is a greater achievement to display 
 persons in action — striving, endeavoring, and battling 
 with foes or circumstances, and evincing a variety of 
 capacities and potentialities — than passivelj^ submitting 
 and enduring, but giving no evidence of active power. 
 
 And always knowledge of the inner man is of greater 
 importance than dress or bearing, and moral struggles 
 and mental perplexities than physical conflict or per- 
 sonal prowess. 
 
 When characters are introduced in whom real in- 
 dividuals are recognised, whose oddities or mannerisms 
 have been copied, or when persons whose actions and 
 conversation are commonplace and trivial are given im- 
 portance, poetry has been forsaken and another prov- 
 ince of literature entered. 
 
 It is the function and necessity of the journalist, 
 whose field is the actual, to deal with transient aspects 
 of ordinary life and to describe literally and in detail 
 the affectations and peculiarities of living persons; for 
 journalism ministers to the interests, habits, opinions, 
 and sentiments of the entire community, only a portion 
 of which is cultured. It aims at immediate and rapid 
 effect, and seeks to bring about the persuasion of today, 
 rather than the conviction of future years. When the 
 romancist chooses to delineate the actual, his work be- 
 comes journalism. 
 
LITERATURE — POETRY — ROMANCE 25 
 
 Incidents should be pertinent to the design, illustra- 
 tive of some significant condition or characteristic, suc- 
 ceed each, other naturally, have a definite bearing upon 
 the result, and vary both in manner and subject. 
 
 And they should avoid the actual, especially when 
 dealing with crime, or irregular and mischievous in- 
 dulgencies, for there is in some people who may be 
 readers a singular propensity to imitate vicious actions. 
 All extraordinary crimes become epidemic immediately 
 after the publication of details concerning them. There- 
 fore depictions of wrong-doing should be surrounded 
 with such circumstances as to make actual application of 
 the described method extremely difficult. And in cer- 
 tain injudicious relations and incidents there are possi- 
 bilities of evil, even when the completed purpose is ad- 
 mirable, for many who never perceive the moral intent 
 of a book may be excited and harmed by its incidental 
 scenes. 
 
 The comprehensive knowledge of a writer is rarely 
 obtruded. It irradiates his every page; enriches his 
 characterizations and themes with illuminating observa- 
 tions and revealings of human nature and mjotivesl; 
 gives fullness and power to the exposition by which 
 complicated phenomena are made understandable; and 
 imperceptibly enlarges the views and stimulates tha 
 faculties of the reader. Apt references, shrewd com- 
 parisons, illustrations, similes, and metaphors all evi- 
 dence the attainments of an author, but the characteris- 
 tic manifestations of vast knowledge are the large toler- 
 ation which its possessors develop, and the conciliatory 
 attitude they adopt toward movements, measures, and 
 men. 
 
26 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 Style fluctuates and changes like the fashions in dress. 
 Ever and again words and collocations, after a period 
 of over-use, are supplanted by newer phrasing, and poets 
 whose styles were a part of their attraction to contempo- 
 raries appear old-fashioned to more modern readers. But 
 if their works possessed other qualities, these eventually 
 assert themselves and are recognized, and then the un- 
 e^apable mannerisms of a former day are again re- 
 garded with favor, and influence a newer generation of 
 writers. 
 
 To express his thoughts with such clearness that he 
 is easily understood, to arrange his sentences so that 
 they flow lucidly and orderly, and to cultivate terseness 
 as a habit, are the necessities rather than the accomplish- 
 ments of an author. Additional graces of diction, ca- 
 denccj and arrangement may be added with advantage, 
 but clearness, smoothness, and strength are imperative 
 needs, beyond the attainment of which it is chiefly de- 
 sirable that vices of style and composition be avoided, as 
 for instance pomposity, heaviness, redundancy of imag- 
 ery or epithets, over-elaboration of minor ideas to the 
 obscuration of the major one, and those verbal pretti- 
 nesses which are quoted as ' ' purple patches. ' ' 
 
 The poet addresses the best, and highest, and noblest. 
 His audience is the cultivated minority of all time, and 
 his concern is the wide applicability of his ideas, views, 
 and creations; the quality — not the quantity — of the 
 effect he produces ; its permanence, not the rapidity with 
 which it is attained. Whatever would limit that au- 
 dience must be avoided, therefore his personages should 
 be representatives of large classes of humanity, his pas- 
 sions such as all humanity can S3anpathise with. His 
 
LITERATURE — POETRY — ROMANCE 27 
 
 scenes should have their salient features described but 
 not inventoried, and his language — eschewing patois 
 and dialect — should be pure, and attractive to the edu- 
 cated. 
 
 It is the fate of all works of imagination to be reviewed 
 by journalists and appraised as journalism; w^hich is 
 as inadequate as judging a ship and a sleigh by the 
 same rules. The presentation of one aspect of a book, 
 accurate and useful as far as it goes, is all that is possible 
 under these circumstances, and this is accomplished 
 worthily by many newspapers. In more pretentious 
 publications the results are usually less satisfactory ; the 
 views are still those of the journalist. Method is pre- 
 ferred to insight, fidelity in details to comprehensive 
 perception, literal exactness to creative originality, and 
 style to design; and there is often the added offense 
 that the reviewer assumes superiority and affects con- 
 descension in noticing the work he writes about. 
 
 The reviewer ^s relation to literature is similar to that 
 of the lawyer to justice, with this important difference: 
 that the lawyer argues his case before a judge, who curbs 
 irrelevant or abusive impertinence, and usually decides 
 in accordance with testimony and fixed law. The lawyer 
 may be intent on defeating justice. He may be a 
 theorist, a bigot, an enemy's agent. The reviewer may 
 have analagous disqualifications. But in the one in- 
 stance there is a check upon viciousness, in the other 
 nothing interferes with the publication of aught that 
 malice may inspire or ignorance engender. 
 
 Canons of criticism, like the laws of nature, are often 
 appealed to, but nowhere authoritatively recorded. 
 
 The aforegoing remarks are deductions from Bulwer's 
 
28 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 suggestions and arguments, and explain the principles on 
 which his works were composed, and these principles 
 are conformed to by the great productions of every 
 famous writer from Homer to Goethe. 
 
BULWER 
 
 EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER, 
 the youngest son of General Earle Bulwer, was 
 born in London on the twenty-fifth of May, 
 1803. The General died in 1807, and the education and 
 care of three sons devolved upon his widow, the care- 
 ful, cultured, and religious heiress of the Lyttons of 
 Kneb worth. 
 
 The future author was familiarised with books in his 
 childhood, for he had the run of a huge miscellaneous 
 library collected by his maternal grandfather, and found 
 something interesting in various departments of it. He 
 was precocious, wrote verses at a very early age, and 
 corresponded with Doctor Parr and other notabilities 
 while yet a boy. After a succession of private schools, 
 where his oddities and quick temper made him popular 
 with all but intimate with few, he was sent to Cambridge 
 University, and achieved distinction as a speaker at 
 the Union, won the Chancellor's medal for a poem on 
 Sculpture, and was attracted to and acquired much 
 knowledge of English history and old literature. 
 
 The frequently repeated legend of a maniac having 
 seized him from his nurse's arms and pythonised of his 
 future greatness, the comparative decay of his family, 
 the grief caused by an unfortunate early attachment, 
 and a consciousness of powers in himself, combined to 
 
30 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 inspire him with the determination to exalt his name 
 and house to something of its former splendor; and 
 combining the active life with the studious, he read and 
 wrote methodically, and travelled on foot over Britain 
 and on horseback through France, everywhere noting, 
 observing, and remembering, and laying the foundations 
 of that knowledge and experience which informs his 
 books. 
 
 He had some intention of joining the army, and took 
 the initial step of purchasing a commission. The im- 
 probability of any early opportunity for active service 
 deterred him from proceeding farther. Meeting Miss 
 Wheeler, who two years later became his wife, caused 
 the abandonment of the purposed military career, and 
 necessitated some more immediately available source of 
 livelihood. He decided to join authorship with parlia- 
 mentary life, regarding the former vocation as the most 
 difficult, and the latter that for which he was best fitted. 
 
 Falkland was written in 1826, and Pelham in the 
 following year ; and on August 28, 1827, he made prob- 
 ably the most calamitous and ill-resulting marriage ever 
 consummated. Against the advice of friends and the 
 warning of his mother, he united himself to an Irish 
 beauty, and life-long vexations and worries were the 
 least of the evil consequences. 
 
 He was then in his twenty-fifth year, five feet nine 
 inches in height, with very small feet, and an extremely 
 slender frame. His visage was long. He had an im- 
 mense aquiline nose, blue eyes, high retreating fore- 
 head, and curling golden hair. Grillparzar called him 
 wonderfully goodlooking (wunderhuebsch). Less im- 
 
BULWER 31 
 
 partial people described him as distinguished in appear- 
 ance. He was unaffected, frank and fascinating in con- 
 versation, but exuberantly restless and uncomfortable 
 when inactive; hot tempered, proud, shy, unduly sensi- 
 tive, with supreme confidence in his own power and en- 
 durance, but with a distrust of his luck, and a tendency 
 towards superstition. He was utterly fearless of every- 
 thing save wasps, of which he had a constitutional dread. 
 Though easily led or induced, it was impossible to drive 
 or coerce him. He was a trained boxer, skilled in sword- 
 play, and an expert pistol-shooter. Sport had ^o at- 
 traction for him, but he liked card games, especially 
 whist, was fond of fishing and of dogs, horses, birds, and 
 perfumes, and he smoked tobacco almost incessantly. 
 Intense despondency and dejection were frequent condi- 
 tions with him, and from childhood he suffered from at- 
 tacks of earache, which, increasing in severity as the 
 years passed, brought on deafness in middle life, and 
 ultimately caused his death. 
 
 At the time of her first meeting with Bulwer in De- 
 cember, 1825, Rosina Wheeler — the daughter of an« 
 Irish squire who had dissipated his fortune, and a mother 
 of materialistic views, who left her husband and became 
 one of the household of her uncle. Sir John Doyle — 
 was a self-possessed woman of twenty-three, and had 
 gone about in London for some years. She was extra- 
 ordinarily beautiful, well informed, and brilliantly witty, 
 but vain, extravagant, and impulsive, devoid of prudence 
 or judgment, with an exalted opinion of her own abilities, 
 qualities, and position; she possessed much imperious- 
 ness, and had little consideration for others. 
 
32 PROSE ROMANCES OP BULWER 
 
 They met at a literary gathering. He was captivated, 
 and she accepted the attentions of this favorite son of 
 a rich widow, who disapproved of her as a prospective 
 daughter-in-law. According to her own account, she 
 had neither affection nor esteem for him, nor anything 
 but dislike for any member of his family. But at the 
 cost of an estrangement between mother and son, and 
 the consequent sacrifice of the allowance hitherto made 
 him, they married and began housekeeping in accord- 
 ance with his station, but in unwise disproportion to 
 their means, and to provide for their maintenance he 
 adopted literature as a profession. 
 
 For the next nine years Bulwer's life was one of un- 
 ceasing literary drudgery, with the added labors of an 
 active member of parliament after May 1, 1831, when 
 he was elected for St. Ives in the last unreformed house 
 of commons. During this period he published twelve 
 romances ; a history of Athens ; a disquisition on England 
 and the English ; the essays collected in The Student ; a 
 political pamphlet on The Crisis; The Duchcsse de la 
 Valliere, a play; a volume of poems; and concurrently 
 contributed largely to the Edinburgh Review, the West- 
 minster Review, the New Monthly Magazine, the Ex- 
 aminer, and other journals, wherein many of his articles 
 remain interred; and other works were written but not 
 published. 
 
 The intense application necessitated by the composition 
 of works so many and various would have tasked the 
 strongest of constitutions, under the most favorable cir- 
 cumstances. Bulwer's health never was robust. His 
 home-life was made miserable by what his wife called 
 
BULWER 33 
 
 her "irritability of temper and easily wounded feel- 
 ings ' ' ; and he was assailed and abused outrageously in 
 periodicals and journals. 
 
 The insolence and personalities indulged in by con- 
 tributors to the press at the outset enraged one who saw 
 no reason for disregarding expressions which in other 
 departments of public life would necessitate a hostile 
 meeting, for these were the days of duels. Most of the 
 abusive writers were of a sort that recognition \vould 
 have dignified, but one — Scott 's son-in-law — was of 
 better station than those he abetted, and his remarks 
 were conspicuously mean and unfair. Upon him Bulwer 
 retaliated in ''A Letter to the Editor of the Quarterly 
 Review," which with any but one other man in Britain 
 would have provoked a challenge. But iLockhart real- 
 ised that he had aroused a dangerous antagonist, and 
 prudently made no sign. His attacks from this time 
 forward were published in Fraser^s Magazine, where the 
 responsibility was assumed by Maginn; and Bulwer be- 
 came disdainful of the criticism of the day as he learned 
 more about its instruments and its motives. 
 
 Much of the journalistic hostility had its origin in a 
 misapprehension of his circumstances, which he was too 
 proud and masculine to attempt to remove. His con- 
 temporaries erroneously regarded him as wealthy by in- 
 heritance, and resented what they considered an unfair 
 competition. 
 
 And adopting literature as a profession, he declined to 
 conform to the slovenly and intemperate usages of most 
 of its followers. He dressed in accordance with his 
 station and after the manner of his class, and this con- 
 
34 PROSE ROMANCES OP BULWER 
 
 trasting the customary negligence of journalists, gave 
 occasion for many references to his clothing and the 
 application of the terms fop, exquisite, dandy. It was 
 quite natural for the untidy and equivocal to rail at the 
 man of gentle birth who conformed instinctively with 
 the customs of his kind — customs of which they had no 
 knowledge save by observation from afar. 
 
 Labor and worry and vexations embittered and irri- 
 tated the temper of the overworked author. The com- 
 plainings and caprices of his wife were added torments, 
 and under the strain he became ill. Travel and changes 
 of residence were resorted to with no benefit to either 
 health or household peace, and the domestic infelicity 
 became so intolerable that from 1834, after their return 
 from a visit to Italy, Bulwer and his wife lived apart, 
 she and the two children at their home, to which he paid 
 brief visits, he in chambers at the Albany ; and they were 
 corresponding with a view to effecting a separation. 
 
 In 1836, in reply to her representations, he wrote his 
 wife that not desiring to occasion her the anguish she 
 seemed to feel at their parting, they would forget the 
 object of their late correspondence and try living to- 
 gether once more. If the experiment was to succeed, he 
 entreated her to have some indulgence for his habits 
 and pursuits; not to complain so often of being a pris- 
 oner and dull and so forth ; and not to think it encum- 
 bent upon her to say or insinuate everything that could 
 gall or mortify him, by way of showing she did not con- 
 descend to flatter. 
 
 On the day appointed for his joining her again, he 
 sent word that he was too ill to come. She drove to the 
 
BULWEE 35 
 
 Albany. His servant was out, and her knocking being 
 continuous he went to the door and admitted her. See- 
 ing two teacups on his tray, she made a scene and then 
 returned home, and as a consequence he wrote her that 
 on no consideration would he live with her again, that 
 ''her last proceedings towards him — indecorous, un- 
 womanly and thoroughly unprovoked and groundless — 
 were nothing in themselves compared with what he had 
 borne for years, but they were the last drop and the cup 
 overflowed. Looking on one side to all the circum- 
 st-ances of their marriage, to all the sacrifices he then 
 made, to all the indulgence he had since shown her, to 
 the foolish weakness with which, when insufferably pro- 
 voked, he had time after time yielded to promises of 
 •amendment never fulfilled; and looking on the other 
 side to her repeated affronts and insults — some private, 
 some public; her habitual contempt of the respect due 
 to him, her violent language, uncertain caprices, her 
 own journal (a fair transcript of her thoughts) corre- 
 spondent with her letters and words, and filled wdth the 
 most injurious aspersions of him and his — his relations, 
 who ought to be as sacred to her as to him, the eternal 
 subject of gross, dishonoring vituperation, — all this 
 placed on her side of the balance left nothing in his mind 
 but such deep and permanent impressions of the past as 
 to enforce this calm and stern determination as to the 
 future." 
 
 The resulting deed of separation, dated April 19, 1836, 
 provided for the payment of four hundred pounds year- 
 ly for herself, with one hundred for the children so long 
 as they remained in her care. She had announced that 
 
36 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 were her ''poor little unhappy children out of the ques- 
 tion, she would not under any persuasion take more than 
 two hundred pounds a year from him. As it was, she 
 begged explicitly to state that no illness, no want, no pri- 
 vation, should ever induce her to accept one farthing 
 from him beyond the stipulated five hundred pounds — 
 if she lived she could make more/* 
 
 In June she quitted Berrymead, taking whatever of 
 its contents she desired, and removed to Ireland to the 
 home of her friend. Miss Greene, who had forthwith to 
 assume all care of the children, for the mother visited 
 at country houses, often for two weeks at a time. As a 
 consequence Miss Greene became greatly attached to 
 both boy and girl and they to her, and this incensed the 
 mother, who resolved to remove with them to Bath. 
 
 Bulwer had reason to dislike Miss Greene, but he was 
 aware of her devotion to his children, and he decided 
 they should remain in her charge. This gave his wife 
 an opportunity to appeal to the courts, but she declined 
 to avail herself of it, and her new Bath friends proved 
 to be plunderers and involved her in debt. Then she 
 wrote a novel, Cheverleyy in which, thinly disguised, her 
 liusband and his family are held up to execration. The 
 book was successful, and others followed, in all of which 
 odious charges are insinuated, always in the guise of 
 fiction. 
 
 Assisted by the nameless and the vile, and by some 
 who were neither, Bulwer 's wife pursued this poUcy of 
 indirect aspersion for years, and by such expedients as 
 reporting that influential reviewers had asked her if one 
 of the characters in her novel was really meant for her 
 
BULWER 37 
 
 husband, she contrived to direct her readers to see in 
 the evil things depicted and described, vicious and dis- 
 creditable acts perpetrated by him. These reiterated in- 
 sinuations never took the shape of direct charges; noth- 
 ing was advanced in confirmation or support of them. 
 She asserted that he was constantly under her gaze, that 
 she had letters in her possession which proved that he 
 persecuted her, but she evaded all responsibility or in- 
 vestigation by guardedly- avoiding any positive accusa- 
 tion, and though the courts were open to her, she pre- 
 ferred another line of action. 
 
 The wisdom of ignoring slander and abuse is generally 
 admitted, but that course does not secure immunity from 
 its effects. Here is an instance where neither notice nor 
 reply was vouchsafed to unjustifiable attacks persisted 
 in for more than twenty years. Every act of Bulwer^s 
 life contradicted the accusations, and he scorned even to 
 refer to them. Those who knew him condemned the in- 
 sulting innuendoes. No reputable newspaper or maga- 
 zine paid attention to the malicious publications, and 
 the libeller suffered and lost friends. But many per- 
 sons became acquainted with the uncontradicted calum- 
 nies, and assumed that attitude of spurious impartiality 
 which makes an equal distribution of blame, on the gen- 
 eral ground that in no case can right be entirely on one 
 side. Others, from a perverted feeling of chivalry, es- 
 poused the vilifier's cause; and some gave eager cre- 
 dence, and accepted the misrepresentations as verities. 
 
 Mrs. Bulwer was resourceful and shrewd. In deal- 
 ing with publishers, she pointed out that her books were 
 * * a very good speculation, as the name alone sells them. ' ' 
 
38 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 The firm of Whittaker and Company, announced as the 
 publishers of one novel printed at Taunton, promptly 
 denied all connection with it ; whereupon she propounded 
 the plan of advertising that ' ' from the very disgraceful 
 means that have been taken to suppress Very Success- 
 ful the remaining copies are selling at three pounds a 
 copy.'* 
 
 Her books were productive of revenue. For the first, 
 -second, and third, she received fifteen hundred pounds; 
 but apart from great vituperative eloquence and sarcasm 
 they possessed little merit, and became monotonous, so 
 that each succeeding novel had a less sale than its prede- 
 cessor. 
 
 The attacks upon her husband may have been the re- 
 sult of hallucination, but it is more probable they were 
 deliberate concoctions for a definite purpose. Her ex- 
 travagances really show that she was inordinately in 
 love wdth Bulwer notwithstanding her protestations to 
 the contrary. No one exercises thought, tongue, and 
 pen perpetually upon an object he despises; and her 
 immitigable jealousy, her inability to put him out of her 
 mind, her avoidance of the obvious remedy for her as- 
 serted wrongs, her rejection of the advances of men who 
 were attracted to her as friends and would fain have 
 been more — -all evidence the enduring strength of her 
 passion, just as her dislike for everyone to whom he was 
 attached proves the unreasonableness and exacting na- 
 ture of an affection which could not tolerate even rela- 
 tions as sharers in his attentions. She had agreed to the 
 separation, feeling confident in her power to bring him 
 again to her side, and regarded that measure as a de- 
 
BULWER 39 
 
 vice ' ' to bring her to her senses. * ' But when two years 
 passed without any advances from him, she concluded 
 that she was too far away, and resolved to leave Dublin. 
 The inhibition against the removal of the children was 
 construed as a sign that her absence from England was 
 desired. Therefore she hastened to Bath alone. 
 
 Before their marriage he had expressed his objection 
 to her essaying authorship, and his sensitiveness and 
 pride in his family were well known characteristics. So 
 to compel him to notice or communicate with her, she 
 wrote a novel and lampooned him and his relations, but 
 in a way which admitted of repudiation if her design 
 should succeed, and reconciliation result. That very act 
 made the thing she most desired an impossibility; for 
 however easily Bulwer might have overlooked fictitious 
 depictions wherein he was subjected to insult and mis- 
 representation, he was too tenderly devoted to his mother 
 to forgive the attacks upon her. When a London news- 
 paper published an offensive paragraph about his wife, 
 he added his name as nominal plaintiff in the successful 
 suit for libel which followed, but when she attempted a 
 prosecution of Henry Bulwer for some fabricated griev- 
 ance, he refused to abet her action, balked her design, 
 and through his attorney notified her that he felt it his 
 duty to withdraw the liberty of access to their children 
 hitherto granted, and that by a recent act of parliament 
 she could apply to the court of chancery for that ac- 
 cess, and that then all her general complaints against her 
 husband could be heard. 
 
 No appeal was made to the court, for this would have 
 ended her activities without achieving their object. The 
 
40 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 only finality agreeable to her was restoration to the po- 
 sition she had forfeited. When he married, Bulwer had 
 vowed to endow her with all his worldly goods, and she 
 had promised to love, honor, and obey him. She ignored 
 her part of the bargain, but insisted upon the strict ful- 
 fillment of his, yet the extracts from her journal which 
 have been published by her executrix are of a nature 
 to arouse surprise that her execrable behavior was toler- 
 ated so long. 
 
 Her journalistic efforts to compel him to seek peace 
 with her were renewed first at Florence, then at Geneva. 
 At the latter place she contracted debts for which her 
 husband was sued, and her trustee informed her that her 
 allowance must be stopped until the amount Was paid. 
 This she construed into another grievance ; and added 
 to the list of her accusations, that her husband had 
 leagued with others in a conspiracy to impoverish and 
 ruin her. 
 
 Meanwhile Bulwer 's mother had died. He had suc- 
 ceeded to the Knebworth estate, and was consequently 
 of greater importance and wealth. His titles were al- 
 ways quickly annexed by his wife, but she began to 
 realize that her schemes were not accomplishing her pur- 
 pose. Knebworth was his, and she had no share in it, 
 and the separation she had expected to be but temporary 
 was lengthening inconveniently. In letters to her inti- 
 mates she made further charges against her husband, 
 advancing assumptions as facts, and attributing every 
 trouble which her own actions caused her to his machin- 
 ations. She returned to England in 1847, and consulted 
 attorneys as to the feasibility of steps for compelling 
 
BULWER 41 
 
 an increase in her allowance. They could only advise 
 a suit for divorce, but that was precisely what she did 
 not want. 
 
 Bulwer's attitude toward her at this time is shown 
 by a passage in Augustus Hare 's autobiography. 
 
 At Ampthill on Christmas day, 1877, he relates, ^'At 
 dinner the conversation turned on Lord and Lady Lyt- 
 ton ; she was a Miss Doyle, a distant cousin of Sir Fran- 
 cis, and shortened his father's life by her vagaries and 
 furies. After his father's death Sir Francis left her 
 alone for many years. Then it was represented to him 
 that she had no other relations, and that it was his duty 
 to look after her interests, and he consented to see her, 
 and at her request to ask Sir E. Bulwer to give her an- 
 other hundred a year. This Sir Edward said he was 
 most willing to do, but that she must first give a written 
 retraction of some of the horrible accusations she had 
 brought against him. When Lady Bulwer heard that 
 this retraction was demanded of her, she turned upon 
 Sir Francis with the utmost fury, and abused him with 
 every vile epithet she could think of. She afterwards 
 'v^Tote to him and directed to Sir Francis Hastings Doyle, 
 Receiver of Her Majesty's Customs (however infam- 
 ous) Thames Street, London. *But,' said Sir Francis, 
 * I also had my day. I was asked as to her character. I 
 answered, ''from your point of view I believe her char- 
 acter to be quite immaculate, for I consider her to be so 
 perfectly filled with envy, hatred, malice, and all un- 
 charitableness, as to have no possible room left for the 
 exercise of any tender passion." ' " 
 
 The failure of her attempts to make her husband seek 
 
42 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 reconciliation, the lessened sums obtainable for novels 
 which the name alone sold, the unwelcome discovery that 
 her husband neither needed nor noticed her, that she had 
 not alienated any of his friends nor retarded his career, 
 infuriated her against all who were disinclined to hate 
 him without some better reason than her command. The 
 Bulwers had hitherto been the main theme of her def- 
 amations. Now her husband 's friends — Forster, Dick- 
 ens, Fonblanque, Hayward, Disraeli, Cockburn, and Jer- 
 den — were subjected to virulent abuse, and she added 
 to the list of her victims Lord Melbourne, against whom 
 an atrocious charge was made on the authority of Doctor 
 Maginn. Lady Morgan, Lady Holland, Lady Blessing- 
 ton, and Mrs. Norton, all fared badly at her hands. Mrs. 
 Wyndham Lewis was scolded, and the most cruel stab at 
 Miss Landon^s character was made by this former 
 friend. Lady Hotham had made her will in Mrs. Bul- 
 wer's favor, had entertained her at Brighton, and taken 
 her to Paius. The Chevalier de Berard had secured the 
 publication of articles written by Mrs. Bulwer for which 
 liberal payments were made, had supplied gossip about 
 her husband, and disseminated her reports. She wrote 
 to the Chevalier, ' ' I would not have Lady Hotham 's 
 bad breath and bad heart for all her money.*' He 
 showed the letter to Lady Hotham, who made a new 
 will in which the Chevalier supplanted Mrs. Bulwer, and 
 he and his benefactress were duly pilloried in the next 
 of her novels. 
 
 Her oblique philippics against her husband contain 
 odious charges and descriptions, but as illustrations of 
 his character and conduct they are utterly valueless. 
 
BULWER 43 
 
 Wherever the charges can be examined refutation re- 
 sults, and they are contradicted by everything we know 
 about him. He was constant in his friendships, and re- 
 tained through life the regard of all who were per- 
 mitted to be more than acquaintances. He was tender 
 to animals — the horse which had served him was never 
 sold, the dog which ''had grieved at his departure and 
 rejoiced at his return" has a monument at Eoiebworth. 
 Those who knew him most intimately say he was free 
 from envy, and his writings confirm their verdict. Jus- 
 tin McCarthy, the most vicious of his defamers, admits 
 that he has ''heard too many instances of his frank and 
 brotherly friendliness to utterly obscure writers, who 
 could be of no sort of service to him or to anybody, 
 not to feel satisfied of his unselfish good nature. ' ' Yet 
 his wife pictures him as false, cruel, mean, envious, and 
 charitable for advertising purposes only. 
 
 Sometimes her insinuations are merely devices to 
 create a demand for her novels, as when she claims that 
 publishers were intimidated and injunctions threatened 
 by her husband. Often they are absurd, as where he is 
 represented as so potent over writers and owners of 
 periodicals that only such matter as he approved of 
 was permitted to appear in their pages. Frequently 
 they are foolish, as when he is pictured as the employer 
 of an army of spies and poisoners and the wielder of a 
 mysterious power by which her literary ambitions were 
 frustrated. Occasionally they are impossible, as where 
 she hints that in disguise, under another name, and at 
 his boyhood's home, he wooed to her ruin the daughter 
 of one of his mother's tenants. Always her misrepre- 
 
44 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 sentations are vile and offensive. Never is he pictured 
 as other than a fiend, herself as less than an angel. 
 
 She was unable to goad him into controversy. The 
 manufacture of scandal went on, but elicited no attention 
 from him. Neither book, nor letter, nor accredited 
 report of Bulwer contains a syllable derogatory to his 
 wife. And so desirous was he that only the most con- 
 siderate interpretation should be put upon her actions, 
 that by his will he restricted all access to his papers 
 which contain the means of refuting the calumnies orig- 
 inating with his wife, to his son, and desired that no 
 other person should write any biography of him. 
 
 His daughter Emily had been in Germany, and ac- 
 companied the Baroness de Ritter to England in 1848. 
 She caught a cold which gradually grew Avorse. The 
 Baroness remained with her in London until her own 
 family requiring her attention, and the doctors assuring 
 her that absolutely no danger was to be apprehended, 
 she left Emily in the care of Miss Greene and a nurse, 
 and returned to Vienna. A thing in the form and wear- 
 ing the dress of a woman learned of this illness, ac- 
 quainted the mother, and accompanied her to the house, 
 where they engaged the room the Baroness had vacated. 
 Against the protest of the physicians, who said that emo- 
 tion would endanger Miss Lytton's life, they persisted 
 in remaining, and went to Emily's room. Bulwer had 
 been at Bayou Manor absorbed in the writing of Harold. 
 That task completed, he came to London and found his 
 daughter dangerously ill, and her recovery imperilled 
 by the presence of these two. By his orders they were 
 ejected, but Emily died the next evening. 
 
BULWER 45 
 
 Mrs. Bulwer was not the culpable party in this out- 
 rage, which was engineered and participated in by a 
 malicious busybody. But what Mrs. Bulwer had been 
 unwilling to believe before, she was compelled to ac- 
 knowledge now. All possibility of reconciliation was 
 gone forever. Her daughter's death made her a criminal 
 in the eyes of her husband. She would not be per- 
 mitted to inhabit Knebworth. Her attempts to blight 
 his reputation had failed, and her only satisfaction was 
 the knowledge that she had inflicted a great grief upon 
 him. The collapse of her air-castles made her desperate 
 and reckless, and eager to cooperate with anyone in any 
 way to spoil his enjoyment of what she Avas debarred 
 from sharing. Minor opportunities arose and were util- 
 ized, but politics furnished occasion for the most start- 
 ling performance. 
 
 The unscnipulousness of the conductors of parliamen- 
 tary elections is notorious. No party abstains from dis- 
 graceful practices if by these means votes may be won ; 
 and election agents have always been preeminently fertile 
 in stratagems which no honorable man would counte- 
 nance. Bulwer, always a protectionist, once had the 
 misfortune to do the whigs an important service, but he 
 declined to join the party, and thereby incurred their 
 hate and hostility. By great efforts and small majori- 
 ties they twice succeeded in defeating him, and thus he 
 was out of parliament for eleven years. In 1852 he was 
 returned for Hertfordshire, and continued to represent 
 that constituency until he was made a peer. 
 
 In their anxiety to keep him out of parliament the 
 whigs made use of his wife, not only by references in 
 
46 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 placards and fabricated addresses, but even by bringing 
 her to the hustings. In 1858 he was returning thanks 
 to the voters, when an equipage decorated in yellow — 
 the color of the whigs — was driven alongside his car- 
 riage, and one of its occupants, a woman dressed in 
 yellow, and carrying a yellow sunshade, addressed him. 
 He did not recognize in the florid, portly dame, the sylph 
 he had known twenty years before, and his deafness pre- 
 vented him from hearing what she said. Putting his 
 hand to his ear to intercept the sound, he bent forward 
 to listen to her, and her words were : 
 
 * ' Wretch ! don 't you know me ? I am your wife ! * ' 
 
 Bulwer bowed to the voters, and drove away leaving 
 her to harangue at her pleasure. 
 
 This encounter exhausted his toleration. Concluding 
 that only madness could account for her degrading her- 
 self into the hireling of a dishonorable political opposi- 
 tion, he instructed attorneys to employ medical authori- 
 ties and enquire into her sanity. Their report confirmed 
 his surmise, and by his orders the necessary formalities 
 were gone through and she was committed to a private 
 madhouse. His political opponents turned the occur- 
 rence to every possible account. 
 
 Too ill to attend to the matter himself, friends inter- 
 fered and took the business in hand. After three weeks 
 detention she was released, and his son accompanied the 
 wretched woman abroad, but so obnoxious and intolerable 
 had everything connected with her become, that by thus 
 associating with his mother, to spare his father further 
 vexation and annoyance, Robert Lytton became for a 
 time estranged from one parent, while the vagaries and 
 
BULWER 47 
 
 tempests of violence of the other made the four months 
 during which he endured her caprices an unforgettable 
 horror. When made aware of the motives which had 
 actuated Robert Lytton, and satisfied that the mother 
 had failed to pervert him, the affectionate relations be- 
 tween father and son were restored, while by a new deed 
 the allowance to Mrs. Bulwer was increased to five hun- 
 dred pounds per year. 
 
 The failure to win her son's support and affection away 
 from the father dampened but did not extinguish the 
 ardor of the terribly disappointed woman. Publishers 
 declined her offered books, but still she found oppor- 
 tunity to repeat and add to her tale of supposed wrongs, 
 still she sought occasion to mortify the owner of Kneb- 
 worth, even planning the organization of a public sub- 
 scription to herself as an object of charity. Her ungov- 
 ernable temper drove away some who wished to befriend 
 her. She tolerated only those who entirely agreed- with 
 her. Quarrels with printers and frequent changes of 
 lawyers supplied excitement which seemed necessary to 
 her existence. Gradually her circle dwindled, and she 
 gravitated to lower social environments, feeling acutely 
 the contrast her condition presented to that which had 
 been, and might have continued but for her determina- 
 tion to compel what she could easily have induced. Not- 
 withstanding her ''fear that sudden good fortune such 
 as her brain being turned by a widow's cap might prove 
 fatal to her," she sui^vived her husband until 1882, 
 dying in her eightieth year. 
 
 Had she possessed a little common sense, her life would 
 have been a happy and honored one. No one more needed 
 
48 PROSE ROMANCES OP BULWER 
 
 a wise counselor, no one rejected counsel with greater 
 scorn. She devoted her abilities to an unworthy scheme, 
 and was unscrupulous in her methods. She failed in all 
 her apparent purposes, and wrecked her own life, but 
 she effected more than she probably perceived. Not only 
 did she harass and embitter her husband's life, cause 
 him to prefer solitude to society, and other lands to 
 England: she also diverted the main current of his 
 energies from political into literary channels. But for 
 his defeat at Lincoln, to which she contributed, Bulwer 
 might have been premier of England after Aberdeen. 
 As it was, the chance came later; but he was then infirm, 
 deaf, griefworn, and too appreciative of the abilities 
 and services of Disraeli to take any steps except such as 
 would further the claims of his friend. 
 
 Pilling in the replies to a series of questions in one of 
 the books of Confessions once popular, Bulwer in 1866, 
 against the query ' ' What do you love most in the world ? ' ' 
 wrote, * ' The woman I hate the most. " 
 
 In 1836, after the disruption of his home, Bulwer was 
 compelled to relax his strivings for fame, and care for 
 his health, which was now in so wretched a condition 
 that he despaired of recovery and regarded his days as 
 already numbered. Physicians advised travel and rest, 
 so he visited different parts of England and Ireland, and 
 made journeys through France, Germany, and Italy. His 
 eager mind, which could not be constrained into inactiv- 
 ity, was directed toward other exercises, change of study 
 supplying an equivalent for rest, with the further effect 
 of increasing the range and variety of form of his literary 
 productions. 
 
BULWER 49 
 
 The efforts to regain lost health, beginning in 1831, 
 continued until 1844, when he became interested in the 
 water cure, and as a patient at the Malvern Hydropathic 
 institution, derived much benefit. In an article con- 
 tributed to the New Monthly Magazine, he called atten- 
 tion to the advantages of the treatment. 
 
 Meanwhile an acquaintance with Mr. Macready, and 
 sympathy with that gentleman's desire to render the 
 theatre worthy of the patronage of intelligent- human 
 beings, caused Bulwer to turn his attention to the stage. 
 He wrote a series of plays, of which a few were produced 
 and have retained their popularity. But Mr. Macready 
 found that the management of a London theatre was un- 
 profitable, and with his retirement the author of The 
 Lady of Lyotis, Richelieu, and Money, lost all incentive 
 to write for the stage. Several plays which he reckoned 
 among the best of his works have never been performed, 
 and therefore remain unpublished. 
 
 The playwright experiences were of great importance 
 in Bulwer 's artistic development. They gave him larger 
 and sounder perceptions of the dignity and effectiveness 
 of dramatic methods, familiarized him with the tools of 
 the profession — the actors, the stage, and its accessories 
 — and supplemented his general information regarding 
 structure, form, and conduct by knowledge, practically 
 acquired, of the respective values of dialogue and narra- 
 tion, incidents and situations ; and enabled him to recog- 
 nise quickly the dramatic possibilities in a story, a char- 
 acter, or an event. After the brief period during which 
 he was engaged in the production of acted plays, notice- 
 able advances in his methods, and higher achievements in 
 his work are apparent. Between Maltr avers which pre- 
 
50 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 ceded and Night and Morning which followed his writ- 
 ings for the stage, the difference is very great. In the 
 latter the construction is more symmetrical, the situa^ 
 tions more compact and poignant, the characters are 
 more deftly moved and displayed in action, and the con- 
 densation is greater. And all his succeeding works are 
 essentially dramatic in structure and presentation. 
 
 On the accession of Queen Victoria iu 1838, Bulwer 
 was knighted as a recognition of literature, Herschel 
 being similarly honored as a representative of science. 
 
 The succeeding decade of his life was crowded with 
 sorrows and griefs and disappointments, but it was also 
 the period of his most wonderful productiveness. From 
 the harsh and painful real he turned to that world where- 
 in fairer conditions are found, and in the abstraction of 
 artistic creation he found refuge from the iron visitations 
 of calamity. 
 
 The Earl of Durham, a friend and statesman whose 
 views and policy he most cordially admired, betrayed by 
 the ministry which had begged his aid, died broken- 
 hearted in 1840, without having attained to the power 
 and position to which his ability and popularity entitled 
 him. At the general elections in 1841 Bulwer was de- 
 feated at Lincoln, and ceased to be a member of parlia- 
 ment. In 1844 his mother died and he succeeded to the 
 Knebworth estate, taking the name of Lytton in com- 
 pliance with the terms of her will, and in 1848 occurred 
 the tragic death of his daughter. 
 
 The loss of his seat in the house of commons changed 
 the course of Bulwer 's life. Hitherto politics had been 
 studied and cultivated with as much assiduity as liter- 
 
BULWER 51 
 
 ature. He had regarded his writings as auxiliary ex- 
 pressions of his views, extending his influence and estab- 
 lishing his reputation, linking his name to his land's 
 language, and securing future recognition. But for con- 
 temporary influence, the career of a successful parlia- 
 mentarian had appealed with greater force to his ambi- 
 tion than literary fame, and in his plans had always had 
 the foremost consideration. His defeat at Lincoln and 
 the offensive notoriety given to his domestic infelicity at 
 recurring elections, added to increasing deafness, fragile 
 health, and great griefs, caused him to abandon parlia- 
 mentary life. Though he contested Lincoln again un- 
 successfully in 1847, he declined other seats and resigned 
 himself to the relinquishment of what had been his chief 
 aspiration. 
 
 He had won more successes than are usually obtained 
 by a member unattached to either of the great parties. 
 He was among the earliest of those who objected to the 
 taxes on knowledge, and his speeches against the news- 
 paper stamp duties had much to do with their immediate 
 reduction and ultimate repeal. By the Dramatic Au- 
 thor's Act, which he carried, he removed the evils under 
 which playwrights had labored, putting an end to the 
 wrongful appropriation of their productions without 
 recompense. He advocated changes in the corn laws, 
 but always opposed their repeal. His objections to the 
 Irish Coercion Act were ineffectual, but many of his 
 phrases on the subject are still current. His speech 
 against negro apprenticeship changed sufficient votes to 
 defeat the government, and hastened emancipation. His 
 efforts in the house were steadily supported by his articles 
 
52 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 in the New Monthly Magazine, the Examiner, and the 
 Monthly Chronicle^ and when William IV, dismissing 
 the whig government, installed Wellington as premier, 
 Bulwer issued a pamphlet in defense of the fallen min- 
 isters, which affected the ensuing elections, and assisted 
 in returning them to power. Again in 1838, by an article 
 in the Edinhwrgh Review, he greatly helped the whigs. 
 But though commending some of their measures, he dis- 
 liked and distrusted the party, and when the anti-corn 
 law programme was adopted, and a fiscal measure made 
 their distinctive principle, all his relations with the whigs 
 definitely ended. They changed their policy in the direc- 
 tion of popularity; his convictions were unaltered, and 
 he remained a protectionist. 
 
 His political career thus arrested, the management of 
 his property and the education of his son and daughter 
 were his only occupations apart from literary work, on 
 which he now concentrated all his attention and energy. 
 In The Last of the Barons he made romance the elucida- 
 tor of history ; in Zanoni he raised it to equivalence with 
 the epic ; and in Lucretia he rivalled the mightiest of old 
 tragedies. A volume of reflective verse. The New Timon, 
 King Arthur; and a translation of Schiller's poems 
 evidenced the variety of his industry. 
 
 During these years the master of Knebworth was a 
 lonely man. He entertained largely, but his deafness 
 precluded familiar converse with guests other than old- 
 time friends. An honored visitor at the houses of those 
 in whom he reposed confidence, he had grown suspicious 
 of strangers, shunned the circles where political enemies 
 might be encountered, and was reserved and guarded 
 
BULWER 53 
 
 when whig writers or politicians were present. His 
 capacity for work remained as great as when in earlier 
 years he had astonished S. C. Hall by having articles 
 ready for him in the morning which could not have been 
 begun until late in the preceding evening. The Lady of 
 Lyons was written in ten days, Harold in three weeks. 
 Sometimes he was busy with two or more tasks concur- 
 rently, and often he became so absorbed in the work he 
 was evolving that his actions, dress, and speech for 
 months at a stretch partook of the character of those 
 he was portraying. 
 
 He spent much of his time abroad, but continued com- 
 position wherever he went, and kept up an extensive 
 correspondence. He was a competent judge of art, and 
 while travelling he gathered paintings, sculptures, tapes- 
 tries, and porcelains with which he adorned Knebworth 
 after completing the house in harmony with his mother's 
 plans. His close observation and acute discernment of 
 the tendencies of measures and movements were shown 
 by his forecasting the rise of the house of Sardinia; 
 pointing out the insecurity of Louis Philippe, and the 
 renewed growth of Napoleonism; and presaging PeeFs 
 desertion of the land-owners. 
 
 He was in Italy when Peel announced his determina- 
 tion to repeal the corn laws ; and the treachery of a leader 
 to the party which had trusted him, and his conviction 
 of the mischievous unwisdom of the proposed changes, 
 reawakened his political ardor. He returned to Eng- 
 land, published the Letters to John Bull in defense of 
 protection, contested Hertfordshire successfully, and in 
 1852 reentered parliament and straightway attained a 
 
54 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 commanding influence in the house. He could not take 
 part in debate, but he was one of the dozen foremost 
 orators, and spoke frequently and effectively, though 
 speechmaking tasked his strength severely. Under the 
 excitation it produuced he was energetic, rapid, and force- 
 ful, but after the effort his spare frame trembled, and 
 he reeled in his walk as if inebriated. But so resolute 
 and self-compelling was the man that physical disabili- 
 ties which Disraeli thought were insuperable, aggravated 
 by deafness which made the once * ' lover-like ' ' voice dis- 
 cordant, were triumphed over, and by the most critical 
 assembly in the world he was recognised as an orator, 
 and delivered speeches which, outlasting their immediate 
 purpose, continue to command attention. 
 
 Bulwer's speeches in the house of commons in their 
 combination of present effectiveness and enduring in- 
 terest are admirable achievements. Elsewhere and often 
 he demonstrated his mastery of the art of the orator to 
 varied and sometimes hostile audiences, whose attention 
 he always secured. Opulence of information, thorough 
 mastery of the subject, and knowledge of mankind, char- 
 acterise all his addresses. 
 
 Parliamentary duties and the occupations which ac- 
 companied their discharge were not permitted to monop- 
 olize all his attention. He continued to produce ro- 
 mances which were enriched by the experiences acquired 
 as a legislator, and dealt, at least incidentally, with mat- 
 ters pertinent to the passing time, or relevant to existing 
 conditions. Emigration as a career for the educated was 
 advocated in The Caxtons; the inutility of haste and 
 unwisdom of class antagonism were enforced in My 
 
BULWER 55 
 
 Novel ; the ease with which a propensity not necessarily 
 blameworthy may be nursed into a vice was shown in 
 What Will He Do With It f ; the weaknesses inherent in 
 unrestrained democratic rule were exposed in Harold] 
 and the evil possibilities accompanying commercial de- 
 velopment were indicated in A Strange Story. A play, 
 ^'Not so Bad as we Seem," was written for a company 
 of distinguished amateurs which included Charles Dick- 
 ens, John Forster, and Douglas Jerrold. St. Stephens^ 
 a series of portraits of past political leaders ; and Coiii- 
 flowerSf a collection of poems, were other additions to 
 the list of his works. 
 
 Prudent and careful in business matters, he made fre- 
 quent purchases of houses and properties, which were 
 invariably disposed of advantageously, and he never had 
 any misunderstandings with his publishers. 
 
 He would not submit to imposition, but he bore no re- 
 sentment toward those who attempted to over-reach him. 
 Hazlitt unsuccessfully tried something nearly allied to 
 blackmail, yet Bulwer made generous mention of the 
 Irish critic in England and the English, and contributed 
 a kindly notice of his writings to a posthumous publica- 
 tion of Haijlitt 'a Remains. 
 
 He was selfreliant and intrepid. His first election for 
 Hertfordshire was hotly contested, the whigs directing 
 their principal attacks upon him as the most eminent of 
 the conservative candidates. A body of roughs imported 
 for the occasion, by the use of brickbats, secured posses- 
 sion of the ground in front of the hustings, and by their 
 yells and execrations prevented anything said by the 
 senior candidates from being heard. When Bulwer ad- 
 
56 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 vanced to the front they redoubled their fury. Below 
 the hustings an enclosure had been constructed for the 
 reporters. Suddenly Bulwer leaped down, alighting 
 upon this platform. A moment 's silence followed. Tak- 
 ing advantage of it, he entered into conversation with 
 the noisiest of the roughs, shook hands with him, 
 drew him into an argument, and glided into an hour's 
 speech which was listened to respectfully and cordially 
 cheered. 
 
 In geomancy he accomplished remarkable forecasts. 
 The autobiography of Augustus Hare details one. In 
 Drummond Wolff's Rambling Recollections another is 
 given. The Life by the Earl of Lytton records the in- 
 terpretation of a figure concerning Disraeli, and John 
 Morley in his biography of Gladstone remarks about a 
 geomantic deduction he had examined, that ''the stars 
 must have known their business. ' ' 
 
 A dry humor often vented in playful irony, and gen- 
 erally accepted literally by his hearers, an extreme 
 economy in small expenses combined with great liberality 
 in large matters (the characteristic of all rulers who 
 have made their states prosperous), disregard for the 
 current fashion in dress, and a serious respect for divina- 
 tion, astrology, and other things usually scorned as 
 superstitions, were surface oddities of the man. Deeper 
 xjharacteristics were intense patriotism, great tenderness, 
 reverence for his mother and lasting regard for all that 
 she had loved, and readiness to counsel or aid in any 
 project which appealed to his sympathy. 
 
 Envious mediocrities continued to decry the man 
 
BULWER 57 
 
 whose greatness they were incompetent to gauge, but 
 from other sources honors flowed in upon him. He 
 received the degree of D. C. L. from Oxford University 
 in 1853, was chosen Lord Rector of Edinburgh Uni- 
 versity in 1854, aind Lord Rector of Glasgow University 
 in 1856-57 and again in 1858. 
 
 He became Secretary for the Colonies in 1858-59, dur- 
 ing Lord Derby's second premiership, and adminis- 
 tered the affairs of his office in a manner which won the 
 commendation of the editor of The Times, usually an 
 unfriendly critic. But the absence of elevated views, 
 the general preference of small successes and indiffer- 
 ence to great issues in policy, and a truckling spirit in 
 the majority of those prominent in both political parties, 
 made the position of cabinet minister uncongenial to 
 him. His scrupulous attention to its duties greatly over- 
 taxed his strength, and necessitated a less active partic- 
 ipation in legislative affairs, and on the defeat of the 
 Derby administration, he had recourse to further and 
 more extended travels. 
 
 His son was a poet of unusual promise, and longed 
 to follow his father *s example and become a man of 
 letters. Bulwer, aware of the meagre honors, slender 
 rewards, and equivocal appreciation grudgingly accord- 
 ed to literary ability, planned a different career for him, 
 made his education a preparation for diplomacy, and 
 by wise management secured the surrender of his son's 
 cherished desire, and the adoption of a calling not great- 
 ly liked, but more worthy and dignified ; and so tactful 
 was the father that the offer of a position under Sir 
 
58 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 Henry Bulwer came as a surprise to Robert Lytton, and 
 its acceptance was consented to with seeming reluctance 
 by Bulwer. 
 
 By this time pain, worry, sorrow, and the wear which 
 emotion causes in writers who feel, had changed the 
 man more than mere years and excessive labor would 
 account for. His ' ^ glitteringly golden" hair had be- 
 come iron grey, deep lines had been ploughed in his 
 face, his shoulders were bent, the former restlessness 
 had been succeeded by apparent languor. He whose 
 energy had once been so buoyant seemed listless and 
 broken, and abusive attacks which formerly roused his 
 anger were now regarded with indifference. His inter- 
 est in politics and social movements was undiminished, 
 and his literaiy industry continued unabated, although 
 the ten years following 1861 have not a single romance 
 to their credit. The wise and thoughtful essays called 
 Caxtoniana; the rhymed comedy Walpole; a, translation 
 of Hororce ; and The Lost Tales of Miletus were the pro- 
 ducts of these years. 
 
 In 1866 he was elevated to the peerage, and gazetted 
 Baron Lytton of Knebworth, but he never spoke in the 
 Upper Chamber. Illness or untoward circumstances 
 interfered on each occasion when he intended to ad- 
 dress the lords. 
 
 For the remainder of his life, he was an onlooker 
 rather than an agent in events; and his art afforded 
 him a solacing satisfaction denied to his survey of actu- 
 alities. Foreseeing the imminent domination of an im- 
 perfectly educated and untrained democracy ; witness- 
 
BULWER 59 
 
 ing the ferment of partially considered "new ideas" 
 concerning government and social organization; recog- 
 nising the absence of large views in statesmen, and the 
 disproportionate esteem vouchsafed to wealth by all 
 classes; he regarded with dismay the future of his na- 
 tive laud, and the despondency with which the prospect 
 filled him colors the last group of his writings. 
 
 The Coming Race was published anonymously in 1871, 
 and the erroneous ascription of its authorship to other 
 writers gave him much amusement. In that work refer- 
 ence was made to the malady which physicians had 
 warned him might suddenly prove fatal. The Parisians 
 followed in monthly instalhnents in Blackwood^ s Maga- 
 zine, and a new fame had been achieved, without any- 
 one discerning the personality of the writer. He was 
 living at Torquay, his intellectual vigor unimpaired and 
 his ability to interest readers re-attested, — busy with 
 Kenelm ChUUngly as well as The Parisians, engaged 
 also upon Pausanias, and putting the finishing touches 
 on a play. His son and daughter-in-law, after a two- 
 months' visit, had just left for London, when what 
 proved to be the final seizure of his old ailment attacked 
 him, and put an end to his varied activities. He wrote 
 putting off an engagement with a friend, saying he was 
 suffering more pain than he had ever endured in his 
 life. His son was summoned, and arrived in time to 
 witness the peaceful ending of his father's life. Soon 
 all was over. Bulwer died January 18, 1873, and was 
 buried in Westminster Abbey. John Forster wrote of 
 him, * ' Never in the coui'se of our lifelong intimacy have 
 
60 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 I found him other than the very highest and noblest and 
 truest under every test and trial. ' ' 
 
 The stone which marks his grave bears the following 
 inscription : 
 
 EDWABD GEORGE EAELE LYTTON BULWER LYTTON 
 
 Born 25. May 1803 — Died 18. January 1873 
 
 1831-1841 Member of Parliament for St. Ives and for Lincoln 
 
 1838 Baronet of the United Kingdom 
 
 1852-1866 Knight of the Shire for the County of Hertford 
 
 1858 One of Her Majesty's Principal Secretaries of State 
 
 Knight Grand Cross of St. Michael and St. George 
 
 1866 Baron Lytton of Knebworth 
 
 Laborious and distinguished in all fields of intellectual activity 
 
 Indefatigable and Ardent in the cultivation and love of Letters 
 
 His genius as an Author was displayed in the most varied forms 
 
 Which have connected indissolubly 
 
 With every department of the Literature of his time 
 
 The name of Edward Bulwer Lytton 
 
BULWER'S ROMANCES 
 
 THE experiences and reflections of one whose fac- 
 ulties and powers were developed and strength- 
 ened by a life divided between varied action and 
 comprehensive study are embodied in Bulwer's ro- 
 mances, which in their sequential succession mirror the 
 circumstances and stages of their author's career; grow- 
 ing, widening, and increasing in importance, wisdom, 
 and purpose, with his enlarged opportunities and ad- 
 vancement. All his works, in addition to their struc- 
 tural and artistic qualities, have a definite applicability 
 to conditions and ideas prevalent at the time of their 
 production. Each sought to draw some lesson from the 
 past, to effect some beneficial social amendment, or to 
 elevate the character of his countrymen, and thus aug- 
 ment the honor and influence of his native land. Though 
 he wrote of other countries, it was always of England 
 that he thought, and the permanent growth in intelli- 
 gence and usefulness of his race rather than the advan- 
 tage of any one class was the constant object of his la- 
 bors. 
 
 His position, education, and the circumstances of his 
 life were unusually advantageous. Born a member of 
 an old and well-to-do family, associating from childhood 
 with the high and eminent, an extensive traveller, a sys- 
 tematic reader, master of the Latin, Greek, French, Ger- 
 
62 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 man, and Italian languages, deeply informed concerning 
 the literatures of other lands and familiar with that of 
 his own, his equipment for authorship was enlarged by- 
 active participation in civic affairs, and thereby he ac- 
 quired that appositeness which is usually lacking in 
 those who are closet students only. With continental 
 cities and peoples he was intimately acquainted, and 
 every department of human knowledge except the rig- 
 orously scientific interested him. He was profoundly 
 versed in art, learned in philosophy, and not a disciple 
 of any one system ; independent in his judgment, shrewd 
 in criticism, acute in observation ; and all his knowledge 
 was applied to the study of man and his destiny. 
 
 In him a mind naturally keen, penetrating, and eager 
 was so admirably cultivated that where he reasons he is 
 logical and illuminating, and in imagining remains ex- 
 quisitely sane. Even when dealing with things remote 
 from human experience, he is never lost in cloudland. 
 His purpose is always clear, his mastery of his materials 
 always evident. 
 
 Two qualities rarely combined in one individual were 
 united in him: clear-seeing, the ability to perceive pol- 
 icies immediately advantageous ; and far-sightedness, the 
 power to discern the ultimate results of new departures 
 and movements and innovations. 
 
 He was an observer, investigator, and thinker who 
 utilized his every experience; a student who deemed 
 every effort of other minds to extend the bounds of the 
 known, worthy of his serious attention; an active par- 
 ticipator in business affairs and statesmanship ; a writer 
 who never trafficked on his name nor sought to detract 
 
BULWER'S ROMANCES 63 
 
 from the reputation of others, finding more satisfaction 
 in praising than in finding fault, and regarding good- 
 ness as of more merit than ability; an achiever of mar- 
 vellous successes, who endured 
 
 ' ' The long sadness of a much wronged life, 
 The sneer of satire, and the gibe of fools, 
 The broken hearthgods, and the perjured wife" 
 
 without repining, or any lessening of his geniality, kind- 
 liness, and sympathy. 
 
 A wide range of subjects, a noble array of characters, 
 varied methods of presentation, and a style matchless 
 for its combination of dignity, ease, and clearness, are 
 the means by which extensive erudition, vast knowledge 
 of the world, incisive penetration into motives and de- 
 signs, reasoned consideration of policies, projects, and 
 speculations, practical acquaintance with humanity *s 
 strengths and weaknesses, and original suggestions, ob- 
 servations, and comments are presented to his readers. 
 
 His career was a gradual advance to higher dignities 
 and honors, and his romances fall naturally into five 
 groups correspondent with important stages in his prog- 
 ress. 
 
 In the first period he was avowedly an experimenter, 
 intent upon learning the capabilities and limitations of 
 the romance form, acquiring a knowledge of methods 
 and the use of materials, and gaining facility in the art 
 of composition. Falklandy Felham, The Disotvned, Dev- 
 ereux, and Paul Clifford belong to this period. 
 
 The works of the second group express the views and 
 record the investigations of one who was as much a pub- 
 
64 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 licist as an author. With his election to the House of 
 Commons the parliamentarian was joined to the writer 
 and shared in his interests, experiences, and aspirations. 
 Godolphin, Eiigene Aram, The Pilgrims of the Rhine ^ 
 The Last Days of Pompeii, Rienzi, Leila, and Maltrav- 
 ers, constitute this group. 
 
 The third period coincides with the years during 
 which he was absent from parliament, and followed his 
 experiments in playwriting. His undivided attention 
 being given to art, this is the group of his mightiest 
 works. It includes Night and Morning, Zanoni, The 
 Last of the Barons, Lucretia, Harold, and Pausanias. 
 
 With his election as member for Hertfordshire the 
 fourth period begins. The author and legislator are 
 merged, and the works have an intimate bearing on cur- 
 rent movements and social conditions. The Caxtons, 
 My Novel, and What Will He Do With It? form this 
 group. 
 
 The fifth period followed his retirement from official 
 life, when, no longer a participator in events, he records 
 his views of present tendencies, and looking into the 
 future describes the potentialities of current theories 
 and new ideas. A Strange Story, The Coming Race, 
 Kenelm Chillingly, and The Parisians are the products 
 of this period. 
 
FALKLAND 
 
 THIS is a study in sentiment, and belongs to the 
 same class as Goethe's Werther and Fronde's 
 Nemesis of Fa/ith. It records and subjects to an- 
 alysis an infatuation which honor, good resolutions, and 
 prudent counsels are insufficient to dissolve; shows that 
 when passion is permitted to overmaster duty and im- 
 pel to the disregard of social conventions, retributive 
 calamity results; and illustrates the fact by the fates of 
 the sinning characters. 
 
 Part of the story is narrated, much is told in letters 
 and excerpts from diaries. Its lessons are that virtuous 
 principles are more desirable than uncertain impulses, 
 and that good hearts, unguided by regulated minds, will 
 not preserve their possessors from error and punishment. 
 
 Falkland was published anonymously by Colbum in 
 1828. Its author never admitted it into any of the col- 
 lected editions of his works, because he condemned its 
 over-somber coloring of life and its indulgence in a vein 
 of sentiment, common enough, but ''neither new in its 
 expression nor true in its philosophy." He wrote of 
 Falkland in 1837, as ''the crude and passionate utter- 
 ance of a mere boy, which I sincerely regret and would 
 willingly retract." 
 
 But the work displays power, feeling, and insight, and 
 is interesting not only as a first work, but because it 
 
66 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 shows how observation and experience were utilized by a 
 very young writer, whose acquaintance with Lady Caro- 
 line Lamb suggested the chara<jters and incidents. And 
 it marks a stage in the artistic development of its author,, 
 for through it his critical perception was advanced be- 
 yond what had hitherto been the standard of fictionists, 
 and he saw that the moral intent of a work was not the 
 only consideration, for in the conduct of a story such de- 
 pictions as may by any possibility injuriously affect a 
 reader must be avoided. Otherwise incidenta,l descrip- 
 tions may nullify the general purpose, as in Fielding's 
 Tom Jones certain portions have a harmful potentiality, 
 notwithstanding the unquestionable ethical intent of the 
 whole work. 
 
PELHAM 
 
 THE education and after-adventures of one of gen- 
 tle birth, reared and trained as was customary with 
 his class, is narrated in this work. Pelham is an 
 only son, with an inherited position and fortune. His 
 father is easy going and improvident, his mother shrewd, 
 widely acquainted, and worldly wise. Her letters to her 
 son abound in admonitions concerning his deportment 
 and the steps she deems essential to his social success, 
 which is the great object of her ambition. His appear- 
 ance and conduct being in accordance with her injunc- 
 tions and ^\^shes, the impression her son creates is that of 
 a foppish man of fashion. But though conforming in his 
 demeanor to the desires of Lady Frances, Pelham is less 
 selfish and restricted in his sympathies than his mother *8 
 teachings were intended to make him. He obeys her, 
 but not from the motives she inculcates. Thus his 
 friendship with Glanville is the result of sincere admira- 
 tion, and it is only an added satisfaction that their in- 
 timacy is approved by her ; and his affection for his 
 uncle, who first interested him in the acquisition of 
 knowledge, remains undiminished despite the personal 
 disappointment and the material change in prospects 
 consequent upon the marriage of that kindly old kins- 
 man. 
 
 The characteristics of the work are brilliancy, knowl- 
 
68 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 edge of the world, and new observations gathered from 
 experiences with many men in various scenes. The fol- 
 lies and negligences of the class to which its hero be- 
 longs, such as the perfunctory home training, the mean 
 considerations which determine the choice of schools, the 
 unsatisfactory character of the education acquired, the 
 pains and heartaches endured in the strife for social 
 position, the trivialities of conversation, and the undue 
 importance attached to little things, have their lessons 
 compacted into aphorisms or exposed by examples and 
 made more effective by ridicule which generally sparkles 
 but sometimes stings, and which does not spare even the 
 hero. 
 
 Pelhani is portrayed as one whose real ability, energy, 
 and acquirements are less obvious than his affected de- 
 votion to fashion and effeminate avoidance of exertion. 
 The coxcomb masks the man. Determined to be more 
 than one of the crowd, in whatever circumstances he 
 
 j^finds himself he contrives to win admiration. Thrown 
 among the frivolous and fashionable, he shares their 
 follies while laughing at them; and faultless taste in 
 dress and readiness in conversation are with him more 
 than means to an end. Though he deliberately assumes 
 the demeanor of an exquisite and acts the part with 
 such thoroughness that to the ordinary and superficial 
 he appears an effeminate fop, he is careful that the ap- 
 parent shall be merely a part of the man, and that the 
 reality shall be a cultivated and experienced gentleman. 
 
 ^Therefore the hours presumably the most idle are de- 
 voted to study and the acquirement of skill in physical 
 accomplishments, and thus he is equal to the occasion 
 
PELHAM 69 
 
 when readiness and courage are required. Poetry has 
 little charm for him, sentiment none. He is always 
 practical, and shrewd as well as observant. He never 
 gives confidences. He notes and avoids committing the 
 blunders made by able and older men, and prepares 
 carefully for whatever duty he undertakes. Accepting 
 the forms and conventions of society as settled institu- 
 tions, he conforms to them, the while he fits himself for 
 other circles by developing every quality he is conscious 
 of possessing, and therefore those who took for granted 
 that only a vacuous mind and nerveless arm were the 
 accompaniinents of the listless exquisite experience many 
 surprises. He is welcomed in social circles, his election 
 canvass is successful, his political mission is satisfactorily 
 discharged, and it is only when a larger ambition is bom 
 in him that a disappointment is encountered; and this 
 disappointment is scarcely a disadvantage, for a prac- 
 tical experience of the insincerity of a professional pol- 
 itician is a valuable lesson most useful when early 
 learned. 
 
 Pelham proves by his conduct that one may frequent 
 fashionable circles and mingle with those of the fine 
 world, and yet be something better, wiser, and nobler 
 than a mere man of fashion ; that the well-to-do are not 
 of necessity restricted to lives of idleness, shows, and com- 
 monplace; that making the most of one's physical self 
 may be advantageously supplemented by the cultivation 
 of mental capacities ; that careful study of matters, men, 
 and books, useful activity and a cheerful disposition, 
 are the healthy and fitting complements to natural and 
 social advantages ; and that these enable their cultivator, 
 
70 PROSE ROMANCES OP BULWER 
 
 with greater ease and thoroughness, to be a true friend, 
 a useful citizen, and a good man. 
 
 That the obstacles to such a consummation are neither 
 few nor slight is not concealed. The lack of parental 
 interest in graver accomplishments than such as secure 
 immediate effect or social prestige, the omissions of 
 teachers who too often leave manhood unprovided with 
 the taste for and the disposition toward many of the 
 most important pursuits of the cultivated, the tempta- 
 tion to idleness, extravagances, and dissipation which 
 surround the well-born young, are all displayed. But 
 the added advantages in resources from ennui and in- 
 creased power to judge and decide rightfully, to deal 
 with opposition and to manage men, as well as the 
 widened scope afforded by knowledge mastered, are also 
 illustrated in the satisfaction, unaccompanied by re- 
 pinings or self -blame, with which Pelham meets disap- 
 pointment when his hopes are overthrown, and the con- 
 fidence with which he renews his efforts to win an open- 
 ing for the vocation he has chosen. 
 
 The object of Pelham 's ambition is not achieved. He 
 
 i^aspires to a career in parliament. The honor comes 
 within his reach, but he declines to make the necessary 
 surrender of principle even in pretense, and the occasion 
 passes. He preserves his self respect but loses the de- 
 
 ^sired dignity. It is curious how in thus acting Pelham 
 fares precisely as do nearly all the important characters 
 in the long list of Bulwer's works. Bach of his heroes 
 has a definite creed and purpose to the realization of 
 which he devotes himself, but the wished-for end is not 
 
 I attained. Thwarted and frustrated, each is disappoint- 
 
PELHAM 71 
 
 ed, but the apparent failure is neither inglorious nor hu- 
 miliating. Nay, it generally commands more respect 
 and admiration than mere success would receive. 
 
 Written while the impressions of things seen and re- 
 membered were vivid, Pelham is bright and gay, but the^ 
 exaggeration necessitated by the aim to supplant *'By- 
 ronisra "by something more manly has injuriously af- . 
 f ected the portrayal of Glanville. ^ 
 
 The union of wide culture and useful activity with 
 the courteous deportment, courage, and honor always 
 characteristic of the well-born, has become general since 
 the creation of Pelham, and the invariable use of black 
 for gentlemen's evening wear dates from the publication 
 of this work, the first edition of which appeared anony- 
 mously in 1828. Slight changes were made in the sec- 
 ond edition of the same year, which contained a preface. 
 The edition of 1840 had a second preface, and a third 
 was added in 1848. These are all omitted in the later 
 issues of the work. 
 
THE DISOWNED 
 
 PELHAM contained the results of observations re- 
 corded while the impressions were fresh, and shows 
 no trace of the influence of contemporary writers. 
 The Disowned has many characteristics of the fictions 
 current at the time of its production, and especially shows 
 the influence of Godwin in the patient enquiry into mo- 
 tives and the tendency to disquisition. It has two plots, 
 intentionally conducted apart until the catastrophe unites 
 them, and its characters exhibit the effects on conduct 
 of the undue development of certain qualities, which be- 
 come harmful when cultivated to excess. Talbot, Boro- 
 daile, Warner, Crauford, Mordaunt, and Wolf are dom- 
 inated rather than influenced by their respective charac- 
 teristics of vanity, pride, ambition, selfishness, philan- 
 thropy, and zeal, which are the shaping forces of their 
 careers, and from his observation of the results, the value 
 of moderation is learned by the high-spirited Clarence 
 who, disowned by his father, leaves home and starts out 
 to make his own way in the world, relinquishing even his 
 name. His fortunes occupy the larger part of the work. 
 The reverses and vicissitudes of Algernon Mordaunt 
 are the theme of a second plot, less extensive but more 
 poignant than the story of Clarence. His history is the 
 exposition of a theory deliberately cherished as the guid- 
 ing principle of his life, which regards ignorance as 
 
THE DISOWNED 73 
 
 identical with vice, knowledge necessarily the way to 
 virtue, and virtue itself as so sovereign a condition that, 
 dispensing with all inducements, it is its own sufficient 
 reward. 
 
 Mordaunt's creed was adopted by him after deep en- 
 quiry. To understand what is good and what is evil he 
 subjected to scrutiny the writings of moralists and phil- 
 osophers, and found that though they dispute they grow 
 virtuous. Enquiring further into the lives of men, he 
 discovered that while those who cultivated a talent were 
 often erring and sometimes criminal, those who culti- 
 vated a mind were rarely either. He concluded that 
 there must therefore be something excellent in knowl- 
 edge. 
 
 Pursuing his investigations into the nature of virtue, 
 he found that it is not religion, for bigotry and cruelty 
 have often made that powerful for evil, and a mere be- 
 lief in a divine Being, even with sincerity and zeal add- 
 ed, does not ensure goodness; for while believing and 
 adoring, many misunderstand and err. But fuller 
 knowledge always lessens the liability to perversions of 
 this kind, which are closely allied to ignorance; and it 
 follows that knowledge is the antidote and affords the 
 light by which even religion should be investigated. For 
 as labor is the salutary road to all that is beneficial, even 
 the treasures which religion holds can only be brought 
 to light by exercise in the acquisition of knowledge and 
 the training of the perceptive powers. 
 
 A survey of our faults, our errors, our vices, resolves 
 each into a result of ignorance. Men abuse talents and 
 riches and power either from ignorance of their real use 
 
74 PROSE ROMANCES OP BULWER 
 
 or because they are misled into imagining the abuse more 
 conducive to their happiness. Men act in accordance 
 with what they conceive to be their interests, but be- 
 cause of their imperfect knowledge they often err and 
 consequently suffer. Mistakenly also, men revert to 
 selfishness, the principle of barbarism under which force 
 is law, and from which civilization is an everlengthening 
 ascent. But were knowledge acquired and applied, 
 nobler ideas would supplant these mean ones. It would 
 be realized that the happiness and welfare of the one is 
 dependent upon the well-being of all. More knowledge 
 would cause better actions, and men would advance in 
 happiness as well as in culture. For if ignorance is the 
 spring and source of evil and misery, it necessarily fol- 
 lows that if we were consummate in knowledge we would 
 be perfect in virtue. 
 
 The conflict of character against circumstances has a 
 very impressive illustration in the trials to which Mor- 
 daunt is subjected. Though his feelings are acute and 
 his affection a devotion, neither misfortune nor suffering 
 can shake his faith in the all-sufficiency of virtue.. He 
 endures privation and affliction, yet withstands tempta- 
 tion, and after his restoration to affluence the same creed 
 animates his life and actions. But it is perilous to es- 
 say the depiction of a character in whom virtue is con- 
 stant although youth and its passions have not been out- 
 lived, for physical wants are more potent than intellec- 
 tual concepts ; and only in the aged do we recognize the 
 ability to act in rigid accordance with a mental belief. 
 
 The character of Mordaunt was a favorite with its au- 
 thor, and of this romance he said in 1835 : 
 
THE DISOWNED 75 
 
 " If I were asked which of my writings pleased me the 
 most in its moral, — served the best to inspire the 
 younger reader with a guiding principle, was the one 
 best calculated to fit us for the world by raising us above 
 its trials, and the one by which I would most desire my 
 own heart and my own faith to be judged, — I would 
 answer The Disowned.^ ^ 
 
 Charactei'«, incidents, and situations in The Disowned 
 are all by the intent of their author other than such as 
 are met w4th in actual life. They are possible but not 
 ordinary, creations, not copies; and therefore the work 
 is at once removed from the class with which it is usual- 
 ly confounded, that of novels which transcribe from the 
 actual. 
 
 Every effort to exalt individual or social life needs 
 for its purpose a high example of actions indicating de- 
 sirable conduct and resulting in calm satisfaction. The 
 tendency to limit endeavor to the merely being as good 
 as others, is strong in all; and nobler standards are 
 necessary to counteract the downward trend which is a 
 consequence of complacent contentment with an easy 
 achievement. The poet provides these higher types. He 
 sees more than others, and reveals what but for him 
 might never have been perceived. His conceptions of 
 noble behavior, great forbearance, and worthy aspira- 
 tions made manifest in the characters he creates, stimu- 
 late to imitation of the virtues they display. Great 
 characters are to literature what Christ is to Christian- 
 ity; and the preference of transcriptions of what is, 
 over the poetical intuition into what should be, is an error 
 as mischievous as that committed by ministers of the gos- 
 
76 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 pel who expatiate upon dogma and ceremony rather than 
 upon the humility, gentleness, sympathy, and unselfish- 
 ness of the Great Exemplar. 
 
 The Disowned is the production of a poet, not of a 
 journalist. Nevertheless none of the vagueness usual in 
 the creations of allegory attaches to the personages, each 
 of whom is convincingly human and impressive. Com- 
 pared with later works by Bulwer, it shows an over elab- 
 oration of minor incidents and characters, an exuberance 
 of axiomatic reflection, and an excess of disquisition. 
 
 The first edition of The Disowned appeared anony- 
 mously in 1828, and a second edition with a preface in 
 the same year. Each of these contained an introduction 
 wherein Mr. Pelham was interviewed by the author. In 
 1835 this introduction was deleted, and a new preface 
 and an essay on prose fiction were added. The edition 
 of 1840 dispensed with all this prefatory matter and 
 omitted many lengthy passages hitherto contained in the 
 volumes, and the edition of 1852 differs from its prede- 
 cessor only in its one short preface. 
 
DEVEREUX 
 
 DEVEREUX is aii experiment having little like- 
 ness to productions of its day, and none to others 
 of Bulwer's works. It uses history incidentally 
 biit makes no attempt at elucidating the large movements 
 of the time. It concerns itself with the development of 
 the mind of a man of affairs, who, seeking in action relief 
 from torturing perplexities and grief, rises to high posi- 
 tion and honor, but, sated with successes which bring no 
 satisfaction, abandons his career and in loneliness and 
 solitude seeks the solution of old mysteries and the con- 
 finnation of weakened hopes. 
 
 It is an autobiography that is submitted to us. The 
 style in which it is written bears no resemblance to that 
 of the writers of his own day, for circumstances made 
 Devereux an exile for many years, and therefore he never 
 acquired the mannerisms characteristic of Addison and 
 Steele. We are made to feel that after his brief wedded 
 life its writer is always alone, and that the memory 
 of the tragedy which reft his days of their sunshine 
 is tenaciously nursed though never referred to. Un- 
 mirthfully he moves through many scenes, participates 
 in events and meets important persons who receive such 
 mention and description as would naturally be accorded 
 them by a shrewd observer, and thus curious details and 
 singular but accurate particulars concerning the great of 
 
78 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 that day, some of whom have shrunk from reputations 
 into mere names, add interest to the work. 
 
 Morton Devereux is revealed as possessing strong will, 
 boundless energy, and warm affection. His childhood 
 had been embittered by his parents' preference for his 
 brothers, his boyhood was marred by fraternal dissen- 
 sions fomented by his tutor for ulterior purposes, and he 
 entered the social world prematurely, without wise guid- 
 ance, or any curb on conduct or extravagance. 
 
 Growing weary of the insipidity and purposelessness of 
 his way of life, he concentrates all his affection upon one 
 being and fancies happiness and contentment assured, 
 but this brief elysian episode has a tragic ending and 
 misfortunes accumulate, and as a distraction from griefs 
 and disappointments an active career is sought and fol- 
 lowed through turbulent years which bring renown and 
 advancement but not satisfaction. In the comparative 
 calm which succeeds a period of constant activity, feel- 
 ings hitherto suppressed reassert themselves, religious 
 beliefs passively accepted but never examined are un- 
 settled, and doubts arise to harass, and the man who 
 though gaining much that others prize has missed all that 
 he himself desired and whose affections have no object 
 among the living, becomes appalled at the thought that 
 his hope of rejoining his lost wife beyond the grave may 
 be vain and idle, that the creed which limits existence to 
 this life only, may be correct. The resulting melancholy 
 and depression cause him to abandon the career in which 
 he has won distinction and to undertake the task of re- 
 solving his doubts by an investigation of the works treat- 
 ing of life and its duration. In course of time he con- 
 
DBVEREUX 79 
 
 vinces himself that immortality is a fact, and his interest 
 in affairs revives. 
 
 The arguments which satisfied this anxious doubter are 
 not made known to us, for on a matter where reasoning 
 is ineffectual and faith alone is 'of use, that which con- 
 vinces one may be utterly unsatisfactory to another, 
 bevereux was content to know that the dead do not die 
 forever, he sought nothing further; viewing everything 
 as a practical man of the world he continued his plans 
 for vengeance against his scheming enemy and having 
 compassed that duty his only remaining objects were the 
 restoration of his ancestral home and the composition of 
 his memoirs. 
 
 Devereux lived when Anne reigned and Marlbor- 
 ough flourished, when the throne of France was yet filled 
 by the Grand Monarque, and that of Russia by Peter the 
 Great, and though for many years engaged in state af- 
 fairs, on none of these are any particulars recorded here, 
 only such incidents as pertain to his individual and do- 
 mestic history are related. The sentiments and reflec- 
 tions are in consonance with the experiences, wise, acute, 
 and practical. 
 
 The plot depends for its main interest upon the con- 
 tinued misconception of the character of a brother. 
 
 Pelham suggests the desirability of knowledge as an 
 addition to youth 's equipment for active participation in 
 life's business. The Disowned shows knowledge as the 
 path by which man attains to virtue and contentment. 
 Devereux displays knowledge as the resolver of doubts, 
 supporter of hopes, and extender of views. As a com- 
 position this work is a great advance over its prede- 
 
80 PROSE ROMANCES OP BULWER 
 
 cessors, but the characters do not invite to emulation. 
 They interest greatly and are admirably managed. 
 Montreuil, whose resolute pertinacity of purpose is 
 only discerned through the effects he accomplishes by 
 his controlling influence over others and who is there- 
 fore depicted at second hand, is made to stand out com- 
 prehensible, strong and virile to the last, and Aubrey 
 is so drawn as never to arouse question or strain cre- 
 dulity. Sir Miles is an exceedingly lovable old man 
 but in illustrating his foible of always breaking off a 
 story before its point is reached, the author indulged in 
 what he afterwards condemned as an unworthy trick. 
 Great care has been bestowed upon the presentation of 
 Bolingbroke, who receives here a more respectful con- 
 sideration than the whigs who have written about him 
 have manifested. Bulwer's high estimate of his intel- 
 lectual ability never abated, and appreciative references 
 to him are of frequent occurrece in his later works. 
 
 Devereiix, by the author of Pelham, was published 
 by Colburn in 1829. To the edition of 1835 a dedica- 
 tory epistle to John Auldjo Esq. was prefixed and in 
 1852 a prefatory note was added. 
 
PAUL CLIFFOED 
 
 THIS work has the historic interest which attaches 
 to ail impoi'tant innovation. It is the forerunner 
 oi: that class of fiction which assails some existing 
 wi'ong and by attracting attention thereto is instrumental 
 in effecting reform, and which is generally called the ro- 
 mance of purpose. Paul Cliff ord^ termed by its author 
 "a treatise on social wrongs," is a forceful arraignment 
 of the mismanagement of prisons, and an expose of the 
 evils consequent upon a too severe criminal code ; and the \ 
 book did much toward securing amelioration and amend- 
 ment. 
 
 Productions of this class necessarily lose much of 
 their interest when the evils attacked have passed away, 
 and this work would have shared the usual fate had its 
 purpose been confined to temporary wrongs. But it 
 also deals with a deeper and sterner problem which is 
 not transient but obtrudes itself in every organized so- 
 ciety, viz: the flourishing of individuals who while keep- 
 ing within the law nevertheless contrive by their vicious- 
 ness to be more harmful than some of those who break 
 the law and do not escape its vengeance. 
 
 Circumstances do not invariably make crime, but they 
 may lead if not constrain to it as in Paul Clifford's case, 
 yet in intent and effect the criminal may be a less dan- 
 gerous person in a community than he who by design 
 and act wars in secret against all that differentiates civ- 
 
82 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 ilized life from barbarism, and not only evades the 
 world's condemnation but receives its honors, as in the 
 instance of William Brandon. 
 
 In conception, execution, and the niceties of art, Paul 
 Clifford is a remarkable achievement. The story is con- 
 sistent and its conduct dramatic. Very skillfully are 
 small matters made effective to the consummation, and 
 fine judgment is evinced in the selection of a form of 
 criminality no longer practicable, thereby avoiding all 
 possibility of inducing imitation in incipient law-break- 
 ers. A further careful regard for consistency is shown 
 Tin dowering Paul with traits similar to those of William 
 BrandoUj pride, scorn of conventions, and the meeken- 
 ing effect of the passion which weans him from his 
 ^calling. 
 
 With the exception of Lucy Brandon and her father 
 the characters are all perversions. No pattern for emu- 
 lation or admiration is presented, the book concerns it- 
 self with persons whose careers are to be reprobated or 
 regarded as warnings. 
 
 Lucy Brandon alone is amiable. She is a retiring girl 
 content to make a small circle happy until occasion de- 
 mands other qualities, and then developing firmness, con- 
 stancy, and wisdom in the greatest trials to which woman 
 can be subjected, unexpected affluence and subsequent 
 privation. 
 /"" The strongest character is the able, unscrupulous, sue- 
 cessf ul lawyer, William Brandon. Valuing only power 
 and station, and regarding appearances as of more im- 
 portance than actualities, he prospers in a world which he 
 despises, but for whose forms he observes an obsequious 
 
PAUL CLIFFORD 83 
 
 respect, by ministering to the vices of others. His sins 
 are studied. His one admirable quality is his tender- 
 ness toward his relations which wins him the affection 
 of his niece. But even the reverence for his family, 
 which is a virtue, becomes in him a further incentive to 
 vice ; he is anxious to dispose of Lucy not with the aim 
 of ensuring her happiness, but to further his own rise. 
 Superstition is made subtle use of in the history of his 
 successes. On his strong mind the denunciation of his 
 wife has no apparent effect, but the maledictions born 
 of her wrongs are prophetic and the evils she invokes all 
 come to pass. And throughout, his illness and the 
 courage with which he bears its tortures serve to remind 
 us that it is a man whose actions we are surveying, and 
 to preserve our interest to the tragic close of his evil life. 
 
 Another devotee to self is shown in Mauleverer, the 
 sybarite born to wealth and power, viewing life as a card- 
 game, denying himself no personal gratification but too 
 indolent to strive for anything. 
 
 Augustus Tomlinson is an instance of perverted and 
 misdirected intellect; with him words are of more im- 
 portance than deeds, he finds an equivocal sanction for 
 behavior the most reprehensible in some sententious 
 aphorism or approved sentiment no matter how much 
 ingenuity be required to bring act and term into con- 
 gruity. 
 
 Peter MacGrawler is a composite portrait of the ed- 
 itors and reviewers of the period, who criticised the 
 political opinions of a writer rather than the literary 
 qualities of his work, and made the offensive detraction 
 of opponents the road to a minister's favor and an offi- 
 
84 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 cial sinecure. The class may have changed since Mac- 
 Grawler's time, but for depicting him as unscrupulous, 
 malignant, dishonest, and a coward, there was but too 
 much justification. 
 
 ^ Paul Clifford emerges from the wretchedness of The 
 Mug where he has received a meagre education and an 
 initiation into flash life, by way of the prison to which 
 he is wrongfully sent, where he receives further vicious 
 teaching, and from which he makes his escape. Embit- 
 tered against authority and ready to revenge himself 
 upon its representatives, he joins the highwaymen, and 
 soon becomes captain of the band. 
 
 "^ The activities of the gentlemen of the road bring them 
 into the neighborhood of the home of Lucy Brandon, and 
 Clifford becomes acquainted with her and her father. 
 The sight of their decorous and calm existence so strong- 
 ly contrasting the turmoil and hazard of his own, and 
 the growth of a pure affection disturb the satisfaction 
 with which he has hitherto regarded his profession. He 
 resolves to sever his connection with the robbers and seek 
 out some calling less unworthy. 
 
 But no evil course can be abandoned with ease, be- 
 fore his determination is acted upon he is betrayed and 
 apprehended. Brought to trial he finds in his judge 
 the man who was chiefly instrumental in driving him 
 into antagonism to law ; and that judge before sentencing 
 Paul to death, learns that the prisoner is his own son. 
 
 Paul however is not given to the hangman, because cir- 
 cumstances led him into crime, yet neither brutalized 
 nor corrupted him. He is permitted to work out his 
 self-redemption in a foreign land. 
 
PAUL CLIFFORD 85 
 
 Three phases of life are in turn depicted in Paul 
 Clifford: The squalor of the slums, the comfort of 
 the unobtrusive country home, and the intrigues and dis- 
 play of metropolitan circles. The first of these requires 
 some comment. ~~^ 
 
 The opening chapters deal with Dame Lobkin's low 
 public house and its environment and patrons, and this 
 portion of the work is made the occasion for a satirical 
 exhibition of the similarity in all essentials between the 
 low which society scorns and the high which it emulates. 
 The Mug reflects Holland House with its coteries and 
 manufacture of reputations. Bachelor Bill's hop dif- 
 fers only in degree from more fashionable gatherings 
 and the same desire for gain is advanced as the ani- 
 mating cause of the activities of political placemen and 
 organized highwaymen. The robbers are covert copies 
 of certain celebrities, and a dexterous use is made of 
 characteristics of these individuals and of incidents in 
 their careers. Thus the king's patronage of the archi- 
 tect Nash is reflected in Gentleman George's passion 
 for building. The promptness, thoroughness, and brev- 
 ity of speech of the Duke of Wellington are imitated 
 in Fighting Attie. Lord Eldon's attachment to old 
 forms and unrelaxing opposition to all change are trans- 
 ferred to Old Baggs. And peculiarities in appearance 
 or conduct in Lord Ellenborough, Sir James Scarlett, 
 Sir Francis Burdett, and others, find their counterfeits 
 in Long Ned, Scarlett Jim, Mobbing Francis, and the 
 minor satellites of the robber galaxy. 
 
 Discriminating characterizations of George the Fourth 
 and the Duke of Wellington are appended to Paul Clif- 
 
86 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 ford^ and also a series of papers, attributed to the later 
 years of Augustus Tomlinson; these combine keen ob- 
 servation, close study of men, suggestive criticism, and 
 knowledge of the world, and evidence a command of 
 irony void of the savagery which usually pertains to 
 productions in that line. 
 
 Paul Clifford was published in 1830, a second edi- 
 tion appearing in the same year. These issues contain- 
 ed a lengthy dedicatory epistle to Alexander Cockbum 
 which is absent from all later editions. A new preface 
 accompanied the publication in 1840, and yet another 
 in 1848. 
 
ASMODEUS AT LAEGE 
 
 THIS work appeared anonymously by installments 
 in the New Monthly Magazine during the editor- 
 ship of Bulwer, ending August, 1833. Its author 
 never included it in any issue of his works, and it had no 
 other publication until the Kjiebworth edition of 1875. 
 
 Intended to serve a similar purpose to that of the 
 Noctes of Blackwood's Magazine ^ it contains comments 
 on contemporary happenings, observations concerning 
 political measures and movements, remarks about men 
 eminent in their day, and criticisms on books many of 
 which were mere ephemera. The narrative varies from 
 the gay and sportive to the grave and supernatural, but 
 even in a slight and spontaneous work serious purpose 
 is developed. To dispel the weariness which is the mal- 
 ady of the idle, Satiety (the narrator) attracted by 
 the promise of Excitement (Asmodeus) engages in a 
 series of joumeyings and adventures which range from 
 the trivial to the marvelous, but have no object. The 
 piquancy of these experiences only rouses a languid in- 
 terest, for novelty can only temporarily dissipate ennui, 
 and a more energising sensation is coveted. Passion 
 (Julia) is hastily and imprudently substituted for the 
 less emotional influence of excitement, but the unreason- 
 able exactions of a fastidious and selfish egotist who 
 expects to receive affection without deserving it causes 
 
88 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 misery, results in tragedy, and adds remorse to mental 
 wretchedness; for Satiety, though ever longing for sym- 
 pathic companionship, is fitted only for loneliness. 
 
 The book abounds in aphoristic laconisms. Acute 
 criticism, sarcastic comment, mystic and supernatural 
 speculation are conjoined with a fleeting picture of the 
 times and its politics ; and reflections, recollections, and 
 anticipations add a personal interest. But the hurried 
 conclusion necessitated by the author's retirement from 
 editorship mars its symmetry, and the compression of 
 the concluding chapters contrasts too strongly the de- 
 sultory character of the earlier portions of the work. 
 
EUGENE ARAM 
 
 IN 1759, an usher at Lynn was arrested charged with 
 a murder committed at Knareshorough fourteen 
 years previously. Eugene Aram, thus brought into 
 painful notice, was a selftaught man of whom the An- 
 nual Register of that year says : 
 
 ''After mastering all mathematics, he soon became 
 enamoured of the belles-lettres, whose charms destroyed 
 the heavier beauties of numbers and lines. He after- 
 ward got acquainted with heraldry and botany, and 
 knew the name and quality of every herb of the field. 
 Being a profound Hebrew scholar, he ventured upon 
 Chaldaic and Arabic. Not satisfied with this universal 
 application, he began the study of Celtic.'* 
 
 Those who had any knowledge of the man, whose ex- 
 treme reserve never permitted intimacy, spoke of him 
 as kindly and gentle in disposition, and exemplary in 
 conduct. The trial aroused the interest of all England, 
 and incredulity of the possibility of his guilt was gen- 
 eral. The principal testimony against him was that of 
 a confessed accomplice. Aram conducted his own de- 
 fense. He was found guilty, sentenced to death, and 
 after unsuccessfully attempting selfslaughter, was ex- 
 ecuted, and hung in chains in Knareshorough forest. 
 
 Bulwer became interested in the fate of this singular 
 man, who had been a tutor in his grandfather's house 
 
^0 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 at Heydon, and the extraordinary phenomenon of a sol- 
 itary crime utterly at variance with the general life and 
 seemingly void of influence upon the disposition of its 
 perpetrator, combined with the astonishing attainments 
 of the unaided scholar, furnished him with a fascinating 
 problem. Gathering all the available information about 
 the man and his habits, the surviving gossip and opin- 
 ions of those who had met or heard of him, and the 
 records of the trial, and carefully considering the whole, 
 Bulwer's conclusion was that Aram, keenly desirous of 
 means to increase his knowledge, and hampered by his 
 dire poverty, first envied the misused wealth of another 
 and sophistically persuaded himself that to appropriate 
 some of that wealth and apply it to nobler uses would 
 be beneficial rather than wrong ; then attempted robbery, 
 which the resistance of his victim converted into murder. 
 Eugene Aram Was written in conformity with this 
 view. The personal traits are those of the real man, 
 and there is no eixaggeration in the account of his at- 
 tainments. But instead of the actual details of his 
 occupations and actions the Lesters are created, and 
 an artistic condensation and elevation of the interest 
 and situations are obtained, as well as a more impressive 
 and comprehensive catastrophe, and an intenser poign- 
 ancy in the punishment of the criminal, who in addi- 
 tion to remorse, is constrained to resort to mean con- 
 cealments, evasions, and deceptions exceedingly humili- 
 ating to his pride. No excuses for his crime are ad- 
 duced or permitted to influence sympathy in his behalf. 
 Only the results of the deed — the destroyed ambitions, 
 the attainments rendered fruitless, the enforced lone- 
 
EUGENE ARAM 91 
 
 liness of one who might have become influential and 
 renowned — and the ruin which overtakes him when he 
 seeks to rejoin the social life his act has forever barred 
 him from. These are allowed to arouse pity, but not 
 to palliate his offence. ^ 
 
 He has no animal friends. Culture has produced in j ^ 
 him an intellectual pride, which usurps the place of 
 moral principle. His courage is founded on scorn, his 
 charity on disdain, and his creed on Fatalism. He rea- ^ ^ 
 sons away the necessity of solitariness, becomes inti- 
 mate with his kind, and yields to love. When all seems 
 most propitious, detection blasts his prospects, and in- 
 volves in his doom all those most dear to him. 
 
 The work is a village tragedy in subject, conduct, and 
 structure. It treats of a known event, has few char- 
 acters, occupies a limited period of time, and exciting 
 alternate pity and terror, progresses with increasing 
 rapidity toward a foreknown culmination. Its domes- 
 tie interest is supplied by Madeline Lester, her home 
 and relations. It is a subtlety in the art of the book, 
 that she is motherless. Stately, beautiful, fanciful, and 
 enthusiastic, she diffuses happiness around her, until 
 interest in Aram beguiles her into love and peril. Her 
 constancy, devotion, and unswerving faith in her lover 
 never diminish, but her strength fails and she dies be- 
 fore Aram. 
 
 Walter Lester, supplanted in his cousin's affections, 
 seeks distraction in travel, attended by an old soldier 
 who has condensed a varied experience of life into world- 
 ly rules of conduct; who regards successful knavery 
 with admiration, and unselfish acts with scornful pity. 
 
^2 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 Their journeyings are compelled, as if by destiny, to 
 the various scenes connected with his father's history, 
 and to the ultimate discovery of his murder by Aram. 
 Thus the student's first step from isolation starts the 
 weaving of the web which enmeshes and destroys him. 
 
 This was the author's first careful study of a man. 
 Hitherto his works had their foundation in intimate 
 observation of and deductions from the conditions, in- 
 stitutions, and effects of the social and political ar- 
 rangements of the English people, and these had led him 
 to recognise particularly the importance of .circum- 
 «tances in the warping and corrupting of character. 
 
 Here he had the problem of one whose poverty would 
 ordinarily have proved an insuperable bar to all mental 
 effort, patiently and solitarily developing a mind of an 
 uncommon order, and mastering a wide range of knowl- 
 edge, yet the whole resulting in no material achieve- 
 ment, and ending in ignominy because of one serious 
 transgression, of which nothing in his previous life in- 
 dicated the possibility, and which was wholly without 
 effect upon his character. It neither brutalized nor 
 corrupted him. 
 
 To show that great learning and attainments, together 
 with conduct that conforms to the requirements of so- 
 ciety, are not necessarily inconsistent with criminality 
 or viciousness was a needed lesson then, and is in- 
 creasingly important now since accomplishments can be 
 more easily acquired, and Arams are more numerous. 
 
 There are men who with less thoroughness cultivate 
 not a mind, but a style, and who are vicious not in iso- 
 lated cases, but habitually. In these the prevailing 
 
EUGENE ARAM 9^ 
 
 characteristic is that same intellectual pride, subordinat- 
 ing principle and expanding egotism to undue propor- 
 tions. They are incipient Arams. 
 
 To warn mankind that character is of greater con- 
 sequence than -talent, and that those who neglect moral 
 cultivation while improving less necessary qualities 
 are in all essentials committing the error from which 
 Eugene Aram's crime resulted, is to draw attention to 
 a fact not the less important from the certainty of its 
 being resented by those to whom it most directlj^ applies.. 
 
 This romance was dedicated to Walter Scott, then 
 on his futile journey in search of health in Italy. The 
 following letter from Rome dated October 22, 1832, and 
 published in the Literary Gazette, gives Scott's impres- 
 sions of the work and its author: 
 
 ''When Sir Walter Scott arrived at Rome he asked 
 me for a book. I enumerated the few I had got, and 
 he immediately pitched upon something by the Author 
 of Pelham. I accordingly sent him Eugene Aram, which 
 he returned me in a very few days, saying that since 
 he left England he had not enjoyed so much amuse- 
 ment. He talked a long time about Bulwer and his pro- 
 ductions; and I sincerely regret not having made a 
 minute of his remarks. I recollect, however, distinctly 
 his saying ' Oh ! that is a man whose name always puts 
 me in mind that I must look about me.' And after ex- 
 pressing his high approbation of the tale he had just 
 been reading, he added, *I can scarcely conceive a 
 greater proof of talent than this, that a writer should 
 take for his subject a story known well to almost every- 
 one of his readers, and that he should be able to work 
 
94 PROSE ROMANCES OP BULWER 
 
 it up in so artful a manner as to produce such intense 
 interest. For this/ he said, laughing, 4s the fault of 
 the book. I read late — I could not lay it down, and 
 twice it has spoiled my night's rest.' " 
 
 The first edition of Eugene Aram was published in 
 1831. To the issues of 1840 another preface was added, 
 and a third preface accompanied the edition of 1850. 
 
GODOLPHIN 
 
 WHILE engaged on Eugene Aram Bulwer also 
 wrote Godolphiny the composition of the two 
 works proceeding concurrently. This lighter la- 
 bor has for its subject a like theme: the frustration of 
 possibilities of usefulness in an individual of great prom- 
 ise. In Aram a crime blasted a career. Here the absence 
 of incentive, the possession of wealth, and the temptations 
 natural to the life of the well-born rich, cause abilities 
 and endowments to be frittered away and wasted. 
 
 The period illustrated is that of the passing of the 
 Reform Bill of 1831, which transferred political power 
 from the higher to the middle classes. It is therefore 
 a former fashionable world which is pictured and 
 shown as void of healthful ambition, moral purpose, or 
 enthusiasm, and as exercising a pernicious influence 
 over the more gifted of both sexes. 
 
 The best parts of the work are those which depict 
 that silken circle of fashion with its puerilities and en- 
 nui, its graceful luxury, its polish, its heartlessness, 
 its unenjoyed amusements, and its avidity for anything 
 novel which promises a new sensation. And the most 
 masterly character is that of Saville, the urbane, 
 shrewd, and favored man of the world, who with intel- 
 lect but without heart, passion without affection, and 
 wealth without sympathy, finds there congenial en- 
 
96 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 viromnent. Godless and creedless as some antique 
 pagan, he avails himself of every opportunity for self- 
 indulgence even to life's last hour, and dies, like the 
 order he represented, selfpossessed and imperturbable, 
 satisfied with his past and unconcerned about his 
 future. 
 
 Godolphin is young, gifted, and fortunate. His abili- 
 ties directed to useful ends might make him a benefac- 
 tor to his race, but his early entrance into the world of 
 the privileged and his acquaintance with its idols wean 
 him from all desire for honor or dignity. He has the 
 common experiences of his class — pleasure and travel. 
 Without being vicious, but because he is unambitious, 
 fastidious, and procrastinating, he neither develops his 
 own capacities nor accomplishes anything meritorious; 
 The rejection of his hand by Constance crushes his 
 vanity without spurring him to any worthy exertion; 
 inherited wealth only makes him a grandiose dilettante 
 and patron of art. And he incurs the mischief of caus- 
 ing injury to those who become interested in him. 
 Temptation, dallied with but not resolutely resisted, 
 leads to the destruction of the daughter of him whom 
 he had called friend. Idle and purposeless, his grace- 
 ful accomplishments and profuse use of wealth win ad- 
 miration and regard in abundant measure, without the 
 animosity which usually results from successful com- 
 petition for fame or power. 
 
 Like many of his class he inspires sanguine expecta- 
 tions which are never realized. With ample equip- 
 ments for high station, he becomes the oracle of a small 
 cotMe, and dawdles through life shirking its duties, 
 
GODOLPHIN 97 
 
 leaving to less enervate men the nobler positions it 
 should have been his ambition to fill. 
 
 The history of Constance shows the powerlessness of 
 the woman who seeks to be active and influential in the 
 world. She finds that civilized life affords only a con- 
 ditional opportunity for the exercise of feminine ability. 
 In furtherance of a husband's ambition she may dis- 
 play her genius for intrigue, but when husband and 
 wife regard measures differently the wife must sacri- 
 fice either her views or her happiness. Alone she can 
 accomplish nothing of importance. 
 
 Bulwer repeatedly found fault with the forms and 
 customs which limited to inanities the education and in- 
 fluence of women. That many restrictions which for- 
 merly existed have been removed, is to some extent at- 
 tributable to his advocacy of greater liberality in these 
 matters. 
 
 Volktman, the devotee of astrology, whose severe 
 and exhausting studies are rewarded in minor matters 
 with equivocal successes, but in the things about which 
 he is most anxious only arouse indefinite and perturb- 
 ing fears, in his unworldly theories, gentleness and 
 faith, is an attractive study; and his daughter, whose 
 wayward impulsiveness makes her a victim of unselfish 
 affection, a sad one. Her letter written to Godolphin 
 after the discovery which leaves her humiliated and 
 hopeless, is a touching combination of pathos and pride. 
 
 An incidental purpose of Godolphin was to test con- 
 temporary criticism. Therefore it was published anony- 
 mously. It fulfilled Bulwer 's expectation in the mat- 
 ter, and gave a basis for an ever increasing contempt 
 
98 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 for professional book reviewals, for no one discerned 
 the authorship. Some ascribed it to Godwin, others saw 
 superiority over Bulwer in ''the author of Godolphin.' ' 
 One, after declaring that "his novels are all echoes of 
 each other with hardly a page which might not be known 
 for his, nor a favorite character which is not an exhi- 
 bition of one of the phases of his exquisite self," adds 
 that "the writer of Godolphin equals him in energy." 
 This desire to see if the reviewers were as discern- 
 ing as they professed to be caused the intentional disre- 
 gard of certain rules of art, from an observance of 
 which in no other instance did Bulwer swerve. The 
 end of Vernon is reminiscent of Sheridan's death. 
 Constance recalls the three grand dames of the day who 
 were active political partisans: Lady Jersey, Lady 
 Holland, and Lady Blessington ; and in the original issue 
 there figured Lord Saltream, who was undoubtedly sug- 
 gested by John Ward, Lord Dudley. Gamester and epi- 
 curean were combined in Lord Henry de Ros, who how- 
 ever lacked the discretion which is so emphatic a quality 
 in Saville, and it is probable that the unproductive 
 abilities of Count D'Orsay suggested the creation of 
 Godolphin, tho' there is no further resemblance between 
 them than the possession of fine qualities and the simi- 
 larity of their surroundings. It is a sin in art to copy 
 from some original peculiarities which admit of identifi- 
 cation; for characters should be creations, and if tran- 
 scription is all that has been accomplished the achieve- 
 ment amounts to little ; while if a personage in an imagin- 
 ative work is not copied, yet is so described that a like- 
 ness to some known person is perceived, it stamps the 
 
GODOLPHIN 99 
 
 author as commonplace both in art and imagination, be- 
 cause art concerns itself with the enduring, and per- 
 sonal oddities and peculiarities are of all things the most 
 transient. The imagination is meagre and limited if it 
 cannot rise above the actual. 
 
 Before Bulwer added Godolphin to the list of his works 
 in 1842, he expunged everything pertaining to Saltream, 
 and much other matter. But an unremoved fault re- 
 mains, and detracts from the value of the work. That 
 is, the admission of accident as a factor of importance. 
 The catastrophe in fiction should result naturally from 
 the events and circumstances narrated and described, and 
 have the seeming of inevitability. The manner of Godol- 
 phin 's death has no necessary connection with the chain 
 of events preceding it. It is an arbitrarily introduced 
 incident for which little preparation is made. It as- 
 sisted in accomplishing the secondary purpose of demon- 
 strating the deficiencies of the critics, but this trivial 
 end necessitated a permanent injury ; and the gain was 
 not worth the sacrifice. 
 
 Less powerful and artistic than Eugene Aram, the 
 work depends on its faithful delineation of a phase of 
 contemporary life for its interest, and on style for its at- 
 traction. 
 
 Godolphin was published anonymously in 1833, a sec- 
 ond edition appearing in the same year. The prefaces to 
 these issues and many pages of the narrative were de- 
 leted when the work with a new preface and dedicated 
 to Count D'Orsay was added to the collected edition of 
 1842. 
 
THE PILGEIMS OF THE EHINE 
 
 THE comparison of life to a river is old, and the cy- 
 clonic wind-storms which ever and again visit cer- 
 tain portions of the earth, wrecking, devastating, 
 and working fantastic mischief, have a more discernable 
 likeness to some lives than the stream which beautifies, 
 nourishes, and is useful. The tiny beginnings, the in- 
 crease and growth in proportion and power, the resistless 
 progression toward the great deeps and the persistence of 
 identity notwithstanding continuous change which char- 
 acterize alike the lapsing water and the unhalting life, 
 are obvious resemblances. There are other similarities. 
 The river obeying the law which prescribes a straight 
 line for its course is constrained into sinuous meander- 
 ings because of the impediments it encounters, and the 
 careers of those who purposefully endeavor to act in con- 
 formity with a creed are made picturesque and interest- 
 ing by the interferences which swerve them into chan- 
 nels of less resistance ; and these obstructions constitute 
 the memorable features when the completed journey is 
 surveyed. 
 
 In The Pilgrims of the Rhine the scenery, legends, and 
 romances of Europe's most majestic river are associated 
 with the passing away of an innocent and beautiful 
 maiden. 
 
 The protracted ordeal of living wherein acts, thoughts. 
 
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE 101 
 
 and aspirations are chastened and disciplined, is crowd- 
 ed with trials and disappointments, and those deemed 
 fitted for higher progression without the reiterated cor- 
 rections necessary for most of the children of men are 
 the objects of a benevolent preference. But the mercy 
 of the Compassionate One who forbears to inflict the 
 full measure of life's multitudinous sadnesses and per- 
 mits His dark servant to remove the young to a world 
 where hopes cannot be blighted nor prospects dimmed, 
 is with difficulty discerned by the bereaved. Faith and 
 philosophy are both severely tasked before apparent 
 cruelty is recognized as kindness, and belief in infinite 
 good produces resignation to a finite ill; for their be- 
 loved ones are gone from them even if the loss in the 
 transient here is a gain in the enduring there. 
 
 This view of the most melancholy of human experi- 
 ences pervades The Pilgrims of the Rhine, and preserves 
 its narrative from all depressing gloom and mournful- 
 ness. 
 
 On Gertrude Vane the most insidious and deceptive of 
 human maladies has set its seal. The physicians have 
 ordered change of air, and to gratify her desire to visit 
 Germany, her father and her betrothed accompany her 
 in a journey up the Rhine. 
 
 A fairy queen and her court affected by the devotion 
 of the lovers, and desiring that the remaining days of 
 the maiden may at least neighbor the fairyland which is 
 left behind with youth, and wishful to be of service to 
 her, make the same pilgrimage and incidentally meet 
 with and are entertained by the German varieties of their 
 kind. 
 
102 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 Ideas suggested by the places visited, their historical 
 associations and vicissitudes, are discussed from time to 
 time, and the varying scenes and cities are described. 
 It is the general and impressive features to which atten- 
 tion is directed. The particulars never degenerate into 
 inventories. At intervals tales are told, which attract 
 Gertrude's attention from her condition by interesting 
 her in the fate of others. These stories show the changes 
 and disillusionings which time brings about, oppose the 
 harsh and commonplace to youth 's sanguine anticipatory | 
 dreams, and are effective in reconciling Gertrude to the/ 
 relinquishing of desire for experience in the troublous 
 actual world. 
 
 Each tale strips from the future some fancied glory. 
 Man's love is unstable and changes with circumstances, 
 affection the most fervent rarely outlasts the year, rival- 
 ry estranges brothers, ambition supplants affection and 
 exacts greater sacrifices. The purest love is least com- 
 prehended, and dreams are far more fair than actualities. 
 
 These stories illustrate the different phases of German 
 literary activity. They are admirable specimens of the 
 domestic, the philosophical, the chivalrous, the poetic, 
 the daring, the weird, and the fabulous. The most sug- 
 gestive and thoughtful is ' * The Fallen Star, ' ' which deals 
 with that remote past when antiquity was young. 
 
 The incidents of the journey deepen the despondency 
 of the father, whom previous calamities have schooled 
 into resignation. They rouse a vain rebellion against 
 fate in the lover. They soothe and encourage Gertrude 
 to put aside considerations of earth, and welcome the 
 nearness of heaven, whence she may watch and perhaps 
 
THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE 103 
 
 influence those dear to her. For a time she seems to 
 rally. Her companions are gladdened by the improve- 
 ment in her condition, and hopes of her gradual restora- 
 tion to health are indulged ; but these anticipations are 
 soon dampened. Her strength fails rapidly. At Hei- 
 delberg the pilgrimage ends with her burial, in a spot 
 selected by herself. 
 
 Although this work is used satisfactorily as a guide 
 book, Bulwer had not seen the Rhine when he composed 
 it. The first edition was accompanied by elaborate steel 
 engravings which required two years for their execu- 
 tion. Written in 1832, it was published in 1834. 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 
 
 DURING Bulwer's first visit to Italy in 1833 he re- 
 sided for some months at Naples, and made fre- 
 quent visits to Pompeii. The character and hab- 
 its of its former citizens as disclosed by the excavations, 
 and interesting discoveries and observations made in its 
 streets and houses furnished the material for this ro- 
 mance. Twenty bodies were uncovered in the cellars of 
 one villa, three more in the near neighborhood, and a 
 skull, which is now at Knebworth, of such remarkable 
 conformation as to indicate unusual power in the original 
 possessor. These remains and the positions in which they 
 were found suggested the figures of Arbaces, Calenus, 
 Burbo, Julia, Clodius, and Diomed, and the chance re- 
 mark that because of the darkness which accompanied 
 the destroying eruption the blind would have an advan- 
 tage suggested the creation of Nydia. The artist evoked 
 the shades of the dead of twenty centuries ago, re-ani- 
 mated the several forms, and caused them to re-live their 
 last days in Pompeii. 
 
 Pompeii existed without giving occasion for reference 
 or remark from its foundation by Hercules until A. D. 
 63. In that year it suffered grievous injury from an 
 earthquake and the restoration of its important build- 
 ings had been but partially effected when in 79 an erup- 
 tion of Vesuvius destroyed the town and buried it under 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 105 
 
 ashes from which only a fragment of the wall of the 
 larger theatre protruded. Now and again as the sixteen 
 succeeding centuries lapsed, a peasant would have his 
 wonder aroused by the striking of his mattock against 
 some portion of the skeleton of the buried city, but not 
 until 1748 was serious attention given to the excavating 
 of what was soon identified as the forgotten Pompeii. 
 Once begun the discoveries were so remarkable that the 
 operations were extended and gradually a Roman city 
 in its pristine state was disinterred and restored to light. 
 
 The excavations in the labyrinth of ruins which are 
 the existing evidence of what Pompeii was, have revealed 
 enough to enable investigators to reconstruct its streets, 
 its temples and its homes, to understand its social organ- 
 ization, and to realize the distinctive habits, dress, and 
 customs of its inhabitants. 
 
 A seaport of thirty thousand people, its citizens were 
 of many races, and Grecian and Egyptian influences 
 were potent to a greater extent than in the seven hilled 
 city. Its position on a rising shore of the Bay of Naples, 
 girdled by the mountains, yet open to the sea breezes, 
 made it an attractive summer resort for the wealthy. 
 
 In that miniature Rome the idle and pleasure loving 
 gathered, and combined luxury, learning, scepticism, and 
 ostentation with grace and gaiety. Civilization was 
 neighbored by barbarism, the beautiful temples were 
 seats of jugglery, men fought with beasts in the arena, 
 faith in the gods had vanished, and sorcery flourished. 
 
 Because of its incorporation in the world-empire of 
 Rome and its nearness to the Imperial city, Pompeii 
 neither produced nor retained any great exemplars of 
 
106 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 patriotism, art, or thought. Therefore the romance is 
 constructed of the simplest materials. An urbane, cul- 
 tured, careless, and joyous community is portrayed as 
 animated by the passions, feelings, and desires common 
 to all humanity. Love, jealousy, rivalry, intrigue, hate, 
 and revenge sway the conduct of the characters, who are 
 enduring varieties of human nature exhibited in an an- 
 tique garb. The costumes, customs, and social forms have 
 changed with time, but the elemental passions are eternal, 
 varying but little in their expression, not at all in their 
 strength, influence, or effects. 
 
 The story opens in light-hearted joyousness, with a 
 meeting of well-to-do young men with whom pleasure is 
 the only pursuit. It becomes more earnest with the in- 
 troduction of lone, more active with the rescue of Nydia, 
 and more sinister when Arbaces appears. The serious- 
 ness increases in the interviews with Apaecides and Olin- 
 thus and the gaiety ends with the noonday excursion on 
 the water. Gloom begins with the curse of the Saga of 
 Vesuvius, deepens rapidly with the death of Apaecides, 
 the arrest of Glaucus, and the immuring of Nydia, be- 
 comes intense in the amphitheatre, and terrible when the 
 eruption darkens, covers, and destroys. And at inter- 
 vals the chant of the girl eager for the show, the warning 
 hymn of the Nazarenes and the epicurean song of the 
 revelers, significantly interrupt the action by revealing 
 characteristic differences in the disposition of the popula- 
 tion — the first thoughtless, careless, cruel, the second 
 austere, earnest, and denunciatory, the third resolved on 
 pleasure, doubtful of its propriety, and distorting wis- 
 dom into approval and advocacy. 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 107 
 
 The men and women who act and suffer are such as 
 are natural to the place and time, and to that phase of 
 luxurious leisure to which the situation and climate of 
 Pompeii conduced and allured. 
 
 There is no introduction of superfluous antiquarian or 
 archaeological details. The customs at banquets, the 
 funeral ceremonies, the elaborate routine of the baths, 
 and the varieties of the gladiatorial exercises are de- 
 scribed, but the occasion for depicting them arises nat- 
 urally in the progress of the story. Knowledge is not 
 paraded. 
 
 Incidentally also certain similarities and singular dif- \ 
 ferences between the present inhabitants of the district \ 
 and their predecessors are noted. The curiosity, laziness, 
 and fondness for the recitations of the improvisatores is 
 the same now as then, but the former appreciation of 
 flowers, perfumes, and baths has been replaced by some- 
 thing like aversion. 
 
 Social conditions are depicted with all possible fair- 
 ness, without any attempt to convey false impressions of 
 the relative morality, well-being, or organization of their 
 times and ours, or to deduce from what is the equivalent 
 of a palimpsest disingenuous criticisms of the present 
 order of things. Then, as now, it is shown that the lot 
 of the poor was one of hardship, that priests were venal 
 and religion often a cloak for wrong-doers, that office- 
 holders cared more for popularity than for principles, 
 and that the rich monopolized power and abused the 
 forms of law, yet evaded its penalties. The very meager 
 alteration for the better in the circumstances of the work- 
 er is indeed the most salient lesson of the book, for the 
 
108 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 slow evolution of a middle class which has devoted its en-,' 
 ergies to pulling down those above and shown no earnest 
 desire to elevate those below, is the most conspicuous 
 achievement of the intervening centuries. That fact 
 demonstrates the unimportance of changes in the forms 
 of government, and suggests the superior possibilities of 
 developing virtues and qualities in the individual and 
 the race, as effective aids to progress. 
 
 As a story illustrative of a past era the work has merits 
 of a very high order. It avoids artificiality, it is correct 
 in details, its varied incidents are in harmony with the 
 period and the characters, and succeed each other nat- 
 urally. The intensity of the interest excited increases as 
 the narrative approaches its catastrophe, and that awful 
 event which involved in one common ruin the good, the 
 villainous, the wealthy, and the miserable, and displayed 
 the disregard which that force we call Nature endlessly 
 manifests for our mutable distinctions, is forcefully and 
 vividly described. 
 
 Its characters, however, are of a lower intellectual 
 order than those of other of its author's productions, 
 and the emotions aroused are generally of a less noble 
 nature than usual, being physical appeals, rather than 
 mental or moral. 
 
 In the construction of plot and the invention of inter- 
 esting incidents, situations, and characters, it is an ad- 
 vance on previous work, but not in the quality of the in- 
 terest. The emotions addressed are such as everyone 
 easily responds to. There is no demand for discernment 
 or meditation. 
 I The most intellectual of the characters is Arbaces, who 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 109 
 
 1 makes knowledge subservient to the practices of the sty, 
 \ proud of his superiority of race and in learning, making 
 a power of his influence, defaming all creeds, but believ- 
 ; ing that the stars can warn, advise, and guide, constru- 
 I ing their signs into favoring prophecies, yet in his end 
 ' verifying the prediction he misinterpreted. 
 ; Glaucus the Athenian, generous, graceful, and exuber- 
 ant, is plunged from the heights of assured felicity to the 
 lawful prospects of death in the arena, but sustains his 
 natural nobility. He regards shame less as the loss of 
 the good opinion of others than the forfeiture of his own, 
 refuses freedom at the price of baseness, and declines to 
 adopt a faith to which he is favorably disposed, because 
 he would not even appear to act for a reward. 
 
 Culture and beauty present their loveliest combination 
 in the noble-minded, dignified, and calm lone. 
 
 Olinthus is a type of the early propagators of Chris- 
 tianity, and his ardor for proselytizing, his intolerance 
 of other creeds, his impatience with compromise, as well 
 as his scorn of danger, hardship, or death, are the neces- 
 sary qualities of the founders of a creed. 
 
 Sallust, the goodnatured voluptuary, justifies the opin- 
 ion of Glaucus that he had more heart than any of his 
 companions, and also his own confession of the superior 
 claims of appetite to friendship, for when after an al- 
 most fatal neglect he does act, it is swiftly, comprehen- 
 sively, and with effect. 
 
 The several gladiators are finely discriminated, and 
 the interest aroused for them becomes poignant in the 
 case of young Lydon. 
 
 The most interesting character is Nydia, the blind 
 
110 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 flower girl, whose songs express the watchful tenderness 
 with which she regards her wares, and her fond fancy 
 that they possess something akin to human feeling. Her 
 presence brightens the places she visits like the sunshine 
 of her native land, and when she moves away air and 
 scene appear to lose their glory and lapse into their cus- 
 tomary commonplace. An orphan and an exile, blind 
 and a slave, unforgetful of the legend-haunted land 
 whence she was stolen, and wistfully remembering the 
 mother whose gentle care she misses and pines for; 
 fragile and delicate, yet beaten and humiliated by the 
 pitiless taskmasters whose greed and cruelty are insati- 
 able, released from their brutality by Glaucus only to 
 exchange physical suffering for mental anguish; having 
 the desires, feelings, and devotion of the womanhood 
 into which she is just emerging, yet retaining the im- 
 pulsiveness, petulance, and cunning of the girl, she 
 dares much to win the affection of her deliverer, who re- 
 gards her as a child and never discerns her love. She 
 dares more in generous devotion, and saves him who was 
 more to her than the gods had been — a friend ; and then 
 seeks refuge from hopelessness in the calm of the waters. 
 
 The story excites and maintains interest. The charac- 
 ters are apprehensible and distinctly differentiated, and 
 the incidents are impressive. The attention is engaged 
 without thought being stimulated and, therefore, the 
 work charms all readers and is the best known of Bul- 
 wer 's romances. 
 
 The Last Days of Pompeii was composed during one 
 of the attacks of intense depression to which its author 
 
THE LAST DAYS OF POMPEII 111 
 
 was subject. In 3-833 failing health necessitated rest 
 and change and Bulwer was induced to visit Italy. No 
 physical benefit resulted, but his fame was extended by 
 this work which was published in 1835. 
 
EIENZI 
 
 THE verdict of the historians who after a superfi- 
 cial survey of the career and fate of a remarkable 
 man had pronounced a harsh and unfavorable 
 judgment on Rienzi was set aside as one result of the pro- 
 duction of this romance, wherein the great Tribune was 
 presented as he was in life, no faultless man, but religi- 
 ous, patriotic, earnest, and more far-seeing than his con- 
 temporaries, and more vigorous and generous than the 
 people whose liberties he restored and would have per- 
 manently established, but that they were recreant, false, 
 and unfit for the responsibilities which accompany self- 
 government. 
 
 Since the publication of this work, many documents 
 illustrative of the period and the man have come to light. 
 These do not in a single material detail give occasion for 
 any alteration in the estimate of Rienzi 's character as 
 hc're depicted; but by affording abundant evidence that 
 * he was a mystical enthusiast, they confirm the accuracy 
 of Bulwer's intuition in ascribing to him that phase of 
 fanaticism. 
 
 The work deals with a period during which Rome was 
 in dreary degradation — abandoned by the papacy, with- 
 out power to enforce its laws, shrunken in population, 
 its former grandeur forgotten, its mighty structures and 
 monuments used as quarries from which the materials 
 for new buildings or repairs were obtained ; preyed upon 
 
RIENZI 113 
 
 by the great barons, and so wretchedly misgoverned 
 that Petrarch described it as **the abode of demons, the 
 receptacle of all crimes, a hell for the living. ' ' 
 
 From this abject condition it was suddenly transformed 
 into acknowledged eminence over every other Italian 
 state by one man, who had neither rank nor wealth to 
 command or win support. Rejecting any title save that 
 of Tribune, he established a free constitution and a new 
 code of law. He expelled and subdued the barons, con- 
 quered the banditti, conciliated the priests, and ruled 
 impartially. For seven months these amazing benefits 
 continued. With the restoration of order civilization 
 revived, trade expanded, and crowned heads sent hom- 
 age and congratulations. But all who serve the masses 
 learn that every concession secured, produces a demand 
 for further benefits. The people's representative must 
 continue to minister to their desire for extended power, 
 or his popularity declines. This necessity caused the 
 Tribune to assert the right of Rome to a voice in the 
 election of the Emperor of Rome, and thereby he in- 
 curred the disfavor of the church. He was commanded 
 to withdraw his claim, and upon his refusal the Pope 
 excommunicated Rienzi, and one hundred and fifty mer- 
 cenaries leagued with the church and the barons en- 
 tered the city, and barricaded a part of it. When Ri- 
 enzi addressed the citizens, exhorting them to assist him 
 in driving the robbers out, ' ' the sighs and groans of the 
 people replied to his." They could weep, but they 
 would not fight. The ban of the church produced par- 
 alysis, and Rienzi abdicated and fled from the city. 
 Thus the ignorant cowardice of a people made an epi- 
 
114 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 sode of what should have been the beginning of an era. 
 
 With the curse of the church over him, Rienzi for the 
 next seven years was for a time a wanderer, then a 
 chained prisoner in a dungeon at Avignon. 
 
 But affairs at Rome went from bad to worse, and to 
 retain his possessions it became imperative that the Pope 
 should take steps to reestablish some authority there. 
 No plan seemed so promising as to use Rienzi 's popular- 
 ity as an aid to reconquest. So a trial was accorded the 
 fallen Tribune, who was charged with two offenses : first, 
 declaring Rome to be free; second, pretending that the 
 Romans had a right of choice in the election of the Ro- 
 man Emperor. He was acquitted and absolved, named 
 Senator and appointed to accompany Cardinal Albornez, 
 who, leading an armed force, was empowered *'to ex- 
 terminate heresy, restore the dignity and rights of the 
 church, annihilate the leagues formed against the pon- 
 tifical rights, and enforce the restitution of the church 
 property. ' ' 
 
 Albornez made dexterous use of the popularity of the 
 former Tribune, but kept him from Rome until Rienzi, 
 perceiving the antagonism and purpose of the Cardinal, 
 made arrangements to act without him, entered Rome, 
 and resumed sway. 
 
 The dungeon and chains had altered Rienzi 's appear- 
 ance. Formerly slender, he had become stout, and a dis- 
 ease provocative of constant thirst had fastened upon 
 him. And the dignity of Senator was not so pleasing 
 to the Romans as the less patrician title of Tribune. 
 Therefore he had fewer friends. Nevertheless there fol- 
 lowed seven weeks of energetic, beneficent, and prudent 
 
RIENZI 115 
 
 rule, with none of the ostentation or brilliant extrava- 
 gances which dazzled during his former period of power. 
 ' ' He alone carried on the affairs of Rome, for his officials 
 were slothful or cold. ' ' 
 
 To defend Rome and preserve freedom, an armed 
 force was necessary. To pay the force a tax was im- 
 posed, and the multitude joined with the barons, cried 
 out "Perish him who made the gabelle," murdered the 
 Senator and tore his body to pieces. 
 
 Rienzi ruled as Tribune seven months; in exile and 
 prison he passed seven years. His sway as Senator last- 
 ed seven weeks ; and in this romance he fills seven books, 
 the other three dealing with the plague at Florence, and 
 The Grand Company and its commander. 
 
 Bulwer attributes the failure of Rienzi not to any 
 error of the man, but to the faults of the people he sought 
 to serve, who were a miscellaneous and mongrel mixture 
 of many tribes. The tools were too poor for the arti- 
 ficer's use. An unmixed race may be taught that to be 
 great and free a people must trust not to individuals 
 but to themselves; that to institutions, not to men, they 
 must look for enduring reforms ; that their own passions 
 are despots to be subdued, their own reason should be 
 the remover of abuses. 
 
 But vain and delusive is the expectation that a de- 
 based and embruited population mil accept such teach- 
 ings. A selfseeker more or less corrupt is the highest 
 kind of ruler such a populace can appreciate; and Ri- 
 enzi 's fate is but one of many warnings against giving 
 to the incapable and ignoble a free government, equal 
 laws, and power. 
 
116 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 . There are three glorious women in Bienzi — the 
 gentle, unselfish, and retiring Irene, the flowerlike Ade- 
 line who ''drooped away and glided into heaven," and 
 'the regal Nina, imperious and haughty to all else, but 
 consoling, inspiring, and always tender to her lord. 
 
 A figure differing greatly from that of Rienzi, having 
 elements of grandeur and largeness, and wiser through 
 more selfish views, is Walter de Montreal, minstrel-monk 
 and warrior, the knightly leader of one of those roving 
 companies of men-at-arms who wandered from state to 
 state, selling their services and participating in per- 
 petual feuds, tender yet stern; a Provencal, with the 
 Troubadour's love of song and skill in singing; a war- 
 rior, ambitious, determined, and ruthless ; brilliant in the 
 field, but no match for the wily Italians in council ; nurs- 
 ing a great project, bending all his energies to its ac- 
 complishment, and recognizing in Rienzi his most for- 
 midable obstacle. From a deep grief which invites to 
 retirement and rest, he turns to vast plans needing con* 
 stant alertness and excluding all opportunity for re- 
 grets and sorrows. And the frankness which he never 
 guarded makes him a victim, where he designed to be a 
 benefactor. His ambitions conflict with those of the 
 Senator, and betrayal leads to arrest, trial, and execu- 
 tion, with the swift and foreseen doom of his conqueror 
 as a consequence. 
 
 An attractive character, and one natural to times of 
 agitation, is Adrian Colonna, whose conciliatory disposi- 
 tion would, with a worthy people, have forwarded and 
 consolidated freedom, because of his moderation, wis- 
 
RIENZI 117 
 
 dom, and position ; but with, the degenerates of Rome his 
 well-intentioned efforts fail, his abilities find little scope 
 for useful exercise, and he becomes but an unhappy 
 spectator of failure, instead of an active participant in 
 success. 
 
 The plague broke out at Florence soon after the fall 
 of the Tribune, and Adrian's search for Irene, whom 
 Rienzi, on the approach of danger, had induced to leave 
 Rome, brings into view the desolation of the city where 
 the horror reigned, and gives occasion for the introduc- 
 tion of a Decameron-like company, who retiring to an- 
 other Fiesoli, passed their time in similar fashion to 
 those whose days Boccaccio chronicled. 
 
 The church of Rome presents a sorry spectacle in 
 these volumes. Its every act has a sordid or selfish mo- 
 tive, and though its conduct is not commented upon, the 
 mere record of its dealings with Rienzi is condemnatory. 
 
 Rienzi is finely constructed and nobly executed. 
 Eloquence pervades the entire narrative. Its reflections 
 are wise and its judgments discriminating. The thoughts 
 and feelings of its characters are revealed as fully as 
 their appearances are described, and the great figures 
 afford warning as well as command admiration. The 
 work evidences a masterly comprehension of the time 
 and its phenomena, and of their relation to the past and 
 future; and a patient study of the men prominent in 
 affairs, and the circumstances which influenced their ac- 
 tions. It is the earliest romance in which actual historic 
 personages appear in their due prominence, and in their 
 proper relation to real events. It was therefore a de- 
 
118 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 parture from the customary, and the author, in a now 
 discarded preface, thus prepared the reader for some- 
 thing different from the usual : 
 / ''A work which takes for its subject the crimes and 
 errors of a nation, which ventures, however unsuccess- 
 fully, to seek the actual and the real in the highest stage 
 of passion or action, can, I think, rarely adopt with ad- 
 vantage the melodramatic effects produced by a vulgar 
 mystery, or that stage-effect humor which, arising from 
 small peculiarities of character, draws the attention of 
 the reader from greatness or from crime, to a weakness 
 or a folly. Nor does a fiction, dealing in such subjects, 
 admit very frequently, or with minute detail, superfluous 
 descriptions of costume and manners. Of costume and 
 manners I have had, indeed, a less ambitious and less 
 disputable motive for brevity in delineation. 
 
 ''I write of a feudal century, and I have no desire to 
 write more than is necessary of feudal manners, after 
 the inimitable and everlasting portraitures of Sir Walter 
 Scott. I say thus much, in order to prepare the mind of 
 the reader as to what he is to expect in the following 
 volumes — a duty I think incumbent upon every author 
 of discretion and benevolence; for, being somewhat 
 warned and trained, as it were, the docile reader thus 
 falls happily upon the proper scent, and does not waste 
 his time in scampering over fields and running into 
 hedges in a direction contrary to that which he ought to 
 pursue. 
 
 ' ' Mistake not, courteous reader — imagine not that 
 all this prologue is to prepare thee for a dull romance — 
 imagine not that I desire to prove to thee that romances 
 
RIENZI 119 
 
 should be dull. And yet I must allow my preface is 
 ominous — little of costume, less of mystery, nothing of 
 humor ! What is there left to interest or amuse ? Pas- 
 sion, character, action, truth! Enough of materials, if 
 the poor workman can but weave them properly!" 
 
 The work became a power in Italy, stimulating those 
 engaged in the task of political regeneration and influ- 
 encing the forces which became active in 1848. Besides 
 aiding in recreating Italy, it had a beneficent effect on a 
 great artist. Wagner records that in Bulwer Lytton's 
 Rienzi he obtained an inspiration which lifted him far 
 above the cares and distraction of his home life. ^ 
 
 Rienzi was published in 1835. 
 
LEILA 
 
 THE closing scenes of the final act in the recon- 
 quest of Spain from the Moors are depicted in this 
 romance. The last stage of eight centuries of con- 
 flict in which chivalrous honor, frank courtesy, and pro- 
 digious valor distinguished alike the native Spaniard and 
 the intruders from Mauritania who had established an as- 
 cendency they strove vainly to maintain, was reached 
 when Ferdinand massed his forces around the city of the 
 Alhambra. The last chapters in the history of an alien 
 dynasty which ended with the surrender of Granada to 
 its Christian conquerors are here recorded. The fluctua- 
 tions of that memorable siege, the incidents which accom- 
 panied its progress and the personages who were the prin- 
 cipal agents in forwarding or resisting the ensuing tri- 
 umph, are vividly described. Boadbil the vacillating, his 
 stern mother, the brave unselfish Muza, the politic Fer- 
 dinand, and the fanatical Torquemada are all adequately 
 portrayed. 
 
 The interest of the work centers in Almamen, the un- 
 avowed Jew and master of magic. Pride in his race and 
 hatred of its oppressors inflame him to the double pur- 
 pose of winning liberty for his people and wreaking re- 
 venge on their perfldious foes. 
 
 There is nothing sordid or selfish in his ambition, but 
 the contempt in which both Moor and Castilian hold all 
 Jews compels him to hide his connection with the de- 
 
LEILA 121 
 
 spised race and allow himself to be mistaken for a Moor ; 
 and he cannot disclose his identity to other Jews, for he 
 knows they would betray him. Therefore in all his en- 
 deavors he is alone, having neither confidant nor friend. 
 He negotiates with Moor and Christian, despising both. 
 His influence causes Boabdil to suspect his noblest friend 
 and to delay when prompt action is imperatively needed. 
 In the Christian camp he has to contend with fanaticism 
 and craft as well as ambition, and despite all his address 
 and resourcefulness, his attempt to secure by guile and 
 treason fair conditions for his people not only fail, but 
 produce greater misery and renewed persecution and 
 bring upon his own head sufferings, sorrow, and death. 
 His energy and courage should command sympathy, but 
 the scheming man is a practiser of the sorcerer's arts. 
 His appearances are abrupt and mysterious, his deeds 
 transcend those of mortals, and although his misfortunes 
 are great the pity due to the man is withheld from the 
 magician. 
 
 Passion is foreign to the Jew. It perplexes and con- 
 founds him ; but sentiment is a ruling influence with all 
 the race, and its potency is finely illustrated in Leila, the 
 daughter of Almamen. Disliking and distrusting the mer- 
 cenary Jews, the Santon has kept Leila apart from all 
 her people, and their institutions, customs, and ceremon- 
 ies have not been made familiar to her. When trans- 
 ferred to a Christian household and made acquainted 
 with the teachings and acts of Christ, her gratitude, 
 sympathy, and reverence for good cause her to see in 
 Christianity not a hostile religion, but a higher develop- 
 ment of the creed of the Jew. She forsakes a faith 
 
122 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 which never has been more than a gloomy mystery to 
 her for one which promises precisely what her sorrow 
 and hopelessness render precious. 
 
 When persecution was the universal lot of the Jew, 
 necessity solidified the race, and through centuries of 
 suffering, spoliation, and humiliation, its members main- 
 tained the right to think for themselves and refused to 
 accept from others either ceremony or belief. But it is 
 the daughters of Israel who have preserved the creed 
 and institutions of their race, and inspired the resist- 
 ance to all dictation in matters of belief. 
 
 With extending toleration, the circumstances which 
 made the Jews a peculiar people are changed. Imita- 
 tion of and amalgamation with the Gentile increases, and 
 the education of the women of Israel may effect what 
 force failed to accomplish, and cause the tribes to be 
 absorbed by the peoples among whom they live. But a 
 pure race, enlightened and cultivated, devoting atten- 
 tion to the quality rather than the quantity of their 
 offspring, would have advantages over every other peo- 
 ple, greater than any at present attributed to the Jew. 
 
 Leila is the most perfunctory production of its au- 
 thor. The men and women are not made known to us 
 by unfoldings in dialogue and action. Descriptions are 
 substituted for revealings, and with few exceptions the 
 characters remain undeveloped. Possibly this resulted 
 from the limited compass of the work, which was writ- 
 ten to accompany steel engravings ' ' by the most eminent 
 artists.'' A strife for superiority in theatrical treat- 
 ment seems to have raged among the illustrators. Leila 
 was published in 1835. 
 
CALDERON 
 
 COMPACT, absorbing, and rapid in its action, with 
 few characters and no episodical incidents, the tale 
 of Calderon has in its plot, its personages, and its 
 catastrophe the material of a strong tragedy. Curious- 
 ly similar to Le Rois' Amiise it is as odd that Bulwer and 
 Hugo should at about the same time have hit upon 
 stories with such a likeness, as that The Lady of Lyons 
 and Ruy Bias were produced in the same year. 
 
MALTRAVERS 
 
 THE double plot, which is an important character- 
 istic of Bulwer's later productions, is the domin- 
 ant feature in this, the most fascinating of his 
 works. 
 
 Telestic meanings may be found in all great books. 
 Cervantes in relating the mischances of Don Quixote 
 had a purpose beyond the description of a series of 
 adventures. In that work he illustrates the struggle of 
 poetry with the commonplace, the ridicule with which 
 mankind regards enthusiasm for good, the ingratitude 
 of the world to its would-be betterers, with other sig- 
 nifications discernible when the romance is attentively 
 perused. Usually the occurrence of these suggestions 
 is intermittent and merely incidental. But the double 
 purpose is a fundamental element in the design of 
 Maltravers. It is maintained throughout the work, it 
 governs the choice of characters and incidents, and 
 is the compelling cause of some of the situations. 
 
 The effects produced by the ordinary circles of the 
 world upon the moral development of an artist who is 
 wealthy and well-born, and whose temptations are more 
 insidious and conducive to abandonment of effort than 
 are those which beset poverty ; the discipline which ad- 
 vances him, the influences which thwart or retard, and 
 the conduct which ultimately secures serenity and faith 
 as additions to fortitude, and makes beneficent activity 
 
MALTRAVERS 125 
 
 possible, provide the main interest and lessons of the 
 book. 
 
 The changes wrought on the characters of other fre- 
 quenters of these circles are also shown. He who covets 
 praise and immediate popularity, availing himself of 
 whatever promises these, deteriorates, finds neither sat- 
 isfaction nor content, and sinks from the envious into 
 the despicable. 
 
 The intriguing self-seeker, who schemes for power as 
 the ministrant to his own importance, finds in these 
 same circles means to his ends, ever seems to gain through 
 using devious methods, but always finds in apparent 
 success disappointment and humiliation; he climbs by 
 evil paths to heights which have no glory in prospect, 
 no satisfaction in retrospect, no pleasure in possession. 
 
 The work describes and reveals the feelings and ac- 
 tion — the mental and moral growth — of those whose 
 histories it narrates. It gives graphic pictures of the 
 higher social circles of Paris and London, and in dis- 
 playing the various agencies which severally influence 
 the artistic and the natural, introduces a great number 
 of characters who ai'e generalized representatives of the 
 world's classes and institutions with which Maltravers 
 and Alice are brought into contact. Though each of 
 these characters personifies some quality — such as am- 
 bition, conventionality, egotism, practical philosophy — 
 all are wholly free from the formal rigidity usual in 
 allegorical personages. 
 
 Of these depictions, the scheming Ferrars is the most 
 elaborate. With careful particularization the gradual 
 corruption of his mind is shown as he thrusts himself 
 
126 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 into power and position, and progresses from youth to 
 maturity ; how his adroitness becomes trickery, then de- 
 ceit, and presently criminality; and the retributive fate 
 by which his despised dupes bring about his ruin at the 
 moment of his seeming triumph, and add another to the 
 long list of those who approximating themselves to the 
 principle of evil — intellect without beneficence — like 
 their exemplar, end in failure. 
 
 In a world of mediocrities who not only reprobate 
 what they recognize as evil, but suspect the good which 
 is above their comprehension, the unselfish necessarily 
 meet with much to deter from generous activity, and the 
 favor shown to those who by equivocal means have at- 
 tained prominence and position is not the least of their 
 discouragements. Nevertheless, in the progress of this 
 romance it is shown that self approval is of greater value 
 than celebrity, and that conduct regulated by principle, 
 regardless of mere popularity, results in higher attain- 
 ments and greater satisfaction than other courses would 
 secure ; that every sin must be suffered for ; and that the 
 instances in which vicious methods appear to have suc- 
 ceeded are always deceptive, because those who follow 
 crooked paths leave contentment behind them, are 
 harassed by disquieting anxieties, and are overtaken 
 by inevitable disaster. 
 
 Genius is naturally solitary. Maltravers is an orphan, 
 whose guidance devolves upon the amiable dilettante 
 Cleveland. Educated in Germany, he acquires there a 
 high conception of the dignity and principles of art, 
 and an ideal standard, too elevated for practical life, 
 
MALTRAVERS 127 
 
 by which he judges man, the world, and its institutions. 
 Exaggerated sentiments, an unregulated love of the 
 natural, and the desire to improve whatever he en- 
 counters, prompt him to undertake the culture of the 
 untutored Alice. He adopts measures recognized as 
 unusual and wrong, because they involve secrecy and 
 an assumed name ; and since those who cultivate art are 
 more than ordinarily vulnerable to emotion, the realiza- 
 tion of the danger with which the experiment is fraught 
 barely precedes his surrender to passion, and the error 
 of allowing sentiment to rule conduct produces lasting 
 grief, made more poignant by the disappearance of 
 Alice. 
 
 Despite the poverty and wretchedness of her early 
 environment, Alice is not a product of vicious life. Her 
 receptivity for cultivation is an inheritance, for her 
 father was the son of a gentleman, though that fact was 
 twisted by Luke Darvil into an excuse for wrong-doing. 
 Though ignorant and unsophisticated, under artistic in- 
 fluence she quickly develops the graces natural to her 
 sex. Affection is her strongest characteristic, and music, 
 the art which reproducing and expressing moods most 
 closely approaches feeling, becomes her joy and solace. 
 Unaware of sin, she errs, nor recognizes evil in her act; 
 but the affection which misled becomes a duty strength- 
 ening with the years. Vicious suggestion is powerless to 
 debase, hypocritical example does not corrupt her. Ex- 
 perience refines the original strength, patience, and con- 
 stancy of the natural. Culture adds comprehension of 
 morality and reverence for religion, and these become 
 
128 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 the principles by which conduct is governed so abso- 
 lutely that no circumstance or peril is permitted to cause 
 the least infraction of their dictates. 
 
 The artist justly regards wrong-doing as entailing 
 responsibility and calling for punishment. He views 
 the Deity as a grander reflection of his own ideas, and, 
 conscious of having injured another, becomes morbidly 
 remorseful, self accusing, and despondent. 
 
 In the society of the practical he by-and-by half for- 
 gets what disappointed enthusiasm has lost, and the 
 low views of life are opposed to the high. In the fash- 
 ionable functions of a court whose frivolous characters 
 and formal customs seem to justify the satirist's opinion 
 of mankind, he meets one who, actuated by principle 
 and mindful of duty, successfully resists her own weak- 
 ness. Though the conventional is inimical to artistic 
 advancement because of its bias toward the common- 
 place and popular, individuals superior to the class may 
 attract the artist, but only disappointment could result 
 from any alliance. Friendship, however, is mutually 
 beneficial, and this is established. A higher apprecia- 
 tion of humanity is restored, and since there can be 
 no long continued congeniality between the artist who 
 is necessarily sympathetic and the egotist who seeks 
 only to put others to use, disgust with the selfishly prac- 
 tical ends the companionship of Ferrars and Maltravers. 
 
 Loneliness gives occasion for reflection and creates a 
 desire to write. The artist begins composition with 
 no aim other than self -development. He meets Cesarini, 
 and the spectacle of a mediocre poet overestimating his 
 powers, consumed with the desire for immediate fame, 
 
MALTRAVERS 129 
 
 unhappy, discontented, and deluded, almost affrights 
 Maltravers from his purpose. 
 
 De Montaigne the philosopher, practical and effica- 
 cious friend and adviser, schools Maltravers into thinking 
 justly and perceiving clearly, shows him the requisites 
 for useful production, the duty of pursuing his voca- 
 tion with high and unselfish aims, dispels his doubt and 
 irresolution, and inspires to effort. Intent upon appli- 
 cation, Maltravers leaves his Italian friends, and after a 
 period of solitude in the retirement of his old home, 
 tempts gods and columns as an author. 
 
 The biting reviews, the depreciating praise, and the 
 personal abuse with which the contributors to the pe- 
 riodical press seek to degrade those who aspire to a 
 position in the fierce republic of letters, and which are 
 dealt out unsparingly to Maltravers as soon as his book 
 is published, rouse resentment, then disgust; and it 
 needs all the fine sense and reasoning of De Montaigne 
 to reconcile him to his career. 
 
 But enthusiasm and unselfish desire to benefit his race 
 have given place to disdain for humanity, and pride has 
 become his prevailing characteristic. Misrepresentation 
 and abuse, even if disregarded, have evil effects on the 
 artist, inasmuch as they destroy his confidence in justice 
 and narrow his sympathies. Maltravers has become 
 wiser, but also harsher. Stem principles, not generous 
 sentiments, now rule his conduct. He is strong to resist 
 temptation, but no longer anxious to do good. He re- 
 sumes literary work, in addition to which he undertakes 
 the toils of a legislator, and slowly acquires power and 
 fame. 
 
130 PEOSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 Again Cesarini appears; envious, accusing, jealous, 
 and manifesting his vanity by an affectation of the pic- 
 turesque in costume and conduct. Wasting his powers 
 and his means in unworthy pretensions, feted by a co- 
 terie and mistaking that for fame, Cesarini is a type of 
 the charlatanic writer. He composes verses about pas- 
 sions and situations never experienced, praises gloom 
 and solitude, affects strange dress, and blames the lack 
 of these characteristics in others. He aspires to the hand 
 of Lady Florence, and welcomes the fulsome flattery of 
 Ferrars, in both instances exposing his want of com- 
 mon sense. He sacrifices his integrity for a foolish re- 
 venge, allows passion to distort conduct into injustice, 
 and sinks from the poet into the criminal. 
 
 In the great World of fashion and wealth, these con- 
 trasting types of the followers of art meet Lady Flor- 
 ence. To Cesarini she is patronizing, but he miscon- 
 strues her courtesies into evidences of love. To Mal- 
 travers she would be an Egeria, inspiring and guiding 
 to other fields than those of art. Influence and fame 
 she desires for him, but power is her great object. 
 
 Cesarini avows his love and is contemptuously reject- 
 ed. Maltravers is surprised into a declaration and is 
 accepted. But he quickly regrets this impulsive act, for 
 the artist requires serenity and confidence, and these are 
 incompatible with her exacting and aspiring aims. She 
 is the personification of ambition. Beautiful, attractive, 
 and ardent, her partial comprehension of the world is 
 derived from the narrow coterie in which her lot is cast, 
 and she regards with disdain most of its frequenters. 
 Pique and vanity cause her interest in Maltravers, which 
 
MALTRAVERS 131 
 
 changes to ambition for him, an ambition she designs to 
 guide and direct. Too selfish to judge men aright, she 
 errs in all her estimates of theifl. Too ready to believe 
 that all act from interested motives, she wrecks her hap- 
 piness and her life by willingly yielding to suspicion. 
 But her intimacy with Maltravers elevates her beliefs 
 and softens her conduct. She begins to see that pa- 
 triotism and virtue are something more than names, and 
 becomes better fitted for noble uses in the world, just as 
 fate hurries her from it. 
 
 Cesarini, prompted by Ferrars, plays on her weakness 
 and causes the breaking of her engagement, which re- 
 sults in her death. Maltravers learns part of the plot 
 which maligned him and deceived Lady Florence, and 
 disgust with men is added to his scorn of the world and 
 th^ objects he had pursued. He withdraws from strife 
 with competitors whom he despises, leaves England, and 
 among the nomad Arabs learns to live alone, remote 
 from and regardless of his f ellowmen. 
 
 But he is an artist, whom barbarism can only tran- 
 siently interest and satisfy, and presently the world of 
 finer possibilities lures him back. 
 
 After varied travels Maltravers returns to his home. 
 He has taught himself to regard efforts in amelioration 
 of the condition of humanity as useless. Men in the 
 mass are, ever have been, and will continue to be, dis- 
 contented and unhappy. Only to the few in each gen- 
 eration is any exception to the universal lot vouchsafed, 
 and effects are so different from intents that he questions 
 whether the active philanthropist does more good than 
 evil. Civilization is the continued sacrifice of one gen- 
 
132 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 eration to the next, and he adopts a policy of indiffer- 
 entism which justifies his abstention from effort in the 
 large labors of his land. He employs himself in improv- 
 ing his estate and its dependents. Art is no longer cul- 
 tivated. He limits his aims to being just, expecting 
 little from mankind; and cherishing pride as a virtue, 
 he is not restrained by consideration for others from in- 
 dulging in sarcasms which wound. 
 
 Again De Montaigne controverts the justice of his con- 
 clusions, shows that discontent is the source of perpetual 
 progress and may have no goal even in Heaven; that 
 progress and improvement do go together though a few 
 social measures may have failed to accomplish the de- 
 sired ends, for the life of the worker has been lengthened 
 and the quality of his desires improved. The discon- 
 tented serf after receiving freedom desires higher wages, 
 greater comforts, easier justice; all nobler wants, all 
 springing from discontent, which can only be banished 
 by activity. Activity is virtuous therefore, privileges 
 are accompanied by obligations, the mission of genius 
 can only be discharged in action. And to labor in the 
 service of mankind is at once a duty and a blessing. 
 
 His system of false philosophy is thus disturbed. But 
 when he recalls his former drudgeries in politics and lit- 
 erature, the small enmities, the false friendships, the 
 malice, the envy, and the abuse which accompany high- 
 purposed activity, dismay him, and he shrinks from re- 
 entering public life. The solitude of his home oppresses 
 him. He has no object in life, and regrets for the past 
 consume him. And then he meets Evelyn, whose youth, 
 
MALTRAVERS 133 
 
 truth, and goodness recall Alice. Wearied and lonely, he 
 fancies that with her the void in his life might be filled. 
 
 Ferrars, now Lord Vargrave, intent upon securing to 
 himself the fortune of Evelyn, imposes upon Maltravers 
 by a false tale of consanguinity, and thereby causes the 
 renunciation of Evelyn. Maltravers resolves to leave 
 Europe, but an impulse causes him to return to England, 
 and there he learns that Vargrave 's representations 
 were deliberately untruthful. Meeting Alice again he 
 becomes aware that it was certain resemblances in tone, 
 gesture, and manner which Evelyn bore to Alice that had 
 attracted him. And that it is in Alice — the natural 
 enriched by culture and experience, more faithful and 
 firm under trial and temptation, more constant and un- 
 selfish in affection, sympathy, and beneficence than him- 
 self — he must find the completing crown of his own de- 
 velopment. Thus the artistic having acquired knowl- 
 edge of the true uses of the ideal and the actual, and the 
 natural having been elevated and refined by sacrifice and 
 experience, are brought together; and with serenity se- 
 cured and faith strengthened, it becomes possible for 
 knowledge and experience to be applied to definite and 
 useful purposes. 
 
 The artist's irregular and sentimental admiration and 
 devotion to the natural produced error and remorse, for 
 sentiment fails as a guide to conduct whenever passion 
 appears. 
 
 The egotist opposed the commonplace views to the 
 ideal, but their trend toward the low caused disgust and 
 abandonment. 
 
134 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 The conventional as desired would have been a de- 
 grading tie ; when its usages are properly respected it is 
 helpful, consolatory, and inspiring. 
 
 Ambition allured and also distracted but never could 
 have satisfied, for it aims at power, with which art has 
 no concern. 
 
 The artist recognizing the ideal as a standard toward 
 which efforts should be bent, and the practical as a con- 
 dition from which elevating processes should be directed, 
 becomes more steadfast, less haughty, and better fitted 
 to produce refined and exalting works. 
 
 The natural undergoes other experiences than those 
 which school the artistic. In the one, intellect is dis- 
 ciplined. In the other, feeling is refined. The qualities 
 of the one are of the head, the qualities of the other are 
 of the heart. Constancy and faith elevate affection; 
 duty and religion strengthen it, and fit the probationers 
 for that companionship which immaturity rendered 
 harmful to both. 
 
 These are a few of the secondary significances of Mal- 
 travers. 
 
 His own experiences qualified Bulwer to write about 
 the preparation and composition of literary works, but 
 his remarks are not applicable to his own publications or 
 career. Unlike Maltravers, he had to earn his livelihood 
 by his pen, and periodicals, annuals, and magazines were 
 contributed to by him with an industry that precluded 
 the careful elaboration his hero was able to bestow. 
 Many of the observations may be reminiscent, as for in- 
 stance those on the changed conditions and feelings of 
 the author at the time a book is published from those 
 
MALTRAVERS 135 
 
 under which it was composed. But the author in the 
 book is a very different individual from the author of 
 the book. 
 
 Maltravers contains acute and remarkable observa- 
 tions on the fluctuations of civilization, the constant 
 gains accruing from social improvements, the compara- 
 tive unimportance of political forms or governmental 
 changes, and the characteristics of French literature of 
 the reign of Louis Philippe. 
 
 It was published in two parts, the first under the title 
 of Ernest Maltravers in 1835, the second, called Alice, 
 two years later. 
 
SHORT STORIES 
 
 THE tales in The Pilgrims of the Rhine are a part 
 of the design of that work. They show the range 
 of German literary activity, and wean Gertrude 
 Vane from longings for that length of years which fate 
 denies her. Other stories were written by Bulwer of 
 which the more important are fourteen in number. 
 ^'Monos and Diamonos" and the seven next succeeding 
 are in The Student. "The Law of Arrest" appeared in 
 The New Monthly Magazine for 1832, and was included 
 in the first issue of The Student^ but omitted from later 
 editions. "De Lindsay" is in The New Monthly for 1830, 
 and "Hereditary Honours" and "The Nymph of the 
 Lurlie Berg" in The New Monthly for 1832. "An Ep- 
 isode from Life" was contributed to one of Lady Bless- 
 ington's annuals and "The Haunted and the Haunters" 
 to Blackwood's Magazine, August, 1859. 
 
 "Monos and Diamonos" has for its moral the need of 
 sinlessness in those who desire solitude for its pleasure. 
 
 ' ' The World as It Is" inculcates the wisdom of modera- 
 tion in estimating the characters of those with whom we 
 come in contact, because without it disappointments will 
 be experienced, and from being too confiding we may be- 
 come over-suspicious. 
 
 "The Choice of Phylias" illustrates the proposition 
 that day is not more separate from night than true fame 
 
SHORT STORIES 137 
 
 from general popularity; for to shine is to injure the 
 selflove of others, and selflove is the most vindictive of 
 human feelings. 
 
 ' ' The True Ordeal of Love ' ' is constant companionship. 
 It is easy for two persons to die joyfully together when 
 lovers, but difficult to live comfortably together when 
 married and seeing too much of each other. 
 
 **Arasmanes the Seeker" for Aden or content, con- 
 stantly finds what others represent as that condition, 
 but neither in love nor learning, nor commerce nor ad- 
 venture, nor power does he find it. When its attainment 
 appears to be possible at the expense of crime, his friend 
 is sacrificed, but only in death is found that content 
 which is procurable by a search for it. 
 
 ^'Chairolas" treats of the perilous period between boy- 
 hood and manhood, and the dangerous possibility that 
 noble enthusiasms may, as the result of ridicule or de- 
 ception, be discarded as follies, and the endowment which 
 these would ennoble and make beneficial, thus become a 
 curse. 
 
 ''Fi-ho-ti" sets forth the unpleasant accompaniments 
 of reputation. Those whose counsel he has followed be- 
 come frigid to him, the friends of his youth manifest 
 their jealousy, new acquaintances are exacting and un- 
 sympathetic, and each new benefit conferred upon the 
 w^orld raises a chorus of abuse and calumny. His atten- 
 tions flatter but do not win affection, and his benefactions 
 are accepted but awaken no gratitude ; and disgusted and 
 rendered suspicious, the sole boon craved is escape from 
 reputation. 
 
 ''Ferdinand Fitzroy" exhibits the inconvenience of be- 
 
138 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 ing too handsome. On the one hand it is regarded as 
 rendering unnecessary the cultivation of mental quali- 
 ties. On the other it is a cause of these being denied or 
 belittled. He is too handsome for a scholar, a lawyer, 
 or a soldier, or for a member of parliament, or a hus- 
 band, or an heir, or anything except a prison. 
 
 * ' The Law of Arrest ' ' ridicules a law, since repealed, by 
 which on a false oath of debt a person could be deprived 
 of his liberty until trial, and then be discharged because 
 his accuser did not appear; he having profited in the 
 meanwhile, and not being punishable, except through 
 prosecution for perjury. 
 
 ''DeLindsay" is the story of one who, after years of 
 profligate indulgence, meets and loves the daughter of a 
 bigoted merchant. Her goodness awakens his higher na- 
 ture, and prompts to reforms which promise atonement, 
 which at the point of realization are frustrated by the 
 revenge of one previously injured. 
 
 *' Hereditary Honours" are satirised by an account of 
 the love of a lawyer 's daughter for one who has an hered- 
 itary title and a provision from the government, but who 
 turns out to be The Hereditary Hangman. 
 
 * ' The Nymph of the Lurlei Berb. ' ' — Actuated by a de- 
 sire to win the gold guarded by the water spirits of the 
 Rhine, a young spendthrift, *'by birth a knight, by ne- 
 cessity a robber, and by name and nature Rupert the 
 Fearnought," feigns love for Lurline, a water nymph, 
 and cajoles her into entrusting him with her treasures 
 to enable him to restore his impoverished castle, to which 
 he promises to conduct her as soon as it is fitted for her 
 reception. He returns no more, but presently arranges 
 
SHORT STORIES 139 
 
 to espouse the Ladye of Lorchausen. Then the guard- 
 ians of Lurline beguile the bride's vessel to the rocks, 
 and revenge on the faithless lover the wrongs of the 
 water spirit by robbing him of his bride and her treas- 
 ure. 
 
 *'An Episode in Life/' A student in occult matters re- 
 quiring a document his dead father had possessed, but 
 which cannot now be found, by his art, using his daugh- 
 ter as an intermediary, calls up the spirit of his father, 
 which warns him against persisting in his search. Dis- 
 regarding this injunction, he perseveres and finds the lost 
 papers, but causes the death of his daughter, and brings 
 about his own ruin. 
 
 ''The Haunted and the Haunters" is an attempt to 
 construct an interest akin to that formerly felt in tales of 
 witchcraft and ghostland out of ideas and beliefs which 
 have crept into fashion in the society of our own day, 
 and which are summed up in the term spiritualism. The 
 phenomena accompanying these beliefs are receiving in- 
 quisitive examination, but for conclusive theory the 
 facts are as yet insufficient and the evidence inadequate- 
 ly tested. In this condition they are legitimate material 
 for art. 
 
 Learning of a haunted house in London, the author, 
 accompanied by his servant and his dog, undertakes 
 the occupancy of the place, and after examining the 
 premises thoroughly awaits developments, which quickly 
 ensue. These impress him with the idea that some ex- 
 traordinarily strong will is opposed to whoever and 
 whatever inhabits the house. His servant is affrighted 
 and runs away, his dog's neck is broken, and he is op- 
 
140 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 pressed with an unnatural horror. But believing that 
 all he is subjected to has a material living cause, that 
 much of what is called supernatural is merely some- 
 thing of which we have been hitherto ignorant, and that 
 what was presented to his senses must originate in some 
 human being, he feels interest but not fear, and per- 
 sists. Because of the sensations being much more in- 
 tense in one particular room, he advises the owner to 
 destroy that room. They find beneath it a hidden cham- 
 ber in which is an apparatus for the enforcement of the 
 "Will and the perpetual curse of restlessness upon the 
 house and all who dwell therein, and a miniature and 
 some writing, by which the originator is made recogniz^a- 
 ble. A few days after, the author beholds the original 
 of the miniature, is introduced to him, and directs the 
 conversation to the experiences in the haunted house. 
 He is thereupon thrown into a trance and made to 
 answer questions concerning the future of the Man 
 with the Will, then left asleep. Afterward he receives 
 a note from this man forbidding for three months any 
 communication of what had passed, which inhibition he 
 is utterly unable to break. 
 
NIGHT AND MORNING 
 
 OF this work, conduct is the theme. Not the ad- 
 vantage of cultivating mental qualities, but the 
 imperative need of determined and persistent 
 effort; of respecting, cherishing, and practicing rigid 
 honesty; of bearing with fortitude the trials which are 
 incidental to all lives, and of sacrificing self, when the 
 occasion arises, no matter how bitter the ordeal. For 
 from each right act there follows a gain in strength, and 
 a sense of satisfaction not otherwise attainable; and he 
 who resolutely resists temptation, endures reverses and 
 disappointments without whining, who works patiently 
 even at disagreeable tasks, but never forfeits self es- 
 teem, nor incurs the disapproval of his own conscience, 
 will find the opportunity for which his discipline has 
 qualified him, and emerging from the Night of sorrow 
 and trial into the Morning of hope and satisfaction, 
 will obtain that content which is the most enviable of 
 possessions. 
 
 The production of a series of acting plays preceded 
 the composition of Night and Morning, and as a result 
 of the mastery of the art of the playwright, this and 
 succeeding works possess greater condensation, more 
 compact structure, and have many situations essentially 
 dramatic in treatment and effect. 
 
 The potentiality of circumstances in influencing con- 
 
142 PEOSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 duct for evil where the individual is weak or careless, is 
 repeatedly shown, and responsibility for some of these 
 results is placed upon society, whose province it should 
 be to deal with vice, as law does with crime. The fine 
 world which approves a Lilburn and blasts a Gawtry, 
 has its part in causing the criminality of the latter, and 
 encouraging the worst deeds of the former. Society 
 suffers from both, and deservedly so, for it ought to 
 amend the circumstances, and not be content with 
 preaching at vice, and punishing crime. 
 
 The characters are not transcripts from life, but gen- 
 eralizations from wide experience. William Gawtry is a 
 supremely tragic figure who compels both pity and ter- 
 ror. Roberts Beaufort is an original type of the ''re- 
 spectable" man, weak, selfish, formal, and unaware of 
 his own ingrained despicability. Lilburn is a copy of 
 Saville in Godolphin, but with more energy and daring. 
 
 The important incidents, while never straining the 
 confidence of the reader, are nevertheless such as could 
 not be imitated. The ingenuities of Gawtry afford no 
 suggestions to the evilly inclined, the villainies of Lil- 
 burn are only practicable after elaborate tuition. Both 
 in personages and events the actual is carefully avoided. 
 
 The history of Caleb Price, which is given in the open- 
 ing chapter of Night and Morning^ contrasts that of the 
 hero of the work, by showing how a similar reverse of 
 fortune affects one without energy, and prone to depend 
 on others. In careless expectation of provision from 
 richer friends, Caleb wastes his means and his early 
 years. The action of life separates him from his wealthy 
 companions, and he subsides into a poor clergyman. His 
 
NIGHT AND MORNING 143 
 
 exile is brightened for a brief period by a visit from an 
 old school-fellow, for whom he performs a private mar- 
 riage. Left in solitude, he indulges in dreams of a 
 home, strives vainly to win a partner, and then fades 
 out of life, his last hours being cheered by an offer of 
 advancement, which comes too late. 
 
 Philip Morton, only a boy when the story opens, has 
 been reared in luxury, his propensities to pride, extrav- 
 agance, and imperiousness encouraged rather than 
 checked ; and though, generous and courageous, his char- 
 acter shows nothing to indicate anything better than 
 an energetic, dictatorial manhood, unredeemed by moral 
 or intellectual culture. By the sudden death of his 
 father he finds himself poor, nameless, and dependent 
 on the charity of him who has appropriated the prop- 
 erty hitherto regarded as his heritage. His mother is 
 failing rapidly, and his brother, a mere child, is deli- 
 cate and timid; but although moneyless and without 
 trade or profession he refuses the aid of his usurping 
 uncle and seeks employment, accepting the first position 
 offered him, that of assistant to a bookseller. Subdu- 
 ing his pride, he leaves his home, journeys to the town 
 where his employer lives, performs tasks uncongenial to 
 him, refrains from all indulgences, and saves to aid his 
 mother. Ere long he learns that her death is imminent. 
 His funds are insufficient for any useful purpose. He 
 asks an advance from his master, which is refused. An 
 opportunity to appropriate money presents itself. Yield- 
 ing to the temptation, he seizes some coins, but drops 
 them again; and on foot hurries to his mother. He 
 finds her dead, and his uncle, who has been called to 
 
144 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 her side and offers aid, is denounced and ordered away. 
 
 After the funeral, with his child brother he seeks 
 work again, unsuccessfully, until his horsemanship wins 
 him employment. 
 
 His uncle has employed a lawyer to find and assist 
 him, but he mistakes the object of this agent, and sus- 
 pects that punishment for his action at the bookseller's 
 is intended, and with his brother he takes to flight. 
 
 His uncle is not the only person who is anxious to find 
 him. An older friend of his mother also desires to take 
 charge of at least one of the boys, and Sidney is found 
 and taken away by this gentleman. Philip searches for 
 his brother, spends all his money in trying to find him, 
 and only ceases after receiving an upbraiding letter from 
 the child, who asks to be left in peace where he is well 
 cared for. Friendless and objectless, Philip works at 
 any labor offered, and endures misery and poverty until, 
 dispirited and starving, he seeks the only man who has 
 ever offered him a kindness, and presently finds him- 
 self with Gawtry at Paris. 
 
 Gawtry lives by his wits, at war with law, and his 
 ingenious schemings are all frauds, but Philip is un- 
 aware of this until deepening necessities compel partial 
 confidences from Gawtry, and a promise to show how 
 their present livelihood is won. In fulfilment of this 
 promise he is taken to the quarters of Gawtry 's friends, 
 and finds that they are coiners. Before any expostula- 
 tion or protest can be made, a new member is introduced 
 to the band, in whom Gawtry recognizes an agent of 
 the police, notwithstanding his clever disguise. Work 
 
NIGHT AND MORNING 145 
 
 ceases, and a feast is provided in honor of the new addi- 
 tion to their ranks. Gawtry banters this individual for 
 awhile, then to the consternation of all addresses him 
 as Monsieur Favart, and seizes and slays the dreaded 
 detective and also the traitor who obtained his admis- 
 sion; and then all flee. Pursued by officers, Gawtry is 
 shot and killed. Philip escapes and is protected and 
 hidden by a lady whose reputation is jeopardized by 
 her act. 
 
 This sacrifice he would fain repair, and circumstances 
 conspire to render other methods impossible, so mar- 
 riage is resolved on. He becomes engaged, but in order 
 that he may win some honorable distinction before 
 claiming the hand of one so generous and noble, he 
 joins the French army under the name of De Vaude- 
 mont. Mme. De Merville dies from an illness contracted 
 in one of her many errands of kindness. To conquer 
 his sorrow and carve out a reputation, Philip becomes 
 a soldier in India, and in the course of years wins re- 
 spect, esteem, and fortune. 
 
 Then he returns to England to seek his brother, and 
 to strive for justice and reparation. He secures proofs 
 that his parents were married, loses his heart to the 
 daughter of his usurping uncle, and finds in his rival 
 for her hand the brother hitherto vainly sought for. 
 Reconciliation and the giving up of his betrothed to Sid- 
 ney follows, and Philip finds consolation and happiness 
 with Fanny. 
 
 In giving this partner to Philip, there is this injustice : 
 that the tainted blood of Lilbum is transmitted to an- 
 
146 PEOSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 other generation, and thereby an injury to the race con- 
 tinued, otherwise the potentiality of inheritance is un- 
 derestimated or heredity regarded as unimportant. 
 
 The trials undergone by Philip weed out the willful- 
 ness and arrogance which characterised his youth, and 
 presaged an unamiable maturity. He is taught the in- 
 convenience of pride, the necessity of consideration for 
 others, the blight of evil associates; that good qualities 
 manifest themselves both in humble persons and patri- 
 cians ; and that circumstances are so compelling a factor 
 in life that man's judgment of actions is by necessity 
 partial, and usually unjust. 
 
 A curious trend in Bulwer's ideas on woman is in- 
 dicated in the portrayal of the heroine of this work. 
 He appears to have concluded that active qualities such 
 as kindness, sympathy, devotion, and confidence are 
 of more importance in the helpmeet than a cultivated 
 intellect and acquired accomplishments. In Malt ravers 
 Alice is one whose early ignorance kept her mind un- 
 formed, and in this work Fanny is shown as one of be- 
 lated mental awakening. True, it is seeming backward- 
 ness only. High capabilities are brought out whenever 
 occasion demands, but the household virtues are given 
 unmistakable preference, intellectual qualities being 
 treated as nonessentials in the wife of the active man. 
 
 Night and Morning was published in 1841. 
 
ZANONI 
 
 HUMAN life, exempt from the usual penalties of 
 existence, but still subject to human emotion ; the 
 nature and purposes of Art ; and the preparations 
 for and necessary conditions of the artist's life are con- 
 templated and expounded in this work. The exemplars 
 of life prolonged through the centuries belong to an au- 
 gust fraternity which has acquired secrets and powers by 
 means of which the material form can be perpetually 
 renewed and death deferred for ages, the conditions 
 upon which these privileges depend being an abstention 
 from human love, and an entire freedom from fear. 
 Age had made Mejnour impervious to passion or feel- 
 ing before he accepted the last gift of his order, and 
 knowledge alone attracts him ; but before the departure 
 of youth Zanoni had reached the highest Theurgic rank, 
 and mastered its last secrets. He is interested in all 
 that improves life and its conditions, and humanity 
 is still dear to him. 
 
 This continued existence is joyous and engrossing, for 
 only those who are brave, just, wise, and temperate can 
 attain to it ; and as its masters possess unusual faculties 
 and capacities, and are admitted to another world of 
 existence, that of the beings of the air (who though 
 impalpable and imperceptible to the uninitiated, are 
 familiar to the adepts) , it provides ceaseless interest, con- 
 
148 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 stant augmentation of knowledge, the ability to influ- 
 ence, direct or actively participate in the affairs of men, 
 to counsel and assist those whose endeavors and aspira- 
 tions are worthy and noble, and to thwart the designs 
 of the objectionable. 
 
 The scenes and events which provide the means by 
 which the representatives of this sublime brotherhood 
 are shown and unfolded in action and in thought, have 
 their beginning in the home of an Italian musician, whose 
 fondness for the strange and unearthly as subjects for 
 his compositions long militated against any recognition 
 of his undeniable ability. Devoted to his art, but care- 
 less of all beside except his wife and daughter, on whom 
 is concentrated whatever of his affection is spared from 
 the barbiton which is his constant companion and con- 
 fidant, and in whose strains are reflected the varying 
 moods of the master, the amiable enthusiast has pro- 
 duced many works, without being able to secure the 
 representation of one. 
 
 Viola, his ''other child," has been trained for the 
 operatic stage, and her first appearance is announced in 
 a new opera, the authorship of which is not disclosed 
 to the public. She has insisted that her father's favor- 
 ite work shall be thus produced, and the twofold success 
 which results lifts both author and singer into fame. 
 
 The joy and satisfaction so long delayed is of brief 
 duration, for the musician falls ill of a fever. His wife 
 contracts the disease while nursing him, and dies. At 
 a critical stage in his illness, he misses his barbiton and 
 rises to search for it. From his affrighted servant he 
 learns of his wife 's death, and broken-hearted, he draws 
 
ZANONI 149 
 
 from his old familiar, notes of more piercing wail and 
 poignant agony than ever before. It is his last effort. 
 The strings snap, and he dies, asking that ''it" be buried 
 with him, near ' ' her. ' ' 
 
 In the sorrow and subsequent trials of the orphan, 
 Zanoni, who had already aroused Viola's interest, coun- 
 sels, aids, and protects her, and endeavors to bring about 
 her union with a younger suitor. Glyndon, for whom 
 the preference of Viola is thus sought, has become fas- 
 cinated by Zanoni, and is eager to possess similar knowl- 
 edge and power. Learning that this is possible he re- 
 nounces Viola, and requests to be admitted to the broth- 
 erhood for love has passed from his heart. For the 
 purpose of preparation and initiation he becomes Mej- 
 nour's pupil, and Zanoni stoops from the height of his 
 attainments and yields to love, taking his bride to a 
 Grecian island where he seeks to lift her to his own 
 world. But affection is all-sufficing to Viola. She has 
 no farther desire, and love draws Zanoni 's nature down 
 to hers. One by one his magic gifts fall from him. The 
 bright creatures of the air no longer respond to his call, 
 and the malevolent ones obtrude themselves. He has 
 forfeited his power and become as other men, and is 
 oppressed by a foreboding of woe and horror and death. 
 He becomes a father, and the hope that by means of a 
 being in whom both meet he may with them reascend to 
 the realms he has lost, rejoices and inspires him with 
 new hopes. But his watchings and murmurings over 
 his child perturb the mother, and make her fearful for 
 it, and a priest who is consulted during Zanoni 's ab- 
 sence so alarms her, that to save her child from its 
 
150 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 father she flees from their home and takes refuge in 
 Paris, where the Terror reigns, and where presently she 
 is arrested as a spy. 
 
 Zanoni, searching for his wife, discovers that she is in 
 prison, and that her trial is fixed for the third day for- 
 ward. He mixes actively in affairs, to the end that 
 Robespierre's fall may precede and prevent Viola's con- 
 demnation. He succeeds in his plans, but all his ef- 
 forts are rendered futile, for the tyrant orders the trials 
 to be advanced. Thwarted and despairing, in the agony 
 of his disappointment Zanoni again attempts to invoke 
 the aid of the wisest of his former visitants. His in- 
 tensity prevails. Adon-ai comes to his call and comforts 
 him by showing that the brightest immortality can never 
 be on earth, but is beyond the grave, where infinite pro- 
 gression does not preclude companionship with those 
 beloved and known on earth; that no mortal care and 
 provision for offspring can be as wise and good as that 
 of the Almighty Father, and that the common lot of 
 humanity is that of the highest privilege. Accepting 
 these conclusions, Zanoni no longer seeks to evade the 
 nearing end of his glorious existence. He arranges with 
 the judge that he shall be tried in his wife's place, thus 
 securing her safety beyond the days of the Terror. 
 He is condemned and led to Viola's cell, changing her 
 despair into delight. He blesses his child, gives his 
 wife an amulet she had oft desired, and which he had 
 promised should be hers ''when the laws of their being 
 should be the same'*; and leaving her asleep and un- 
 aware of his sacrifice, goes forth to his death. 
 
 Glyndon, the aspirer to higher powers, under the di- 
 
ZANONI 151 
 
 rection of Mejnour betakes himself to the place selected 
 for his preparation, a mined and remote old castle, and 
 after he has accustomed himself to his surroundings he 
 is brought to a state wherein contemplation and imag- 
 ining become familiar. Mejnour 's science, he finds, is 
 devoted first to the secrets of the human frame, and 
 secondly to the knowledge which elevates the intellect. 
 Under the care of the master, indifference to the world 
 and its vanities is induced, but an impatient eagerness 
 for results consumes him, and this impels him to seek 
 Mejnour, and to enter unannounced the apartment ap- 
 propriated by the master. A diffused fragrance is per- 
 ceived, dim forms seen, and an icy and intolerable cold 
 almost slays him. He is carried from the room by Mej- 
 nour, and warned of the danger incurred by venturing 
 unprepared into that atmosphere, but he is ardent for 
 further progress and asks initiation. Mejnour approves 
 his desire, and induces trance, the first step in all knowl- 
 edge. In this condition he wishes to see Zanoni and 
 Viola, and his unuttered desire is gratified. Then he is 
 dismissed to meditate until midnight. When pupil and 
 master meet Mejnour reminds him how naturally ar- 
 rogant is man, who fancied all creation made for him, 
 and long thought that the stars only shone to make the 
 night agreeable. Now he knows that each is a world 
 rivalling this in size and splendor. But in the small 
 as in the large, God is equally profuse of life. Not a 
 leaf, not a drop of water, but has its appropriate in- 
 habitants, and even the air is peopled by various races. 
 In that realm are some beings of wonderful intellect and 
 wisdom, and some of implacable malignity, and the in- 
 
152 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 tercourse once gained, no instruction or guidance can 
 avail to secure the one or evade the other. Step by step 
 must the pupil himself dare, and choose, and repel. To 
 penetrate the barriers separating them from us, the soul 
 must be sharpened by enthusiasm and purified from 
 earthly desires. To the unprepared the region is one of 
 horror, for the first thing to be encountered is a being 
 surpassing all others in malevolence and hate, the Dwell- 
 er on the Threshold. 
 
 Then the master shows him how simply some effects, 
 which seem wild cheats of the senses, can be performed, 
 and gives him tasks requiring vigilant attention, and 
 minute calculation. The results of these fill Glyndon 
 with astonishment, though the last steps by which they 
 are achieved are not communicated, but reserved until 
 Mejnour deems his pupil worthy. 
 
 After much labor and intercourse of this kind, Glyn- 
 don *s progress encourages Mejnour to leave him for one 
 month, during the solitude of which other tasks are to 
 be performed, and his mind prepared by austere thought 
 for farther advance. As an ordeal, the key of Mei- 
 nour's room is entrusted to him with the injunction that 
 the chamber must not be entered, that the lamps in it 
 are not to be lighted, and he is warned that this very 
 temptation is a part of his trial. 
 
 For some days Glyndon is absorbed in his work, but 
 soon his tasks are all completed, and he finds his thoughts 
 dwelling on the forbidden room. He strives by bodily 
 fatigue to subdue his mind, and takes long walks. One 
 day his steps lead him where peasants hold a festival. 
 Among the dancers is a young girl of great beauty, who 
 
ZANONI 153 
 
 attracts him so much that when he is invited to join 
 them he does so, and dances with Fillide, flirts with her, 
 and arranges to meet her again. A decrepit old man 
 to whom he gives alms advises him to enjoy his youth, 
 saying, '^I too was once young." 
 
 On the morrow this phrase keeps ringing in his ear, 
 and his tasks become distasteful. He determines not to 
 wait for Menjour's return, but to master the secrets 
 alone. He enters the forbidden chamber, reads from a 
 large book, left open at a page which seemed to antici- 
 pate his act, for it gave instructions which he followed ; 
 he lights the lamps and unstoppers one of the vials. 
 Hearing his servant 's voice he recloses the vase, and goes 
 to learn his errand. Paolo expresses surprise at his 
 improved appearance, gives him a message from Fillide, 
 and a letter from Mejnour announcing his return next 
 day. Having disobeyed the master 's injunctions, Glyn- 
 don realizes that he must take advantage of the brief 
 time left him. He meets Fillide, then hastens back, en- 
 ters the room and proceeds as instructed by the book. 
 He lights the nine lamps, and inhales the essence. Icy 
 coldness is succeeded by exhilaration. The lights grow 
 dim, and he perceives airy shapes gliding around, and 
 he hears as it were ghosts of voices. Presently he be- 
 comes aware of a more horrifying presence, which by 
 degrees shapes itself to his sight. What he sees is like 
 a human head covered with a dark veil, through which 
 glare eyes that freeze him with terror. Gliding or 
 crawling like some misshapen reptile the Thing ad- 
 vances toward him, and speaks. His agony becomes un- 
 bearable. He falls to the floor insensible and knows 
 
154 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 no more till noon next day, when he finds himself in 
 bed, and learns that Mejnour had arrived and departed 
 again, leaving a letter in which while dismissing him as 
 unworthy of the brotherhood, since incapable of ab- 
 stinence from the sensual, lacking patience, and scant 
 of faith, he proceeds to warn him that having disobe- 
 diently quaffed the elixir he has awakened powers that, 
 properly directed, might lead to high achievement, but 
 he has also thereby attracted to his presence a remorse- 
 less foe, and that only by strong effort could he regain 
 his accustomed calm; that by resolute resistance to the 
 thoughts by which it tempted, and brave disregard of 
 the horror it engendered, its power to harm could be 
 conquered, but that he must endure its presence and 
 wrestle with its temptations, since none could exorcise 
 the foe he had invoked, which is most to be dreaded 
 when unseen. Thus the loftier world, for which he had 
 thirsted, and sacrificed, and toiled, is closed from him 
 forever by his own fault. 
 
 A feeling of indignation against Mejnour arises, and 
 he tries to persuade himself that he had been deluded, 
 and that he had not really seen the Thing. And though 
 Mejnour had denied him his science, he still has his art^ 
 and to that he now reverts. He revisits the fatal room 
 and finds it denuded of all save the simplest furniture, 
 then returning to his own chamber, begins to sketch a 
 scene he had heard described by Mejnour. Absorbed 
 in his subject, he works on until the air grows chill, the 
 lights dim, and again the mantled Thing is in the room 
 and nearing him. Despite all the courage he can sum- 
 mon he is unable to withstand the horror it produces. 
 
ZANONI 155 
 
 With a violent effort he breaks from the room and hast- 
 ens from the place. 
 
 He searches for Mejnour everywhere, but unavailing- 
 ly. With Fillide as companion, or in dissipation or 
 riot, he is freed from the sight of the foe, but whenever 
 he turns to something worthy, it becomes visible and ap- 
 palling. Mejnour meets him and again reminds him 
 that only by resistance can the haunting terror be mas- 
 tered — that when unseen it is most to be dreaded ; that 
 now it is shaping his every step, marshalling him toward 
 Paris, where his destiny will be fulfilled. In an at- 
 tempt to act as Mejnour directs, Glyndon goes to Lon- 
 don, and in the society of his sister endures and resists, 
 but desiring sympathy, he confides his tale to her, and 
 the recital so affects her as to cause her death. Thence- 
 forth Glyndon has no friend. He plunges into dissipa- 
 tion, joins Fillide again, and takes up his abode in Paris. 
 
 Believing the objects of the revolutionary leaders to 
 be high and noble, he becomes an active ally. When he 
 sees his error and plans to abandon Paris, Fillide be- 
 trays him. In his extremity he is rescued by Zanoni, 
 who has reached Paris in his search for Viola, and who 
 counsels Glyndon, encourages him, and provides for 
 his return to England, where, followdng Zanoni 's injunc- 
 tions, he finds deliverance. 
 
 Zanoni typifies Poetry, the highest manifestation of 
 art, the noblest result of the imaginative exercise of 
 man 's intellect ; seeming national to each modern race, 
 though of origin more antique than any; unaffected 
 and calm, but capable of profound feeling and inspiring 
 to action; disdaining the ordinary objects of am- 
 
156 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 bition, and careless of honors or awards; yet inter- 
 ested in every worthy aspiration, and encouraging and 
 aiding every well intentioned application of ^knowledge 
 or effort. Regarded as a magician by the vulgar, as a 
 god by the simple, he awes, disturbs, daunts, and warns 
 from evil, rouses enthusiasm, and incites to emulation 
 of the heroic, and to reverence for the good, less by 
 counsel than by suggestion, for men become more ad- 
 mirable in their lives merely by associating with him. 
 
 Accustomed to intense concentration, he is thereby 
 enabled to exercise insight and foresight. Familiar 
 with that Ideal World which envelopes the known as the 
 atmosphere surrounds the earth, he communes with the 
 habitants of that realm, and is elevated and illumined 
 by beings and ideas more splendid than ordinary ex- 
 perience gives occasion for. 
 
 But his acquirements and powers need for their con- 
 tinued growth and exercise the absolute absence of all 
 that disturbs or disquiets, because for the accomplish- 
 ing of whatever is great, the clear perception of truths 
 adapted to the object desired is the first requisite, and 
 only in a state of perfect serenity is the mind capable 
 of apprehending such truths. Therefore human affec- 
 tion is incompatible with high attainment in art, and is 
 a fatal peril to Zanoni, and when he submits to its in- 
 fluence the relinquishing of his privileges and powers 
 necessarily follows. 
 
 The dream that love can be exalted proves delusive, 
 for affection extinguishes aspiration in the wife, whose 
 ambitions contract into the one desire to monopolize her 
 husband's attentions. Nor by mutual interest in off- 
 
ZANONI 157 
 
 spring can ascent to higher things be facilitated, for the 
 mother is stronger than the wife, and suspects and mis- 
 construes all interference with her child. The result- 
 ing cares and anxieties, the exactions of the trivial, de- 
 stroy serenity, and draw the lofty down to the common- 
 place; and despite his efforts and designs, whelm him 
 into the actual, where he perishes. But with the real- 
 ization of his failure he is taught that the brightest of 
 his spelled visitants is but an adumbration of the glories 
 beyond ; that this world was never intended for the cul- 
 tivation of such life as the artist conceives; that faith 
 is the necessary completion of imagination; that death 
 should be welcomed as the beginning of a continually 
 ascending existence; and that the sacrifice of life is 
 wiser than the mistaken endeavor to secure its continu- 
 ance here, where its possibilities are limited and 
 dwarfed. 
 
 Mejnour personifies science, the product of reason- 
 ing; which examining, measuring, and comparing con- 
 tinually, augments the actual knowledge of all material 
 things. Reasoning is not congenial to youth, which 
 feels keenly and permits sympathy and emotion to in- 
 terfere with and distort its conclusions. Mejnour has 
 outlived these influences. He is passionless, and calm, 
 and old. 
 
 Science begins with conjecture, proceeding thence by 
 investigation, observation, and deduction, to verify its 
 guess. Therefore the Ideal World of the Imagination 
 is included in Mejnour 's sphere of comprehension, and 
 when Viola, impelled by her anxiety and trouble, dis- 
 obeys her husband's injunction and seeks to behold 
 
158 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 Zanoni and Mejnour, the scene in which they are re- 
 vealed to her visualizes the nebular hypothesis, where 
 Imagination and Reasoning have a common ground; 
 and as all art must be founded on acquired knowledge 
 and study, it is Mejnour 's function to school and pre- 
 pare the neophyte, and so Glyndon becomes his pupil. 
 
 Glyndon represents Youth, with desires, aspirations, 
 and intentions, but imperfect in discipline and averse 
 to continued perseverance. From study he is allured 
 by pleasure. Affection attracts him, but before its 
 power is confirmed he is fascinated by the mysterious, 
 and yearns to become higher than his kind. Deficient 
 in probity, patience, and faith, he fails to win the re- 
 wards he sought, and his sensitiveness to the opinions 
 of others subjects him to humiliation and fear, to evade 
 which he resorts to dissipation. The nobler possibilities 
 which have been disclosed to him, from time to time re- 
 call to worthy effort, which fear as continually causes 
 him to abandon, and his life is perturbed and harassed 
 and unhappy, until he obeys the injunction to return 
 to the scenes and friends of childhood, and regain there 
 the calm which contrasts ambition, the orderliness re- 
 sulting from the discharge of simple duties, and that 
 contentment which can only be found by limiting the 
 wants and desires. He whom the world's abuse affects, 
 to secure his own peace must retire into obscurity. 
 
 The discipline to which Glyndon is subjected begins 
 with obedience, the first duty of youth, and then seeks 
 to develop the practice of resisting natural impulses 
 and desires. Glyndon is told to ''master Nature, not 
 lackey her." The attitude toward Nature thus pre- 
 
ZANONI 159 
 
 scribed is in contradiction to the vague and unsatisfac- 
 tory manner in which that Force is usually referred to 
 by writers. Nevertheless its correctness has many evi- 
 dences. 
 
 The wind blows, rustling the leaves and bending the 
 com, and apart from the modification of temperature, 
 there ending its usefulness, until man interferes by 
 hoisting a sail, and by resisting, derives power to move 
 boat or mill. The river hurries along its course, con- 
 tributing only music to mankind, until a dam is con- 
 structed and its flowing resisted. Then we obtain power 
 to move machinery. Currents circled the earth useless- 
 ly for ages, until man discovered a method of interfer- 
 ing with them. Now by resisting these, electricity is 
 harnessed. 
 
 Resisting or mastering Nature has given us most of 
 the things we value. Nature seeks to propagate living 
 organisms along the lines of the normal. Resisting in- 
 terference with her method has given us our domestic 
 animals and plants, whose progressive advancement is 
 dependent upon man's continued interference. Nature 
 impels the boy to play. His teachers interfere, and 
 thwart Nature to the boy's gain in discipline and in- 
 telligence; and just in proportion to the restraint put 
 upon every natural appetite, is the gain in health, 
 strength, and development of the individual. He who 
 most resists advances the farthest. 
 
 Glyndon failed in resistance, succumbed to tempta- 
 tion, and lost the boon he was so anxious to obtain. 
 
 Viola may be interpreted as Human Affection, duti- 
 ful, cheerful, and ingenious in contributing to the pleas- 
 
160 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 ure of her parents, obedient, trustful, and unaspiring 
 as a wife, watchful and suspicious as a mother. The 
 mind which seemed so capable of high development in 
 the girl, lapsesi to the ordinary in the wife, and becomes 
 superstitious in the mother. With the best intentions, 
 she thwarts her husband's aims, robs Art of serenity, 
 and drags the artist down to the man, exacting more 
 than she gives, embarrassing more than she aids, doubt- 
 ing instead of trusting, and unthinkingly necessitating 
 sacrifices she cannot appreciate until too late. 
 
 The Dweller on the Threshold is that department 
 of the periodical press, which, as an instrument of 
 Hate, assails all who dare to do something great, and 
 strives to blast every worthy fame. It can be placated, 
 but only at the cost of debasement. Its attacks can be 
 evaded, but only by accepting its counsel, which entails 
 deterioration. Its harmful influence .extends to and 
 affects friends and familiars, yet it is powerless to in- 
 jure if resolutely defied and ignored. It is misshapen 
 and bestial, for falsity and distortion are its supports. 
 It simulates a human visage, for it affects to be the 
 product of human beings. It is veiled because secret, 
 and its eyes are its most conspicuous feature, for it 
 spies upon every act of him who is advanced beyond 
 the ordinary. 
 
 Nicot has his equivalent in any of the numerous de- 
 basers of art, who elucidate and approve the mean and 
 vile, abuse those whose pursuits are cleanly and lofty, 
 call themselves realists, and sometimes display a capac- 
 ity to comprehend and praise a trivial achievement or 
 some detail of little consequence. 
 
ZANONI 161 
 
 In grandeur and wholeness of conception, harmony 
 of component parts, structural completeness, wisdom 
 and beauty of observation and reflection, and sublimity 
 of the catastrophe, no work in any form excels this ; and 
 in Zanoni, Bulwer created a character than which there 
 is none more original and elevated in literature. 
 
 The highest intellectual creations in poetry (tran- 
 scending humanity, but accepted as possible) are the 
 Prometheus of Jiischylus, the Satan of Milton, the 
 Mephistopheles of Goethe, and the Zanoni of Bulwer. 
 
 Prometheus the demigod is displayed in a fragment 
 only. He endures the punishments inflicted by Zeus, 
 knowing that they must terminate, and that death is im- 
 possible. He is an august representation of the virtue 
 of fortitude. Satan embodies the characteristics of 
 pride, baffled and malignant, and for him also death is 
 impossible. Mephistopheles is a mockery of man's 
 worldly wisdom, producing great effects by trivial 
 means, and in the best known first part of Faust his 
 supreme achievement is the ruin of a simple girl. Za- 
 noni by austerities, stern studies, and self-denial, has ac- 
 quired the possibility of continuing his earthly existence 
 indefinitely. His life is one of beneficence and inspira- 
 tion to others, of calm joy to himself, for he confers at 
 will with the beings of a higher world, and is dowered 
 with strange powers and understanding. When by ad- 
 mitting affection into his life he jeopardizes his priv- 
 ileges, he need only await the ordinary course of na- 
 ture, and he would outlive love, and reconquer his for- 
 mer realm. But oblivious to faults in his human part- 
 ner, he subordinates self, and to secure the transient 
 
162 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 safety and well-being of the wife who deserted him, he 
 nobly sacrifices his glorious existence; realizing that 
 what his brightest visions disclosed here was but a dim 
 shadowing of the glories beyond, where conditions do not 
 militate against advancement, and where companionship 
 with the beloved is assured. The character of Zanoni, 
 the incidents which mark his career, and the death 
 which he voluntarily ai^cepts as the end of his earthly 
 existence, are alike unique, consistent, and original, and 
 place this work amongst the highest of literary produc- 
 tions. 
 
 Zanoni was published in 1842, but under the title of 
 Zicci a version of the story had previously appeared 
 piecemeal in the Monthly Chronicle beginning March, 
 1838. In Zicci the description of the musician and his 
 home had no place. It commenced with what is now 
 the first chapter of the second book, and only advanced 
 to the incident of Glyndon's intrusion on Mejnour 
 (chapter two, book four). The Monthly Chronicle 
 adopted views on the corn laws obnoxious to the opin- 
 ions of Bulwer, who thereupon abruptly ended his con- 
 nection with the journal, and Zicci remained a fragment 
 until in Zanoni the author developed his material into 
 the equivalent of an epic. 
 
THE LAST OF THE BARONS 
 
 THE confused and inadequately recorded events 
 and movements of the period of the Wars of the 
 Roses, treated perfunctorily by older historians, 
 and by later writers with that cockiness which distin- 
 guishes the person educated at Oxford, receive their first 
 and only satisfactory exposition in The Last of the Bar- 
 ons, and the information, impartiality, and reasonableness 
 of the romancist is in suggestive contrast to the extrava- 
 gance of the professional historians who get rid of diffi- 
 culties by inebriate hypotheses. When some investigator 
 shall undertake the elucidation of times past, unembar- 
 rassed by preconceived theory, not necessarily hostile to 
 long established beliefs, nor determinedly contemptuous 
 of common sense, something trustworthy and of value 
 may be forthcoming in a branch of literature where Eng- 
 lishmen have not yet distinguished themselves. Until 
 then. The Last of the Barons is as indispensable to the 
 student of English history as it is charming and stimu- 
 lating to the appreciator of art. 
 
 The Wars of the Roses grew out of the arbitrary use 
 of power by Queen Margaret and her favorites, who ex- 
 ercised and abused the authority of the weak: king. The 
 barons resisted the attempts at despotism and were sup- 
 ported by the people, who were estranged by the im- 
 potent and corrupt rule. A change of ministers was 
 
164 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 the usual object of the risings, but always occasion was 
 quickly found for dismissing the new and reappointing 
 the old, and at last it became necessary to change the 
 dynasty. 
 
 Long before institutions lose their popularity, the 
 qualities men valued in them have disappeared. The 
 dignitaries of the church have grown worldly, avar- 
 icious, and negligent, before people tire of the church. 
 Nobles have become sordid and unworthy before aris- 
 tocracy is disliked; and kingliness has departed before 
 monarchy becomes distasteful. And it is an easier task 
 to establish something substitutional than to restore an 
 institution which has once been discredited. 
 
 The Lancastrians having sunk in the general estima- 
 tion by persisting in maintaining unpopular ministers in 
 their service, were driven from power, and Edward of 
 York was installed as king. He proved as objectionable 
 as his predecessor, and was dethroned by Warwick, who 
 restored Henry. That was the great Earl's fatal mis- 
 take. Had he assumed the crown himself, his ability, 
 energy, and popularity would have made him a distin- 
 guished sovereign, and England would have been spared 
 further civil war and saved from the despotism which, 
 beginning with Edward IV, was matured under the 
 Tudors. As it was, nothing had occurred to justify 
 more favorable expectations from the house of Lancaster 
 by those who had suffered from it, and the loyal sup- 
 porters of that house were suspicious of the new allies. 
 Therefore Edward, landing at Ravenspur with few 
 friends, by resorting to perjury soon found himself pos- 
 sessed of an army, with which he recovered his crown 
 by defeating Warwick at Barnet. 
 
THE LAST OF THE BARONS 165 
 
 The last four years of the King-maker's life supply 
 the material of The Last of the Barons, and give oc- 
 casion for the introduction of historical characters 
 whose acts and motives are examined with a determina- 
 tion to be just, which results in each portrait being re- 
 liable and convincing; for descriptions of the gay court 
 of Edward IV, the appearance of London, the pastimes, 
 pursuits, and political attachments of its citizens, the 
 pomp and bearing of the barons, the evil and shame of 
 civil war; and for incidental consideration of the pre- 
 vailing disregard for law, the ostentation and greed of 
 the church, the suppressed dissatisfaction of the Lol- 
 lards, and the prosperity and growing influence of the 
 traders. Of costume and the picturesque there is merely 
 sufficient. It is the purposes, passions, and minds of the 
 personages with which we are made acquainted, and the 
 actual sequence of events is adhered to. 
 
 Edward the Fourth is made endurable, notwithstand- 
 ing his deceitful, untruthful, and cruel disposition, his 
 vicious and intemperate behavior, and his mean aims. 
 Personal advantages supplied his only claims to respect. 
 Of other qualities he had courage enough to be fero- 
 cious, wit enough to cajole shopkeepers, ambition enough 
 to impel to emulation of the jackass, and that was all. 
 He claimed and obtained credit for victories won under 
 the leadership of Hastings and Warwick. Without such 
 men, he never even appeared successful; and whenever 
 possible he shirked fighting. Many Lancastrian nobles, 
 reconciling themselvesi to a change of king, transferred 
 their allegiance to him in the hope that efficient govern- 
 ment would be instituted, but his disreputable court and 
 lazy incapacity soon disgusted them, and confirmed their 
 
166 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 preference for the gentler imbecile as ruler. Hastings 
 alone of able men remained constant and satisfied with 
 the king, and this arose from their similarity in vicious- 
 ness. Some brute bravery, much ostentation, and ex- 
 cessive dissipation gained Edward popularity in his own 
 day. His successes and the title of king have influenced 
 subsequent judgments in his favor. As a matter of fact, 
 he was a bigamist, a perjurer, and a fratricide, and rivals 
 in infamy even the brother with whom his evil line ter- 
 minated. 
 
 The measures with which Edward identified himself 
 were the farcical invasion of France; the adulteration 
 of the old nobility ; and the encouragement of the trader 
 as a rival in power to the baron. Each of these had a 
 selfish origin, and ignored where it did not harm the 
 majority of the people. Indeed, the greatest injury to 
 the masses results from the power and practices of the 
 commercial class. The patricians and the people are 
 both patriotic, and their interests are the same, but the 
 trader is philanthropic at least in theory, though the 
 professed love for humanity at large is more frequently 
 an excuse for not doing anything than an incentive to 
 wide activities on behalf of mankind. The trader is al- 
 ways envious of the class above him, and scornful of 
 those below. He uses the latter to gain his own ends, 
 but monopolizes all the accruing benefits. He demands 
 votes for all in national matters, but is careful to con- 
 serve absolute sway over his factories, workshops, and 
 newspapers. If his opinions on these things were dis- 
 interested, he would give to his employes the right to 
 elect their own managers and to scrutinize the balance 
 
THE LAST OF THE BARONS 167 
 
 sheet, for surely that which is good in national affairs 
 cannot be bad in lesser things. 
 
 The craft and dissimulation of Gloucester, the Italian 
 wile he had mastered and put into practice, the affected 
 humility and consideration for others by which he 
 masked his vast ambition, his real ability, wisdom, and 
 determination, are all bodied forth in the sinister por- 
 traiture of the scholar-brother and adviser of Edward. 
 Accurate in detail and more discriminating than ordin- 
 ary characterizations, there is nevertheless no endeavor 
 to render Richard amiable. The impression he arouses 
 is still that of one with potentialities and disposition 
 likely to justify the evil repute in which his name is gen- 
 erally held. 
 
 Warwick is depicted as a brave warrior and wise 
 statesman, whose large father-like heart, dauntless spirit, 
 and unfailing generosity endeared him to his own class, 
 and made him beloved by every grade of the people ex- 
 cept the traders, whose affections he alienated by his un- 
 disguised contempt for their meanness of spirit. He 
 was constant in his resistance to despotic encroachments 
 by the crown, in opposing religious persecution, and in 
 promoting the weal of the masses. The brief glimpses 
 of his family circle reflect the fact that after St. Albans 
 the busy soldier, administrator, and envoy virtually had 
 no home life, and are further true in displaying the 
 household treason which Clarence ^s marriage with the 
 Lady Isabel introduced there. The personal charm 
 which gained his unexampled popularity is indicated by 
 the devotion which resulted from his interview with 
 Marmaduke. It had more august effects, for he won 
 
168 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 from Louis XI whatever of affection that monarch was 
 capable of feeling. The confidence reposed in his jus- 
 tice by the people is evidenced by the alacrity with which 
 the insurgents at Olney departed to their homes ' ' at his 
 word." His toleration is shown by the attention he be- 
 stowed upon Hilyard ;. while his desire for good govern- 
 ment and for enduring peace are proofs not alone of 
 his love for England and all her people, but of his wis- 
 dom and comprehension — for the measures he advo- 
 cated were admirably calculated to effect the object de- 
 sired. 
 
 His mistakes were all the result of his qualities. Proud 
 and patriotic, he cared not for the title of king, but de- 
 sired good government. Therefore when Henry and his 
 Queen persisted in arbitrary proceedings, he placed Ed- 
 ward on the throne; and when the outrages of the new 
 king made it necessary to drive him out of the land, he 
 tried to replace in power one who had already failed. 
 Hot-tempered and magnanimous, he could forgive 
 slights, but not a dishonoring insult to his child; and 
 therefore he rose against the Tarquin he had kinged. 
 Frank and chivalrous, he was above suspecting Clar- 
 ence, and so he was deceived and deserted. 
 
 No personage of the time stands out so loftily admir- 
 able and clean. The last of the barons was also the 
 greatest and purest in conduct, sympathy, and purpose. 
 Ever mindful of the people, he was the kingliest man in 
 England, and it was unfortunate that he contented him- 
 self with being no more than king-maker. 
 
 The cause of Warwick's defection as accepted by Bul- 
 wer has ample warrant in the chronicles of Hall and 
 
THE LAST OF THE BARONS 169 
 
 others, it is in harmony with the character of Edward. 
 It explains as nothing else does the suddenness of the 
 change, and the after avoidance of the court by the Lady 
 Anne affords it a suggestive support. 
 
 It is customary to ignore the utter worthlessness of 
 Edward and to see in his success over Warwick the al- 
 leged good of the emergence into importance of the com- 
 mercial class — as if the end could justify the means. 
 In The Mahabarata there is a myth ascribing the condi- 
 tion of the earth to the original sin of a god, whose mis- 
 deeds mankind are unconsciously expiating. It is more 
 in consonance with this idea that one who was noble, 
 wise, and magnanimous should fall, and a mean, false 
 profligate triumph. 
 
 The outlaw, Robin of Redesdale, whom travel in Eu- 
 rope had made a hater of war and advocate for peace 
 before Edward's atrocious cruelty transformed him into 
 a daring, active leader of rebels, receives sympathetic 
 treatment. All which characterised the representative 
 man — the bold deeds and persuasive eloquence of the 
 champion of the people — is justly appreciated; but 
 where personal animosity obtruded, his proposals are 
 condemned. Yet the conditions and experiences which 
 made Hilyard a stirrer up of strife are given, if not as 
 excuses for his acts, somewhat in justification. Very 
 pathetic is the interview after his arrest, which his fol- 
 lowers permitted without protest or resistance, when with 
 crushed spirit he complains of the ingratitude of man, 
 and is comforted by Warwick. And terrible is his 
 death, shattered piecemeal while proclaiming that "the 
 people are never beaten. ' ' 
 
170 PEOSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 The tumultuousness and rapid succession of events 
 and complications are relieved by the contrasting ab- 
 straction of Adam Warner, and the devotion of his 
 daughter Sibyl. Their more passive experiences illus- 
 trate the social life, the state of learning, the prevalence 
 of superstition, and further show under what adverse 
 conditions science was pursued by the scholar, and an 
 unselfish life followed by the virtuous, in a masculine 
 and violent age, which regarded other knowledge than 
 that of warfare as wizardry, love as superfluous weak- 
 ness, and woman as a toy, when not a drudge. 
 
 Adam Warner has ceaselessly toiled at the "mechan- 
 icar' in which he seeks to develop the idea that has 
 become his tyrannical master. Old age has come prema- 
 turely, fortune and prospects have been surrendered, 
 comforts sacrificed, wife and child neglected and im- 
 poverished, yet the task is not completed and he dis- 
 covers new needs for which money is requisite ; and his 
 means are exhausted. In his intense abstraction he acts 
 unjustly to his daughter, and the retributive indignities 
 to which he is subjected by his neighbors awake him to 
 the thanklessness of those for whose benefit he labors, 
 and to the wrong he has done her. A hazardous but 
 more manly method of securing the gold he needs is of- 
 fered by an enthusiast of another kind. Despising the 
 danger, he undertakes the mission which takes him to 
 the Tower, to peril, and temptation. A pathway to 
 comfort is offered him if he abandons his idea, but he 
 prefers poverty with it. At court he finds hindrance, 
 not aid; elsewhere only hate. From the powerful earl 
 who distrusts the effect of his perfected invention he re- 
 
THE LAST OF THE BARONS 171 
 
 ceives the sole encouragement and countenance he ever 
 enjoys, and when that protector falls on the battle- 
 field, the vengeance of the vulgar is meted out to the 
 would-be world-betterer, and the *' Eureka" and its 
 constructor are both destroyed. 
 
 Adam Warner mirrors the fate of genius in every 
 age. To labor for man's improvement and receive hate 
 in return is the lot of every one who is in advance of his 
 time. Outside his own hearth rarely will he find sym- 
 pathy, but schemers will seek to use him, fools to pat- 
 ronize. By the mean — earth's many — he will be 
 treated injuriously, and the reverence of the affectionate 
 and admiration of the noble may not avail to save him 
 from destruction by the envious and malign. 
 
 In Sibyl is shown devotion, unselfishness, and courage 
 in their most beautiful manifestation, for they arise 
 from filial affection. Gentle, proud, and cultured, she is 
 less concerned about her own hard lot than sad because 
 of her father's unhappiness. She humbles herself to 
 win bread for him, her faith and sympathy never fail. 
 Wooed by young lovers, she clings to him who needs 
 her most. Tempted where she loves, she is steadfast; 
 and ever in the rare moments when happiness seems 
 near, the screeching of the timbrel players dampens her 
 joy. It is her mission to prove that woman is nobler 
 than man in all matters of duty, and that the fate of re- 
 finement is the same as that of genius in a coarse and 
 war loving age. Her life, like an heroic poem, is a suc- 
 cession of noble examples, and it has an ending as pit- 
 eous as that of any tragedy. 
 
 The great achievements in The Last of the Barons in- 
 
172 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 elude the comprehensive epitomization of the various 
 characteristics of an involved period, the commanding 
 vigor of the active personages, and the simple dignity 
 and brave patience of the passive participants in the 
 happenings chronicled. The various and obscure move- 
 ments of the time have their due importance accorded 
 and their effects set forth with clearness. The descrip- 
 tion of the battle of Bamet is terse, vigorous, and intel- 
 ligible. No more consistently noble hero than Warwick 
 has ever been portrayed, and the embodiments of po- 
 etry and science — Sibyl and Adam Warner — are 
 among the highest intellectual characters ever conceived. 
 This work was published in January, 1843. Bulwer 
 intended it to be the last of his romances, and purposed 
 devoting his attention to dramatic productions. But 
 the state of the stage, the dearth of capable actors, and 
 the absence of the requisite conditions for the efficient 
 presentation of plays intended to be performed, con- 
 vinced him that further dramatic successes were not 
 worth striving for under the existing circumstances, ajid 
 after a four years' interval he resumed romance writing. 
 
 Richard Neville was born in 1428, and became Earl 
 of Warwick in 1449, the year which witnessed the col- 
 lapse of the English power in Prance and the conse- 
 quent intensification of the popular feeling against the 
 reigning Lancastrian House, to whose mismanagement 
 was charged this loss and other evils. The king of Eng- 
 land, Henry VI, was meek, pious, and imbecile, and the 
 government had been monopolized by the queen, Mar- 
 
THE LAST OF THE BARONS 173 
 
 garet of Anjou, who was detested. The misrule of her 
 favorites caused the breaking out of insurrectionary 
 movements, that of Cade being one. In another, Suf- 
 folk, her chief minister, was caught and slain. In re- 
 taliation the Duke of York, the next heir to the throne, 
 the special aversion of the Court party, but popular 
 with the masses, who had been in a sort of exile in Ire- 
 land, was threatened with the charge of treason by the 
 queen. This brought matters to a crisis, for York 
 crossed from Ireland, gathered his retainers, and 
 marched in arms to London, where he expostulated with 
 the king on the bad government of the country and the 
 injustice of his being barred from his councils. A change 
 of ministers resulted, and four years of antagonistic 
 manifestos, proclamations, and armed demonstrations. 
 Then the king became insane, and the Parliament made 
 York protector of the realm. And at this very time, 
 after nine years of childlessness, the queen gave birth 
 to a son. After an incapacity lasting sixteen months, 
 during which the management of affairs was satisfactory, 
 Henry recovered. The protector was displaced and the 
 queen resumed control, and manifested such hostility to 
 York that in self-defense he gathered an army of which 
 "Warwick, his father Salisbury, and their adherents 
 'made part, and at St. Albans the first of the battles of 
 the Roses was fought and won by the Yorkists, largely 
 through the daring of Warwick, who was first to force 
 his way into the town. The victors marched to London 
 and secured a change of ministers, which was all they 
 desired. Again Henry's mind gave way. Again York 
 
174 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 was appointed regent, but in a few months the king re- 
 covered and relieved him of office, and once more Mar- 
 garet ruled, intrigued, and practiced treason. 
 
 Meanwhile Warwick had been made governor of Cal- 
 ais in 1455, to which was added the post of captain to 
 guard the sea in 1457. His ability, bravery, and re- 
 sourcefulness made him immensely popular. His land 
 operations led to a commercial treaty with Flanders. 
 He developed a fleet in command of which he displayed 
 courage, tenacity, and skill, and made important cap- 
 tures. Margaret had dismissed all the other Yorkists, 
 but had been satisfied with keeping him out of England. 
 Now his achievements attracted her attention and he 
 was summoned to London, Where a plot to destroy him 
 had been arranged. He barely escaped with his life, 
 but he got back to Calais. 
 
 The rule of the queen had the realm ''out of all good 
 governance," and the chief aim of the court appeared 
 to be the destruction of the Yorkist party. Movements 
 indicating a design against York and Salisbury similar 
 to that which so nearly succeeded against Warwick, 
 compelled another recourse to arms, and the earl left 
 Calais and joined his father. They soon had a large 
 army, but their unwillingness to act on the offensive re- 
 sulted in wholesale desertions to the Lancastrians, and 
 the rout of Ludford compelled the Yorkist leaders to 
 flee, York making for Ireland, the earl and his father 
 for France. 
 
 In a one-masted fishing-smack which Warwick himself 
 steered they ran to Calais, which they reached before 
 the arrival of Somerset, who had been sent to supersede 
 
THE LAST OF THE BARONS 175 
 
 him. The next four months were occupied in operations 
 against the newly-appointed but never installed gov- 
 ernor. Then Warwick took his ships to Ireland, in or- 
 der to confer with his uncle and arrange their future 
 course. A plan was decided upon, and the earl set sail 
 again for Calais. A fleet was waiting to intercept him 
 in the channel, and Warwick prepared for fight; but 
 the Lancastrians found that the sailors would not arm 
 against their old commander, and fearing desertions 
 they retired into Dartmouth, and the earl sailed on. 
 
 In accordance with the agreement made in Ireland, 
 Warwick and his party crossed to England. They is- 
 sued a manifesto setting forth their grievances — the 
 weak government, the crushing taxes, the exclusion of 
 the king's relations from his council, and other com- 
 plaints, and marched to London, their numbers increas- 
 ing at every step. At St. Paul's Warwick recited the 
 cause of their coming, and made oath of his truth and 
 allegiance to the king. Then they moved on North- 
 ampton, where the queen's army was arrayed. After 
 fruitless negotiations battle began, but treachery among 
 the Lancastrians resulted in a Yorkist success after half 
 an hour's fighting. Again the victors contented them- 
 selves with changing the ministry. When afterwards 
 York arrived from Ireland and claimed the throne, War- 
 wick resisted, and compelled him to refer the matter to 
 Parliament, which decided that Henry should be king 
 for life, and that York should succeed him, thus setting 
 aside the queen and her son. 
 
 At once Margaret stirred up the Scots to invade Eng- 
 land, and summoned her party to arms, and York and 
 
176 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 Salisbury had to hurry to the North to meet and dis- 
 perse the gathering. The queen's army was far larger 
 than they had anticipated. They were themselves as- 
 sailed and defeated, and both lost their lives. 
 
 "With an army of forty thousand flushed with victory, 
 and looting everywhere, Margaret proceeded southward. 
 Warwick had to assume the direction of the government, 
 and also provide for the safety of his party. He marched 
 to St. Albans. Being outnumbered, and desertions caus- 
 ing dismay among his followers, he was beaten by the 
 Lancastrians and retreated westward, whence reenforce- 
 ments were on their way. Edward of March (after- 
 wards Edward IV), accompanied by Hastings, after a 
 fight at Mortimer's Cross, was leading an army from 
 Wales, and at Chipping Norton he and Warwick met, 
 and together marched on London, which the Lancaistrians 
 had not occupied. There Edward was crowned king. 
 As soon as the festivities were concluded, the Yorkists 
 hastened against their enemy. The armies met at Tow- 
 ton, and there the most desperate and sanguinary battle 
 of the war took place. The Yorkists won, and the count 
 of the dead showed that nearly thirty thousand had fal- 
 len, of whom eight thousand — one in six — were of 
 their own side. In the battle ''the greatest press lay 
 on the quarter where the Earl of Warwick stood," and 
 it fell to his lot to disperse the straggling foe and sub- 
 jugate the north, which with the assistance of his brother 
 Montagu he effected after months of hard campaigning. 
 
 Then Warwick was able to turn to statesmanship. He 
 urged a treaty of peace with France, a farseeing meas- 
 ure he had long had at heart, which might be cemented 
 
THE LAST OP THE BAEONS 177 
 
 by Edward's marriage with a French, princess. To the 
 council met to approve these negotiations the king sub- 
 mitted one objection. He had already married Eliza- 
 beth Woodville. Warwick, vexed and annoyed, dropped 
 for a time the proposed embassy to Prance, but in 1465 
 he secured the agreement of Louis XI to a truce of 
 eighteen months. 
 
 In 1467 (when The Last of the Barons opens), 
 Warwick was sent to France to turn this truce into a 
 permanent peace. Edward's apparently honorable 
 commission was either intended to get the earl out of the 
 way, while he himself consummated other and hostile 
 plans, or events turned it to that purpose. For during 
 his envoy's absence Edward concluded a treaty with 
 Burgundy, and promised the hand of his sister to Count 
 Charles. When Warwick returned, he found his em- 
 bassy thus dishonored, and his plans foiled. He was 
 forty year^ of age. He had trained and made Edward. 
 By land and sea, in council and on the field, he had so 
 labored that activity had become the habit of his life, 
 and he now found that the king for whom he had done 
 so much was capable of man's meanest vice, ingratitude, 
 and that his services were unwelcome. He retired to 
 his castle of Middleham. 
 
 But Warwick was the best beloved man in the king- 
 dom, and the Woodvilles, whom the king was bent on 
 advancing, were generally disliked. Risings of aggrieved 
 Yorkists broke out, and the Lancastrians became busy 
 everywhere. To divert the attention of the people from 
 affairs at home, Edward projected another war with 
 France; and to strengthen himself with the nobles, he 
 
178 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 induced Warwick's brother to bring about a reconcilia- 
 tion with the earl. But confidence was gone forever, 
 and the king's efforts to prevent the marriage of Clar- 
 ence with Warwick's daughter was another affront. The 
 earl resumed his life at Calais. Insurrections became 
 common in England and grew so formidable that Ed- 
 ward, finding himself in danger, wrote supplicatingly 
 for the earl 's aid. In response Warwick came, put down 
 one revolt ''by his word," crushed another on the bor- 
 ders, and made the king secure. Edward now spoke of 
 the earl and his brother as his best friends, and be- 
 trothed his eldest daughter to Warwick's nephew, the 
 male heir of the family. 
 
 Three months afterward the earl became a rebel, 
 stern, determined, and implacable. The time was the 
 very worst that could have been chosen, and shows that 
 preparations and forethought had no part in the change. 
 AH we know of the earl shows him as a man of "unde- 
 signing frankness and openness" ; and it is not consistent 
 with human nature that one whose every day had been 
 given to active operations should in his maturity trans- 
 form himself into a dissimulating plotter. Had he de- 
 sired the dethronement of Edward, it was only neces- 
 sary for him to have abstained from interference when 
 Edward was in jeopardy from the army under Corners. 
 But it was not until after he had relieved the king by 
 dismissing the hostile army that any dissatisfaction 
 with Edward was manifested. An insurrection occurred 
 in Lincolnshire. The king defeated it, and then an- 
 nounced that the confession of the ringleader — a Lan- 
 
THE LAST OF THE BARONS 179 
 
 castrian — implicated Warwick as the instigator of the 
 rising; and declaring the earl and Clarence traitors Ed- 
 ward moved his army to effect their arrest. Warwick 
 and his family fled to France, and the king was seem- 
 ingly freed from danger. 
 
 Louis XI brought about an alliance between the earl 
 and Margaret, articles of marriage were signed between 
 the Prince of Wales and the Lady Anne, and presently 
 Warwick landed in England, where he found the shores 
 crowded with armed men ready to welcome him. He 
 hastened with his army toward the king. Near Notting- 
 ham they came together. In the night desertions from 
 Edward's army compelled him to fly with a few follow- 
 ers. He found refuge in Burgundy; and within eleven 
 days of his landing Warwick was master of England, 
 had replaced Henry on the throne, and summoned a 
 new Parliament. 
 
 The restoration was popular, save with the Yorkist 
 nobles, the traders of London, and Clarence. Unsus- 
 pected by Warwick his son-in-law was intriguing and 
 corresponding with Edward. The earl made watchful 
 dispositions for resisting any hostile landing, but Ed- 
 ward with five hundred men, disembarking at Raven- 
 spur where preparations had not been made, and send- 
 ing messengers to say to the people that he came not to 
 dispossess King Henry but to claim his own duchy, and 
 protesting and taking oath that ''he never would again 
 take upon himself to be king of England," he was al- 
 lowed to proceed, gathering troops all the while. Mont- 
 agu, misled by a letter from Clarence, forbore to dis- 
 
180 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 pute Edward's progress, and he reached Nottingham, 
 where others joined him, and then throwing aside pre- 
 tense he had himself proclaimed king. 
 
 Warwick gathered his forces hurriedly and marched 
 to meet his foes. Near Banbury Clarence deserted to 
 the king with his men, and sent offering terms to the 
 earl. Warwick drove the messenge(rs away, and 
 ''thanked God he was himself and not that traitor 
 duke." But his army thus lessened, he was not strong 
 enough to engage the man whom he had schooled, and 
 whom Hastings guided, and it was necessary to wait for 
 reenforcements. Edward meanwhile occupied London, 
 whence with added numbers he advanced, and at Barnet 
 the armies met. Every accident favored the king, the 
 saddest being that Oxford 's forces were mistaken in the 
 fog and fired upon, causing the cry of treason, and the 
 flight of his troops. In the end Edward triumphed, 
 Warwick and his brother Montagu perishing on the 
 field. 
 
LUCRETIA 
 
 THE records of two criminal careers of unusual 
 character (for the guilty persons were of more 
 than ordinary cultivation and attainments, and 
 their acts atrocious in the extreme, and long continued) 
 came into Bulwer's hands, and proved so absorbingly 
 interesting that they caused him to forego his intention 
 of writing a play which he had long meditated, and to 
 compose this work instead. 
 
 The phenomena of criminality have attracted atten- 
 tion in all ages. From the remotest past habitual wrong- 
 doers have been recognized as a class, possessing definite 
 characteristics. When Homer describes Thersites as de- 
 formed, with scant hair and a pointed head, he shows 
 that a type of being from whom anti-social acts were to 
 be expected was distinguished at the time when Hellenic 
 civilization was in the making. Vidocq asserted that he 
 could always tell a criminal by his eye. Lombroso ex- 
 hibited to thirty-two children twenty pictures of thieves 
 and twenty of eminent men of character, and found that 
 eighty per cent of the children were able to discriminate 
 between the bad and the good. Through all time the 
 likelihood of evil deeds has been indicated by evil looks, 
 and a type of beings with something forbidding in ap- 
 pearance which causes mankind to beware, has always 
 formed a class in the community. 
 
182 PROSE EOMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 But all criminals do not conform to this type. Ever 
 and again we find in a person convicted of crime, one pos- 
 sessed of acquirements which rightly exercised would 
 have won him honor and respect. The persons whose 
 histories so engrossed Bulwer combined intellectual cul- 
 tivation and prepossessing appearance with viciousness 
 of conduct. They had but to be honest to succeed, and 
 perseverance would have made them blessings to their 
 race, but they preferred to traverse crooked ways, and 
 to regard society as their prey. In his search for the 
 cause of such grievous perversion of talents and advan- 
 tages, he became convinced that the starting point of 
 careers of guilt could be found in the nonrecognition of 
 some important truths which he thus enumerated : 
 
 ' ' I hold that the greatest friend of man is labour, that 
 knowledge without toil, if possible, were worthless ; that 
 toil in pursuit of knowledge is the best knowledge we 
 can attain ; that the continuous effort for fame is nobler 
 than f amie itself ; that it is not wealth suddenly acquired 
 which is deserving of homage, but the virtues which a 
 man exercises in the slow pursuit of wealth, the abilities 
 so called forth, the self-denials so imposed; in a word, 
 that Labour and Patience are the true schoolmasters on 
 earth.'' 
 
 Lucretia is based on the materials furnished by the 
 histories of these children of night, and embodies the re- 
 sult of its author's study of their lives, their motives, 
 their characteristics, and their fates. In the course of 
 his exposition he shows the evil wrought by neglectful 
 or mischievous early training, the demoralizing results 
 
LUCRETIA 183 
 
 of the "vice of impatience," and the corruption caused 
 by the desire for and pursuit of rapid wealth. But 
 these lessons are slight and incidental in comparison to 
 the truths most terribly enforced — that intellect and 
 criminality are eternally antagonistic, and that igno- 
 minious ruin inevitably engulfs those who debase in- 
 telligence to guilt. 
 
 The story is in two parts, each having a prologue and 
 epilogue, with an interval of twenty-seven years between 
 the parts. After the first prologue, which displays Dali- 
 bard's heartless malignity and the early mistraining of 
 Varney, the old English home of Laughton Hall with 
 its master and his friends is described — Sir Miles, an 
 accomplished survival of Chesterfieldian days; Charles 
 Vernon, a predecessor of the later dandy; Dalibard, 
 who has become librarian and tutor at Laughton ; Var- 
 ney; and Lucretia Clavering, the niece and destined 
 heiress of Sir Miles St. John. 
 
 Dalibard, Varney, and Lucretia are the formidable 
 three, whose schemes, intrigues, and the resulting conse- 
 quences supply the incidents of the narrative, and whose 
 characters are elaborated, analyzed, and (especially in 
 the instance of Lucretia) exposed with careful particu- 
 larization. They are incarnations of egotism pushed to 
 the extreme. Each perverts intellect to base purposes, 
 each fails when success seems assured, each is punished 
 in the sin most favored; and throughout the recital of 
 their deeds, with stem purpose the author refrains from 
 ever invoking pity on their behalf. Awe rising to terror 
 is inspired by their devious actions, and attention is en- 
 
184 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 grossed to the end ; but nothing ever minimizes the enor- 
 mity of their guilt, or gives occasion for commiseration 
 of their fate. 
 
 Lucretia is the darling of a fond and affectionate 
 uncle, who dotes on her the more because her imperious- 
 ness and vehement temper render her unmanageable by 
 anyone but himself. She has habitually mixed with the 
 baronet's friends, all older than herself; and, her educa- 
 tion has been guided by Dalibard, who has taught her to 
 suppress the manifestation of temper, to seem rather 
 than to be, and to value and cultivate intellect to the ex- 
 clusion of all amiable qualities. 
 
 When Goethe describes the steps in the ruin of Mar- 
 garet, that wise observer shows that trustful affection 
 for her mother, reverence for the church, and fear of 
 God, three sentiments which have grown with her 
 growth, must be weakened and confused before the girl 
 becomes responsive to Faust's advances. Lucretia was 
 motherless, and Dalibard 's teachings were subversive of 
 religion and ignored the Deity. That she had none of 
 the anchors which attach the ordinary young girl to 
 righteousness was due to her unwise training: and in 
 her pride of intellect, which impelled to scheme and in- 
 trigue, there lurked a more subtle incentive to evil than 
 even Faust's familiar. She repays her uncle's care and 
 tenderness by grudging his few remaining days and 
 watching for his death, for she has planned to wed one 
 whom Sir Miles never would consent to receive into his 
 family. Until her inheritance is secure, she seeks to 
 delude and deceive him. 
 
 Sir Miles has been kind rather than watchful ; an in- 
 
LUCRETIA 185 
 
 dulgent guardian, not a wise one. Hence the latent 
 justice which allows grief and disappointment to em- 
 bitter his last days and hasten his death ; for the old man, 
 who has gloried in the queenliness of his niece, learns 
 that she had abused his faith, and in calculating consid- 
 eration of his life as something in her way, had counted 
 the sands in his hourglass, and met his frank purposes 
 with secret schemes and treachery. After that there is 
 nothing left for him but to alter his will, and hasten out 
 of life. 
 
 The marriage for which Lucretia had practiced house- 
 hold treason with such heavy loss, is frustrated through 
 the machinations of Dalibard, who so arranges matters 
 that the person for whom she had sacrificed so much is 
 displayed and exposed as the lover of her sister, a false, 
 weak, and forsworn man, whom she humiliates, releases 
 from his engagement, and leaves in scorn. 
 
 Friendless, lone, and undone, she has no refuge now 
 save Dalibard, whom brightening prospects attract to 
 his native land. Lucretia becomes his bride and accom- 
 panies him to France. Scheming ever, Dalibard ad- 
 vances in position and toward power until his wife is in 
 his way, and then he plots to remove her. Lucretia be- 
 comes aware that her fearful husband is bent on her 
 destruction, and that another is to have her place. 
 Roused to energy by danger, her counterplot brings 
 about Dalibard 's assassination. The desecrator of 
 hearths and betrayer of trusts is butchered in his own 
 home by the dupe he had despised. 
 
 Lucretia returns to England and visits her sister, 
 now married to Mainwaring. They regard her visit as 
 
186 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 evidence of her forgiveness. She finds them happy, 
 honored, prosperous ; but her errand is one of vengeance, 
 and when she leaves them their reputation, prospects, 
 and home have all been wrecked. 
 
 The punishment of her recreant lover accomplished, 
 Lucretia is without further object in life, and in the 
 calm which ensues conscience troubles her, and she 
 yearns for something she can believe, or someone she 
 could trust. A religious sect, whose adherents seemed 
 austere in their lives, confident in their absolution, and 
 certain of their heaven, attracts her and she tries to be- 
 lieve with a like earnestness. One of its members, a 
 strong, eloquent man, ingratiates himself, and she mar- 
 ries him ; and gradually learns that the pretended saint 
 is a hypocrite and deceiver. Recriminations provoke 
 violence; she gives birth to a son; the father thwarts 
 her plans and wishes; and she resorts to the means for- 
 merly used by Dalibard, of which she had possessed her- 
 self — essences which slay but leave no trace. The hus- 
 band fears and hates his wife, and realizing that his 
 days are numbered arranges to deprive her of their 
 child, and disposes of it so effectually that all Lucretia 's 
 efforts and wanderings and enquiries are futile. Im- 
 poverished and hopeless, she is compelled to give up her 
 search in reluctant despair. Her unstable visions of re- 
 form thus shattered, she no longer believes in good, but 
 becomes merciless and ruthless. Joining with Varney, 
 she plans and aids in the execution of a succession of 
 frauds which defy detection and evade all punishment, 
 and which lead them to and fro over Europe like wan- 
 dering devastations*. Suddenly Varney learns that 
 
LUCRETIA 187 
 
 there are but two lives between Lucretia's son and the 
 Laughton estates, and they return to England resolved 
 to remove the obstacles and secure the inheritance. 
 
 Feigning an infirmity that would mock all suspicion, 
 Lucretia establishes herself in a dull house, and claims 
 the guardianship of her niece, Helen, who thereupon 
 comes to live with her. An attorney is employed in a 
 renewed search for her missing son. Yarney meanwhile 
 makes the acquaintance of Percival; and thus the two 
 obnoxious lives are at their mercy, and their plans only 
 halt until Lucretia recovers her son. Matters are facil- 
 itated by an attachment which develops between Per- 
 cival and Helen, which leads the young heir to invite 
 the aunt of his betrothed to accompany her ward, and 
 revisit Laughton. 
 
 Again in the old hall, from whence her duplicity had 
 caused her banishment, Lucretia proceeds to complete 
 her design. From her couch at night the pretended 
 paralytic rises, selects from the products of Dalibard's 
 chemistry the agent most fitting for her purpose, and 
 steals to Helen's room. A new groom, unseen himself, 
 sees the flitting form, quickly becomes suspicious, and 
 resolves to play the spy. Next morning news arrives 
 that Lucretia's son is found and will be at Laughton 
 the following day; and that Percival's guardian is al- 
 ready on his way thither. Haste becomes imperative 
 now. Lucretia and Vamey arrange the last details and 
 destroy everything that might incriminate, save a large 
 ring, the masterpiece of Dalibard's art, which conceals 
 a poison having no antidote, and which Lucretia retains. 
 The spying groom has heard all their conversation and 
 
188 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 knows their guilt, but in stealing from behind the cur- 
 tain where he had hidden, he is seen by Lucretia, who 
 rises and seizes him. He strives to effect his release, 
 and she touches him with the fatal ring, and too weak 
 to resist further, allows him to go, then warns Varney 
 to hasten after and secure him till the poison does its 
 work. Varney never overtakes the groom, but he has 
 the mortification to see him stagger into the carriage 
 which is bearing Percival's guardian to Laughton. 
 
 Lucretia meanwhile awaits her son. Prom the un- 
 dutiful thought, through acts of duplicity, schemes of 
 spoliation, and plans for aggraadizement that regarded 
 not human life, to the very verge of success in the dar- 
 ing project which promised the restoration of the Laugh- 
 ton estates, her course has been traced ; all former perils 
 have been evaded, every law baffled. Danger is present 
 now, but it daunts her not. A groom denounces her as 
 a murderess, but the charge appals her not. Her son is 
 found, for him she asks, A few words of explanation ; 
 and then death would be a merciful boon, for she dis- 
 covers that the accusing menial is that son, and knows 
 herself his murderess; and with the laugh that rose as 
 Beck died, fled forever the reason of Lucretia. Hence- 
 forth she who had prided herself on her intellect, her 
 station, and her freedom is nameless and unknown, the 
 forgotten and neglected inmate of a madhouse. 
 
 Lucretia is a masterpiece in construction. The period 
 of time embraces two generations, and carries some of 
 the characters from youth to maturity. The changes 
 made by the years are shown in every case. Incident 
 
LUCRETIA 189 
 
 follows incident with ever-accelerated speed, until the 
 weaving of the plot to recover Laughton. Then in 
 a retrospect, the happenings of the twenty-seven years ^ 
 interval are communicated; after which the clews to 
 Vincent's whereabouts become more certain, the rising 
 of the pretended cripple indicates some more unusual 
 deed, and suspense is intensified; while the search for 
 Lucretia's son on the one hand, and the interference of 
 a foe on the other, are completed in the discovery that 
 son and foe are one. An epilogue relates the after fate 
 of the various personages. 
 
 There are passages in the work which are eloquent, 
 others that are tender, but there is not a trace of levity ; 
 a fervid earnestness pervades the whole. 
 
 Lucretia's search for her son furnishes an example of 
 that irony of situation which gives such poignant inter- 
 est to the story of Oedypus as treated by Aeschylus and 
 Sophocles, and in the mother's fluctuating emotion as the 
 unravelment of the tangled clues progresses — eager an- 
 ticipation, fierce joy, chilling disappointment, complet- 
 ed in the tremendous horror of the identification, the 
 modern poet has equalled the giant ancients. 
 
 Two of the scenes are of tremendous intensity — 
 where Lucretia discovers the falseness of her betrothed, 
 and where she recovers her son. Other parts, such as 
 the description of the progress of starbeam and moon- 
 beam through the windows and rooms of the old hall, 
 are as Ijrric-like as the choruses of an Athenian drama. 
 'And though every detail concerning the three is som- 
 bre, there are several admirable characters, and the 
 
190 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 chapters in which these appear are bright and stimu- 
 lating and arouse different feelings from those called 
 forth by the deeds of Lucretia and her fell allies. 
 
 The physiognomical descriptions are sufficiently mi- 
 tiute to enable us to comprehend the general principles 
 which guided Bulwer's determinations. Intellect he 
 assigns to the forehead and eyebrows, breadth indicating 
 the capacity to understand, height the ability to put 
 knowledge to use. To the eyes, nose, and mouth char- 
 acter is allotted, while will pertains to the chin and jaw. 
 Dalibard's skull, compared with his visage, is dispro- 
 portionately large. Lucretia looks aslant, has a Gre- 
 cian profile, the thin lips of the spiteful, the firm mouth 
 of the determined. Mouth and chin hidden, her ex- 
 pression is changed, for will is strong, but character un- 
 determined. 
 
 The distrust which accompanied the first impression 
 formed of Lucretia, which disappeared on further ac- 
 quaintance, arose from our instinctively building up a 
 series of judgments of individuals, beginning with child- 
 hood familiars and continuing through life, and me- 
 chanically comparing every new face with these remem- 
 brances, and placing each in its class. But mature peo- 
 ple hide their real character with more or less success; 
 and often, with repeated intercourse, the assumed agree- 
 ableness dispels the instinctive aversion. 
 
 In Zanoni Bulwer made plain his right to a position 
 on one of the twin heights of the Forked Parnassus, and 
 in Lucretia he established his place on the other. The 
 one is a surpassing revelation of the Heroic, the other 
 his supreme achievement in the Tragic. Apart from 
 
\ LUCRETIA 191 
 
 form. Lucretia is a tragedy, and form is largely dictated 
 by the fashion of the period. He who in Elizabeth's 
 reign produced plays, would in the days of Victoria 
 write romances, for the popular demand to which the 
 artist necessarily ministers called for plays in the one 
 age, and for romances in the other. The dominant char- 
 acteristic of tragedy is warning; and Lucretia is a sus- 
 tained warning against impatience, coveteousness, and 
 selfseeking. Nor is there any drama in which greater 
 consistency is maintained in the characters, or more or- 
 iginality and power displayed in the incidents and situ- 
 ations; while in avoiding all superhuman agencies as 
 influences on conduct, and in refraining from invoking 
 pity for the offenders, Litcretia stands alone. 
 
 The work appeared in 1846. Its publication aroused 
 a storm of virulent abuse in the newspapers and reviews. 
 This arose from the original of Varney having been a 
 contributor to the periodical press widely known among 
 his class, who resented the depiction of their fellow and 
 Vere indignant at the exposition because startled, and 
 wincing at the lessons of the guilt. 
 
 Bulwer had come to regard contemporary English 
 criticism with unalloyed contempt. The fulminations 
 against Lucretia he deemed undeserving of any notice; 
 but a general claim that crime ought not to be used as 
 material for literary purposes showed an ignorance so 
 gross, that in ' ' A Word to the Public ' ' he issued a pam- 
 phlet which is the most elaborate exposition on the ma- 
 terials of tragedy ever produced. 
 
HAROLD 
 
 THE battle of Hastings, which changed the dynasty 
 and the destiny of England, is the catastrophe of 
 this work. The happenings of the fourteen years 
 which preceded and prepared the way for the Norman 
 conquest are here comprehensively and concisely related, 
 history being elucidated by romance, not distorted to its 
 service. A gallery of portraits of the great figures of the 
 period is presented ; the condition of the several peoples 
 shown; their varying wellbeing, superstitions, culture, 
 and customs noted; and the actual events described in 
 their proper order and sequence. From the contradictory 
 and confused chronicles of the time a consistent narra- 
 tive is evolved, a realization of the personages developed, 
 and an understanding of their motives in the several 
 circumstances wherein they appeared sought for. Hence 
 the characters conform to history, and also to human 
 nature. 
 
 The Norman conquest began with the reign of Ed- 
 ward the Confessor, whose leanings Normanward led 
 him to surround his court with, and make frequent 
 grants of lands and privileges to, outland favorites, 
 some of whom became so arbitrary in their conduct as 
 to enrage the Saxons, and cause the expulsion of the 
 Normans from the court. 
 
 Godwin, the sagacious, practical minister of a dream- 
 
HAROLD 193 
 
 ing king, more patriotic than his master, endeavored to 
 check the infatuate tendencies of the monarch, and this 
 led to his outlawry, and a temporary triumph of his 
 foes. But Godwin had the sympathy of nearly all Eng- 
 land. "With his six sons he returned in arms, demanded 
 and obtained a trial, was acquitted, inlawed, and re- 
 stored to his former power. Shortly thereafter he died, 
 and Harold succeeded to his father's earldom and influ- 
 ence, becoming practically the deputy of the king, man- 
 aging affairs, leading in war, and guiding the realm. 
 By-and-by, seeing the increasing infirmities of the Con- 
 fessor, the earl became aware that the throne was within 
 his reach. 
 
 In the hope of securing the support of William, Har- 
 old visited the Norman court ; but he was deceived and 
 tricked by that unscrupulous schemer, who, claiming 
 that Edward had offered him the succession, extorted 
 from his guest a promise under oath to help the Norman 
 to the English throne. The mission, from which favor- 
 able results had been anticipated, produced humiliation, 
 entanglement, and ultimately disaster. 
 
 There were other untoward circumstances. In the 
 pacification of Northumbria, the turbulent Tostig was 
 deprived of that earldom, and thereby made his brother's 
 enemy. And in the campaign against Griffith, the dras- 
 tic measures of Harold drove multitudes of the Welsh 
 to Brittany, whence, as part of William's invading army, 
 they afterwards returned. 
 
 When Edward died, there was no other Saxon of suf- 
 ficiently commanding ability or popularity to compete 
 with Harold, and he was crowned king, January 6, 1066. 
 
194 PROSE EOMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 He at once busied himself with measures to lessen taxa- 
 tion, to conciliate the church, to strengthen the army, 
 protect the coasts, and guard against the threatened in- 
 vasion of the Normans. In September, Harold Hard- 
 rada., stirred to the enterprise by Tostig, landed in 
 Northumbria with a formidable army, intent upon con- 
 quering England, and Harold had to abandon his pre- 
 ventive preparations and march to York, raising levies 
 on the way. At Stamford Bridge he defeated the Nor- 
 wegians. It was a glorious victory. They came in a 
 thousand ships, they went back with twenty-four. But 
 ere the slain were buried the Normans landed at Peven- 
 sey, and Harold and his army were called to the south 
 to meet another invader. 
 
 On October 14, 1066, the Saxons and Normans met. 
 Harold had no time for construction work, but he chose 
 his ground well, and a concealed ditch was made. His 
 army formed the shield- wall, shaped like a wedge — the 
 heavily-armed, shield to shield and shoulder to shoulder, 
 in the front. All the forces of the Normans availed 
 nothing while this formation was maintained. Charges 
 by horsemen and attacks by archers made with the inten- 
 tion of galling the Saxons into breaking their wall, were 
 ineffectual until William's oft-rehearsed feint of a gen- 
 eral and confused retreat was resorted to, and the Sax- 
 ons were seduced into pursuit. But a part of the ruse 
 was a concealed body of horsemen, who now becoming 
 active, rode among the Saxons and prevented their re- 
 forming, while the rest of the Normans, abandoning 
 their pretended retreat, and no longer balked by the 
 shield wall, defeated and destroyed the trapped Saxons. 
 
HAROLD 195 
 
 In Harold Saxon England of the eleventh century is 
 presented to ns, not an organic whole, with an homo- 
 geneous people, but a congeries of earldoms inhabited 
 by Kymrians, Norsemen, Saxons, and their derivatives, 
 loosely connected, and only held together by command- 
 ing ability. Each was animated by intense local pa- 
 triotism, but comparatively indifferent to the misfor- 
 tunes of its neighbors, and all had racial prejudices, 
 which interfered with or prevented united action in a 
 common cause. Men rose rapidly to high station from 
 lowly beginnings, for the qualification necessary for ad- 
 vancement was not name, lineage, or beneficence, but 
 the possession of wealth. The general well-being was 
 high, and the constitutional liberty large. The people 
 were brave, reverent of law, and intolerant of oppres- 
 sion, but they were also impatient of control, incapable 
 of continued vigilance in guarding the kingdom, averse 
 to additions to its natural defenses, and unwilling to pro- 
 vide for emergencies regarded as too remote to deserve 
 attention. A monkish king and a selfish priesthood had 
 combined to produce and spread lethargy and careless- 
 ness. Education was neglected, the church owned one- 
 third of the land, and everything indicated the need of 
 strong rule, and renovation. 
 
 Harold is depicted as patient, steadfast, dauntless; 
 powerful in the field, just and wise in council ; the most 
 conspicuous and admirable figure of his time, winning 
 renown and affection by his successes in the various 
 tasks which crowded his busy life, one whom a strong 
 sense of duty guided in conduct and intention, until 
 nearness to the throne beguiled him into ambition, when 
 
196 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 calculation and conciliation were practiced, and policy 
 took the place of duty. 
 
 Grouped around the commanding form of Harold are 
 the members of his own family — the successful God- 
 win, the loyal Gurth, the passion-riven Sweyn, the fierce 
 Tostig, the gay Leofwine, the foredoomed Haco, and a 
 varied throng of characters whose originals figure in the 
 history of which they were part. And as grand and 
 impressive as any, but having no mention in other chron- 
 icle than this, the haughty and lone Hilda, the desolate 
 descendant of kings, clinging to old-time customs, wor- 
 shiper of pagan gods, whose galdra influenced those in 
 whom desire was strong. For rarely is ambition wary, 
 and easily is it stimulated by prediction or omen, and 
 more than other passions is it prone to avail itself of 
 questionable aids. 
 
 Hilda represents that pagan belief which had numer- 
 ous adherents in every part of England, notwithstand- 
 ing the professed conversion to Christianity of over- 
 lords and earls. Heathenesse was not confined to the 
 lower classes; few of its votaries were as debased and 
 selfish as the majority of Christian priests. But in cre- 
 ating Hilda, Bulwer had the further purpose of warn- 
 ing against credulous acceptance of the apparently su- 
 pernatural. Every use of this agency by him carries 
 this lesson : always the oracular utterances have an un- 
 happy fulfillment, contrary to the expectation founded 
 upon them. He had studied the subject in its modern 
 as well as its ancient forms, and his reiterated warnings 
 convey not only his opinion, but the result of experience. 
 
 Dissimulating, wary and cruel, save to his children, 
 
HAROLD 197 
 
 whom he indulged and spoilt, lacking the finer qualities 
 of the Norman knighthood, but seeing far, and working 
 steadily in the direction of a long meditated purpose, 
 the Count of the Normans is shown in every phase of 
 his character — adroit in dealing with his nobles, crafty 
 in his behavior to Harold, prescient in his discern- 
 ment of the weakness of England, masterful in sup- 
 pressing revolt, energetic in ruling his duchy, and politic 
 in fostering the church and encouraging education. 
 Systematizing everything, and reducing all to order, he 
 produced a chivalrous nobility and an eager priesthood 
 at the expense of the tillers of the soil. The soldiers ac- 
 quired polish and refinement, the serfs were degraded 
 and embruited. And when the time was come, with the 
 chivalry and the church as his supports, he gathered ad- 
 herents, launched his ships, descended on England, and 
 won a kingdom. At Hastings Democracy went down 
 before Aristocracy. Rigorous organization, which dis- 
 dained the multitude and entrusted power only to the 
 nobles, obtained the victory over a people who, placing 
 a greater value upon liberty than on duty, failed to 
 muster to the assistance of Harold, and deserved the . 
 punishment which followed. 
 
 Harold is compacted of stirring incidents. The tragic 
 failure at Hastings was preceded by successes against 
 widely different antagonists. At Stamford Bridge, 
 Hardrada, the hero of wondrous adventures, the Poet- 
 Titan, with the scalds' love of song and Vikings' lust 
 for war, was defeated and slain; and in the campaign 
 in Wales — a minor epic within a larger one — the son 
 of Pendragon was driven, inch by inch, to his fatal ey- 
 
198 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 rie. These actions with their attendant circumstances 
 give occasion for rapid descriptions and varied charac- 
 terizations. Apart from the battles, there are many- 
 fine achievements in the book, notably the reproduction 
 of the scene in the Witan, where Godwin secured the 
 reversal of his outlawry. The work is accurate in detail 
 and gives an insight into conditions, an intelligible ex- 
 planation of motives, and a discerning survey of the 
 various causes contributing to the catastrophe. While 
 portraying a grand hero in a noble manner, it also il- 
 luminates a period. 
 
 That progressive national deterioration which is called 
 the growth of democracy had assumed portentous pro- 
 portions in England in 1848. The one extreme of en- 
 trusting governmental power to the untrained and im- 
 perfectly educated masses is more undesirable than the 
 other extreme of autocratic rule, for the latter is usually 
 accompanied by intellect and has often succeeded in ad- 
 vancing a people in civilization, culture, and conduct, 
 but democratic rule, because of the preponderating num- 
 bers of its least intelligent constituents, has never 
 achieved anything higher than equivocal material wel- 
 fare — equivocal because secured through agencies which 
 in their organization repudiate democracy, and because 
 the gains are concentrated in the commercial class and 
 its allies instead of being generally diffused, and the 
 nation that can only boast of its commercial success has 
 no stronger claim to general respect than has the indi- 
 vidual who is rich but vulgar. 
 
 Democratic rule is potent to destroy, but it has not 
 demonstrated its ability to construct. It obtains favor- 
 
HAROLD . 199 
 
 able regard and encouragement because of the general 
 belief in the fallacious proposition that all are interested 
 in good government. As a matter of fact some are in- 
 terested in bad government and these by combining their 
 activities usually secure power, dictate policy, and con- 
 trol administration. 
 
 The best governed nation is that which avails itself 
 of the services of its best men, but Gresham's law ap- 
 plies to parliamentarians as well as to money, and when 
 lawyers, half-breeds, and squaw-men are irrupted into 
 the councils of a nation, gentlemen abandon statesman- 
 ship, and representatives presently degenerate into del- 
 egates. 
 
 Bulwer's recognition of the imminence of govern- 
 mental domination by the masses, impelled him to set 
 before his countrymen the picture of a calamitous con- 
 flict between democracy and aristocracy once waged in 
 their native land and to display by example the inad- 
 equacy of democratic rule to cope with invasion or to ac- 
 complish any real constructive improvements in the 
 realm, its institutions, or its people. These lessons are 
 quite subsidiary to the general purpose of Harold but 
 the need of them suggested the romance. 
 
 One lesson, merely glanced at in Harold, calls for fur- 
 ther comment. 
 
 The importance of race, though now generally disre- 
 garded, has been acknowledged in all ages, and the 
 people, by whom sentiments, institutions, and proverbial 
 knowledge are cherished and retained long after the 
 higher social ranks have abandoned or forgotten them, 
 still regard mixture of race with disdain. In stock- 
 
200 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 raising great care is exercised in this regard, and it is 
 recognized that the mixture of two breeds does not give 
 the equivalent of either, but is a new start toward an- 
 other variety, and from a lower level — that at least 
 five generations are necessary to establish a breed; and 
 that where crossment is resorted to the undesirable qual- 
 ities of the parents are emphasized in the progeny, di- 
 minishing in degree with each generation, until in the 
 fifth the benefit of the blend becomes apparent. 
 
 Man differs not in this regard from the domesticated 
 animals. The mixing of the Caucasian and the Negro 
 produces a creature which both races distrust and avoid. 
 The red Indian blended with the Frenchman results in 
 a devil. The Eurasian is the despair of all who come 
 in contact with him. And in races more nearly allied 
 the first effect of crossment is mischievous. The com- 
 plete amalgamation may be an improvement, but not 
 until after five generations is any good result assured, 
 and the intervening period is one of peril. 
 
 The history of every country shows this evil, and 
 England supplies repeated evidence of its certainty. 
 The Kymrian natives, weakened by the Roman invasion 
 and the wars with the Picts, fell a prey to the Saxons, 
 who killed off the fighting men, reduced the submissive 
 to serfdom, and married the women. This so effemin- 
 ized the next generation that its resistance to the Scan- 
 dinavians was ineffectual, and these intruders similarly 
 destroyed the fighters and appropriated the women, pro- 
 ducing a further weakened people whom the Normans 
 defeated and subdued. But under the strong rule of 
 the conquerors, hostile invasions were impossible. France 
 
HAROLD 201 
 
 became the theatre of war, while in England, the blend- 
 ing of the bloods proceeding, there emerged in Plan- 
 tagenet times a splendid race, which became in Tudor 
 days a grand one. 
 
 With Elizabeth's death and the Stuart accession, adul- 
 terations with Scottish blood began. The qualities at- 
 tributable to the English are mainly physical, the Scot 
 has the faculty of thinking; therefore the blend is a 
 desirable one, but its early products are the most des- 
 picable creatures in English annals. However, in time 
 fusion was accomplished, and a fine race arose, which 
 in contests on many a field gave a good account of it- 
 self, and which added distinguished names to the rolls 
 of War, Philosophy, Art, and Literature. Later the ad- 
 mixture with the Irish commenced. It is yet in its early 
 stages, but deterioration is undeniable, and a dominant 
 characteristic of the people now is hysteria, a quality 
 hitherto foreign to the English race. 
 
 Rarely has a great king of England had a worthy son 
 as successor, for state policy has necessitated marriages 
 with foreign princesses, with uniformly unsatisfactory 
 results. Henry VIII was an exception to the rule — but 
 his mother was Elizabeth of York. Three of his chil- 
 dren came to the throne. The son died too early for any 
 display of capacity, but he was succeeded by the daugh- 
 ter of the Spanish princess whom we call ''Bloody 
 Mary," and she in turn by the daughter of the English 
 gentlewoman — Elizabeth. 
 
 Even in individuals who have acquired fame, the 
 harm of mixture of bloods is apparent, sometimes in 
 physical deterioration, always in moral instability. By- 
 
202 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 ron, with. English father and Scottish mother, when 
 guided and advised by others was a gentleman. Left 
 to himself he was alternately foolish and heroic. Sheri- 
 dan, whose mother w£is English and his father Irish, was 
 as reprehensible in conduct as brilliant in play and 
 speech. Gladstone, of mixed English and Scotch blood, 
 could never form an opinion and abide by it. On every 
 important question he altered his views, and the change 
 generally coincided with and was in the direction of 
 the trend of public opinion. 
 
 A pure race is the first necessity in a nation. It af- 
 fords the only material for continued and progressive 
 advancement, and it is difficult to subjugate or tame. 
 ''But where wealth is more esteemed than blood and 
 race, chiefs may be bribed and the multitude easily de- 
 luded." Such a land invites invasion, is weak to re- 
 sist, and its conquest, by stopping further deterioration, 
 may be beneficial. 
 
 The subject of the Norman conquest had been long 
 pondered over and the design of Harold completed in 
 its author's mind, but the mechanical task of composi- 
 tion was the work of less than three weeks, during which 
 it occupied almost all the waking hours. It was written 
 at Bayou Manor, the seat of the Hon. C. T. D 'Eyncourt, 
 to whom it was dedicated, March 1, 1848. From the 
 long-past strife and sorrow in which he had been wholly 
 absorbed, Bulwer was recalled to actual tragedy in his 
 own family. His daughter, returning from Germany, 
 was seized with fever in London. One of Lady Lyt- 
 ton 's accomplices in mischief, learning the address where 
 Emily lay ill, acquainted the mother, and accompanied 
 
HAROLD 203 
 
 her to the house, where they insisted on remaining de- 
 spite the medical attendant's protest that their presence 
 endangered the patient's life. On Bulwer's arrival the 
 intruders departed, but his daughter declined rapidly 
 and died April 20th. 
 
PAUSANIAS 
 
 THIS romance is unfinished but the portion com- 
 pleted suffices to suggest how the whole work 
 would have treated the events and characters of 
 an antique epoch, and what singular and varied interest 
 the author would have imparted to a story the scanty 
 historical details of which are compacted of astonish- 
 ingly great incidents. 
 
 The difficulty of enlisting interest in a romance must 
 ever increase in proportion to the remoteness of the 
 period in which its scenes are cast. Whether Bulwer 
 would have succeeded in making the persons, places, and 
 happenings of so early a period as familiar as those of 
 later times, may admit of question; but this fragment 
 not only shadows forth a powerful tragedy, but in itself 
 is an interesting work, combining in its narrative vigor- 
 ous scenes, as in the examination of Gongylus, and sug- 
 gestive charm, as in Alcman^s exposition of the early 
 speculations into the mystery of life after death; and 
 indicating characters and dramatic situations of great 
 originality and power. 
 
 The Regent of Sparta, the Hero of Platea, became the 
 unintentional murderer of the maiden who confided in 
 him, and ever afterward believed himself to be haunted 
 by her. He dared the spells of Heraclea to have speech 
 with and forgiveness from her. 
 
 Discerning coming changes unfavorable to Sparta, 
 
PAUSANIAS 205 
 
 and anxious to secure the dominance of his own state 
 over Greece, he plotted for a wider empire at a time 
 when every other Laconian desired only to preserve the 
 natural and restricted boundaries. Thwarted in his 
 plans but not abandoning them, he conspired with the 
 Persians and the Helots to compass his cherished project. 
 His treason was discovered by a suspicious messenger, 
 who read the letter entrusted to him, and acquainted 
 the Ephori of its purport. Learning that he had been 
 betrayed the Regent took refuge in a temple, which was 
 made a living tomb by walling up the entrance, the vic- 
 tim's mother indicating the method by placing the first 
 stone in position. These events are comprised in the 
 history of Pausanias. 
 
 Our sources of information concerning Pausanias are 
 all unfriendly to him. It is probable that the meanest 
 assertion in the story — the charge that the betraying 
 messenger was a favorite of the Regent, and that the let- 
 ter he was entrusted with requested that the bearer be 
 slain as soon as his errand was accomplished, originated 
 with those interested in maligning the Spartan Chief. 
 
 As herein recreated Pausanias is pictured as passion- 
 ate, self-willed, daring, and ambitious. His advantages 
 of height and bearing, his power and influence, are de- 
 scribed; but it is the being over whom a fixed purpose 
 tyrannizes, as an idea does over its victim, in whom in- 
 terest is centred. His Spartan characteristics, dignity, 
 self-command, pride, and mastery of the countenance 
 and whatever in another might betray feeling or emo- 
 tion, are displayed in the varying scenes in which he ap- 
 pears, and particularly in that examination of Gongylus 
 
206 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 where danger, suspense, and dexterous management of 
 men are combined in an intense and dramatic series of 
 incidents. Nor does this man of turbulent acts and 
 schemes suffer any lessening in majesty or manfulness, 
 or the respect these command in tte more tender inter- 
 views with Cleonice, which further disclose another 
 motive for his designs, since without some change in 
 Sparta, union with her was impossible. 
 
 In every phase of his restless career is shown a man 
 of iron will and determined purpose hampered by rigid 
 laws which gall and fret him, and by restraints im- 
 posed by those less farseeing but equally as immovable 
 as himself, until irritation changes the fettered leader 
 into the secret foe. But whether in ambition, passion, 
 or policy, in him the small, the mean, the trivial, have 
 no place. It is for Sparta rather than for himself that 
 he conspires. His aims, however blamable, are never 
 ignoble. 
 
 Bulwer's intuition and insight into character and 
 motives afford elucidation of the acts and aims of Pau- 
 sanias, without which all we know of him but serves to 
 furnish an enigma in conduct. Whence came his im- 
 mense influence? What prompted his aggravating pol- 
 icy toward the allies? Why did he engage in treason- 
 able correspondence with Persia? Why tamper with 
 the Helots? 
 
 It is only by adopting the views advanced in this 
 work that an intelligible explanation of all the Regent's 
 acts becomes possible. Admit the suggestion that in 
 spite of Sparta he designed a larger Sparta, and the 
 power which a man takes from a definite purpose to- 
 
PAUSANIAS 207 
 
 ward which his every act is directed accounts not only 
 for his influence, but also for his conduct toward the 
 captains of the fleet, since his ends would be served if 
 the Athenians in disgust departed from Byzantium. 
 Foiled in this design, and suspected by the Five, he 
 faced the alternative of foregoing his schemes, and wit- 
 nessing the recession of Sparta into secondary impor- 
 tance or an alliance with Persia, using the Helots as 
 means to his ends. He chose the latter, became a trai- 
 tor, and was betrayed. 
 
 Concerning this unfinished romance Bulwer, wrote to 
 Richard Bentley as follows: 
 
 ^^ October 6, 1850. 
 
 *'I feel sure I could make a very powerful and effec- 
 tive tale, full of original and striking matter in scene, 
 plot, and character. The gorgeous life of the Mede and 
 Persian, contrasting with the severe manners of the 
 Spartan, I could make very interesting. Then I have 
 such good incidents — a murder — the ancient necro- 
 mancy or raising of the dead — the vast conspiracy 
 among the Helots which the Regent of Sparta (my hero) 
 secretly headed, and which if successful would have 
 shaken all Greece — and a final catastrophe of great 
 terror in which Pausanias is walled up alive in the tem- 
 ple in which he took refuge, his own mother bringing 
 the first stone. There are other characters too, in which 
 all would take an interest — the great Cimon in his 
 youth — Aristides, equally just and profound — the 
 wisdom and vigour of Themistocles. It is true that the 
 suibject is remote; but then it is new, and as I have 
 never written but one classical romance (which was very 
 
208 PEOSE ROMANCES OP BULWER 
 
 successful), I think the remoteness would be overcome 
 in the general curiosity to see how I should treat this. 
 We might, too, readily change the title, if you dislike it, 
 and find a new one. The story, once begun, opens at 
 once to enchain the interest, and I should take great 
 pains with the whole ; it would be a labor of love to me. 
 Lastly, the book is begun, chalked out. History sup- 
 plies of itself incidents more exciting than I could in- 
 vent. And all this is half the battle in point of complet- 
 ing the book soon, though as a point of style I should 
 probably rewrite much of what I have written, by the 
 taste of maturer age. Turn this over well. ' ' 
 
 The vessel in which the author's son sent the manu- 
 script of Pausanias from Lisbon to England foundered, 
 and its cargo was lost, but some weeks afterward the pa< 
 pers were recovered in a solid watersoaked mass. By 
 subjection to a sort of baking, and the exercise of care 
 and patience, the leaves were separated and the work 
 made available for the printers. 
 
THE CAXTONS 
 
 THIS work is in all respects different from its 
 predecessors. The earnestness of the author has 
 hitherto been evident and unmistakable, but now 
 the object aimed at admits of lessened tension, the bow 
 is more lightly bent, and the writer, without lapsing 
 into triviality or unnecessary episodes or protractions, 
 is more familiar and gracious. The quality called hu- 
 mor, the genial manifestation of great experience and 
 wide knowledge, which playfully suggests enlightening 
 congruities and illustrations, and which differs from wit 
 in not being irreverent nor malicious nor superficial, 
 pervades The Caxtons. The events are unexciting 
 save in the instance where Vivian 's wild scheme is foiled, 
 but the manner in Which they are related reveals a 
 power to draw forth smiles or tears by mere words which 
 had never before been so charmingly demonstrated. The 
 story interests less than the characters, which are drawn 
 with sureness and sustained differentiation, and are ad- 
 mirably representative of the varied vocations which at- 
 tract active manhood. 
 
 The influence of home in the making of a man, and 
 the importance of early training in fixing principles, 
 establishing habits, and supplying motives for conduct, 
 are shown in this record of the progress from childhood 
 to man's estate of the biographer of The Caxtons. An- 
 
210 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 other purpose is achieved incidentally, in the suggestion 
 of emigration as a career for those able and vigorous 
 young men who are not attracted to any of the conven- 
 tional professions, and find themselves crowded out of 
 all desirable vocations in the old world. 
 
 The Caxton home is a dignfied but unpretentious Eng- 
 lish establishment. The family comprises Austin, the 
 father, an erudite philosopher, genial, kindly, and im- 
 perturbable; Katherine, the mother, a notable house- 
 wife, proud of her husband, tolerant of his oddities, un- 
 ceasing in her care for his comfort, and ambitious that 
 his goodness, as well as his knowledge, may be known 
 to others; Uncle Roland, a maimed old soldier with im- 
 movable ideas, never entirely correct, but always lofty 
 and stimulating, about honor, ancestry, duty, and hered- 
 ity; Uncle Jack, fertile in plans for benefitting human- 
 ity, and incidentally promising large dividends, schemes 
 which invariably fail because of their philanthropic en- 
 cumbrances; Doctor Squills, a frequent guest, odd, ob- 
 servant, and prosperous; and Pisistratus, the son whose 
 experiences supply the material of the book. 
 
 While childhood glides toward youth, Master Caxton 
 is the mother's care, but his father is watchful, and im- 
 parts lessons in his own way, by parables, which the boy 
 is left to puzzle out for himself. Thus he is taught to 
 be truthful in spite of fear, to mend bad actions, not by 
 good wishes, but by good actions ; to find in self-sacrifice 
 the highest happiness ; and to know that his best friends, 
 advisers, and comforters are always those at home. 
 
 His school life is uneventful, but when he comes home 
 for good, he finds his uncles have been added to the f am- 
 
THE CAXTONS 211 
 
 ily circle. The soldier, by example and precept, has an 
 abiding influence, the speculator dazzles for awhile ; but 
 the father contrives that the boy shall perceive that 
 Uncle Jack's projects are usually based on incorrect 
 estimates. 
 
 It has been settled that Pisistratus is to go to Cam- 
 bridge University, but a chance meeting with a prom- 
 inent member of Parliament and an old friend of the 
 Caxtons causes this step to be deferred, and instead he 
 becomes private secretary to Mr. Trevanion, and is in- 
 itiated into practical life, familiarized with hard and 
 various Work, learns much of public men and political 
 movements, and gains an acquaintance with the higher 
 social life. But he loses his heart to Fanny Trevanion 
 and cannot continue his work and suppress his feelings. 
 Therefore he resigns his position. Trevanion is touched 
 by the frank way in which the young man has acted. 
 His daughter's hand must be bestowed where it will ad- 
 vance his own political importance, but he envies the 
 father of such a son, and claims the privilege of aiding 
 him elsewhere. 
 
 Pisistratus resumes his preparations for Cambridge, 
 but though a bookman's son, his nature is vigorous and 
 active rather than contemplative. Therefore it is with 
 resignation instead of rapture that he goes to the uni- 
 versity. At the end of his first term, he is called home 
 by alarming letters from his mother, and finds that one 
 of Uncle Jack's schemes has enmeshed his father, and 
 carried away two-thirds of the Caxton property. Pis- 
 istratus has no desire to return to Cambridge now. A 
 serious ambition engrosses him. He seeks for a vocation 
 
212 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 where within a reasonable period a modest fortune may- 
 be secured, sufficient to restore the depleted income of 
 his parents, and provide for some improvements. As 
 one of the ''too many" he thinks he would find in emi- 
 gration the field for that exuberant vitality for which 
 there seems to be no scope in England, and Trevanion, 
 whom he consults, advises sheep farming in Australia, 
 a suggestion which is approved and adopted. He sets 
 about acquiring the needful skill, preparing for the work 
 and routine of such a career, and (a harder task) win- 
 ning his parents' consent to it. A reluctant acquiescence 
 is obtained, companions are selected, preparations com- 
 pleted, and accompanied by Uncle Roland, Pisistratus 
 goes to London to say farewell to the Trevanions, and 
 then begin the voyage. 
 
 His departure is delayed by an adventure wherein he 
 prevents the abduction of Fanny, by a daring and des- 
 perate wooer, and gains another companion in his cousin, 
 Roland's son. 
 
 Australian life has its vicissitudes, but by-and-by the 
 needed fortune is accumulated. Meanwhile close friend- 
 ships have been formed, and various acquaintances made. 
 Uncle Jack, successful now that his plans are not weight- 
 ed down by the burden of humanity, turns up as a pros- 
 perous speculator in the bush ; and the lure of the land, 
 the charm of the life, and the brightening prospects, all 
 conspire to induce Pisistratus to remain a colonist. But 
 the duty which required his self -exile can now be dis- 
 charged, and he returns to England, to restore the fam- 
 ily fortunes, and take his part in the Caxton home. 
 
 Commercialism had no attractions, political life made 
 
THE CAXTONS 213 
 
 no appeal, and the learned professions were all distaste- 
 ful to the healthy, strong young man, who nevertheless 
 desired exercise for his abundantly trained faculties. 
 Opportunity was not to be found in England, and his 
 restless energy prompted to a severance from his people, 
 and toils in a new world to which he readily adapted 
 himself. But home was associated with dear memories, 
 and no large ambition fired his mind. Therefore though 
 travel and adventure attracted for awhile, home and its 
 circle drew the wanderer back and he realized that there 
 the largest measure of contentment and happiness await- 
 ed him. 
 
 The most attractive character in the work is Austin 
 Caxton. He is depicted as a learned man, not unfitted 
 by his attainments for ordinary life and business, but 
 refiecting credit on erudition because his stores are read- 
 ily available for practical purposes, and therefore be- 
 come wisdom; and manifesting shrewd judgment and 
 sagacity in all affairs where his interest is enlisted. He 
 is averse to ceremonial and satisfied with the society of 
 his books, but to his friends unfailingly sympathetic 
 and helpful. He can be the companion of a child, yet 
 also the adviser of men of the world. His familiarity 
 with books causes his ordinary conversation to abound 
 in playful references and quotations. His vast and pur- 
 poseful reading is indicated by the outline of his ''His- 
 tory of Human Error," his penetration is displayed in 
 his interpretation of the world's pastoral dreams of 
 peace as prognostications of war, his originality is evi- 
 denced by his proposed hygienic application of books, 
 and by his recognition of the good-out-of-evil of war. 
 
214 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 Austin Caxton represents philosophy, mild, beneficent 
 and helpful, closely allied to poetry by kinship and sym- 
 pathy, and always finding interest in its suggestions; 
 more genial than science because experienced in human 
 emotions and aware of their importance as factors in 
 conduct; wise in counsel because cultivated in every 
 faculty, not in one talent only; inspiring thought in 
 the young, consoling the disappointed, aiding the 
 crushed, changing the views of the erring and winning 
 affection even from a lame duck. He regards commer- 
 cialism with an amused curiosity, and ridiculing its af- 
 fectation of humanitarian aims, but admiring its stimu- 
 lating energy when frankly exercising the selfish pur- 
 posefulness which is natural to it, and under the influ- 
 ence of affection, abandoning the caution which is usual- 
 ly an accompaniment of philosophy, and joining in a 
 commercial venture to his injury. 
 
 The veteran Roland, grim, chivalrous, and tender to 
 all but himself, is a noble portrait of the loyal soldier 
 whose satisfaction consists in the knowledge that he has 
 done his duty. Honors and preferments have been 
 awarded over him but of these he never murmurs, the 
 medal he received for his services at Waterloo is valued 
 above all purchasable commissions. The notions of fam- 
 ily, duty, and honor, which a less scientific generation 
 than the present revered as heredity, have guided his 
 life, and formed his character. Unfortunate in his mar- 
 riage and harassed by a wilful, rebellious son, he bears 
 "his griefs uncomplainingly, hiding from all but Austin 
 the sacrifices he has made to preserve that son from 
 criminality, and clinging to his lonely tower, the ruined 
 
THE CAXTONS 215 
 
 remnant of his ancestor's possessions, in the hope (ulti- 
 mately realized) that the wayward one might yet prove 
 worthy of his race. 
 
 Roland is the embodiment of poetry, having all its 
 youthfulness of feeling and sentiment, and displaying 
 its heroic, forceful, and suggestive qualities in conduct 
 and ideas, dominated in action and thoughts by prin- 
 ciples always accepted as articles of faith, and disdain- 
 ing the reasoning which would reduce them to mutable 
 and impotent matters of opinion; reverencing the an- 
 cient, the noble, the brave, hiding sorrow under a cheer- 
 ful seeming and untiringly active when duty requires 
 sacrifice, or right demands supporting recognition. 
 
 Uncle Jack, the commercial genius, is a very original 
 character, finding everywhere the opportunity for com- 
 bining beneficence with gaining riches, or at least 
 starting a company for that purpose. All his schemes 
 have possibilities in them, and it is usually because of 
 the entangling benevolent features that they fail. At 
 any rate, when he reverses his methods, abandons his 
 fellow creatures, and narrows the circle of prospective 
 benefitters, he soon becomes prosperous and a capitalist. 
 
 The portrait of Trevanion is a very interesting study. 
 An ambitious, laborious member of Parliament and busy 
 practical man, whose energy infects others; constantly 
 improving his properties and his homes, building up his 
 importance and aiming at power, handicapped by al- 
 ways seeing more than one side of a question, he ulti- 
 mately rises to Cabinet rank only to find that position 
 intolerable because of his inability to act with his party 
 when their measures are obnoxious to him; and sub- 
 
216 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 siding into an earldom, repining and disappointed, he 
 is constrained to leave London because of the visitors 
 who stay away. 
 
 In Sir Sedley Beaudesert we have the finished gentle- 
 man, a survival from former days, the representative 
 aristocrat; courteous, considerate, and tactful, with 
 strength concealed by exquisite grace, and ability only 
 discovered when occasion calls for its use. 
 
 Vivian, misguided and wilful, a deserter from home, 
 matching his courage and skill against the world and not 
 failing, though his successes were perilous and threw 
 him among undesirable acquaintances and caused him 
 to indulge all sorts of wrong ideas, yet had in his affec- 
 tion and pride, qualities which at last effected his re- 
 demption, and won him back to paths wherein he justi- 
 fied his friends' faith in him, and became again a source 
 of joy to Roland. 
 
 Pisistratus under the unobtruded guidance of philos- 
 ophy is familiarized with poetry, put on his guard 
 against the enthusiasm of com^nercialism, and enabled 
 correctly to comprehend the qualities needed in political 
 life and the rewards and disappointments which await 
 those who conscientiously follow it as a profession. None 
 of these promises satisfactory careers to one who regards 
 duty as the first consideration and prefers active life to 
 contemplation. When financial reverses diminish the 
 comforts of the Caxton family he resolves to repair the 
 injury and chooses an unattractive but adventurous ex- 
 periment for the purpose. His end achieved, he resists 
 the temptations of the new land and its promises, and re- 
 
THE CAXTONS 217 
 
 turning finds the discharge of duty leads not only to 
 conscious satisfaction but to unexpected blessing. 
 
 The characters in The Caxtotis are generally shown 
 in repose, not in action. It is by their modes and utter- 
 ances that we are made acquainted with them. This 
 treatment is necessitated by the subject chosen, for the 
 fancies of Roland and the reasonings of Austin could 
 not have been presented so attractively in any other 
 way. But in this respect the work is a descent from its 
 predecessors, in which the several persons were present- 
 ed under stress, in conflict, or striving purposefully; 
 in them also, the attention was concentrated more on the 
 within than the without. What they thought and felt 
 was made known to us, rather than how they deported 
 themselves. 
 
 The Cdxtons was written concurrently with Lucretia, 
 and after appearing anonymously in Blackwood's Mag- 
 azine was published in 1849. 
 
 Lucretia traced out the perverting effects of evil or 
 negligent early training, and as a relief from the pain- 
 fulness of its composition, Bulwer alternated the task by 
 also writing The Caxtons, a companion picture teaching 
 the reverse of that lesson. 
 
 Its reception by the journals illustrates one of the in- 
 jurious results of contemporaneous misjudgment on 
 writers. No one had a more profound contempt for 
 that expression of uninformed pretentiousness which is 
 called reviewing than the author of The Caxtons; 
 and his knowledge of art, its various forms and highest 
 developments, was larger than that of any of his con- 
 
218 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 temporaries. Yet the relation of the successful author 
 to the modern public is such that he is constrained to 
 subordinate his own artistic designs to the satisfaction 
 of the taste of the day, and the reiterated pronounce- 
 ments of disapproval of very great works, and appreci- 
 ation of lighter productions, had effect even on Bulwer, 
 for projected studies of profound importance were aban- 
 doned, and he resigned himself to less ambitious com- 
 positions. From the grand and tragic he refrained. The 
 pleasing and agreeable received more attention, and the 
 altitudes native to Zanoni and Lucretia were but oc- 
 casionally reascended in later works. 
 
MY NOVEL 
 
 THE authorship of this depiction of the varieties of 
 English life is ascribed to the biographer of The 
 Caxtons ; and as every writer draws from his own 
 observations, experiences, and remembrances, naturally 
 and necessarily, incidents and characters described in 
 The Caxtons reappear in My Novel — not copied, for 
 transcription is only a journeyman's work, but recogniz- 
 able as ideal representations of events in which he took 
 part, and persons with whom he was brought into contact. 
 Thus the abduction of Violante, although the details 
 are in every particular different, had its origin in the 
 snare arranged for Fanny Trevanion; Richard Aveling 
 was suggested by Uncle Jack; Audley Egerton by Tre- 
 vanion; Harley L 'Estrange by Sir Sedley Beaudesert; 
 and the kindly homeopathist by Doctor Squills. Some 
 discernible resemblances were necessary to justify the 
 assigned authorship, and this detail was not neglected. 
 My Novel is constructed in accordance with the old 
 fashion of narrative fiction. Each division has an in- 
 troduction, the catastrophe assembles all the important 
 characters together, and a final chapter gives particulars 
 of the after-fates of those in whom interest had been 
 aroused. 
 
 The purpose of the work is that of promoting more 
 cordial relations between rich and poor, by counteract- 
 
220 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 ing the teachings of those who seek to set class against 
 class ; by discouraging the mercenary and ignoble appli- 
 cation of knowledge ; by inculcating the wisdom of self - 
 improvement as the first step in general reform ; and by 
 reiterating the importance of the neglected virtue of pa- 
 tience. But its lasting lessons are conveyed in the con- 
 trasting results of knowledge worthily sought and nobly 
 applied, and of knowledge perverted and used for mean 
 ends. 
 
 The characteristics of My Novel are its large tolerance, 
 its geniality and the multitude of original and interest- 
 ing personages with whom it makes us intimately ac- 
 quainted. Its incidents range from the quaint to the 
 impressive. The varying happenings at the stocks; 
 Richard Aveling's courtship; Burley's allegory of the 
 one-eyed perch; the discomfiture of Peschiera; and the 
 unmasking of Randal are all excellent inventions, but 
 the fluctuating Lansmere election, the poignant inter- 
 view between the estranged Harley and his life-long 
 friend, and the death of Egerton are the supreme chap- 
 ters in the book. Though in the many characters de- 
 picted the admirable representatives of the several 
 classes are made most prominent, the existence of other 
 sorts is not ignored. The prosperity of Hazledean is 
 neighbored by the squalor of Rood Hall. Beside the 
 pushing, noisy, humbugging Richard Aveling we have 
 the calvinistic trader's wife, to whom the reputation of 
 the dead is of more consequence than the success of the 
 living; and accompanying the cabinet minister whose 
 name is a synonjrm for honor and integrity, we have 
 his protege — coveting, scheming, and ignoble. 
 
MY NOVEL 221 
 
 My Novel is a comprehensive survey of the general 
 phases of life in England during the pre- Victorian era. 
 It begins with the rural community of Hazledean, with 
 its bluff Squire, loving his estate as if it were a living 
 thing, hating to see any of his property out of order, 
 with many prejudices and some unwisdom, but always 
 generous, well-meaning, and warm-hearted; Parson 
 Dale, sharing the cares and hopes of his flock, soothing, 
 chiding, admonishing, and encouraging, never evading 
 any duty, and only perturbed by the little tempers of 
 his wife ; the domiciled Italian exile whose large general 
 knowledge of mankind contrasts the parson's limited 
 but more practical lore of men, and who with his devoted 
 servant, his pipe, and philosophy, contrives to endure 
 semi-starvation with equanimity; the pattern-boy Leon- 
 ard Fairfield, who receives here his first experience of 
 man's injustice, but also such preparation for useful 
 manhood as wise direction of studies, stimulating coun- 
 sel, and useful examples can bestow. 
 
 From the humble joys and griefs of Hazledean, we 
 accompany Leonard to the busy industrial centre of 
 Screwton, where the Americanised Richard Aveling with 
 his big factory is successfully demolishing his smaller 
 rivals, and eulogising competition, until a larger cap- 
 italist with a more huge establishment drives him into 
 the clutches of money-lenders, near to that bourne of 
 competition — bankruptcy — and so changes his opin- 
 ions that a combination is effected, ruin averted, and 
 prosperity assured. Meanwhile the new man is busy 
 forcing himself into importance, building up a political 
 machine after the American plan, securing a prominent 
 
222 . PROSE ROMANCES OP BULWER 
 
 position in the social coterie, abusing the aristocracy 
 and yearning for a title, and by his energy and example 
 transforming the appearance of the place : ' ' There was 
 not a plate-glass window in the town when I came into 
 it, and now look down the High street." 
 
 Thence we journey to London, the converging point 
 of the agencies which influence civilization, with its 
 splendid rewards for the successful, and its river for 
 those who fail. There we encounter those diverse ex- 
 amples of journalism, the improvident, gifted Burley 
 and the prudent, matter-of-fact Norreys. There the 
 bland Levy is useful and accommodating to spendthrift 
 youths, gathering to himself their substance, but not 
 their respect, and using for further aggrandisement the 
 power which loans have made him master of. And 
 there practical life has its characteristic representa- 
 tive and victim in Audley Egerton, the apparently 
 prosperous, satisfied, and envied minister, to whom offi- 
 cial life has become a necessity, and who in laboring for 
 the welfare of the state, has sacrificed fortune, health, 
 and happiness, without securing contentment. 
 
 A brilliant example of the figure to which the Latin 
 rhetoricians gave the name of expectatio, occurs in the 
 persentation of Harley L 'Estrange, the hero of My 
 Novel He is spoken of, referred to, or described in 
 every book, and each time our curiosity and interest 
 are increased. 
 
 In the fifth book we meet him, and note that he is 
 odd, tactful, kindly, and considerate. Every succeeding 
 book adds to our knowledge of his lovable disposition, 
 tenacity of affection, and natural ability, and gradually 
 
MY NOVEL 223 
 
 we are made aware that he possesses also the powers and 
 capacities of a leader and manager of men. Violante's 
 peril energises all his faculties. His indifference dis- 
 appears, he becomes active, resourceful, quick in his 
 penetration into character and motive, fertile and in- 
 genious in counterplot and plan, and expeditious in ex- 
 ecution. From thenceforth he is the commanding fig- 
 ure, surpassing, versatile, excellent in all his acts, and 
 as terrible and irresistible as Achilles. 
 
 In Harley L 'Estrange are combined unvarying hon- 
 or, wide culture, dauntless courage, and courteous de- 
 portment. He is constant in friendship, beneficent and 
 sympathetic always, active wherever good needs aid or 
 evil calls for resistance, and displaying magnificent ca- 
 pacity when occasion demands its exercise. 
 
 Genius has a deserved and worthy position in our 
 esteem. The land-owner, earnest and constant in im- 
 proving his estate and ameliorating the condition of his 
 tenants, wins our commendation; the successful manu- 
 facturer makes his usefulness evident, attains position, 
 and commands respect; the practical man, regarding 
 loyalty to his party, thoroughness in the discharge of 
 his duties, and even the sacrifice of private life, as the 
 necessary conditions of his career, receives our cordial 
 approval and praise; but the gentleman is the flower 
 of civilized life, and for him we feel at once admiration 
 and reverence. In the poet, the squire, the trader, the 
 statesman, the qualities shown in departmental voca- 
 tions engage our regard; but L*Estrange is great in 
 every emergency or duty, and the range of these calls 
 out a wide variety of powers. 
 
224 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 When his early disappointment caused self blame and 
 regret and sorrow, it was in active warfare that he 
 sought relief from bitter memories, and on many a field 
 he found fame, but not consolation. When his Italian 
 friend, disregarding his warnings against the rash 
 schemes of revolutionists, found himself deserted, be- 
 trayed, and proscribed, his escape was facilitated by 
 L 'Estrange 's timely and desperate interference. And 
 later Riccabocca's restoration was eifected as a result 
 of the unrelaxing labors of the Englishman. The sol- 
 dier's child found in him a guardian, and the despondent 
 poet a friend. And always, from schoolboy days on- 
 ward, his affection for Egerton continued unabated, un- 
 clouded, until the late-found record revealed the ground- 
 lessness of his regrets, and the treachery of his chosen 
 friend. Then in the revulsion of his feelings he plans 
 a crushing revenge on the man who had deceived him, 
 which, however strong his justification, would have sul- 
 lied his honor, and demeaned him. His triumph over 
 himself, aided somewhat by religion, more by love, is 
 his greatest and worthiest achievement. That contest 
 with his evil purpose, resulting in the interview and 
 reconciliation with Egerton, is matchless for intensity and 
 restraint, and from it with all hateful memories banished, 
 friendship renewed, and self-respect restored he hastens 
 to do and undo; secures Egerton 's election, exposes the 
 machinations of Randal, presents Leonard to his father, 
 and wins in Violante a bride who, exalting and inspiring, 
 gives what had hitherto been lacking — purpose and mo- 
 tive for sustained participation in the great activities 
 af Hf e. 
 
MY NOVEL 225 
 
 Audley Egerton, contrasting the frank, open, and 
 sympathetic L 'Estrange, is reserved, austere, and formal. 
 He has attained to power and influence with the party 
 to whose interests he has devoted time, wealth, energy, 
 and thought. Solitary and unemotional as he seems, it 
 was nevertheless as an escape from memories of a loss 
 which blighted all possibilities of joy that he threw 
 himself into a political career, and sought escape from 
 private life by devoting himself to the arid routine of 
 Parliament. As a member of the Cabinet, weighty in 
 debate, clear sighted in his views, irreproachable in 
 conduct, and lavish in expenditure, he has become an 
 important, respected, and envied man; yet one trans- 
 gression in a life otherwise flawless has deprived success 
 of all satisfaction. In a mission honestly undertaken 
 in the service of L 'Estrange, under* the stress of passion 
 and surprise, he betrayed his friend, trusting that the 
 future would provide occasion for confession and for- 
 giveness. That time never arrives; and the proud and 
 honored statesman suffers and fears, for his deceit may 
 be discovered, and the only man whose good opinion he 
 values has the right to despise him. 
 
 Careless of all else than the esteem of his friend, 
 Egerton allows his wealth to waste, and has to resort 
 to the money-lender. His health becomes impaired, but 
 nothing in his bearing or conduct reveals these misfor- 
 tunes. He continues to appear rich, strong, honorable. 
 
 When circumstances make L 'Estrange aware that his 
 remorse was groundless and his chosen friend a deceiver, 
 in his wrath he devises and begins to carry out a retalia- 
 tory deceit which would leave Egerton bankrupt of 
 
226 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 means and reputation; but after an interview with 
 Audley, all desire for revenge passes away, the brief 
 estrangement ends in a deeper affection, and L 'Estrange 
 secures the triumph instead of the humiliation of his 
 friend. 
 
 And when the election has closed and Egerton is vic- 
 torious, when brighter prospects are opening, higher 
 position and greater honors assured, and two homes 
 await him, death strides into the circle and for ever 
 closes against him the path to the missed and pined for 
 private life. 
 
 In the history of Leonard, the progress of genius is 
 illustrated. From contemplation, reverie, and solitude 
 it passes to the actual and positive, in which uncongen- 
 ial field it perceives the common and ignoble springs of 
 action, sees ambition leagued with selfseeking, and love 
 a matter of calculation ; is bullied and buffeted and com- 
 manded, until natural affection being menaced, genius 
 resigns its apparently advantageous prospects, and goes 
 on its way to a larger destiny. Even when its own 
 path is clouded and uncertain, it accepts responsibility 
 and affords help to the forlorn. In the practical world, 
 though rarely recognised, it bears its part; strives, suf- 
 fers, and grows, deriving benefit both from its own er- 
 rors and failures and from these which it witnesses in 
 others. 
 
 Presently it is put to school with experience, is taught 
 method and acquires discipline, and then the results of 
 patient observation and severe thought are given to 
 the world effectively and with success. Always while 
 fulfilling its own purposes and acquiring fuller knowl- 
 
MY NOVEL 227 
 
 edge of things material to itself, it aids and benefits oth- 
 ers; and still, as it is subjected to more bitter trials, 
 its natural dignity and nobility enable it to submit to 
 the sacrifice of ambition and even of hope, but ultimate- 
 ly the path it follows leads to serenity, satisfaction, and 
 content. 
 
 Randal Leslie is described and dissected with elabor- 
 ate care; an egotist regarding his own interest solely, 
 oblivious of duty and its claims, devoting his undenia- 
 ble ability to the base purpose of turning knowledge 
 into power. His innate selfishness is displayed in the 
 first action we see him perform, that of removing the 
 crossing-stones at the ford. He intends to return by 
 another way, and the needs of others do not concern 
 him. His slovenly home has no humanising influence 
 over him, though to restore that home to its former pros- 
 perity is the object he sets before him. For the pros- 
 perous he has only envy, for the unfortunate no con- 
 sideration. He betrays the poor exile to his foe, and 
 assists in Pescheira's villainy for a reward; he plots the 
 ruin of his friend, and seeks to profit by the defeat of 
 his patron. He covets wealth and position, and for 
 these he schemes tirelessly and unscrupulously and comes 
 very near success, only to fail as miserably and irre- 
 trievably as history shows his kind — the Borgias and 
 Richards — always fail. Intellectual power stripped of 
 beneficence resembles the principle of evil, and as Par- 
 son Dale points out, even he was a failure. 
 
 Yiolante, who grows from affectionate childhood into 
 regal beauty during the progress of the work, is the 
 typical inspirer to high deeds and noble purposes. She 
 
228 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 regretted being a useless girl because a woman sighs 
 ' ' I wish, ' ' but a man should say ' ' I will. ' ' To her the 
 contented and inactive appeared little less unworthy than 
 the mean. United to L 'Estrange, she revived his love of 
 fame, and strengthened it into purposeful act, shared 
 his labors, gloried in his triumphs, and found blessing 
 in the new pride which his parents felt in him, who now 
 fulfilled the promise of his youth, because he had found 
 what he then sought in vain. 
 
 Helen is more retiring than Violante. Her early ex- 
 periences of life's hardships which developed the woman 
 in her before childhood had passed, has stilled all ambi- 
 tion, either for herself or for others. But it has also 
 made her firm in will, thoughtful for others, and com- 
 passionate to all. Under her prudent rule no household 
 cares will ever trouble her poet-husband. The serenity 
 essential to the production of all great work will be his 
 always, and though critics may assail and lampoon, their 
 malice will never affect the home where woman the 
 comforter reigns. 
 
 Nora Aveling, whose tragic history connects the var- 
 ious fates of the characters whose lives and acts we are 
 made acquainted with, affects each of those who meet 
 or learn of her, as poetry influences its readers. She 
 awakens mind in the peasant-lover, and genius in the 
 boy who knows not that he is her son. She induces mel- 
 ancholy and inaction in the brilliant L 'Estrange, impels 
 to ceaseless toil for unobtainable forgetfulness the am- 
 bitious Egerton; inspires jealousy and envy in the un- 
 scrupulous Levy, and gives solace to the disappointed 
 and beaten Burley. And as the unhappy fate of a poet 
 
MY NOVEL 229 
 
 often gains a more lasting regard for his works, so it is 
 the pitiful ending of Nora's life which intensifies the 
 spell of her memory. 
 
 The composition of My Novel was begun in 1849, when 
 Bulwer was a sojourner at Nice. After appearing in 
 Blackwood's Magazine, it was published in 1853. 
 
WHAT WILL HE DO WITH IT ? 
 
 WHAT will he do with it? is the oft recurring 
 question in respect of the opportunities and ac- 
 quisitions of the several persons whose actions 
 give interest to a work which sets before us a number of 
 unusually engaging characters, describes their attitude 
 toward society, which has not used them well, explains 
 the motives and consequences of renunciations which in 
 the instances of those most prominently depicted have 
 been extraordinary, and presents some rare examples of 
 human affection. 
 
 A great orator and parliamentarian abandons his 
 career and foregoes the purpose to which he had devoted 
 all his powers, because the woman he loved proved faith- 
 less. An honorable man steps from his place among 
 gentlemen and accepts the stigma and punishment of a 
 convicted felon, from parental devotion ; and a woman of 
 culture and refinement relinquishes all her prospects 
 and possibilities, and dedicates her life to the task of 
 thwarting the designs of the lawless ingrate who had 
 been the lover of her youth, winning him back to decency. 
 In plot and construction the work is flawless, its per- 
 sonages are consistently and adequately developed, the 
 observations on man and conduct are astute and illumin- 
 ating, and the descriptions of scenery, which evince a 
 
WHAT WILL HE DO WITH IT? 231 
 
 wistful fondness for out-of-door objects, though brief 
 are many. 
 
 That sorrows and calamities may have a beneficent 
 mission and be salutary agencies when properly exam- 
 ined, is the lesson of the story, which in following the 
 rising fortunes of Lionel Haughton finds in the succes- 
 sion of persons with whom he is brought in contact the 
 materials here elaborated into a very powerful whole. 
 
 Piquant headings precede each chapter ; the incidents 
 are abundant, novel, and varied ; there are many master- 
 ly descriptions and impassioned scenes, a satirical ac- 
 count of the house of Vipont considered as an entity, 
 maintaining its importance and increasing its influence 
 through the centuries, which suggests a new possibility 
 in historical writing ; and a matchless portrayal of three 
 society beauties. 
 
 These however are all subsidiary to the delineation and 
 development of characters of striking originality, whose 
 respective strengths and weaknesses are unfolded with 
 a fulness proportioned to their importance in the nar- 
 rative. 
 
 Guy Darrell is one of Bulwer's grandest creations. 
 The depiction of a great man, no longer young, yet sub- 
 ject to the passion which woman inspires, is fraught 
 with difiiculties ; for as years advance, love usually sub- 
 sides into its proper place as but one (and that not the 
 most important) of life's experiences; and its persist- 
 ence as a master-force may reasonably be regarded as an 
 evidence of weakness in its mature victim. Yet no sug- 
 gestion of the ridiculous attaches to this portrait. Dar- 
 rell's dignity is never detracted from, nor does the re- 
 
232 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 spect he commands suffer any derogation, and the in- 
 terest he inspires is preserved unimpaired to the end. 
 
 The descendant of a race more venerated for its de- 
 cay, with collected purpose and resolute will he set him- 
 self single-handed to the task of undoing the work of 
 ages, and restoring his line to its place of dignity in the 
 land. A prosperous experience at the bar gave him 
 wealth; as an orator in parliament he won fame; and 
 just when a future of honor and power was opening 
 to him, he suddenly withdrew from active life and se- 
 cluded himself at his ancestral home. To the public, 
 family bereavement accounted for his retirement, but 
 the actual cause was the marriage of his betrothed to the 
 Marquis of Montford, which blighted his hopes, left am- 
 bition objectless, and made him doubtful of all human 
 faith; and though he preserved such silence about his 
 attachment that his friends were unaware of it, it lasted 
 in all its intensity. Nowhere could he find one whose 
 attractions could banish the memory of her into whose 
 hands he had given his future, and therefore the career 
 sought with energy and advanced with success was vol- 
 untarily resigned for a home without neighbors and a 
 hearth without children. 
 
 How important he would have made the Darrells is 
 shown by the vast, unfinished, and abandoned mansion, 
 with which he had intended to replace the unassumiug 
 manor house, and by the works of art collected for its 
 adornment, now sitowed away and neglected. House 
 and treasures typical of the uncompleted life and fruit- 
 less attainments of the man. 
 
WHAT WILL HE DO WITH IT? 233 
 
 That Darrell 's reputation was not undeserved is made 
 manifest to us by his impassioned earnestness, his felici- 
 tous quotations, the noble poetry of some of his utter- 
 ances, his quick perceptions, his ability to praise, and 
 also by his sensitiveness and ready response to all appeals 
 to worthy emotions. His commanding presence, large 
 information, and disciplined powers, are supplemented 
 by his evident sincerity; and because he feels, he has 
 the power to impress others. 
 
 The restoration which he undertook to accomplish 
 was not an ignoble end, but it should have been but a 
 portion of a larger purpose. It ought to have expanded 
 into objects embracing humanity. And because his am- 
 bition was restricted to the mere building up of a house, 
 it narrowed his usefulness and developed in him an in- 
 ordinate pride. And all the sorrows of his life had been 
 directed against that pride, and toward the frustration 
 of that design. Because of his devotion to an ancestor's 
 name he had sacrificed his own hold on the respect of the 
 future without securing satisfaction in the present, and 
 on the confines of age he reluctantly resigned his baffled 
 purpose, and endeavored to content himself with the 
 partial completion of his plans promised by the adoption 
 and carrying forward of the Darrell name by his heir. 
 
 The natural nobility of the man is evidenced by the 
 thoroughness with which he sacrifices his pride as soon 
 as he realizes that it has been a fault, not a virtue, and 
 his desire, when he sees that it stands in the way of the 
 happiness of others. And as a consequence of his conquest 
 of self, explanations become possible which prevent his 
 
234 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 meditated expatriation, and render probable the comple- 
 tion of the unfinished house and the resumption of the 
 suspended career. 
 
 William Losely, after taking upon himself the punish- 
 ment for a crime committed by his son in the hope that 
 his expiation might be rewarded by Jasper's redemp- 
 tion, finds that his sacrifice has been in vain. The boy- 
 robber has grown into a hardened glorier in infamy, and 
 to save that son's child from her father, he takes charge 
 of Sophy. Together they wander, seeking obscurity, 
 hiding under other names, avoiding friendships, and re- 
 sorting to varied shifts and ingenious expedients, in or- 
 der to keep their whereabouts unknown. To earn a live- 
 lihood, he is by turns a strolling player, a demonstrator 
 of animal sagacity, a pedlar, and a basket maker. Old, 
 lame, one-eyed and poor, he neither complains nor re- 
 grets, but sees always that providence has been good to 
 him, for his misfortunes have developed virtues and per- 
 ceptions which his former life as genial boon companion 
 and hanger-on of rural Thanes would have kept dormant 
 for ever. In every evil he finds a compensating good, 
 and though travel-worn and anxious, he keeps his fear 
 to himself, jests about his troubles, and is always! sunny 
 and playful and tender. 
 
 The commune of these two, experienced age and affec- 
 tionate childhood, is very beautiful. Equals in sim- 
 plicity and trust, they confer together and plan, and 
 comfort each other, she proud and delighted to take care 
 of him, he choosing easy words to make his explanations 
 clear. Differences in their views and judgments are in- 
 dicated which jar with our theories of heredity, for he 
 
WHAT WILL HE DO WITH IT? 235 
 
 loves acting because of the excitement, she is the part 
 she assumes; and the pretense in life which he regards 
 as fun is revolting to her because it is not truth. 
 
 By-and-by his innocence is made clear and his name 
 assoiled, without the guilty one being punished. He is 
 restored to his rightful station and welcomed by old 
 friends, and has other proofs that providence is good to 
 him. 
 
 Arabella Crane sujffered unpardonable wrongs because 
 of her misplaced trust in Jasper, who basely deceived 
 and deserted her. Years afterward she meets her recre- 
 ant betrayer, changed from the all-attracting beauty of 
 his youth, but still handsome and strong and fascinating. 
 She endeavors to lead him into an honest way of Hfe, 
 and strives to make conditions pleasant for him, but his 
 passion for gambling cannot be displaced by any tame 
 occupation, and soon he reverts to his old habits; and 
 after repeated oscillations between good and bad luck, 
 each of which embruits him further, he joins in criminal 
 schemes with others as reckless as himself. 
 
 Though her experiences with this magnificent good- 
 for-nothing would justify hatred and revenge, this wom- 
 an cherishes no thought of either. Her home is always 
 open to him, and whenever he has no other shelter he re- 
 turns to her. But she Avinds herself into all his confi- 
 dences, and with abounding resourcefulness devotes her 
 energies to the frustration of his villanies and the re- 
 demption of himself. She has taken his life into her 
 keeping, and though all her labors to turn its course into 
 safer channels end in disappointment, she never relin- 
 quishes the hope that he will be induced to reform. 
 
236 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 Years of untiring vigilance avail nothing, but when at 
 length the powerful brute is reduced to helplessness by- 
 paralysis, her hands close over him, she nurses and waits 
 upon him, and finds joy and reward in the fact that he 
 now needs her and misses her if she leaves him for a 
 moment. 
 
 Jasper Losely, with splendid physical endowments and 
 fitting education, from the lack of all moral qualities be- 
 comes a heart-breaker, a lady-killer, and a gambler, and 
 has never a qualm of conscience on account of the mis- 
 eries he causes. Selfish, wasteful, inconstant and un- 
 grateful, there is nothing commendable about him, nor 
 anything admirable save the strength and force which 
 he abuses. Immediate gratification regardless of the fu- 
 ture is all he cares for, and mean and paltry and brief, 
 in comparison with what might have been, are his gains. 
 Spendthrift, swindler, and dare-devil, hated by his fel- 
 low-bravos and a menace to all, this dreadnought comes 
 to have a superstitious fear of his only friend, the wom- 
 an he wronged and humiliated, who has saved him from 
 dangers, and repaid his injuries with kindness. And his 
 terror grows, for he finds that he cannot escape from 
 her; and she masters and cows him, before the stroke 
 which made the strong man weak, and afterward she 
 constrains him into acts of confession and restitution, 
 and causes him to desire the forgiveness of those he had 
 wronged. 
 
 Alban Morley, soldier and gentleman, prudent, wise, 
 disliking painful subjects but not sparing his own feel- 
 ings when the relation of a pitiable history may be made 
 an enduring warning against a dangerous folly ; Vance, 
 
WHAT WILL HE DO WITH IT? 237 
 
 the artist, who endures the crushing civility and conde- 
 scension of fine lady patrons, and hugs his reputation 
 for stinginess ; Fairthorn, angular and shambling, so in- 
 significant out of his art and so glorious in it; Rugge, 
 the unwittingly comical tragedian, and his faithful Hag ; 
 these and others are minor personages, but we are made 
 to know and understand them, and they have their part 
 in the complications and circumstances which so fre- 
 quently provoke the question, What Will He Do With 
 It? 
 
 Serjeant Ballantine told Bulwer the story on which 
 the history of William Losely is founded. Charles Dick- 
 ens suggested the title of the work, which after appear- 
 ing in Blackwood* s Magazine was published in 1858. 
 
A STRANGE STOEY 
 
 AWEIRD creation, in whom is portrayed the com- 
 ing man of wealth, who bears to his present rep- 
 resentative a similar relation to that of the cor- 
 poration of today to the individual tradesman of the 
 past, is the most engrossing personage in A Strange 
 Story. Margrave is the millionaire projected into fu- 
 turity, with his methods, tendencies, and characteristics 
 completed; his power and use of power developed from 
 their present indications ; and the result of the reciprocal 
 action of these ultimates of conduct and faculties upon 
 himself, realized. 
 
 The change wrought by commercialism upon the work- 
 ing many, who have been transformed by it from in- 
 dividual makers of things into mere portions of a vast 
 machine which produces in large quantities, has been a 
 fertile theme for writers. But the equally far-reaching 
 alteration effected by the same agency in the position 
 and potentialities of the few whom it enriches has re- 
 ceived meagre attention. 
 
 When wealth was mainly acquired from the owner- 
 ship of estates, cities, or governorships, the possessors 
 were attached by duties and interests to the sources of 
 their revenue. Because life was varied, active, and full, 
 such men as the Medicis, Sforzas, and Southamptons, 
 though their vices and faults often marred their repu- 
 
A STRANGE STORY 239 
 
 tations, nevertheless developed in themselves an exquisite 
 taste which stimulated others to produce great works. 
 Gold being regarded as a means, not an end, the wealthy 
 were the encouragers of scholars, artists, and construc- 
 tors, and much which the world will not willingly let die 
 owes its existence to their discrimination and liberality. 
 Under such fostering care occurred the simultaneous 
 flourishing of great artists, who made brief periods glor- 
 ious, but were followed by a long succession of medi- 
 ocrities; for grandeur of taste is necessary to grandeur 
 of production, and when less admirable patrons pre- 
 ferred selfish to patriotic ends, or serving a political 
 party to refining and ennobling a people, then the statue, 
 the picture, the play, reverted to the commonplace. 
 
 The education and early training of these men were 
 carefully attended to. The knightly injunction to rev- 
 erence God and love the king was but part of a chival- 
 rous code which made honorable, kindly, and courteous 
 conduct habitual, and regarded cowardice and falsehood 
 as disgraceful, and which, when instinctively observed, 
 is the characteristic of all admirable people, to whom it 
 is, as the flower to the plant, the completing crown. 
 
 Machiavelism introduced a vitiating but plausible 
 creed, and showed apparent advantages in a policy of 
 craft, deception, and hypocrisy. No permanent success 
 was attained by those who adopted and practiced it, but 
 the temporary advantage gained by subordinating the 
 chivalrous dictates was disquieting ; and the teachings 
 of the author of "The Prince'^ have had an increasing 
 influence with each succeeding generation. 
 
 Meanwhile commercialism has developed other sources 
 
240 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 of wealth ;' and business, the field wherein rapid acquisi- 
 tion of riches is frequent, is one of the most attractive 
 and promising careers, and therefore popular. But 
 though trading can be conducted without infringement 
 of the moral code, great fortunes cannot be accumulated 
 in business where it is actively observed, and the ambi- 
 tious youth finds its lessons encumbrances in practical 
 commercial life. He must unlearn them, or make a con- 
 tinuous compromise between his creed and his practice, 
 or not succeed. 
 
 For morality has no more connection with business 
 than Christianity has with the multiplication table. The 
 moral rules are based upon the injunction to ''do unto 
 others as ye would they should do unto you" and con- 
 flict with the business code which has for its foundation 
 * * let the buyer beware. ' ' 
 
 Rapid success being irreconcilable with strict and ac- 
 tive adherence to the moral code, there results a gradual 
 modification in the observance of it, and a final abandon- 
 ment of all attempts to square the two ; and he who most 
 adroitly ignores the practice of morality in commercial 
 dealing appears to acquire wealth most quickly. 
 
 Nevertheless the profitable exercise of such business 
 methods is only possible so long as the masses of mankind 
 are under the domination of morality; for if unethical 
 practices were generally observed, the business man 
 would be the first to suffer. Meanwhile he has a similar 
 advantage to that formerly enjoyed by the mounted 
 man-in-armor over the foot soldiers: his moving de- 
 stroys them, they are powerless to injure him. 
 
 And that is the position of the modem man of wealth. 
 
A STRANGE STORY 241 
 
 He is identified with vast undertakings, a busy, ener- 
 getic person; inclined to overreach others, intent on 
 crushing out competition, and striving to establish a 
 monopoly — recognizing no connection between excessive 
 profits and robbery, nor between adulteration of goods 
 and dishonesty, nor between underpayment of wages and 
 oppression, when practiced by himself; and regarding 
 unduly the value and quantity of goods produced, care- 
 less of the wellbeing of the producer. But his personal 
 interests are enlisted in his own undertakings, and with 
 many shortcomings he is nevertheless a doer of great 
 deeds, a builder of cities, a constructor of railroads, a 
 developer, an improver. The extension of his business 
 necessitates these things, therefore he undertakes them, 
 and success gratifies him, therefore he completes them. 
 Unencumbered with sympathy or beneficence, his policy 
 secures a reputation for both. He has a suspicion that 
 too much learning effeminates a man, so the education of 
 his children is entrusted to sycophants and servants. He 
 has slight affection for his home, and outside his office he 
 is discontented and unhappy. 
 
 There is a different specimen — one utterly dissociated 
 from business activity, the passive recipient of revenues 
 from undertakings to which he contributes no service. 
 He is usually an ostentatious spendthrift, but sometimes 
 he covets a position of importance in the world of men, 
 and strives to storm his way to it without success ; then 
 he subsides into a position in polite society, which opens 
 to his golden key. 
 
 But business is constantly evolving towards larger 
 possibilities, and the fortunes acquired through it grow 
 
242 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 continually more colossal. The very nature of its mag- 
 nates changes with the conditions, for the corporation 
 ceases to reflect and express the thought of those to 
 whom it owed its existence, and it constrains them to 
 consider its continuance as the most important neces- 
 sity. Reversing the pagan axiom, it becomes necessary 
 to live, but not necessary to live nobly. What will be 
 the character of the ultimate man of wealth, reared in 
 its code, relieved of useful participation in its activities, 
 aware of his power, and living in accordance with his 
 training, his heredity, and his experiences? 
 
 That person is here displayed. 
 
 Margrave is fascinating, for he has read curiously, 
 and travel has extended his knowledge ; but he is unap- 
 preciative of art, and cares for science only in so far as 
 it may be useful to him. He is young, healthy, enjoys 
 life, can exert himself, and display energy in serving a 
 friend. But he is cynically disdainful of what is right 
 andj just, has no veneration for what is good and great, 
 and is without compassion. Animal life, no matter how 
 innocent, is ruthlessly destroyed if it cause him pain, 
 and the cry of a hurt child awakens no sympathy. He 
 considers only his own welfare. All his faculties are di- 
 rected to self-preservation, and whatever opposes or 
 threatens his enjoyment arouses his hostility and is 
 crushed, not by his direct act, but by others whom he 
 constrains to do his will. He is dangerous, for he pos- 
 sesses powers by means of which he can control others, 
 effect desires by the exercise of his will, and influence the 
 minds of people at a distance. Ordinary means are fu- 
 tile when opposed to his designs, and only the outraged 
 
A STRANGE STORY 243 
 
 man, who dares to act in ways not countenanced by so- 
 ciety, can partially thwart his projects. 
 
 This portentous being, attracted by certain bold spec- 
 ulation in a recently published work, makes the acquaint- 
 ance of its author, Allan Fenwick, an ardent scientist, 
 and solicits his aid in certain investigations vital to him- 
 self, but seeming chimerical to the doctor, who declines 
 the offer made for his services, but is willing to test 
 gratuitously the discoveries he regards as childish. Cir- 
 cumstances arise which steel Fenwick 's mind against 
 Margrave, who then strives to gain his assistance by in- 
 fluencing him through the woman to whom he is be- 
 trothed. His success in this is not complete, but his 
 machinations cause a serious impairment of Lilian's 
 health, and Fenwick, soon after their marriage, believ- 
 ing that change of scene may be beneficial to her, leaves 
 England and establishes a new home in Australia. 
 
 Margrave endeavors to find elsewhere the assistance 
 he needs, but vainly ; and after many attempts, in which 
 his health becomes broken, he betakes himself to the 
 present home of Fenwick. As a patient he gains the end 
 he failed to buy as a patron, and the experiment is un- 
 dertaken. Just when the last process in their task is 
 nearing completion, a stampede of animals overthrows 
 their instruments, wastes the results, and tramples Mar- 
 grave to death. 
 
 Darkly impressive and soulless as Margrave appears, 
 he is always the master-piece of living things, his wil- 
 fullness never chills our interest, his joy in the merely 
 natural life has something of infection in it, and pity 
 mingles with the awe aroused by his fate, when Ayesha 
 
244 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 and her spectre-like attendant — Nature and her servant 
 Death — gather him under the veil. 
 
 The marvelous vanishes from A Strange Story when 
 its magic agencies are translated into terms associated 
 with wealth. A business man whose prosperity is de- 
 clining seeks to combine a less pretentious but more 
 solid undertaking with his own. His unscrupulous 
 methods are objected to and his overtures are declined. 
 An employe of intimate and lengthy service is deputed 
 to effect what the master had failed to accomplish, and 
 with the assistance of an attendant — a fawning, supple, 
 insinuating and entangling person — in other words an 
 attorney — the business of this competitor is destroyed, 
 his trade annexed, and a new corporation formed by 
 joining the two, the successful trader controlling the 
 stock and receiving the profits. 
 
 Henceforth he is a dual personage : himself, and that 
 cold, bloodless emanation, the corporation, which is in- 
 formed of his purposes and executes them, which may 
 be questioned and make replies without his knowledge, 
 and which acts in his interest at all times, irrespective 
 of his presence or absence. 
 
 The scene in the museum represents the transition 
 from individual to corporation, as instanced in the 
 change from Grayle to Margrave, and indicates the ac- 
 companying alteration in character. A corporation be- 
 ing without beneficence and sympathy, he who is inti- 
 mately allied with it acquires its selfish disregard for 
 everything but permanence and success. Continued life 
 and enjoyment become the sum of his desires. 
 
 The wand is the authority of office which may be reft 
 
A STRANGE STORY 245 
 
 from the master without serious impairment of his in- 
 terest, though it may transfer a little additional power 
 to another. The ability to influence other minds results 
 from the control of newspapers. Working through 
 agents is effected by requiring certain services from rep- 
 resentatives and employees. Baffling justice and putting 
 the officers of the law to sleep are common practices with 
 large corporations. 
 
 The loss of vigor resulting from the unsuccessful at- 
 tempt to secure the property of the dervish has its par- 
 allel in capital squandered in the vain effort to crush a 
 rival and appropriate his business. 
 
 To replenish the wealth thus depleted, a quicker meth- 
 od than the slow production of gold is conceived, some- 
 thing of vaster promise, more rapid in its effects, requir- 
 ing for its elaboration the aid of unselfish fidelity and 
 loyal daring. Which means that a new and imposing en- 
 terprise is inaugurated, in the formation of which the 
 promoter enlists the services of two classes, one having 
 familiarity with methods, to carry out his plans; the 
 other possessing that combination of honor, integrity, 
 and courage, which we call character, to disarm sus- 
 picion. 
 
 The formation of a monopoly arouses hostility on 
 every hand, and though the investigations of great rivals 
 may be ineffective, and their interference be stayed by 
 the confronting of unimpeachable character, fidelity ex- 
 hausts its influence vainly against the general public. 
 The many, perhaps abetted by a rival, overthrow the 
 scheme, prevent the acquisition of gain, and crush the 
 promoters. 
 
246 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 To reduce poetry to commonplace in this fashion 
 would work havoc with any romance in which the inter- 
 est depended upon the narrative only. But Margrave 
 is the cause of numerous ingenious and suggestive 
 guesses at riddles in nature and speculations on man and 
 his future, and it was because these themes are grave 
 and serious that a wondrous story was chosen for their 
 enunciation. They are but guesses, for thinking is a 
 process of comparisons, and where man cannot compare 
 he cannot successfully reason. Just as we can speculate 
 and conjecture about the ether of space but cannot think 
 about it, so the soul and immortality elude our reason- 
 ing because we have nothing with which to satisfactorily 
 compare them. We can only infer, suggestively argue, 
 and guess. 
 
 And this method is followed in carrying out another 
 and higher purpose of A Strange Story. Since nature 
 gives no species instincts or impulses which are not of 
 service to it, and man alone has the inherent capacity to 
 receive the ideas of deity, soul, immortality; since his 
 ability to comprehend these ideas and believe in them 
 leads to that continued improvement which makes the 
 difference between man and the beaver, the bee, the ant ; it 
 is contended that beside the physical and mental there is 
 another life stored in man, and that we cannot by any 
 known laws of mind or matter solve the riddles we meet 
 in both, unless we admit the principle of soul. 
 
 Allan Fenwick is a vigorous and disciplined investi- 
 gator, with the training of a physician and the learning 
 of a professor. He is a rigid materialist, setting a high 
 value on common sense, requiring absolute precision in 
 
A STRANGE STORY 247 
 
 that which calls itself science, intolerant of any conces- 
 sion to sentiment, and contemptuous of the credulous. 
 He has won some reputation by an essay on ''Vital 
 Force, ' ' and is engaged upon a more ambitious work in 
 which he has exhaustively treated of man and his fac- 
 ulties, assigning to every power a physical origin, and 
 circumbscribing all man's interests to the life that has 
 its close in the grave; mind being born from and nur- 
 tured by the material senses, acting through and per- 
 ishing with the machine those senses moved, and soul 
 being ignored as an unprovable superfluity. 
 
 It is one of the phenomena of our organization, that 
 if we rivet prolonged attention on any part of the frame, 
 an exhibition of morbid sensibility will be caused there. 
 Even while penning the arguments by which he sup- 
 ports this limited view of man, Fenwick's own feelings 
 suggest a doubt of their soundness, for he has become 
 engaged to Lilian Ashleigh, and in his affection there is 
 a desire for the eternal which his theories deny. And 
 while brooding over his conception of man as a sensuous, 
 soulless being, he is brought into contact with Margrave, 
 young, full of life, with eccentric notions and vivacious 
 egotism, who does not believe in soul, and acts and thinks 
 as if he had none — the very embodiment of his own 
 theory. 
 
 His intercourse with Margrave perplexes and humbles 
 Fenwick, for continually his reason and his senses con- 
 flict. What he sees and hears impresses him as super- 
 natural and therefore obnoxious to common sense, and 
 the material explanations by which his experiences are 
 resolvable fail to satisfy. He is harassed by the per- 
 
248 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 petual struggle of antagonistic impressions. Believing 
 that all man's knowledge comes from the senses, he 
 finds that the senses can delude and cheat. Thus he is 
 constrained to doubt the reliability of the very founda- 
 tions of his belief. 
 
 Meanwhile his projects are arrested, and his life sad- 
 dened by the failing health of his wife, which neither 
 change of scene nor constant care avail to benefit. 
 In a desperate effort to win renewed vigor for her, 
 Fenwick agrees to assist Margrave in a task which 
 that enigmatical creature is confident will secure a re- 
 storing elixir. The experiment fails, and all hope seems 
 gone ; for what can comfort the survivor if the dead die 
 forever ? Suddenly Fenwick recalls that man alone asks 
 "do the dead die forever," that nature gives no instinct 
 in vain, and that the very question prompted by that in- 
 stinct disposes of the doubt. 
 
 It is not by the terrors of the forces roused by Mar- 
 grave that Fenwick is brought to a belief which the one 
 he had set forth in his book contradicted and denied; 
 nor by the wisdom of sages, though the wise Faber ad- 
 duces arguments from the works of a wide range of 
 philosophers, and from his own experiences and cogita- 
 tions ; but by the sorrow, affection, and hope common to 
 all mankind. It is a realization of the unavailing fu- 
 tility of all comfort if love is not eternal which brings 
 Fenwick to a belief in a hereafter, and humbles him into 
 a suppliant acknowledgment of a benignant and tender 
 providence. The affection and hope of all who livei and 
 love is the justification of the belief in immortality. 
 
 Lilian Ashleigh is one in whom imagination is over- 
 
A STRANGE STORY 249 
 
 stimulated, and reasoning neglected. She is therefore 
 the antithesis of Fenwick, mystical where he is material. 
 The two have need of each other, for in neither is there 
 that wholesomeness of mind which accompanies the har- 
 monius development of the whole. His suppression of 
 imagination produces perplexity and necessitates the 
 abandonment of his profession. Her abstraction from 
 the world and indulgence in reverie lead to phantasy and 
 the clouding of mind. But in the ideas of visionaries 
 are the germs of possibilities which subjected to practical 
 experiment develop into vast potentialities; and there- 
 fore Margrave recognizes in her a power which he seeks 
 to control and direct solely to his own advantage. Fi- 
 nally by sorrow Lilian is taught that it is in this world 
 that mortals must pass through that probation which fits 
 them for the world of angels. 
 
 The matter-of-fact coterie of the Abbey Hill, with its 
 Mrs. Colonel Poyntz, who by a woman's ways made her 
 will supreme and gained the ends she schemed for, is 
 the nearest approach to realism that Bulwer ever per- 
 mitted himself to make. Its introduction serves to at- 
 tach to the waking world characters and incidents other- 
 wise more appropriate to dreamland. 
 
 Every marvel in A Strange Story has its warrant in 
 the writings of mystics, but the art with which they are 
 here brought together and made to serve other purposes 
 beside furnishing a fascinating narrative and the skill 
 with which mental perplexities are substituted for con- 
 tending passions and made to afford sustained and en- 
 grossing interest are alike unique. 
 
 A Strange Story was first published in All the Year 
 
\ 
 
 250 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 Round. A novel called A Day's Ride, contributed by 
 Charles Lever, failing to attract the readers, was hur- 
 ried to a conclusion and Dickens applied to Bulwer for 
 a romance for that periodical. This story, woven out 
 of a dream that he had dreamed, was altered by its au- 
 thor to conform to the serial form of publication, and 
 began in August, 1861. Concerning it Dickens wrote: 
 * * The exquisite art with which you have changed it and 
 have overcome the difficulties of the mode of publication 
 has fairly staggered me. I know pretty well what the 
 difficulties are; and there is no other man who could 
 have done it, I ween.'' 
 
THE COMING EACE 
 
 THE COMING RACE, Kenelm Chillingly, and The 
 Parisians are definitely related to each other in 
 subject. Each deals with the views, theories, and 
 movements contemporaneously advanced and advocated 
 on such questions as the position of woman, marriage, re- 
 ligion, social organization, and government; but in the 
 manner of treatment and presentation they differ entire- 
 ly. The Parisians depicts the ferment of these new ideas 
 in a community disposed to encourage them. Kenelm 
 Chillingly shows the dis-harmony resulting when an in- 
 dividual endeavors to reconcile them with the facts and 
 habits of life, and The Coming Race, in the guise of a de- 
 scription of a subterranean people of comparatively per- 
 fect civilization, pictures society as it would be were the 
 dreams of the philosophers and reformers realized. 
 
 Utopias, where ingeniously devised plans of organiza- 
 tion have changed the social and administrative arrange- 
 ments in directions deemed advantageous by their dis- 
 coverers, have often been described. In all of these, al- 
 though a far-off country or island is selected for the 
 new experiment, the ordinary natural conditions are 
 predicated, and man remains essentially the same as we 
 know him. 
 
 In The Coming Race another conception is worked out. 
 Man has advanced and his surroundings are different. 
 
252 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 The potent sun, the changing seasons, the ebb and flow 
 of the great seas, and the energies and raptures they in- 
 spire are unknown, unknown, too, the powerful influence 
 exerted by these on the character and life of the inhab- 
 itants of earth. There science and skill have surmount- 
 ed unfavorable conditions, and a controlled, orderly, and 
 effectual mastery of temperature and soil contrast our 
 dependence upon and subjection to the crude and violent 
 phenomena of sunshine, rain, wind, and tempest. They 
 have modified whatever was harsh, and annihilated all 
 that was irksome. Mechanical inventions have dispensed 
 with the necessity for toil, and centuries of culture have 
 crystallized serenity, contentment, and satisfaction into 
 habits, and developed potentialities continually extend- 
 ing. 
 
 The story begins with a plausible incident. A mining 
 engineer and an American acquaintance resolve to in- 
 vestigate the recesses of a jagged chasm, which has been 
 revealed in piercing a new shaft in a deep mine. They 
 make careful preparations for their descent and return, 
 but the venture is disastrous and the American finds 
 himself without means of escape, alone in a region which 
 is brilliantly illuminated and evidently inhabited, for 
 there are fields covered with a strange vegetation, and 
 he hears the hum of voices, and sees buildings which 
 must have been made by hand. Cautiously he advances 
 along the lighted road toward a structure which has at- 
 tracted his attention, from which emerges a form differ- 
 ing from all hitherto seen, in dress, height, and calmness 
 of expression. This figure approaches and accosts him 
 in an unknown tongue, his replies to which are not un- 
 
THE COMING RACE 253 
 
 derstood. He is led into the building, and by means of 
 signs and sketches on the leaves of his pocket-book he 
 accounts for his presence among them and shows how 
 he came there. Conducted to a home of great mag- 
 nificence, he is entertained as a guest, meets other in- 
 dividuals of this singular race, learns much about their 
 habits, attainments, and way of life, and his explanations 
 and descriptions of these are the substance of the book. 
 
 The Vril-ya, as the people of this region are called, 
 are stronger of form, grander of aspect, taller, longer 
 lived, and more immune against sickness than we are, 
 and the women surpass the men in height, strength, and 
 intellectual power. Their scientific attainments, their 
 inventions and mastery of methods, have enabled them 
 not only to ensure full productivity from their fields, 
 but also to diffuse wide culture among all, supplemented 
 by the financial independence of each. There is no right 
 or duty from which either sex is excluded, and absolute 
 equality prevails. Industry is concentrated upon agri- 
 cultural production, manufacturing, and constructing. 
 The lawyer has no existence, and the trader is an un- 
 important factor. The mischievous and unnecessary 
 thus eliminated, organization is simplified, and effective- 
 ness increased. Poverty is impossible and crime un- 
 known, and there are no incentives to cupidity and am- 
 bition. Fame is not desired, great wealth is a disad- 
 vantage, and heroic excellence is not striven for, but the 
 moral standard universally attained is high, and exquis- 
 ite politeness, generosity of sentiment, and abundant 
 leisure are general characteristics. 
 
 This felicitous state of existence is the result of con- 
 
254 PEOSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 tinued effort in the direction of general well-being, per- 
 sisted in for ages. Their wrangling period of history, 
 which approximates to our present, ended some seven 
 thousand years ago. 
 
 The Vril-ya define civilization as ' ' the art of diffusing 
 throughout a community the tranquil happiness which 
 belongs to a virtuous and well-ordered household.*' In 
 the government which is the agency for securing this 
 end they dispense with argumentative assemblies, have 
 departments which administer the several services, and 
 unite all under one head, the ' ' Tur, ' ' whose requests are 
 implicitly obeyed. Such substitute for labor as the at- 
 tention and supervision of machinery entails is per- 
 formed by the young of both sexes, who are paid by the 
 state so amply that each has earned a competence before 
 arriving at maturity. The size of the community is lim- 
 ited to the number which its territory can adequately 
 maintain, and their surplus population voluntarily emi- 
 grates to other districts, which are prepared for occupa- 
 tion beforehand. 
 
 They have perfected aviation, and in addition all use 
 mechanical wings. These and their many other achieve- 
 ments have been made possible by the discovery, devel- 
 opment, and application to an endless variety of uses, of 
 a force mightier than electricity, called Vril. This is 
 their source of light, and the motive power of their tools, 
 machinery, and automata. It can be directed to destruc- 
 tive purposes, aad also to the invigorating of life. Every 
 person carries a slender staff in which is enclosed a de- 
 vice for impelling this fluid to the desired purpose, and 
 constitutional peculiarities, transmitted and strength- 
 
THE COMING RACE 255 
 
 ened through generations, enable the Vril-ya to handle 
 this instrument with ease and certainty. 
 
 Religion has been pruned of both dogma and ceremony 
 by the adoption of a creed with an apprehensible form- 
 ula, and the simplifying of worship into a brief devout 
 observance free from pomp. They believe that there is 
 a Divine being and a future state, but it is impossible 
 for finite humanity to quicken our comprehension of the 
 attributes and essence of the one, or throw any light 
 upon the other. Therefore there is no discussion or ar- 
 gument on the subject. Their devotional services are 
 short, because earnest abstraction from the actual world, 
 if long continued, is not beneficial. And they consider 
 that life once given, even to a plant, never perishes, but 
 constantly advances in an infinite progression. 
 
 Woman's happiness is more dependent upon affection 
 than man's, therefore it is her privilege to choose, woo, 
 and win the partner she selects as husband. Marriages 
 are made for three years, and being thus terminable, 
 each makes such effort to deserve the other that their 
 unions are singularly happy and usually last for life. 
 
 Research and improvement of machinery and plants 
 are the objects to which their thoughtful attention is 
 assiduously devoted. The methods and resources of art 
 are utilized so far as they serve the purposes of science, 
 but their modem pictures and plays are meagre in quan- 
 tity and inferior in quality to those produced in a re- 
 mote past, and their last poet was regarded as a person 
 of unsound mind and maintained at the public expense. 
 Works of imagination have lost all attraction, and they 
 have no contemporaneous literature such as ours. 
 
256 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 Though, this race is so superior in accomplishments to 
 all with whom experience or reading has acquainted us, 
 it is nevertheless but an advanced variant of our own, 
 and the natural law which impels towards the normal in 
 the perpetuating of the species, which causes desire for 
 what we lack rather than for that which is best, asserts 
 itself with them as with us, and affection for the Amer- 
 ican stranger is awakened in the grandest, wisest, and 
 strongest of the Gyei, and this brings peril to him. From 
 the danger thus incurred Zee saves the man who cannot 
 return her love, by reopening the chasm, and bearing 
 him aloft to the mine workings from which he had de- 
 scended to the land of the Yril-ya, and then sorrowfully 
 returns to her own people. 
 
 In describing the practical operation of the system 
 under which the highest form of civilization yet con- 
 ceived by man flourishes and provides serenity, happi- 
 ness, and freedom from anxiety, it is pointed out that 
 some institutions have become extinct among the Vril- 
 ya in the gradual progress to their present exalted con- 
 dition; and thereby the necessary processes for accom- 
 plishing a similar improvement are suggested. These 
 institutions are so strongly entrenched and exercise such 
 power among us at present, that it is wisely intimated 
 that thousands of years elapsed before the Vril-ya ef- 
 fected their removal. 
 
 The perfect State as outlined by philosophei*s will be 
 one in which poverty and crime have been eliminated, 
 labor minimized, and culture and well-being universally 
 diffused. 
 
 These conditions are realized in The Coming Race, 
 
THE COMING RACE 257 
 
 and it is shown that as a necessary accompaniment many- 
 other things must be dispensed with. 
 
 Crime, poverty, punishment, disputation, theology, 
 and war have been relegated to the realm of things that 
 Were ; and with them fame, rewards, art, literature, and 
 wealth have gone ; for they had the same origin, and the 
 existence of the one series is a consequence of the flour- 
 ishing of the other. But multitudes of terrestrial peo- 
 ples would hesitate to give up these, even though the 
 sacrifice secured general immunity from the others. 
 
 The contrast between the Vril-ya and our modern 
 state is always significant. They have no vocation for 
 the lawyer, the trader, the priest, the poet, the painter; 
 for science is supreme, and imagination is suppressed. 
 The energies of all are turned into serviceable channels, 
 and the tribute these classes would exact from the com- 
 munity is saved, and thus a competence is secured for 
 each, and in its train other important boons. "We per- 
 petually increase the number of persons following these 
 callings, and enlarge the varieties of each. 
 
 They have discarded, as ignoble and demoralizing, re- 
 wards and punishments, competition, and vying for su- 
 periority. We regard these as the necessary and de- 
 sirable aids to progress and government. 
 
 With them the sexes are absolutely equal, but it is evi- 
 dent from their superior development that the Gyei first 
 raised themselves to man's level by a continued cultiva- 
 tion of their intellectual faculties, physical powers, nat- 
 ural qualities of affection, amiability, and gentleness. 
 Our women dislike study, abjure self -improvement, and 
 find attraction only in frivolity. 
 
258 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 They have simplified organization and reduced gov- 
 ernmental functions, to light duties easily discharged by 
 one man, who keeps in constant communication with the 
 several services or departments. We add to the cost and 
 complexities of administration, increase the number of 
 officials, permit a steady usurpation of power by the gov- 
 erning class, and accord the ultimate decision on mat- 
 ters of importance to the brute force embodied in a ma- 
 jority. 
 
 The habits, thought, and aims of the Yril-ya comply 
 with what sages have dreamed as the results of civ- 
 ilization carried to its ultimate. Intelligence, goodness, 
 and ability are developed in all. There is no salient 
 difference in virtue or attainments distinguishing one 
 above another, and they have abundant leisure and re- 
 pose. Our philosophers would shrink from a lengthened 
 experience of that equable, serene existence, and as a 
 boy in the company of elderly people feels constrained 
 and longs for the playground, so would they yearn for a 
 return to something less dull and unexciting; for the 
 Vril-ya are mature, we but as boys. 
 
 Yet boyhood is teachable, and may be disciplined into 
 a desired consummation. For that object it is needful 
 that the end be not only kept in sight, but steadily ap- 
 proached. A rower may admire a noble view and wist- 
 fully exult in its beauty, while every stroke of his oars 
 bears him farther away from it. If he would advance 
 toward the prospect which pleases him, he must alter 
 the direction of his boat. The attitude of mankind to- 
 ward improvements in social arrangements is one of ap- 
 proval and desire, unaccompanied by any effort for at- 
 
THE COMING RACE 259 
 
 tainment. Indeed, general activities and developments 
 are in the contrary direction. 
 
 In The Coming Race the general use of electricity 
 for power and illuminating purposes was anticipated, for 
 the arc-light, which preceded the incandescent lamp, did 
 not appear in London until June, 1878. The telephone, 
 to some extent an equivalent of contrivances common 
 among the Vril-ya, was not invented until 1876, and 
 aerial vehicles '^ resembling our boats, with helm, rud- 
 der, large mngs as paddles, and a central machine 
 worked by Vril, ' ' were not imitated until after the close 
 of the nineteenth century. 
 
 The book was published anonymously by Blackwoods 
 in 1871, and its authorship remained undiscovered until 
 Bulwer's death; yet the first paragraph of the thirteenth 
 chapter indicates clearly to anyone familiar with A 
 Strange Story that the same writer produced both 
 works. 
 
EXCURSUS 
 
 That the golden age is before, not behind us, a re- 
 versal of the ancient teaching which Jackson of Ex- 
 eter was the first to advance, is the view of the au- 
 thor of The Coming Race, and in elaborating his con- 
 ception of what human societies such as now exist may 
 under thoughtful guidance develop into, he shows some 
 startling departures from our present institutions and 
 practices, and describes a singular form of government 
 operating through departments of service in constant 
 communication with the head of the state. 
 
 In the community which Bulwer describes, financial 
 independence is assured to every one and poverty is an 
 impossible condition. The several departments of art 
 have become pastime hobbies, the vocations of the priest, 
 lawyer, and trader have been abolished and the ma- 
 chinery of government is of the simplest kind. The 
 people have elaborate culture, abundant possessions, 
 ample leisure, and enviable comforts, their wellbeing is 
 provided for and their capacity for improvement safe- 
 guarded, for no deteriorating adulteration of the race is 
 permitted. 
 
 These attainments are the result of the institution of 
 a system of government which fulfils its purpose and 
 gives satisfaction, but as a preliminary to its adoption 
 the people gradually fitted themselves for it. The ex- 
 
' EXCURSUS . 261 
 
 altation of the race preceded the improvement in con- 
 ditions. 
 
 The important characteristic of this system is that it 
 is based upon service and is scientific, just and simple. 
 In these respects it greatly excels all existing institu- 
 tions and the advisability of adopting some similar ar- 
 rangement is worth consideration. 
 
 The change from a complex to a simple f onn of govern- 
 ment, however desirable, must be a gradual and slow 
 proceeding, and there is no country in which the present 
 trend is not toward further multiplication of offices and 
 departments. This is consequent upon all governments 
 allowing an alliance of certain classes to be in the ma- 
 jority, and therefore able to increase their own power 
 and secure their interests without regard to the common 
 good. The composition of all administrative bodies fa- 
 vors this alliance and causes these abuses, and proposals 
 for ameliorating conditions rarely extend beyond plans 
 for securing a better representation of minorities which 
 would increase the number of opinions obtaining ad- 
 vocacy, without effecting any transforming benefit. 
 
 By appljdng the principle of services and arranging 
 for the representation of each and all of these, a vast and 
 far-reaching improvement would be wrought. Impar- 
 tial and united efforts for the common good would be 
 facilitated and in the course of time become effective. 
 
 Representation on the principle of service means the 
 election by each class in the commonwealth of members 
 of that class to serve as its representatives. 
 
 A civilized community is composed of definite classes, 
 just as distinctly as are species of animals and plants. 
 
262 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 There is the Producer instanced by the farmer; the 
 Manufacturer or transformer who takes one product and 
 fabricates it into another, as the weaver with wool, or 
 the miller with wheat ; the Constructor who makes ships, 
 machines, roads, furniture, or houses; the Transporter 
 who moves things from one district or place to another 
 by road, rail, or water; the Trader who facilitates the 
 exchange of commodities or money, and who may be 
 shopkeeper, stockbroker, or banker; the Trainer who is 
 schoolmaster, physician, professor, or preacher; the 
 Warder comprising the soldier, the policeman, the of- 
 ficers of courts, and judges; the Director, the ministers 
 and administrative agents of governments. Another 
 class not recognized in The Coming Race but existing 
 and flourishing with us is the Amusers, writers, players, 
 artists, and the like. 
 
 The usual formula for securing representation in the 
 government prescribes that the voters residing in a given 
 district shall elect a member to serve their interest in 
 the legislature. This is unscientific and its results are 
 unsatisfactory, for the trader and the lawyer secure an 
 excessive representation and more useful classes receive 
 none. In accordance with the principle of service, the 
 method would be to instruct a given number of producers 
 to send one of themselves, a like number of constructors 
 to do the same, and so with all. Let each be represented 
 in due proportion to its numerical importance by mem- 
 bers of its own class, for none can have such complete 
 and intimate acquaintance with its requirements. And 
 instead of having numerous elections in limited areas, 
 register the several members of each class, apportion the 
 
EXCURSUS 263 
 
 proper number of representatives to which it is entitled, 
 allow every member of the class to vote for the full num- 
 ber and declare those who receive the most votes the 
 elected members. The larger area would ensure the 
 choice of the most able: and thus the representation of 
 classes which are enduring would supplant that of opin- 
 ions which are fleeting. The monopoly of power by any 
 one class would be prevented, and the most mischievous 
 element in all governments — the lawyer — reduced to 
 his proper position as a member of a mere subclass would 
 be deprived of much of his power to harm. 
 
 The abolition of the callings of the priest, the lawyer, 
 and the trader is a startling proposition, for we are ac- 
 customed to regard these as not only necessary but de- 
 sirable, and each is supposed to discharge a useful ser- 
 vice. Admitting this, it is yet possible that more satis- 
 factory arrangements could be devised. Nothing ever is 
 attempted with a view to a more economical or better ex- 
 ecution of their functions. It is assumed that they must 
 continue as now although each is overdone in the matter 
 of numbers, faulty in the discharge of service, and ex- 
 tortionate in the emoluments exacted as remuneration. 
 With the object of diffusing general well-being through- 
 out a community, the classes which live upon others must 
 be diminished both in numbers and rewards, for their 
 flourishing reduces the prosperity of the community as 
 a whole. 
 
 That the head of each family should be the priest of 
 the household and religion a domestic observance neither 
 ignored nor obtruded is **a consummation devoutly to 
 be wished." But under present circumstances with 
 
264 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 many citizens indifferent about such, matters, the pros- 
 pect for advantageous change is a remote one, and under 
 any conditions the intellectual and moral understanding 
 of the masses must be trained and heightened before the 
 caste which has arrogated unwarrantably the entire 
 teaching of morality can be dispensed with. The num- 
 ber of ministers of the gospel is large, the results of their 
 labors meagre, and the money devoted to their purposes 
 is practically thrown away. Their sermons repel, and 
 but for the musical and ceremonious accompaniments! of 
 their services they would have no audiences. 
 
 One of the causes of the indifference manifested to re- 
 ligious observance is the preacher himself. In the prog- 
 ress towards our present imperfect civilization man has 
 passed through many stages. He was a hunter, a herds- 
 man, and an agriculturist before he became a denizen of 
 towns, and when facilities for these successive advances 
 were lacking he stopped short in his development. The 
 individual goes through analagous conditions. He is 
 first a physical being with senses craving exercise and 
 active play of limbs and muscles but without sentiment 
 and inapt at reasoning. As he matures he becomes in- 
 tellectual, and pictures, plays, poems, and objects of na- 
 ture afford him keener joys than games and contests. 
 Later an ethical sense is evolved, he reasons and discov- 
 ers why things are good or otherwise, the beauty of the 
 production of art, the justice of awards, the motive of 
 actions, the appropriate, the wise, the noble appeal to 
 and please him. Later still a spiritual stage is reached 
 and the charm of all else fades before the interest af- 
 
EXCURSUS 265 
 
 forded by consideration of the hereafter and kindred 
 themes. 
 
 The complete being is he who has in proper order un- 
 dergone these several experiences. We, however, train 
 young men for the Christian ministry, suppressing their 
 delight in physical feats, restricting their joys of emo- 
 tion, and prematurely forcing a spiritual development 
 without the intermediate growths, and as a result we get 
 a sort of fourth sex, untactful, undiscriminating, strange 
 creatures, who are coldly tolerated, when not avoided, 
 by men. Be they never so young, these persons will 
 give advice from their pulpits on every phase of the 
 business of life. Generally tame and uninteresting, they 
 sometimes become sensational, forget the injunction 
 ''Judge not" and evidence in themselves how familiar- 
 ity with the Ten Commandments breeds contempt for 
 the ninth. And they complain because their congrega- 
 tions are small. 
 
 If when the weight of years makes it advisable that 
 scientists, professors, engineers, physicians, and other 
 cultured individuals should be succeeded by younger and 
 fresher men, the ministerial vocation were reserved as 
 an honorable retirement for these, their special knowl- 
 edge combined with their full experience of life would 
 give to their discourses and admonitions weight, power, 
 originality, and interest such as must ever be wanting in 
 men educated for the pulpit. They would give dignity 
 and importance to their office, and lift religion from its 
 present sunken condition. 
 
 The legal profession is said to have among its follow- 
 
266 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 ers many men of high, honor and flawless conduct. These 
 however are spectators, not participating in the services 
 which attract attention because of the enormous fees re- 
 ceived, and they are too few to modify to any great ex- 
 tent the characteristics of their class. The lawyer has 
 changed the very nature of his calling from what is was 
 originally. He is no longer, in anything but pretense, 
 an officer actually assisting in the dispensation of justice, 
 but rather an instrument for corrupting and perverting 
 it. To exterminate the entire class has been suggested as 
 the quickest and surest way to reduce crime. Pending 
 that drastic step, they should be debarred from all judi- 
 cial office, because their fondness for quibble and techni- 
 cality makes them foes to justice; legislative positions 
 should be withheld from them, for a fee will influence 
 their vote. Military training would acquaint them with 
 honor and an improvement in their general conduct would 
 be effected by dispensing with their forensic displays, 
 and requiring the presentation of arguments in writing. 
 Additional benefits would result from compelling them to 
 be respectful in cross examination, and fixing their re- 
 muneration by a scale prohibitive of the extravagance 
 now rampant. 
 
 The Trader's interests are so well guarded that any 
 attempt to limit his activity seems foredoomed to failure. 
 Because of his relation to the producer, manufacturer, 
 and constructor, he receives credit for their achieve- 
 ments, and they are blamed for many of his wrongdo- 
 ings. Every kind of production is subject to his manip- 
 ulations. The fluctuations of the stockmarket are in- 
 fluenced by him, the heaviest fees to lawyers are paid by 
 
EXCURSUS 267 
 
 him, and in the legislature he has most of the repre- 
 sentation. His service to the community, nevertheless, 
 is only that of supplying the place of barter, for which 
 he provides a cumbersome and unscientific substitute, 
 with unnecessary departments and duplications provid- 
 ing opportunity for fraud, and excessively expensive. 
 Not the best discharge of duty, but the securing of profit 
 is the object for which he strives. 
 
 In money-lendiDg, a difference is recognized be.tween 
 interest, and excessive interest which is called usury and 
 legislated against by many governments. No distinction 
 is drawn between profits and excessive profit, although 
 some articles in passing from producer to consumer are 
 trebled in price. To buy cheap and sell dear is the prac- 
 tice of the trader, and the legitimate excuse for his ex- 
 istence as a class is lost sight of. 
 
 In the manufacture of commodities cost has been re- 
 duced by method, organization, and invention. A fac- 
 tory, like a piece of machinery, progresses by elimin- 
 ating and displacing the unnecessary and attaining 
 greater simplicity and economy. The trader reverses 
 this procedure. Superfluous departments which may 
 increase individual business but do not improve the con- 
 ditions of exchange as a whole are continually added, the 
 latest being the advertising agent. A dozen firms, any 
 one of which could adequately supply the wants of the 
 community in its line of business, have duplicate estab- 
 lishments and equipments: and each goes over the same 
 territory and sells a similar article, and the maintenance 
 of all is drawn from the community in the shape of 
 profits. 
 
268 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 The lack of comprehensive method, the disregard for 
 economical organization and management, the mul- 
 tiplicity of unnecessary employes and the excessive re- 
 wards are enough to condemn the system under which 
 the trader's duties are discharged, and there are other 
 evils. By its extravagance and ostentation this class 
 causes a universal rivalry in unthrift and luxury. The 
 rapidity with which some of its members acquire enor- 
 mous fortunes attracts from honorable callings, some 
 who but for that lure might have chosen more useful 
 pursuits. The apparent success of unscrupulous means, 
 of which it presents numerous examples, has a demoral- 
 izing effect upon every other class. Its practice of ex- 
 torting profits regardless of the worth of service is im- 
 itated, and its misrepresentations and extravagant use 
 of superlatives in language are so general that they are 
 regarded without disgust or reprobation as the natural 
 accompaniments of business. 
 
 The trader's service to the state is poorly and clumsily 
 discharged, and abominably overpaid, and the class is 
 too numerous and powerful. The rest of the community 
 is as Sindbad, and the trader is the old man of the sea. 
 
 Large organizations operating over an entire common- 
 wealth, each distributing one class of commodities ; elim- 
 inating travelers, advertisements, costly displays, un- 
 necessary departments and the duplications of all these, 
 would have advantages over the multiplicity of distrib- 
 uting agencies now existing just as the factory has over 
 the small producer and machine production over hand 
 labor. "Wisely guarded these would supplant the trader 
 to a great extent and benefit the commonwealth. If 
 
EXCURSUS 269 
 
 governments fostered and encouraged the formation of 
 such trusts and also provided for the gradual acquire- 
 ment, by the state, of their possession and powei^, by 
 some such means as requiring the surrender of one per 
 cent of their stock yearly as a tax, with proportionate 
 representation in the directorate as soon as one-fourth 
 of the stock has become the property of the state, the 
 superior efficiency and economy would be preserved and 
 the objectionable possibilities minimized. 
 
 And in addition to their usual shares which are as- 
 sumed to represent an actual investment, all privileged 
 corporations should be required to assume a further re- 
 sponsibility, in the shape of another capital stock of 
 equal amounts to be retained in their treasury, the rev- 
 enues from it to be given to every employe in the pro- 
 portion of one share yearly until the completion of a 
 stated number of years' service, after which without 
 further labor on his part, the income should continue 
 until the worker's death, the shares thereupon reverting 
 to the corporation for issuance to other employes. This 
 amelioration of the condition of the toilers would mean 
 the diversion of much of the natural increment of the 
 value of their undertaking from the owners, but in the 
 abolition of the unrest which results from the worker 
 having no share in that enhancement now, and the relief 
 from the constant dependence under which he suffers, 
 there would be a compensating gain. He would be in- 
 terested in the careful and economical discharge of his 
 duties, and the resort to strikes would have less justifica- 
 tion. 
 
 A more frank recognition of labor unions would be 
 
270 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 necessary under this arrangement. The workers would 
 acquire some representation on the board of directors, 
 and as a counterpoise to the power the unions would 
 thus possess, the duty of ensuring and enforcing effi- 
 cient and adequate execution of work by the members 
 should be undertaken by the labor unions. 
 
 A good government should provide for the protection, 
 safety, and advancement of its citizens, and it should se- 
 cure an equal diffusion of instruction, employment, and 
 comfort among all. This could be accomplished under 
 an organization on the principle of service. 
 
 At present, the expansion of foreign commerce and 
 the prosperity of the trader receive more thought and 
 furtherance than the development of a fine race. In- 
 deed, in the desire to foster trade, the native race has 
 become a matter of indifference, and cheap labor, even 
 if of alien extraction, is welcomed and encouraged. 
 Whatever the theoretical definition of the function of the 
 world's various governments may be at present, the 
 problem they all seek to solve is how can our country be 
 made most absolutely the slave for all the others ? How 
 ignoble, mean, and contemptible such an ambition really 
 is, will be better comprehended when thus bluntly 
 worded. 
 
KENELM CHILLINGLY 
 
 SEVERELY simple in plot and construction, dis- 
 pensing with the dramatic effects of situation or 
 opposed and conflicting characters, drawing its in- 
 terest from the antagonism between the man and the new 
 teachings, and recording opinions in greater fullness than 
 adventures; concentrating all unfolding depiction upon 
 Kenelm, but sketching a number of individuals with a 
 completeness proportioned to their influence on his de- 
 velopment, and presenting an animated and aptly de- 
 scribed succession of able and original figures — this 
 work charms, not only by the freshness and vigor of its 
 action and observations, but also because the author has 
 interwoven some of his own fondnesses and beliefs into 
 the history and character of Kenelm. Running water; 
 the fountain; quiet English scenery; violets; Italy; the 
 Thames; Westminster Bridge, Palace, and Abbey — 
 these had always, for Bulwer, a fascinating attraction as 
 gladness-givers for teachers, and Kenelm Chillingly con- 
 tains the last expression of his affection for them; and 
 the judgments on art, literature, and life which abound 
 in the work, however appropriate to the hero, are the 
 real and final views of Kenelm 's creator. 
 
 The work is an arraignment of certain views and 
 opinions rife at the time it was written, and more largely 
 acted upon and avowed since. They are here displayed 
 
272 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 as motives of conduct, and their pernicious tendencies 
 are shown by the effects they produce on those who adopt 
 them, in contrast to the more honorable and humane be- 
 havior of him whom they disgust and repel. 
 
 These reprobated but increasingly popular perver- 
 sions of the lessons which time has sanctioned as wise 
 and experience approved as beneficial, have their founda- 
 tion in the methods and principles of trade which are 
 steadily encroaching on all departments of human activ- 
 ity, and have already so far infected other callings that 
 between man in his private character and in his public 
 conduct, a line of demarcation has been drawn which is 
 fraught with evil possibilities, and morally indefensible. 
 The lawyer, the journalist, and the parliamentarian may 
 act in their professional capacities wrongfully and un- 
 justly, and be excused; while deeds of a like reprehen- 
 sible kind perpetrated in the social circles of their 
 friends would cause irretrievable disgrace and shame. 
 
 In Kenelm Chillingly the insincerity which thus be- 
 comes a characteristic of many who engage in serving 
 the public is exemplified in the member of parliament 
 whose reason approves one line of action, but who never- 
 theless speaks and votes against his belief, because his 
 party having adopted an unwise measure which his con- 
 stituents clamor for, his career would be jeopardized if 
 he manifested any hostility toward the proposed change ; 
 the journal-owner whose paper blames everybody to the 
 end that it may have plenty of readers, disregards jus- 
 tice and honor, criticises every institution destructively, 
 but never suggests an improvement, and endeavors to 
 crush or undermine the reputation of those who are ob- 
 
KENELM CHILLINGLY 273 
 
 jectionable to its contributors or policy; the reviewer 
 who, disdaining the canons applicable to the literary 
 productions of all time, gives his adherence to some tran- 
 sient fad and appraises the works which come before 
 him in accordance with the degree in which they comply 
 with the methods of the school whose views he serves 
 without believing in them. 
 
 Each of these is a model of rectitude in private life, 
 but differentiating between his individual conduct and 
 his public profession, and therefore acting under a dual 
 standard of morality, the stricter reserved for social in- 
 tercourse, the looser used in public life, which is regard- 
 ed as business and pursued with the disregard of the 
 common good which is usual in the various branches of 
 trade. 
 
 The opinions which these men hold and advocate and 
 by which they rule their conduct are all appeals to self- 
 ishness. Patriotism they scoff at as an obsolete preju- 
 dice standing in the way of free-trade and cheap labor. 
 Love of country, care for its position among nations, 
 zeal for its honor, and pride in its renown, are con- 
 demned as old-fashioned sentimentalities, the prestige 
 of a country being a trivial asset not worth the cost of 
 its maintenance. Ideals are ridiculed as unscientific, 
 misleading and foolish, because it is better to know how 
 contemptible and malicious men really are than to re- 
 vere the heroic and strive to attain to it. They hold that 
 it is the duty of an owner to get the fullest returns from 
 his property, regardless of tenant or employe, for he is 
 charged with the task of producing the maximum for 
 the consumer, and the fate of the laborer is no concern 
 
274 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 of his ; that marriage is to be avoided because a wife is 
 a costly encumbrance, and woman a simulating fraud 
 and mischief-maker; that the democracy is omniscient, 
 and when in the name of progress it demands changes 
 or innovations, the legislator must facilitate their execu- 
 tion even though in his judgment the proposals are un- 
 wise. 
 
 In favor of these propositions much may be advanced. 
 Nevertheless their general acceptance would demolish 
 reverence for the past, discourage beneficent activity in 
 the present, and destroy all worthy ambition and faith 
 in the future. That they influence many now is a sign 
 of retrogression, for all that we approve or enjoy today 
 has been produced in scorn of such doctrines, and had 
 our ancestors believed thus, their deeds and achieve- 
 ments would not have loomed so large in the vistas of 
 history. 
 
 These articles of The Trader's Creed correctly reflect 
 the appreciation of the commodity which furnishes a 
 profit, over the human being whose labor made the com- 
 modity. The product receives greater consideration 
 than the producer ; and with the growth of the trader 's 
 influence, these views will become more general, and their 
 effects more mischievous. 
 
 Kenelm is the representative of the class of English 
 gentleman from which all modernism is a continued de- 
 parture. Courage, honor, culture, and courtesy are to 
 him more than mere names. Position is never used as 
 an offensive privilege. He recognizes in every true man 
 a brother ; and he regards the mean, the sordid, and the 
 selfish as contemptible. Though evading or declining 
 
KENELM CHILLINGLY 275 
 
 honorable and responsible duties, he yet does good, for 
 his unostentatious acts are tactful and wise and his ex- 
 ample is elevating" and salutary. 
 
 Kenelm is an only son, heir to an ancient name and 
 large estates. As a preparation for active life he is 
 placed with a tutor who is an accomplished scholar, a 
 man of the world and an authority on the new ideas, 
 which he instils into his pupil with the definite purpose 
 of equipping him for a successful public career. Kenelm 
 by birth, rearing, and association has inherited and ac- 
 quired the more chivalrous beliefs of his race. He is 
 strong, well informed, capable of energetic exertion, and 
 purposeful and thorough in all he undertakes. He is 
 also sincere and truthful ; and the lessons of his teacher, 
 supplemented by the results of his observations of their 
 ejffiects on those who accept and practice them, instead 
 of developing a desire for emulation, cause him to be- 
 come contemptuous of fame, indifferent to the usual am- 
 bitions of men of his class, and unwilling to participate 
 in their attempts to legislate and rule ; for he is unself- 
 ish, patriotic, and has large sympathy with mankind. 
 The falsity and active selfseeking which he sees every- 
 where cause a distaste for the circles in which deceits 
 and pretenses abound. He declines all friendships, his 
 recognized abilities have no vent, and he surrenders him- 
 self to a tranquil indifference, nothing being worth 
 while, because action is more likely to do harm than 
 good. So he becomes a contemplative, self -communing 
 nurser of crotchets, a spectator instead of an actor, an 
 old young man. 
 
 To dissipate the oddities which the conflict of new 
 
276 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 ideas with old ones has produced in Kenehn, his father 
 proposes a tour with friends in Europe. An accidental 
 meeting with a wandering minstrel suggests a more 
 promising experience, and alone and on foot the youth 
 sets out on travels in his owti country. His adventures 
 are varied enough, and all tend toward the refutation 
 of the lessons he acquired from Mr. Welby. Taught to 
 regard everything with the scientist's eye, avoiding the 
 imaginative and valuing only the actual, his views are 
 widened by his discussions with the minstrel, who shows 
 him that nature is more than a machine, that mankind 
 readily and universally sympathizes with the unselfish 
 and chivalrous, that imagining may be as instructive as 
 reasoning, and is a more noble intellectual exercise. Ev- 
 eryone in whose behalf he interferes shows gratitude, 
 appreciation, and desire to improve, and he finds that 
 except in metropolitan coteriesi the doctrines with which 
 he has been imbued have few adherents and little justi- 
 fication. 
 
 Cecilia Travers interests but does not yet attract him, 
 for though he perceives that the many are worthy, he 
 cannot regard duty with anything like enthusiasm be- 
 cause of the apparent hopelessness of effort against the 
 ignoble. He meets Lily, the personification of romance, 
 and his heart and mind are changed. An exalted con- 
 ception of the purposes of life, and an eager desire to 
 fulfill them is bom of his love, and that his parents may 
 be proud of his choice, he determines to engage in active 
 affairs. The sorrow which follows, by showing how much 
 each man has in common with his race, that no single 
 
KENELM CHILLINGLY 277 
 
 passion can be permitted lastingly to blight or monop- 
 olize a life, that humanity has claims on all its sons, and 
 that in addition to sharing the common toils and griefs, 
 he to whom ability is given is recreant to his trust un- 
 less he strive to work out for successive multitudes some 
 joy or gladdeniug possession, arouses purpose in Ken- 
 elm, and in the interest of a wider circle than the home 
 of his family, he resolves to cast aside the new ideas and 
 earnestly work and battle for the old. 
 
 Lily Mordaunt is a creation as interesting 33 original, 
 as far removed from reality as romance should ever be, 
 wise though unschooled, perceiving intuitively what 
 teaching rarely succeeds in rendering comprehensible, 
 making all who know her happier and better, and ac- 
 complishing a task never undertaken before. Her fam- 
 ily history, kept as a secret from herself, is a homily 
 against the vicious ambition, too generally regarded as 
 deserving of praise, against which Kenelm revolts, and 
 which this work denounces: the ambition of the gentle- 
 man to exalt himself into a trader. The ruined tower 
 and wrecked fortunes of the Fletwodes have reiterated 
 mention long before the whole tragic story is related, be- 
 cause that vice is one against which repeated warnings 
 are needed. 
 
 In Cecilia Travers is pictured an engaging type of 
 woman, which is becoming more rare every day. Pos- 
 sessing talents yet unassuming, handsome but avoiding 
 display, never trying to eclipse others nor to domineer, 
 gentle, tender, sincere, of serene and cheerful temper 
 and companionable disposition — the womanly woman, 
 
278 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 who ennobles and exalts man's ambitions, inspires un- 
 hesitating trust, and makes Duty attractive, fascinating, 
 and glorious. 
 
 The intimate and unaffected friendship between Sir 
 Peter and Kenelm, who have many characteristics in 
 common, reveals possibilities rarely realized in the rela- 
 tion between father and son. Each is to the other the 
 dearest friend in the world, each understands the other, 
 and in conversation or correspondence each is perfectly 
 frank and confiding. Though the father's plans are 
 often thwarted because of the son's oddities, he finds 
 a compensating pleasure in yielding to the young man's 
 wishes and assists in carrying them out, and when Ken- 
 elm divines any desire or purpose which Sir Peter on 
 his account hesitates to suggest, he removes the difficulty 
 by anticipating his father's request and proposing the 
 doing of these things. The readiest way to Sir Peter's 
 heart is to praise Kenelm, and he treats Cecilia as a 
 daughter because he is aware of her affection for his 
 son. 
 
 There is much delightful irony in the book, delightful 
 because free from malice; several pretty little lyrics, 
 and one impressive ballad. 
 
 The interior meaning of Kenelm Chillingly is that the 
 imagination is as important a contributor to man's per- 
 ceptions as the reason, and a more effective inspirer of 
 his deeds and strivings. The realist's conceptions of 
 man and his world are partial and incomplete, because 
 derived from reasoning only. Art causes a modification 
 in these views, by demonstrating the importance and in- 
 fluence of imagination. 
 
KENELM CHILLINGLY 279 
 
 And experience with men proves that they are re- 
 sponsive to unselfish appeals, capable of continued self 
 sacrifice, desirous of good, and brotherly in sympathy 
 and helpfulness. 
 
 Duty seen now is calmly viewed and estimated ap- 
 preciatively, but awakens no enthusiasm. 
 
 Romance arouses imagination and a desire to propiti- 
 ate and gratify friends by doing something of worth. 
 Disappointment blots out this limited ambition. 
 
 Sorrow broadens the comprehension of life 's privileges 
 and responsibilities by the sympathy with all who suf- 
 fer which it calls forth; makes labor for humanity's 
 benefit a desired service; and by the grander views of 
 lifers realities which it bequeaths, stimulates to deter- 
 mined effort what was but desultory caprice; and by 
 fitting man for beneficent^ action prepares that change 
 in habit under which the discerned duty mil have a 
 calmer and more lasting attraction than even romance 
 and beauty. 
 
 Kenelm Chillingly was written concurrently with The 
 Parisians, and published in 1873 after its author's 
 death. 
 
THE PAEISIANS 
 
 THE last days of Paris under Louis Napoleon ; the 
 unrecognized causes of the fall of the empire ; and 
 the changes wrought by the calamity in the char- 
 acter and disposition of the inhabitants of the city dur- 
 ing the siege and its accompanying miseries, are among 
 the subjects illustrated and illumined in The Parisians. 
 Under the autocratic rule of Louis Napoleon, France 
 had reassumed her position among the great powers. 
 Paris had been rebuilt on grander lines. The artisan 
 had become consummate in skill and comfortable in cir- 
 cumstances. But these advantages and gains failed to 
 conciliate the favor of the well-bom, the cultivated, or 
 the aspiring. For the most part these stood aloof, or 
 gathered in coteries of Orleanists, Bourbons, Socialists, 
 Eepublicans, and Revolutionists, each desiring a different 
 condition, all endeavoring to discredit and undermine 
 the existing government. The Emperor's policy of en- 
 couraging trade had given vocations and careers to 
 thousands, and increased the number of millionaires, 
 speculators, stock-brokers, and similar classes; and on 
 their adherence and active support, and the loyalty of 
 the army, his continuance in power mainly depended. 
 But traders are ever timorous, unreliable, and over-con- 
 cerned about their own welfare ; and when adversity put 
 their gratitude to the test, they were found wanting. 
 
THE PARISIANS 281 
 
 For many years the emperor had suffered from the 
 most excruciating disease that a human being can be 
 afflicted with. Physical agony, which benumbs the fac- 
 ulties, necessitated a delegation of his powers and du- 
 ties to others. Aware of his feeble hold on life, and 
 anxious to safeguard the sovereignty he had established, 
 he sought to widen and strengthen its foundations, and 
 therefore extended the liberty of the press, relinquished 
 his hitherto absolute power, and instituted a government 
 by ministers after the English pattern. 
 
 Paris looked upon these concessions as evidences of 
 weakness. The new growth of journals encouraged and 
 augmented the opposition. Mediocrities alone were 
 available for a cabinet, the prestige of the government 
 suffered by the division of authority, and it was weak- 
 ened by what should have added strength. 
 
 And now Prussia determined that the resort to arms 
 for which she had long been preparing should take place. 
 The excuse for war in the first instance was furnished 
 by conditions in Spain, but practically all France, eager 
 to humiliate Prussia, united in the cry ''on to Berlin," 
 and the ministry caught the popular infection, and de- 
 sired war. For three days the emperor withstood the 
 noisy vituperation of Paris and the arguments of the 
 cabinet. Then he yielded to their wishes and signed the 
 declaration. 
 
 Meanwhile the trader had been fattening on the army. 
 Fraud and jobbery had honey-combed the entire service, 
 and the numbers of soldiers and their thorough arma- 
 ment, which as represented encouraged M. Ollivier to 
 avow that ''he entered upon war w^ith a light heart,'' 
 
282 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 were soon found to be illusory, deceptive, and inadequate. 
 
 The Napoleonic tradition dictated that the emperor 
 should accompany the army; and under the modified 
 constitution the ministry was empowered to order, pro- 
 vide for, and decide upon all movements and actions of 
 the forces in the field, and this gave occasion for divided 
 counsels. 
 
 The accepted plan of campaign depended for its suc- 
 cess upon quick army concentration and crossing the 
 Rhine at Maxau, before the Prussians moved. But two 
 weeks elapsed before the ministry supplied troops, and 
 these were inadequate in numbers and deficient in equip- 
 ment. 
 
 In rapidity of movement the Prussians outstripped 
 the French, in discipline they excelled them. They were 
 superior in numbers, and in singleness of purpose they 
 had a further advantage, for the ministry at Paris over- 
 ruled the generals in the field, and imposed upon them 
 plans which resulted in an unheard-of series of reverses. 
 
 After a trivial victory at Saarbuck, in quick succes- 
 sion losses were sustained at Weissenberg, Woerth, and 
 Forback, followed by the disastrous defeat at Sedan, 
 where the sun of the Napoleonic dynasty went down in 
 cloud and storm and carnage. For the empire fell when 
 its founder surrendered his sword and became a prisoner 
 of war. 
 
 Following the usual custom, upon realizing that their 
 army had been defeated, the Parisians rose in revolt. 
 The senate was dissolved, a republic proclaimed, and a 
 provisional government assumed the duty of maintain- 
 ing order and defending the city, which, surrounded by 
 
THE PARISIANS 283 
 
 a besieging army, remained shut off from civilization 
 until starvation compelled surrender. 
 
 During the four months of complete isolation, the suf- 
 ferings and dangers to which the citizens were subject- 
 ed produced much disorder and outrage, but generally 
 the finer elements of character were brought into evi- 
 dence. Former exquisites and society favorites became 
 ministrants of charity, volunteers for ambulance work, 
 soldiers, and leaders in desperate sorties; delicate and 
 tenderly nurtured women joined the ranks of nurses and 
 attached themselves to hospitals; the churches were al- 
 ways filled, and a populace universally regarded as the 
 most gay and careless, demonstrated that it could be de- 
 vout, serious, and bravely indifferent to peril, discom- 
 fort, and privation. 
 
 In The Parisians the several aspects of French metro- 
 politan life during the closing days of the second em- 
 pire are depicted with an impartial discernment which 
 combines an intimate knowledge of the various depart- 
 ments with an intelligent comprehension of their rela- 
 tive importance as parts of a whole. Attention is chief- 
 ly drawn to and care and thought bestowed upon, the 
 worthy and admirable but not to the entire suppression 
 of the vile and ignoble. 
 
 The plot of the work is a contributive rather than a 
 fundamental source of interest, but it is marvellously 
 ingenious and clever, of sufficient complexity to embrace 
 over a score of characters, yet unconfused, clear, con- 
 sistent in every detail, and conforming to the actual se- 
 quence of events. 
 
 The incidents succeed each other naturally and inevit- 
 
284 PEOSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 ably, and are so diverse that while sometimes affording 
 a pleased amusement, they more frequently arouse ter- 
 ror, sympathy, and pity. And always the event or sub- 
 ject discussed receives illumining elucidation from sa- 
 gacious comment, or penetrative critical remarks. Thus 
 the suggestive wisdom of the work is as marked as its 
 masterly construction. 
 
 Representatives of the administrative, literary, enter- 
 prising, social, and revoluntionary sections of the com- 
 munity are introduced, and we are made cognizant of 
 the slender basis of popularity on which the apparently 
 stable institution of government rests — its supporters 
 apathetic and self seeking when of influence; when en- 
 thusiastic neither inspiring confidence nor winning con- 
 verts; and its foes numerous, active, and eager for its 
 destruction, not agreeing upon any reasonable plan for 
 a more acceptable system, but fostering dissatisfaction 
 with the passibly pleasant order, in the expectation 
 that from the Medea-caldron of its ruin, a rejuvenated 
 France would arise. 
 
 The lively, pleasure-loving, fickle, inconsistent, and im- 
 pulsive inhabitants of the perennially sumptuous and 
 splendid city are first displayed in the enjoyment of the 
 amazing prosperity and luxury resulting from the rule 
 of Louis Napoleon, proudly conscious of their preem- 
 inence, and immoderately confident in their puissance 
 and invincibility; then with their susceptibilities ruf- 
 fled, regarding themselves as affronted, clamoring for 
 war, and resenting all prudent dissuasion; again as- 
 tounded and bewildered by the reiterated failures of 
 their army, denouncing their rulers, accusing their gen- 
 
THE PARISIANS 285 
 
 erals, and applauding the magniloquence of mouth- 
 fighters. Then suffering not only the privations caused 
 by the iron ring of the conqueror's armed investment, 
 but also the disorder and ruin consequent upon the sub- 
 stitution of mob rule for orderly government; and de- 
 veloping under these multiplied disasters patience, self- 
 abnegation, modest heroism, and unselfish devotion — 
 qualities latent in all Frenchmen, though ordinarily ob- 
 scured in Paris by an affectation of frivolity and ego- 
 tism, too generally accounted their real characteristics. 
 
 In the confidential search necessitated by the trust be- 
 queathed to him, Graham Vane engages the services of 
 M. Renard, and also enlists the aid of Frederic Lemer- 
 cier, whose large acquaintance and obliging disposition 
 eminently fit him for assisting in Vane's difficult task. 
 After much wearjdng delay a sHght clue is found, and 
 from this beginning, despite many checks and disap- 
 pointments, other details are accumulated, and at last 
 the tangled skein is unraveled. 
 
 In pursuing his investigations Vane frequents the 
 social and literary circles of his friends, and penetrates 
 into the region of the conspirators and revolutionists; 
 and the persons met, whether in frank intercourse or 
 casual contact, pass before us as a fairly representative 
 panorama of Parisian life. 
 
 We see the high spirited young Marquis, fresh from 
 his impoverished estate, rubbing off his Norman rusticity 
 and much of his prudent thriftiness by contact with 
 wealthier members of his class, blossoming naturally 
 into the polished man of the world, anxious to serve his 
 country, but finding no opportunity until France, need- 
 
286 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 ing defenders, accepts him as a soldier; those paladins 
 of the Bourse, the spectacular Louvier, and the generous 
 Duplessis; the politic man of letters Savarin, cynical 
 and satirical in opinion and observation but kindly in 
 counsel and invariably genial, and the writers who clus- 
 ter around him; the veteran De Breze, antagonizing 
 the settled order and sighing for the past — his habit 
 under every administration; the last new poet, with his 
 songs to the "Ondine of Paris," partly inspired by 
 Julie, partly by absinthe; the brothers Raoul and En- 
 guerrand, admirable in their every act, and however dif- 
 ferent in tastes and habits wholly alike in their devoted 
 affection; Victor de Mauleon, former leader of fashion, 
 now a sedate watcher of events, foreseeing change, bent 
 on playing no unimportant part in the coming days, 
 plotting and working against the rule which opposes his 
 rise, and directing and inspiring those nurses of strife 
 whom occasion and passion made the shakers of the 
 throne — the mild Doctor of the Poor, the rash Dom- 
 binsky, Paul Grimm whom vanity made a conspirator 
 (in that capacity he interested the ladies) ; Edgar Fer- 
 rier, versatile, daring, with madness in his blood; and 
 the great hearted Monnier, who, taking from Rousseau 
 many teachings to his injury, ignored the only safe max- 
 im that deluder of youth ever put forth, " it is not per- 
 mitted to an honest man to corrupt himself for the sake 
 of others." 
 
 These are but a few of the many uncommon figures, 
 who play their parts and are involved in the tragedy of 
 an; empire 's fall. Three characters stand out in greater 
 prominence than the rest. Their motives and purposes 
 
THE PARISIANS 287 
 
 are displayed and analyzed, and their portraits more 
 fully elaborated. One illustrates the heroism of those 
 who endured, at a time when action was productive of 
 welter. A second shows the corrupting of a fine nature 
 which follows its surrender to the stronger will of an- 
 other, and illustrates the manipulated agencies by which 
 revolutions are brought about. And the third is an ex- 
 ample of the leader who by influence and personality 
 causes others to do his will, not foreseeing the ultimate 
 result, but sanguinely confident that it will provide op- 
 portunity for him. 
 
 Of these the first is Isaura Cicogna, who, resigning as- 
 sured eminence as a songstress because she preferred to 
 remain a woman, achieves a success equally mischievous 
 when she essays authorship. She is patient, consider- 
 ate, unselfish, and dominated by the sense of duty. When 
 social customs interfere unreasonably with her desires, 
 she neither rebels against nor ignores the tyrannous con- 
 ventions, but recognizing that these protect and preserve 
 all that makes life agreeable and safe, she conforms to 
 the established rule, and foregoes the uncompanioned 
 walks which had become a pleasure. Even when duty 
 appears most stem and repellant, though the prospect 
 causes her to shrink, she does not seek to evade the sac- 
 rifice. 
 
 Intuitively perceiving and desiring the noble and the 
 good, with a mind naturally reverential, broadened by 
 study, but never masculine in its judgments and appre- 
 ciations, she is repelled from the strife for fame by wit- 
 nessing the anguish and suffering which envy and jeal- 
 ousy cause in others of her sex who have succeeded as 
 
288 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 writers and artists; and because a calmer existence, un- 
 embittered if undistinguished, has more charm for her, 
 she welcomes a future which will require the sinking of 
 the artist in the wife. 
 
 Isaura engages a larger measure of Bulwer's interest 
 and regard than any other of his female creations. He 
 shows a father's pride in her successes, a parent's solici- 
 tude in her griefs, dwells with a lingering fondness on 
 her traits of mind and character, but hurries over the 
 painful entanglement with Gustav Rameau. 
 
 The second of the great characters is the socialist, Ar- 
 mand Monnier. In the ranks of every association of re- 
 formers there are always a considerable number who 
 have allied themselves with that particular movement 
 not from a reasoned examination of its general proposi- 
 tions, but because of sympathy with its attack upon in- 
 iquitous conditions, or flagrant grievances, or intolerable 
 wrongs. 
 
 Armand Monnier is one of these. Domestic complica- 
 tions have placed him in a quandary from which under 
 existing conditions there is no escape. Socialism repu- 
 diates the forms and distinctions observed in the social 
 system as at present constituted, therefore he calls him- 
 self a socialist. But as is the case with each adopter of 
 that name, he formulates a distinct and special kind of 
 socialism, differing in important details from every other, 
 though having many beliefs in common with all. ' ' Partly 
 Arian, partly St. Simonian, with a little of Rousseau, 
 and a great deal of Armand Monnier." 
 
 He is chivalrous, generous, and sincere, and his rough 
 eloquence, heightened by burning passion, enables him 
 
THE PARISIANS 289 
 
 to move and command the masses. In his trade he is re- 
 liable and competent, and employment is always open 
 to him; but when a strike is resolved upon he is loyal 
 to his class, and needlessly joins the revolting workers, 
 rouses and encourages them by his speeches, assists them 
 from his savings. Recognizing in Jean Lebeau a pur- 
 poseful leader whose aims in their early stages are iden- 
 tical with his own, he devotes himself to the service of 
 that more able conspirator, and becomes one of the rev- 
 olutionary committee. 
 
 When the Republic is proclaimed, it has no promise 
 for him, and when Lebeau dismisses the council because 
 of its disobedience, Monnier awakes to the fact that he 
 has been used for purposes which do not advance his 
 ideas, and then thrown aside as of no more value, and 
 the knowledge humbles and crushes him. No longer 
 proud, industrious, and enthusiastic, he sinks in his own 
 esteem, and becomes reekless in conduct 
 
 The deterioration of this grand creature proceeds rap- 
 idly. One by one his children are mercifully taken by 
 death. The mother soon follows; and with only one ob- 
 ject in life Monnier drags out the miserable days until 
 chance shows him in the masterful soldier the misguid- 
 ing Lebeau, and Victor de Mauleon is assassinated by 
 the man he duped and abandoned. 
 
 Last of the three is the fascinating hero of the work, 
 a brilliant embodiment of egotistical ambition and intel- 
 lectual power, with much of frankness and kindly cour- 
 tesy, great ability and redoubtable daring, combining 
 secret conspiracy against the government and ruthless 
 unconcern for the tools used and ruined. Contrasting 
 
290 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 Isaura's loyal submission to authority and obedience to 
 its dictates, he would sweep away whatever opposes his 
 designs or impedes his progress. Yet neither in manner 
 nor words is there any indication of the inflexible re- 
 solve and indomitable will of this strange man. His 
 voice is attractive and pleasing, his demeanor suave and 
 unpretentious. He possesses precisely the qualities re- 
 quisite in a minister of the empire. In that capacity his 
 abilities would have been exercised to the advantage of 
 France ; but by the irony of fate, he was debarred from 
 it, and in this respect his position is typical of the rela- 
 tion between intellect and the government of Napolean 
 the third. 
 
 The first act of the tragedy of Victor de Mauleon's 
 life ended before the commencement of this history. His 
 career as leader of fashion came to a disastrous end, and 
 injurious charges against his honor had to be left to run 
 their course, because his fortune was gone, and the 
 proud man would tolerate no lesser position than that 
 hitherto filled. More keenly felt than the busy slander 
 or the loss of wealth was the ending of his engagement 
 with the English girl whom he loved with all the ardor 
 of his being, who now wrote him a cold farewell. That 
 letter he preserved through all the vicissitudes of his 
 life. 
 
 As Jean Lebeau he reenters Paris after years of exile. 
 He has been a soldier in Algiers, a seeker of fortune in 
 America, he has won a reputation for bravery and pro- 
 bity and amassed a modest competence. Behind the 
 humble profession of a writer he hides his connection 
 with revolutionary agents whom he directs and leads. 
 
THE PARISIANS 291 
 
 He decides to resume his name and station, and presents 
 himself to M. Louvier, a friend of former days, explains 
 the true historj^ of the distorted events, submits his 
 proofs, secures his aid, and learns something about his 
 niece. Louvier calls together the friends and connec- 
 tions of the vicomte, and effects his restoration. 
 
 As Victor de Mauleon he again meets old friends. 
 Many are cordial, some distant. One who owed life as 
 well as success to the vicomte 's generosity, refused his 
 hand. But next morning this repentant ingrate, now a 
 high court functionary, visits Victor and apologizes for 
 his cowardice. From him the vicomte learns that the 
 government will not accept his services, and would op- 
 pose him. Thenceforth his hostility to the government 
 becomes more bold and damaging. The war begins, re- 
 verses cause revolt in Paris. Suddenly a republic is 
 proclaimed. And he who most desired the downfall of 
 the empire is most confounded by the result, which his 
 own agents helped to bring about. He disbands the 
 council — and as Jean Lebeau is seen no more. 
 
 His rank, his popularity and his experience as a sol- 
 dier, make his rise to a command in the National Guard 
 a matter of course. His battalion is the best drilled and 
 presents the most orderly appearance. A sortie is or- 
 dered. In preparation for it the vicomte bums all his 
 letters, lingering long over those from the English girl, 
 but finally yielding them to the flames. With no fare- 
 well nor word of cheer he goes to his command, and brave 
 deeds are done. 
 
 A dying nun who says she is the vicomte 's niece sends 
 for him. In response he goes to the convent. When the 
 
292 PROSE ROMANCES OF BULWER 
 
 Superieure enters, Victor recoils, for this majestic wom- 
 an is the English girl whose tender letters he had long 
 preserved. She informs him that his niece Louise died 
 before his arrival, that a letter has been left which she 
 gives him, and adds that she, the poor religieuse, has 
 learned with joy that the honor — never doubted by her 
 — has been vindicated, and that prayers for him are nev- 
 er by her omitted. Dazed, with every nerve quivering, 
 and his heart dead within him, the vicomte proceeds to his 
 work on the ramparts. Hurriedly he seeks to carry out 
 the request contained in his niece's letter, and mechani- 
 cally he pursues his duties. Though a mighty future 
 seems to be awaiting him, the charm is gone. While aid- 
 ing a poor doctor who had called his name aloud, he is 
 stabbed by a wounded communist who dragged himself 
 forward, plunged a dagger between De Mauleon's 
 shoulders, and fell back dead. The vicomte 's wound 
 proved mortal, and thus master and agent perished to- 
 gether, having both outlived the desire for life. 
 
 Bulwer and Louis Napoleon were on friendly terms 
 before either became famous, and the former was one of 
 the very few who did not underestimate the ability and 
 determination of the future emperor. 
 
 Napoleon the Third occupied his last night at Sedan 
 with the perusal of The Last of the Barons. The vol- 
 umes were left on the table of his room. 
 
 A few pages are lacking in The Parisians, but the au- 
 thor's custom of writing some of the ending before reach- 
 ing it, which was followed in this instance, virtually 
 gives completion to the work. The pen fell from his 
 
THE PARISIANS 293 
 
 hand while he was developing one of the qaintest situa- 
 tions ever conceived. 
 
 The Parisians was written while its author was also 
 engaged upon Kenelm Chillingly and at least two other 
 works. It appeared first in Blackwood's Magazine, and 
 was published in 1873. 
 
PEEREQUISITES TO GREAT PLAYS 
 
 FEW subjects have given more employment to the 
 pens of essayists than the alleged decadence of 
 English Acting Plays. The existing condition is 
 usually viewed by writers as a lamentable decline from 
 a naturally high standard, and by selecting a small per- 
 centage of the plays of the past and comparing these 
 few with the many of the present, an apparent founda- 
 tion for the charge of modem inferiority is obtained. 
 Acting plays however, though immense in quantity are 
 generally poor in quality and productions of remarkable 
 worth have only for brief periods distinguished the the- 
 atre of any country. That great plays are rare varia- 
 tions from a standard far from high is proven by the 
 hyperbolic laudation showered upon mediocre works. But 
 each department of literature, and every branch of art, 
 presents the same phenomena. A widened public now 
 patronizes theatres, libraries, and studios ; the crude avid- 
 ity for amusement which animates its masses is more 
 easily and profitably catered to than the taste of the 
 discriminating few, and commercialism dominates the 
 actions of producers and impels them to provide what 
 they think the public wants rather than that which 
 would improve and benefit. 
 
 In all productions with which man has concerned him- 
 self, animal, vegetable, or intellectual, though variations 
 may occur the tendency of successive generations is to 
 
PREREQUISITES TO GREAT PLAYS 295 
 
 revert to the original or normal type, and only by per- 
 sistent interference and contradiction of that tendency 
 have superior forms been developed and continued. Nat- 
 ural selection results in the perpetuation of the normal, 
 and left to themselves the horse, the sheep, the beet 
 would inevitably breed back to their inferior progen- 
 itors. 
 
 That the play is subject to this law is shown by its his- 
 tory. Beginning with the goatsong and the bacchic pro- 
 cession it has at various times been raised to high im- 
 portance, but these periods of exaltation have never been 
 long continued. They have always followed a time of in- 
 tense stress during which an entire people was subjected 
 to the discipline and experience of anxious, exciting and 
 perturbing circumstances, which elevated intellect, emo- 
 tion and conduct by compelling habitual self control and 
 austerity. Athenian tragedy followed the Persian in- 
 vasion, the Augustan age succeeded the peril of Rome, 
 the Spanish drama flourished after the expulsion of the 
 Moors, the Elizabethan plays were produced subsequent 
 to the defeat of the Armada. When a nation after sus- 
 taining a prolonged conflict with a powerful antagonist 
 achieves a victorious peace the tense interest which pro- . 
 duced seriousness and earnestness in all, affects the wri- 
 ters of that and the succeeding generation, and their j' 
 works are lofty, serious, and vigorous. But with the ces- / 
 sation of the cause the effects gradually disappear, f ri- 7 ^^ 
 voUty becomes increasingly congenial, heroic and tragic/ a^ 
 works cease to attract the many, authors conform to the 
 changed requirements, and comic and whimsical produc- 
 tions attain an increasing popularity. 
 
296 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 The first necessity for the production of great plays is 
 a superior playwright. The advances made by mankind 
 have resulted from the many learning from the few. 
 Cecrops initiated the improvement of Attica. A school 
 wherein the pupils decided upon their work and disci- 
 pline without the direction and guidance of a teacher 
 would not be a greater absurdity than many of the demo- 
 cratic devices for equalizing intelligence and opportun- 
 ity. The utmost benefit attainable by such limiting 
 methods is the codifying of technical rules by which a 
 mechanical imitation of what has already been accom- 
 plished may be attempted, but further progress is im- 
 possible when the wise, the perceiving, the inventive, the 
 able, are denied their proper vocation of pioneers to fur- 
 ther development. 
 
 Another indispensable factor in creating and main- 
 taining a high standard in acting plays is the existence 
 of an audience with the training and capacity necessary 
 for judging aright, and the disposition to be impartial 
 or * ' biased less to censure than to praise. * ' Nowhere save 
 in ancient Athens could the general public be deemed 
 capable of deciding on the merits of an artist's work, and 
 there only citizens had a voice — the slaves were ex- 
 cluded. Literary productions depend for their imme- 
 diate popularity upon the reception they receive from 
 those who constitute the first tribunal to which they are 
 submitted, and because of the cost of theatrical repre- 
 sentations this is especially the case with a play. The 
 praise of the few influences the many. * Hence the im- 
 portant part played by cultured patrons in every bril- 
 liant literary era. When the few were scholars and gen- 
 
PREREQUISITES TO GREAT PLAYS 297 
 
 tlemen great works received recognition and their au- 
 thors were honored and encouraged. When a section of 
 the fourth estate arrogated the right to forestall the 
 judgment of audiences and readers a pernicious change 
 was begun. As the number of professional reviewers has 
 increased the quality of literary works has declined. 
 Tragedy has vanished from the stage like a pleiad from 
 the firmament. 
 
 A further requisite for the production of great plays 
 — efficient actors — need not be enlarged upon, for if 
 the other conditions existed, this would soon be forth- 
 coming. But the play should be a great moral agent, 
 and its instruments ought not to be startlingly defiant 
 of social conventions, yet the present preference for sen- 
 sational productions and dramas which glorify the 
 wrong-doer and the weakling is not more characteristic 
 than the disposition to substitute for trained players, re- 
 cruits from the ranks of the notorious. 
 
 Nowhere is there any indication of such conditions as 
 have in the past preceded the production of great literary 
 works, and if the conditions are essential to the phenom- 
 ena, there is no likelihood of any immediate era of plays 
 of other than trivial and commonplace qualities. 
 
 The elevation of a nation in conduct and mental power 
 is possible, for to some extent it has at times been 
 achieved, but modern societies are averse to high intel- 
 lectual training, the improvement of the race is regarded 
 as of less consequence than the personal gratification of 
 its present representatives, and the stoicism required in 
 the continued culture of an individual or a nation, repels 
 a generation intent upon having a good time. The demo- 
 
298 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 cratizing trend everywhere impelling to a descent to- 
 ward universal equality may reach that goal, and then 
 begin a gradual reascension to more human conditions, 
 but hitherto, democracy has always been a destroying 
 force, creating nothing except the necessity for a tyranny 
 as a stop to its degradations and an escape from its fail- 
 ures. 
 
 The conjunction of an able plajrvvright and a com- 
 petent and appreciative audience may be made ineffec- 
 tual by press hostility. The greatest literary artist of 
 the nineteenth century wrote a number of acting plays. 
 The critics ridiculed and depreciated his every produc- 
 tion. To gain a fair hearing it was necessary to conceal 
 the authorship of one, which under the shelter of an- 
 onymity achieved an immense popularity. When its 
 parentage became known, it was abused with redoubled 
 but ineffectual fury. For four years he persisted, tri- 
 umphing again and again. Having demonstrated his 
 ability to succeed despite the press, and not being under 
 the necessity of subjecting himself to malignant misrep- 
 resentation, he abandoned the field, although a series of 
 works which he considered the best of his plays had 
 * never been performed. 
 
 Professional critics are the most imitative of created 
 things; they consult and copy what others have said 
 about a work, and the attitude adopted by the first is 
 affected by the latest reviewer. The habit of abusing 
 this writer and his productions, initiated by a gang of 
 Alsatians, has been followed by every succeeding genera- 
 tion of reviewers. It had some provocation in the polit- 
 
PREREQUISITES TO GREAT PLAYS 299 
 
 ical activities of its object. His advocacy of the repeal 
 of the newspaper stamp duties, the act which he added 
 to the statutes, prohibiting managers from appropriating 
 without consent any published drama, and his attacks 
 on the patents which limited the number of theatres in 
 the metropolis, made him obnoxious to the owners of 
 established monopolies, and they availed themselves of 
 the chance to visit upon the playwright their dislike of 
 the member of parliament, but this frenzy of vitupera- 
 tion had its chief cause in the fact that the author was a 
 gentleman. 
 
 The republic of letters is in reality a congeries of tyr- 
 annies. Magazines, periodicals, and newspapers have ac- 
 quired great power under the pretense of the moral pur- 
 pose of elevating the taste of the public, but they are, 
 one and all, commercial enterprises, and neither authors 
 nor readers have any part in their management. Their 
 morality and intellectual qualities are absolutely gov- 
 erned by considerations of revenue, und they favor or 
 traduce as one or the other pays. ' - 
 
 The worthlessness of professional reviewals is attested 
 by the fact that every generation relegates to a deserved 
 oblivion the critical pronouncements of its predecessor. 
 *' Literary history is a series of judgments set aside.'* 
 
 The fault is only partially chargeable against the re- 
 viewers, who are but instruments carrying out the wishes 
 of their employers. As conducted the thing itself is 
 wrong, for it is the exercise of power without responsi- 
 bility. That is the prerogative of devils, and men who 
 usurp a similar privilege grow devilish in the process. 
 
300 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 Rulers who become despots generally develop mon- 
 strous, vicious, and insensate proclivities, and a corre- 
 sponding growth of evil dispositions shows itself in those 
 who assume critical dictatorships on however small a 
 scale. The possession of power unaccompanied by coun- 
 terbalancing responsibility produces a species of vertigo 
 in those who attain to it, and their acts and utterances 
 are more frequently the indications of disease than the 
 evidence of intellectual ability. 
 
 The desire for the unKmited liberty of the press is 
 just as irrational as the demand for the free use of re- 
 volvers would be. It is not by such freedom that civil- 
 ization advances, but by voluntary obedience to laws each 
 of which is a limitation of liberty. Murder might result 
 from the free use of revolvers. A worse crime is often 
 committed by the press, for all must surrender life. 
 Character and reputation which might be enduring are 
 sometimes destroyed by journals. 
 
 The lack of a directive function in governments is ev- 
 idenced by the lagging of protective legislation behind 
 the need of it. The 'Hhou shalt nots'* wisely promul- 
 gated against the individual ought, long ago, to have 
 been supplemented by inhibitions against the wrongful 
 acts of periodicals and corporations, and the punishment 
 for infringing these laws should be visited upon the 
 owners, not the agents — the substance, not the shadow. 
 
 If the receiver of the profits accruing from journalistic 
 immorality knew that he would be punished the practices 
 would cease. Criticism would then become gentlemanly 
 or be abandoned altogether — either alternative would be 
 
PREREQUISITES TO GREAT PLAYS 301 
 
 an improvement. But as long as the hurried work of 
 imperfectly disciplined journalists expressing the views 
 dictated by proprietors is influential in deciding the fate 
 of an artistes creation, there is no greater possibility of a 
 series of noble plays being produced, than would attend 
 the attempt to rear exotics in an exposed arctic climate. 
 
BULWER'S CONNECTION WITH THE 
 STAGE 
 
 HENRY REEVE records that when Sheridan 
 Knowles was introduced to Bulwer, he said: 
 ''You, sir, lead a very artificial life; Shake- 
 speare and I, sir, are the children of Nature. ' ^ 
 
 The self -magnification illustrated by this story is char- 
 acteristic, not only of Knowles but of almost all who have 
 written about Bulwer and his plays. Between Shake- 
 speare, Nature, and themselves reviewers discern some 
 close affinity, but the author whose life, works, and rela- 
 tions to the men, measures, and circumstances of his time 
 present more points of resemblance to Shakespeare than 
 are to be found elsewhere, they consign to some inferior 
 category, and refer to in pretentiously patronizing and 
 condescensive terms. 
 
 Friendly relations with Mr. Macready, and admiration 
 for that actor ^s gallant attempt to advance his art, turned 
 Bulwer 's attention to the stage, but the circumstances of 
 the time influenced the shaping of the works, the selec- 
 tion of effects, and even the language in which they were 
 expressed. 
 
 Prior to 1843 the presentation of dramas in London 
 was a privilege restricted to two theatres, Drury Lane 
 and Covent Garden. Consequent upon the monopoly 
 they enjoyed these houses were so huge in size that what 
 
CONNECTION WITH THE STAGE 303 
 
 was uttered on the stage was inaudible in some parts of 
 the theatre. Spectacle was more popular than poetry, 
 and exhibitions of trained animals were more profitable 
 than plays. Performances commenced at seven, people 
 were admitted at half price at nine, and often the en- 
 tertainment comprised three plays. When Money was 
 first produced, Foreign Affairs, and The Boarddng School 
 were included in the bill, and candles furnished the only 
 light at the Haymarket until 1842. 
 
 Mr. Macready was a great actor and an accomplished 
 scholar, somewhat imperious and self-opinionated, jeal- 
 ous of his prerogatives as head of his profession, and 
 afflicted with an ungovernable temper, which caused him 
 much mortification, for he was a pious man, and his 
 stormy ebullitions were followed by periods of deep hu- 
 miliation, contrition, and fears of divine wrath which his 
 prayers could not assuage. 
 
 Ambitious to exalt the character of stage representa- 
 tions, he gathered around him a company of fairly com- 
 petent players, gave admirable renderings of Shake- 
 speare's greatest works, produced three of Byron's tra- 
 gedies, and exerted himself to procure original composi- 
 tions by contemporary authors. He asked Bulwer to 
 write a play and in response The Duchess de la Val- 
 liere was completed and after extensive changes, re- 
 ceived its first presentation January 4, 1837. 
 
 Its symmetry was destroyed by the alterations which 
 increased the importance of the character which Mac- 
 ready assumed. It was dragged into a four hours' per- 
 formance. And the parts of Lauzun and Louis XIV 
 were execrably played. It did not find favor with the 
 
304 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 public, and it gave opportunity for much journalistic 
 abuse, sarcasm, and prophecy. After nine performances, 
 which the manager wished to extend to twenty, it was 
 withdrawn by the author. 
 
 In publishing the play, the changes made at Mac- 
 ready's request were discarded, and Bulwer recorded 
 his conviction that performed as written, but with such 
 deletions as would reduce it to the usual length of plays, 
 it could be restored to the stage with every prospect of 
 success. 
 
 On the fifteenth of January, 1838, The Lady of Ly- 
 ons was produced at Covent Garden Theatre. The ex- 
 clamation of the troubled manager whose theatrical ven- 
 tures were causing anxiety and fear — * * Oh ! if I could 
 only get a play like The Honey-moon/' prompted the 
 composition of the work, which was written in ten days, 
 and given to Macready, who, displeased that in the 
 f ourtii and fifth acts Pauline overshadows Melnotte, and 
 dubious of its prospects, avoided incurring expense over 
 it. 
 
 Press hostility to Bulwer precluded all possibility of 
 other than dishonest criticism of any play by him, there- 
 fore the authorship of The Lady of Lyons was not con- 
 fided to anyone but Macready. As the work of an un- 
 known writer it achieved a marvellous success. 
 
 On the night of its first presentation, Bulwer was de- 
 tained in the house of commons by a debate on reform 
 in which he took part. Hurrying away he met Talfourd 
 just come from Covent Garden and enquired about the 
 new play. ''Oh! it's very well for that sort of thing," 
 the author of Ion replied. Arrived at the theatre Bui- 
 
CONNECTION WITH THE STAGE 305 
 
 wer entered Lady Blessington 's box, and was presently- 
 asked by Dickens what he thought of The Lady. * * Oh 1 
 it's very well for that sort of thing," he repeated. Dick- 
 ens expressed his astonishment at the lack of apprecia- 
 tion the remark indicated, and Lady Blessington said it 
 was the first sign of jealousy she had seen in Bulwer. 
 As soon a^ its favor with the public was secure, the au- 
 thor' name appeared on the playbills. 
 
 Richelieu was produced at Covent Garden Theatre 
 March 7, 1839. The changes made in compliance with 
 Macready's suggestions transformed the work. The 
 principal character in the first draft became the De 
 Mauprat of the play and the Cardinal was elaborated 
 into the important figure to which all else are subsidiary. 
 It was abundantly successful. 
 
 Under the title of The Sea Captain, the play later 
 called The Heir of Montreville, and now known as The 
 Rightful Heir, was given its first presentation at the 
 Haymarket October 31, 1839. The actor required many 
 changes which were made, and he assumed the part of 
 the Heir and made it the important feature of the per- 
 formance. The play pleased the public and gratified 
 Macready but did not satisfy the author, who interrupt- 
 ed its run, withdrew and re-wrote it. The revised work 
 is more compact in structure, its characters develop 
 greater power and distinctness, and the action is less 
 tumultuous than in the earlier version. 
 
 At the Haymarket the comedy of Money received its 
 initial presentation December 8, 1840. In this instance 
 whatever changes were made originated with the author. 
 When he saw it in rehearsal, the interpretation of his 
 
306 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 work displeased him so greatly that he was with difficul- 
 ty deterred from withdrawing it, and the manager had 
 to postpone the opening, drill his actors more thoroughly 
 and make many modifications in the business of the 
 piece. Its sucess was as great as that of its predecessors 
 and it was played nightly until the close of the season. 
 
 Macready's retirement put an end to Bulwer's con- 
 nection with the stage. In 1851 he wrote a comedy, 
 which a distinguished company of amateurs, including 
 Dickens, Forster, and Jerrold, acted at Devonshire House 
 and elsewhere. But in the composition of Not so had as 
 we Seem, the idiosyncrasies of the several players, and 
 their limited experience in an unfamiliar art, were kept 
 in view, the powers of the actors were not overtaxed, and 
 because it made no undue demand upon the abilities of 
 the ** splendid strollers" it was effectively performed. 
 
 Walpole, a three-act comedy in rhyme, was published 
 without having been acted in 1869. The House of Darn- 
 ley, an unfinished play with an incongruous fifth act by 
 Mr. Coghlan, was performed by Mr. Hare's company in 
 1877, and The Household Gods was produced by Mr. 
 Wilson Barrett in 1885. 
 
 These works are but a part of the plays written by 
 Bulwer. References to Hampden; Charles the First; 
 Cromwell; Brutus; Oedypus; and The Captives occur in 
 the memoirs of contemporaries, and the Earl of Lytton 
 speaks of a series of carefully completed plays all in- 
 tended for the stage but never acted, and therefore never 
 published. 
 
 ''The playwright should consult his tools, the actors," 
 says Goethe, for their practical knowledge of stage-craft 
 enables them to estimate the eifectiveness of groupings 
 
CONNECTION WITH THE STAGE 307 
 
 and situations and they can often suggest improving 
 changes in the arrangement and presentation of a play. 
 
 Bulwer complied with this condition and adapted his 
 compositions to the views of Macready, accepting crit- 
 icism and making extensive changes even when dissent- 
 ing from the opinion which necessitated them. A com- 
 parison of the plays as written, with the versions made 
 to conform with the manager's demands, shows that Mac- 
 ready's advice to Bulwer was invariably mischievous, 
 that the actor lacked both nice perception of symmetry 
 in construction and apprehension of the delicate relation 
 of parts to the whole. Strength and power impressed 
 him more than harmonious composition, and though sen- 
 sible of the poetic his taste was faulty. In his produc- 
 tion of King Lear he omitted the Fool. He misinter- 
 preted the character of Sardanapalus in his presentation 
 of Byron's tragedy, and he erred repeatedly in his esti- 
 mite of the relative importance of the parts in some of 
 Bulwer 's plays. But Macready 's greatness in his art is 
 evidenced by the fact that every succeeding actor has 
 copied his interpretations even when he was wrong. 
 
 A pardonable desire for self display, combined with 
 a distrust of the abilities of his supporting company, 
 caused him to insist upon the augmentation of the im- 
 portance of the character he elected to personate regard- 
 less of other considerations, and his phenomenal ability 
 frequently won success for plays thus mutilated. The 
 important changes made by Bulwer at the request of 
 Macready were generally unwise and injurious. 
 
 The Dtichess de la Valliere was mangled, the third act 
 being compressed into a single scene. 
 
 The Lady of Tjyons was not subjected to any altera- 
 
308 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 tion, for Macready was unprescient of its possibilities, 
 took little trouble over its production, allowed it to be 
 acted as written and experienced a double surprise when 
 it proved popular and he realized that it was a gift. 
 Later managers have dropped the first scene, thereby 
 omitting the display of Pauline's haughtiness, which is 
 the provoking cause of Beauseant's resentment, and de- 
 priving the audience of that glimpse of the unamiable 
 beauty, which prepares them for the treatment Mel- 
 notte's messenger receives. 
 
 Richelieu was twice rewritten, and entirely trans- 
 formed under the stimulus of Macready 's criticisms and 
 suggestions, and the resulting play is probably an im- 
 provement on the original design, although in plot and 
 construction the work became more tenuous than any 
 other of its author's productions. 
 
 The alterations in The Sea Captain enabled Macready 
 to make his part the dominant feature of the perform- 
 ance, but that distorted the work, for the Countess- 
 Mother is the greatest and most impressive character 
 and, properly personated, the Poor Cousin would rival 
 the Captain. Macready misjudged Money and instead 
 of carrying out the author's purpose and treating Sir 
 John Vesey as the master character, he transferred that 
 dignity to the more amiable part of Alfred Evelyn, 
 which he appropriated but disliked. 
 
 Of the many playwrights who had dealings with Mac- 
 ready, Bulwer alone never resented his criticisms and 
 always respected his opinions. Their friendship contin- 
 ued through life. Macready was a frequent guest at 
 
CONNECTION WITH THE STAGE 309 
 
 Kjiebworth., and Bulwer's admiration for the Roscius 
 of his time never abated. 
 
 His experiences, however, destroyed whatever illusions 
 he may once have had regarding the stage. He discour- 
 aged his son's desire to write plays. '^It would absorb 
 and vulgarize him. Its success has no honor nor renown 
 and its damnation is infernal. ' ' To Sir William Fraser, 
 who asked his counsel about a contemplated play, he 
 said, * ' I feel sure that you would write a very good com- 
 edy. I feel, also, certain that you would sit in the stalls 
 perspiring with horror at the manner in which it was 
 played." 
 
THE ACTING PLAY 
 
 A PLAY is a combination of poetry and spectacle 
 representing and explaining an event or story 
 ' which some interrupting incident complicates by 
 causing a conflict of passions in the principal characters 
 and suspending or changing the indicated consumma- 
 tion. 
 
 It appeals to the emotions, not to the intellect. 
 
 The characters are the most important evidences of 
 the playwright's creative ability. They should be ap- 
 prehensible possibilities but not recognizable familiars, 
 and their actions and development should be conse- 
 quences of the experiences to which they are subjected, 
 their conduct under the changing circumstances con- 
 forming to what is regarded as probable. 
 
 To secure attention to the characters a play should 
 contain not only a variety of appropriate and unusual 
 incidents following each other naturally, and each hav- 
 ing some effect upon the action, but also, situations em- 
 phasizing the salient points of the story, and providing 
 occasion for the manifestation of emotions and passions, 
 under the stress of which the characters are developed 
 and the resulting consequences made to appear inevit- 
 able. 
 
 Concentration is the imperative necessity of the play. 
 On the stage ''life is the verb to do" and languor in ac- 
 tion or excess in speech becomes tedious and destroys il- 
 
THE ACTING PLAY 311 
 
 lusion. Not only language and incidents, but even events 
 must be condensed for the sake of effectiveness — a duel 
 interests, but a battle only confuses. 
 
 A play addresses a large and miscellaneous audience, 
 and gesture and movement accompany the spoken words, 
 which should be consistent with the varying capacities 
 of the characters represented, and convey a meaning 
 easily understood by all. Subtle, super-refined and at- 
 tenuated expressions may be properly used in private 
 conversation, or where not the many but the one is ad- 
 dressed; to be effective in plays the language chosen 
 must be bold, vigorous, terse, and dignified. 
 
 The players join the most fitting action of which they 
 are capable to such perfect expression as they can com- 
 mand in performing the parts assigned to them, avoid- 
 ing palpable imitation, for on the stage attitudes, move- 
 ments, utterances, entrances and exits differ from those 
 in actual life. Thinking aloud — soliloquizing — is an 
 absurdity off the stage ; there, it is not only effective and 
 appropriate but conducive to rapidity of movement, since 
 it allows of the revealing of purposes and feelings in less 
 time than would be required for the unfolding of these 
 in dialogue and action. 
 
 The players supply the physical qualities of the char- 
 acters, and only slight deviations from the normal can 
 be satisfactorily assumed ; and the period of time repre- 
 sented as elapsing in a play must be a restricted one to 
 allow of its adequate indication, because the simulation 
 of the change in personal appearance resulting from 
 the passing of years, severely tasks the actors' skill in a 
 minor but necessary department. 
 
312 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 The purpose of a play should be achieved by sugges- 
 tion rather than by preachment. The results of habits 
 and indulgencies, the effects of passions, and the im- 
 portance of prudence and self-control — exhibited in the 
 fates of the characters represented — have the superior 
 effectiveness which example ever has over precept. 
 
 The heroic takes its inspiration from conduct tran- 
 scending the ordinary in magnanimity and grandeur. 
 Actions exceeding in ruthlessness and selfish purpose the 
 common experiences of mankind originate the tragic. 
 Incongruous lapses from the normal in appearance, dress, 
 or behavior produce the comic. 
 
 Comedy leaves to the play the heroisms and crimes 
 which because of their effects upon the race, need serious 
 and impressive treatment; and, taking for its purposes 
 the follies, vices, and affectations which are sins against 
 society, assumes the duty of amending conduct while 
 amusing the audiences it attracts; and by banter and 
 ridicule seeks to make unpopular the practices it selects 
 for satire. 
 
 It generally takes its illustrations from the generation 
 contemporary with its production, but it is not debarred 
 from availing itself of whatever advantage in costume 
 or decoration a previous age may offer, nor are serious 
 situations and dialogue excluded from its means and 
 effects provided these arise naturally from the progress 
 of the action. Its characters are generalizations from 
 many individuals fused into typical specimens of classes. 
 It is more familiar in manner and less compact in struc- 
 ture than the play and it makes use of surprise as an 
 effect. 
 
THE ACTING PLAY 313 
 
 Only in the instances where the obnoxious propensi? 
 ties or absurd peculiarities which it ridicules perpetu- 
 ally recur, is comedy assured of more than a transient 
 appreciation, and it is always subject to the disadvantage 
 of having its purpose of amendment lost sight of or ob« 
 scured because of its more evident aim of amusement. 
 
THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE 
 
 AN early episode in that grandiose epic of artifice 
 l^L and intrigue — the reign of Louis the Fourteenth 
 -*- -^ — furnished the material for the tragic play of 
 The Duchess de la Valliere. 
 
 In the flush of his early successes, before glory had 
 palled or power wearied, the gracious and idolized Louis 
 showed his admiration for one of the ladies of the court, 
 by promoting the young beauty who regretted that he 
 was a king to the position of favorite, and making her 
 a duchess. 
 
 The craving for amusement and change which grew 
 with his increase in importance and magnificence and 
 necessitated the transference of his court to the more 
 imposing palace at Versailles, after a few years caused 
 the Grand Monarque to transfer his favors and atten- 
 tion to the more pretentious Mme. de Montespan. The 
 forsaken La Valliere thereupon took the veil and as a 
 Carmelite nun spent the remaining thirty years of her 
 life in penance and austerities. 
 
 The play sets before us glimpses of that dazzling court 
 where pomp, pageantry, ceremonial obsequiousness and 
 the adulation of all who were distinguished by genius or 
 beauty ministered to the egotism of a prepossessing and 
 generous king whose enviable personal advantages were 
 enhanced by his happy facility in uttering tactful com- 
 
THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE 315 
 
 pliments, but whose mental resources were in pitiable 
 contrast to the gorgeousness of his state. 
 
 The creatures of that court are displayed as brilliant, 
 polished, but heartless schemers for place and power, 
 skilled in flattery and intrigue, esteeming the privilege 
 of being near the king as the height of human felicity, 
 and regarding the world outside Versailles as rude, bar- 
 barous, and unworthy. For the rule of Louis the Four- 
 teenth, consummating the policy of Richelieu, centralized 
 power and authority in the king and made him not only 
 the fountain of honor but also the dispenser of patronage 
 and preferment, and the well-born who declined to de- 
 base themselves into courtiers were left without voca- 
 tions, and as a consequence of careers being denied to 
 all outside the monarch's silken circle active civic use- 
 fulness ceased to animate men and virtue died in women. 
 This evil of despotism is illustrated in the characters of f' 
 Mme. de Montespan and Lauzun. Beauty degraded into 
 a plaything becomes wasteful, conscienceless, and flaunt- 
 ing. Intellect deprived of opportunity to ascend scin- 
 tillates and corrupts in the dust. 
 
 La Valliere endured the splendor to which she had 
 been advanced, but retained a keen sense of her equiv- 
 ocal position and never became indifferent to the re- 
 proaches her transgression deserved. The epithet ten- 
 der was generally applied to her. A resigned sadness 
 characterized her demeanor, she sought vainly for con- 
 solation, and her real feelings were a bitter commentary 
 on the envy she excited. Her sacrifice was repaid by 
 desertion and humiliation, and the cloister became a wel- 
 come refuge to the friendless and broken-spirited woman 
 
316 PLAYS OF BULWBR 
 
 to whom the world had become distasteful because of her 
 experience at Court. 
 
 La Vallieres are by no means rare in the ranks of 
 young womanhood. A propensity to regard self-sacrifice 
 as good in itself irrespective of its motive is common and 
 in some instances induces a sanguine belief that such a 
 proof of devotion will ensure a lasting reciprocation in 
 affection, and the results are always disastrous. Those 
 in whom the heart is stronger than the head have the 
 greatest need of the protection which the conventions of 
 society have established and in all cases where these 
 usages are disregarded sorrow and misery are the conse- 
 quences. This is the warning lesson of this play. 
 
 Bragelone is the finest and greatest of the characters, 
 in him the disappearing old warrior nobles have a wor- 
 thy representative, brave, loyal, unselfish, and sincere, 
 his natural dignity and manliness brought into contact 
 with the falsely-great humbles and reduces to their pro- 
 sper proportions both courtier and king. Lauzun in his 
 I presence shrinks into an ignoble jester, Louis is awed 
 into a superstitious trembler. His only weakness is his 
 ill-placed affection, and it is in conformity with the tra- 
 ditions of his class that when dishonor comes near him, 
 he sickens of the world and adopts the cowl of the monk. 
 Prompt in act, fearless and stem in the discharge of 
 duty, he quits his military career to assume a humbler 
 labor, denounces the monarch for his vices, shows La 
 Valliere that to temporize is to be dishonest, and guides 
 and aids her harsh journey through renunciation to re- 
 pentance. 
 
 Lauzun has an importance beyond what is disclosed in 
 
THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE 317 
 
 his easy and supercilious progress among courtiers whom 
 he moves and uses and despises, for he shows what al- 
 ways happens to intellect when it is constrained to min- 
 ister to the caprices of one instead of promoting the im- 
 provement of all. With capacities qualifying him for 
 useful activity in the state, the circumstances of his time 
 compel him to be a courtier, dwarf his powers and restrict 
 his development until he becomes indifferent to all that 
 is high and ennobling, scornful of virtue and content to 
 gratify his vanity by sarcasm, scheme, and petty tri- 
 umphs over insignificant rivals who nevertheless are able 
 to irritate and thwart him. 
 
 The interest of the work is a consequence of the al- 
 ternation of passions and mental struggles, love and con- 
 science are in perpetual conflict in La Valliere, and loy- 
 alty contends with the sense of wrong in Bragelone. The 
 strongest scene is that between king and monk, the ef- 
 fective situations are at the close of the second act and 
 at the end of the play. The catastrophe — the self bur- 
 ial of a young and beautiful woman — is singularly awe- 
 inspiring and impressive. 
 
 The play opens at the La Valliere home, an old cha- 
 teau surrounded by vineyards and woods, near a river 
 which reflects the setting sun, and neighboring a convent 
 the turrets of which are visible in the distance. Mother 
 and daughter are having their last evening together for 
 on the morrow Louise goes to the court. Bragelone, her 
 betrothed, enters, war calls him again, and he will not 
 have to linger forlorn amidst the gloom her absence will 
 cause. Their years are scarce w^ell-mated, the soft spring 
 in hers and o 'er his summer already autumn creeps, but 
 
318 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 her sire betrothed them, his heart has never wandered, 
 and in her youth he hoards his own. And so well he 
 loves that if her heart recoils from their union she need 
 but speak and his suit will be dumb. She believes him 
 the noblest of France's chivalry, has pride in his friend- 
 ship, honor in his trust, but her heart whispers not the 
 love which should be the answer to his, and wishing 
 neither to pain nor deceive him she asks him to forget 
 her. He finds that his soul is less heroic than he deemed 
 it. He cannot accept this dismissal, he will be content 
 to love and wait, absence will plead his cause, the con- 
 trast between the courtier-herd and one faithful to God, 
 to glory and to her, will be in his favor and he will await 
 the time when she will bid him not forget her. . At the 
 behest of her mother Louise places her scarf round 
 Bragelone's hauberk, bidding him wear it for the sake 
 of one who honors worth, and with restored hope the sol- 
 dier departs. 
 
 Bertrand in the armory of the Castle of Bragelone 
 is polishing a sword, a trenchant blade not of the mod- 
 em fashion and therefore appropriate for his lord. 
 There is a notch in it which he would not grind out, for 
 it marks the stroke received when Bragelone saved the 
 king. The warrior gladdens his old servitor by telling 
 him that after this campaign they will find some nook 
 wherein to hang their idle mail and rest from labor, and 
 he charges Bertrand to train the woodbine around the 
 western wing of the castle because she loves it. 
 
 In an antechamber at Fontainebleau 'Lauzun and 
 Grammont converse about the court's new beauty and 
 Lauzun begins plans for profiting by what he foresees 
 
THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE 319 
 
 will be the result of La Valliere 's innocent fancy for the 
 king. 
 
 The next scene is at night in the gardens, which are 
 brilliantly illuminated. The king enters, followed by 
 his retinue. To Lauzun he expresses his interest in the 
 youngest of the graces, fair La Valliere, and learns that 
 in himself this young Dian sees the embodiment of her 
 girlish dreams. While they converse La Valliere and 
 other maids of honor are seen approaching, and monarch 
 and duke hide in one of the bosquets. As the ladies pass, 
 the king emerges, takes La Valliere 's hand, owns that he 
 has overheard her and prays that she will not divorce the 
 thought of love from him who, faithful still to glory, 
 swears that her heart is the fairest world a king could 
 conquer. Beseeching him to forget her, protesting that 
 she is but a simple girl who loves her king but honor 
 more, La Valliere leaves him, his passion inflamed by her 
 modest coyness. 
 
 The queen and her guests enter, and as a prelude to 
 the banquet a divertisement to shame the lottery of life 
 is begun, the pavilion opens and discovers a temple with 
 Fortune enthroned in the centre and on each side a vase 
 over one of which merit presides and over the other 
 honor. The guests draw lots from merit which are ex- 
 changed for gifts from fortune. The king draws and 
 receives a diamond bracelet, which he clasps upon La 
 Valliere. The court ladies utter depreciating comments 
 upon the new favorite. 
 
 The second act begins in the gardens. Disquieting 
 rumors have reached Bragelone, who has left the camp 
 and sped hither. He will not even suspect La Valliere, 
 
320 , PLAYS OF BULWBR 
 
 but he may warn and protect her. Lauzun in reply to 
 his questions confirms the evil reports, rouses Bragelone 's 
 anger, is disarmed and forced to retire. La Valliere en- 
 ters seeking the king. The soldier recalls to her the 
 maid he loved, now advanced to too high a position for 
 shame, and become the object of courtiers' envy. She de- 
 clares the aspersions false and regrets that she came to 
 court. Bragelone denounces the ungrateful monarch but 
 is interrupted by her exclamations, and her agitation 
 makes it plain that she loves Louis. Bragelone describes 
 the ideal she had always embodied to him, the regard in 
 which he had held her, the indulged hopes now over- 
 thrown. To lose her he could bear, but with his hopes 
 he loses all confidence in virtue and is sick at heart. 
 She pleads with him to advise and help her and be still 
 the friend. She can fly from the dangers of the court to 
 her mother. He answers that the king can reach her there, 
 and that if she earnestly desires to fly from gorgeous in- 
 famy to tranquil honor the convent alone can shelter her. 
 But she shrinks from the thought of the cloister where 
 she would nevermore meet those eyes nor hear that voice, 
 and Bragelone asks her to take back her scarf since this 
 gift is worthless now, and turns to depart. She begs that 
 she may see the king but once, after which she will seek 
 the convent. The soldier warns her that heaven will ac- 
 cept no such composition — vice first and virtue after- 
 ward ; he bids her think of her mother, and La Valliere, 
 weak when she loves, shows that proportioned to that 
 weakness is her power to conquer love, and bids him take 
 her hence. 
 
 Lauzun is receiving rewards from his monarch when 
 
THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE 321 
 
 Grammont enters and announces the flight of the duch- 
 ess. Louis is roused; he will tolerate no interference 
 with his desires, he will reclaim La Valliere. Who 
 stands between the king and her he loves becomes a trai- 
 tor and may find a tyrant. 
 
 In the chapel of a convent La Valliere kneels before a 
 crucifix. It is night, and a storm is raging, the thunder 
 and lightning without less fearful than the tempest and 
 war of passion within. A trumpet sounds, the clatter of 
 steeds is heard and the opening of the great gates which 
 are only unbarred for royalty. The king enters. La 
 Valliere begs him to be merciful and leave her. The ab- 
 bess seeks to protect her charge but Louis claims the 
 right free and alone to commune with the maiden whose 
 pleadings fail before his protestations. She loves; who 
 loves trusts, and to his entreaties and promises she yields 
 and is borne from the convent. 
 
 The third act has its early scenes in the palace of the 
 duchess de la Valliere. A few years have changed both 
 circumstances and feelings. Lauzun has developed lev- 
 ity, and become more selfish. La Valliere has changed 
 from the girl who anticipated a glad and ennobling fu- 
 ture, to the woman who has experienced the world's fa- 
 vors and found them apples of sodom, and Louis from 
 the promise of Fontainebleau has grown into the Grand 
 Monarque, wearied with himself, burdened with his own 
 glory, and vainly desiring relief from ennui. Lauzun 
 has not won the power he looked for from the favorite's 
 friendship and therefore he is plotting with a more pli- 
 ant rival, Mme. de Montespan. The second scene dis- 
 closes Louis and La Valliere at chess. In the mimic as 
 
322 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 in the real war he proves victor, but his brow is less 
 serene than usual, and he accounts for his gloom by the 
 news just received that France has lost a subject kings 
 might well mourn, one who merited all favor and scorned 
 to ask the least, the brave Bragelone. La Valliere's agi- 
 tation and distress arouse the king's curiosity and re- 
 plying to his questions she tells him of their early be- 
 trothal, blames herself for his death, and begs permission 
 to retire. Louis regards this manifestation of sorrow for 
 another as a personal affront; he desires diversion, not 
 tears, in the bower ; he is displeased that another had her 
 first love and perceives that the hours grow long when 
 passed in her presence, that sighs and tears make a dull 
 interlude in passion's short-lived drama, and that he 
 needs amusement, therefore he will seek Lauzun, who 
 never causes yawning. The duchess returns to assure 
 the king that henceforth she will keep sad thoughts for 
 lonely hours, but finds he has gone, and she entrusts her 
 friend Mme. de Montespan with a letter to his majesty, 
 acquaints her with the cause of the king's displeasure, 
 and asks her to explain and promise that sad news shall 
 not again mar the music of his presence. De Montespan 
 uses her opportunity and information as steps to her own 
 advancement and in discharging her mission supplants 
 La Valliere. 
 
 The fifth scene is at the palace at Versailles. The 
 queen slights the favorite, and De Montespan gives evi- 
 dence of her newly acquired influence. The king, con- 
 versing with the duchess, puts aside her plea for for- 
 giveness with the remark that wounded feeling is not 
 displeasure, and commends her friend De Montespan, to 
 
THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE 323 
 
 whose side he presently moves. Lauzun approaches La 
 Valliere and directs her attention to the favor with which 
 the king is honoring her friend. The duchess is per- 
 turbed, thinks he cannot mean evil, yet he lingers, he 
 whispers, and she is unhappy. The king announces a 
 repetition of the fetes of the carousal and La Valliere 
 takes heart again, for there he wore her colors, though 
 she gave them not; now she offers them but his majesty's 
 service is vowed elsewhere. Lauzun 's timely counsel to 
 give the envious crowd no triumph enables La Valliere 
 to bear without disclosing how acutely she feels the hurt 
 and shame of her betrayal. 
 
 The fourth act has its opening in the gardens of Ver- 
 sailles. Lauzun is embarrassed by debts which he plans 
 to discharge while further advancing himself by mar- 
 riage with La Valliere, and he prays the king to sanc- 
 tion his suit. Louis, disbelieving in the possibility of 
 one who shrank from him wedding the wildest lord that 
 ever laughed at virtue, permits him to go and prove his 
 fortune, but his jealousy is aroused. Lauzun knows the 
 sex, is wise and witty. Marriage would be a balm to 
 conscience and an excuse for change, and therefore best 
 for both ; yet still the king is curious and wonders will 
 she accept him. 
 
 La Valliere in an apartment of her palace, unwilling- 
 ly realizing that the king prefers another, muses on the 
 sacrifices she has made — and their reward. Her mother 
 sleeps the long sleep and it is hard to be alone on earth ; 
 despair has taken the place of hope, and the world is 
 hateful. Lauzun is announced and she anticipates news 
 of the king, but as he proceeds to inform her that Louis 
 
324 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 would fain see her link her lot with one whose affection 
 would be her shelter, and has permitted his suit and bade 
 him prosper, her disappointment crushes her, she sinks 
 down and covers her face, to every entreaty of Lauzun 
 she can only murmur ''he bade thee prosper," she will 
 not subject the duke to the debasement of being refused 
 by one at once fallen and forsaken, and she leaves him. 
 
 Bragelone in the habit of a Franciscan friar seeks 
 audience with the duchess, tells her of the soldier-lover 
 who pardoned her desertion but sunk at what he termed 
 dishonor and sends back by him the token he had once 
 so gladly worn. La Valliere interrupts him ; in the tone 
 of his voice and in his presence she detects something 
 kindred to Bragelone. He proclaims himself the brother, 
 of whom she had doubtless heard, who early tired of the 
 garish world, fled to the convent's shade and found re- 
 pose. Then she calls upon him to be what Bragelone 
 would be were he living, a friend to one most friendless, 
 and beseeches him to counsel and guide her. Continu- 
 ing his narrative he acquaints her of her mother's last 
 hours, watched over by Bragelone, who by invoking ten- 
 derer remembrances won a blessing on her child instead 
 of the meditated curse. La Valliere can bear no more ; 
 heartbroken she rushes from the room. 
 
 The king is heard approaching. Bragelone 's hand 
 mechanically seeks the sword he no longer wears. Louis 
 enters and there ensues an intense and powerful denun- 
 ciation of the monarch's acts, his deeds are recounted in 
 terms very different from those used by courtiers and 
 cardinals. To the humble minister of God, Louis the 
 great is one who has betrayed his trust, beggared a na- 
 
THE DUCHESS DE LA VALLIERE 325 
 
 tion but to bloat a court, seen in men's lives the pastime 
 to ambition, looked but on virtue as the toy for vice. 
 The king bids him add to the beadroll of his offenses that 
 when a foul-mouthed monk assumed the rebel the mon- 
 ster-king forgave him, but is told that his changing hue 
 belie his haughty words and is called upon to awaken 
 from the dream that earth was made for kings, mankind 
 for slaughter, woman for lust, the people for the palace. 
 The fate of Charles of England may await a descendant 
 of Louis, and when sages trace back the causes they may 
 find the seeds which grew to the tree from which the 
 scaffold was shaped, in the wars, pomp, and profusion 
 of a heartless court, Bragelone leaves the king awed 
 and disconcerted and striving to justify himself to him- 
 self. Impatience to know how Lauzun had fared in his 
 wooing had prompted the visit of the king, and now re- 
 covering from the fear and surprise of his interview with 
 the monk he calls for wine and bids the duchess be ap- 
 prised of his presence. When Louis avows his wish that 
 La Valliere should wed she promises to obey him, her 
 choice will be a nobler one than Lauzun, but not yet 
 shall he learn it. The king departs and the monk is 
 summoned to guide her back to peace. 
 
 The fifth act opens with De Montespan, Grammont, 
 and courtiers in the garden of Versailles discussing La 
 Valliere 's departure for the convent, and the failure of 
 Lauzun to repair his fortune by marriage with the de- 
 serted favorite. De Montespan, exasperated by this 
 tribute to her rival, threatens to use her influence to 
 Lauzun 's injury. In the old home La Valliere, accom- 
 panied by Bragelone, is regretfully recalling her former 
 
326 PLAYS OF BULWBR 
 
 happiness, her mother's fondness and her lover's affec- 
 tion. To the expression of her yearning for pardon from 
 Bragelone he responds by disclosing himself and ex- 
 plaining the reasons for the course he had pursued. 
 With one murder less upon her soul La Valliere has no 
 further dread of the cloister. The fourth scene takes 
 place in the convent of the carmelites. Louis would pre- 
 vent La Valliere from becoming a nun and has sent 
 Lauzun in advance of himself to delay the ceremony. 
 De Montespan accosts Lauzun and receives the king's 
 letter of dismissal from the court. The sixth scene is in 
 the chapel of the carmelites with the service of renuncia- 
 tion which is interrupted by the entrance of the king, 
 who forbids the rites. He is confronted by Bragelone, 
 but La Valliere descends from the altar and listens to 
 Louis's entreaties and promises, without being moved 
 from her purpose. The king has dismissed her rival and 
 will know no other love, and though he was never more 
 dear to her, she remains firm. For Louis she left in- 
 nocence ; she now leaves Louis for heaven. Her heart is 
 the nun already. Unmanned, reproaching himself as 
 the cause of her self-immolation, and overcome with emo- 
 tion, the king receives his victim 's last farewell and de- 
 parts. The ceremony proceeds and at last her bridal 
 robes are exchanged for the garments of the sisterhood. 
 La Valliere approaches Bragelone and, kneeling, asks 
 him to bless her who as the poor nun is less unhappy 
 than as the Duchess de la Valliere. 
 
'^"> 
 
 THE LADY OF LYONS 
 
 THE LADY OF LYONS is an unpretentious play 
 depicting the very commonest of emotional con- 
 flicts but presenting these vividly and under con- 
 ditions which touch the chords of memory and unseal 
 the fount of sjnnpathy. Its embodiments of beauty and 
 strength in the glow, vanity, and egotism of youth are 
 little removed from ordinary characters except by their 
 eloquence, until their relative position of injurer and in- 
 jured is reversed. Then the steadfast resolution with 
 which the discipline of duty as perceived by each is ac- 
 cepted, and the constancy maintained under trial, lift 
 both to the heroic. 
 
 The play is a glorification of love — not the frantic 
 fever to which Bichat allotted a duration of two years, 
 but the transforming influence which awakens dormant 
 capacities and high resolves and dignifies through pa- 
 tience, devotion, and discipline. Here that power changes 
 a haughty and unamiable girl into a trustful and for- 
 giving woman : causes a peasant to become an enthusiast 
 for self -improvement in the romantic hope that one above 
 him in fortune will deign to accept his hand, and after 
 insult has provoked him to an unworthy revenge leads 
 him to atone for the wrong by self-denial and exile, and 
 then advances him to equality with the woman whose 
 grace inspired his early efforts, whose memory sweetened 
 his later toils. 
 
328 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 The plot was suggested by a tale called The Bellows 
 MeTider. It is the story of a proud young beauty who 
 rejects the addresses of two suitors because they are not 
 of sufficiently important station, and marries one whom 
 they impose upon her in the disguise of a prince, who is 
 really a peasant whom her disdain has embittered and en- 
 raged. But because the gardener 's son loves the haughty 
 maiden and discovers that she is less heartless than he 
 had believed, he repents of his misdeed and seeks to re- 
 pair it by restoring her to her parents. Her anger at 
 the fraud practiced upon her gives way to admiration 
 of his earnestness. His contrition and self -blame move 
 her pity, he has won her heart, and because of his devo- 
 tion and generosity she elects to remain with him and 
 sacrifice her pride. He, however, desiring to deserve 
 her preference and regain his own self-respect, makes 
 separation inevitable by joining the army, and she re- 
 turns to her father 's house. After two and a half years, 
 during which he has won wealth and promotion, he 
 comes back in time to prevent a marriage with one of the 
 old suitors which she is about to contract as a means of 
 saving her father from bankruptcy. He discharges all 
 obligations, reclaims his bride, and is welcomed into the 
 family which formerly resented his pretentions. 
 
 Pauline, an embodiment of modem middle-class fem- 
 ininity, inherits from her mother disdain for her own 
 class, extravagant ambition and excessive pride, and 
 these faults are nourished by the admiration her beauty 
 excites and the deference her father's wealth commands. 
 Of duty she has only an indefinite and vague apprehen- 
 sion. She has no instinct of race and therefore finds 
 
THE LADY OF LYONS 329 
 
 gratification in humiliating others; no nobility of mind, 
 consequently neither incentive to usefulness nor enthusi- 
 asm for worthy achievement. Physical beauty unrefined 
 by moral perception or intellectual culture, and her 
 father's wealth, she regards as title-deeds to high rank 
 and position, and to marry a prince is a sufficient object 
 in life. 
 
 Her pride is crushed when she finds herself the victim 
 of a mortifying indignity, but when she discovers that 
 tenderness, eloquence, and magnanimity exist elsewhere 
 than among the wealthy, the knowledge that a strong 
 man loves her awakens appreciation and she desires to 
 equal his unselfishness, relinquish luxury, and descend 
 to her husband's station. The self-denial which pre- 
 vented this sacrifice completes the conquest of her pride, 
 makes constancy a religion and reunion a hope. The 
 threatened ruin of her family constrains her to desert 
 her trust, but it also ennobles her character, for unwil- 
 lingly she complies with the demand of a higher duty, 
 and at the moment of doom her woe is changed to joy. 
 
 Claude Melnotte watched the growing beauty of Paul- 
 ine as she moved among the flowers in the gardens where 
 he worked, and for qualities which his fondness attrib- 
 uted to her in profuse abundance he worshiped from 
 afar. His exalted estimate of her goodness and kindli- 
 ness impelled him to efforts in self -culture and the ac- 
 quirement of accomplishments which distinguish him 
 from his class in speech, appearance, and deportment. 
 Frank, vivacious, and enthusiastic, a favorite of all and 
 the pride and comfort of his mother, he nurses a poet's 
 dream, and puts a soldier's confidence in its fulfillment. 
 
> -^ ^' 
 
 A- 
 
 )j^ 330 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 The contempt with which his verses are rejected awakens 
 a desire for revenge, and in his anger he becomes the in- 
 strument by which his rivals seek to disgrace the beauty 
 of Lyons. He plays the part of prince successfully, is 
 ready in speech, profuse in gifts and exuberant in inven- 
 tion. He captivates Pauline and then learns that in 
 seeking to punish a girl's ambition by ridicule he has 
 treacherously won a woman's heart. The enormity of 
 his offense overwhelms him, he would fain retreat and 
 spare her the shame and himself the sin of his fraud. 
 Forced to carry out the letter of his oath, his audacity 
 and confidence desert him, he can no longer exult in 
 what seemed a deserved retaliation, and with heavy 
 heart, in bitter sorrow, he conducts his bride to his 
 mother's home, confesses that he has tricked and duped 
 her, and that he is the gardener's son. But her love is 
 her salvation. She shall be freed from the bondage 
 fraudulently put upon her, his mother will protect her 
 until her parents are brought, and he will assume all 
 blame and bear all punishment. He discourages her evi- 
 dent willingness to forgive and accept him as husband, 
 for he is undeserving, and he wishes to save her from 
 suffering, therefore he becomes really what he has al- 
 ways been in idea, a soldier. He goes to the wars, strives 
 manfully to redeem his name and make himself less un- 
 worthy of her regard, and in time succeeds and consum- 
 mates a union in which there is no longer any shame. 
 
 Pauline's beauty charms and her wrongs enlist sym- 
 pathy, but Melnotte is the finer character, and the fiuc- 
 tuations in his feelings are more varied and morally in- 
 teresting. She is first a luxurious girl, infatuated with 
 
THE LADY OF LYONS 331 
 
 titles, then the woman who loves but once and forever, 
 then the deceived victim, indignant but forgiving, then 
 the devoted bride reluctantly parting from one more be- 
 loved because of his guilt, and lastly, the dutiful daugh- 
 ter sacrificing all her hopes and happiness. 
 
 He from the wondering boy grows into aspiring youth, 
 indulging an extravagant fancy and building upon its 
 realization. Stung by contempt when he anticipated 
 responsive admiration, he becomes angry and unjust and 
 conspires to punish her whose contumely he construes 
 into insult. He exults in his masquerade as prince and 
 wooer until he finds that the man and not the title has 
 won her affection. Then the shame he designed for her 
 recoils upon himself and his suffering is intensified by 
 her undreamed-of gentleness. Contrite, repentant, and 
 determined to redeem his name, he welcomes the oppor- 
 tune offer of a soldier's career and in action wins fame 
 and promotion. When his purse disconcerts his rival, 
 his happiness begins. He regains the wife whose love he 
 won by guile, but her respect has been earned by deeds. 
 
 Few plays have exerted as much influence as The 
 Lady of Lyons. Many a merchant's daughter, inspired 
 by the example of Pauline, has bought with her father's 
 wealth the title under which some spurious creature 
 masqueraded the while he exhibited a knowledge of no- 
 bility curiously like that of Melnotte, combining prodi- 
 gality in expenditure, parsimony in truthfulness, con- 
 versational audacity, and a facility in representing him- 
 self as of importance. 
 
 The play opens in the merchant's house. Pauline is 
 
332 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 reclining on a sofa, her maid under her mother 's instruc- 
 tions is arranging flowers in her hair. Beauseant is an- 
 nounced. Pauline's attractions outshining all at last 
 night 's ball have made him desire her as wife and he pro- 
 poses for her hand. He is disdainfully rejected and 
 after he has gone the mother congratulates her daughter 
 on the judicious condescension with which she declined 
 the offer. Damas enters, rallies Pauline on her last 
 night's triumphs and on the effect of her charms on 
 Glavis and Beauseant. The mother snubs the soldier and 
 tells him that such as these are no match for her daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 Beauseant drives a few leagues into the country to 
 dissipate his chagrin, and meets Glavis at a village inn. 
 Accounting for his preoccupation he confesses that he 
 has been refused by Pauline, a tradesman's daughter, 
 and learns that Glavis has had the same experience. 
 They are startled by shouts of ''Long live the prince," 
 and the landlord explains that Melnotte, who has just 
 won the prize in the shooting-match, is always called 
 prince because he is a genius, wears fine clothes, is brave 
 and strong and has such a proud way with him. The 
 landlord further confides to his guests that Melnotte is 
 in love with the beauty of Lyons, though he has never 
 spoken to her. Beauseant at once conceives a plan to 
 humble Pauline by introducing this fictitious prince un- 
 der some foreign title and bringing about a marriage. 
 
 Melnotte shows his prize to his mother. It is another 
 stage in the ambition to be worthier to love Pauline. She 
 wears the flowers he sends anonymously and that has 
 encouraged him to pour his worship into poetry and send 
 
THE LADY OF LYONS 333 
 
 the signed verses to her, and he anticipates that she will 
 return an answer bidding him advance himself and hope. 
 Then he will become a soldier, make headway, win fame 
 and come back with the right to approach her. Gaspar, 
 his messenger, has had the letter he conveyed contemptu- 
 ously returned and he has been beaten for his impudence 
 in presenting it. Melnotte in anger tears the letter and 
 is voicing his indignation at the insult put upon him, 
 when a message from Beauseant is delivered, offering to 
 secure the realization of his hopes if he will swear to 
 marry her he loves and bear her to his cottage on his 
 wedding night. Eager to return scorn for scorn Mel- 
 notte accepts the proposition. 
 
 In the second act Beauseant and Glavis in the gardens 
 of the merchant are felicitating themselves on the suc- 
 cess of their plot, grumbling at their prince's extrava- 
 gance and scheming to bring affairs to the desired finish 
 quickly lest some interference bring about discovery. 
 
 Melnotte as the prince of Como evidences his readi- 
 ness, exuberance, and generosity by turning the soldier 's 
 pronunciation of Italian (which he does not understand) 
 into ridicule, and giving away with unconcern a ring 
 and a snuffbox, both of great value. With Pauline he 
 talks of ancestry and birth as only deserving admiration 
 when they are the incentive to exertion. She asks that 
 he tell her again of his palace by the lake of Como, and 
 he, evading her request, describes with glowing eloquence 
 the home to which could love fulfil its prayers his hand 
 would lead her. She listens in an ecstasy of delight, ex- 
 presses her bliss in being so beloved, and wonders who 
 would not love him as she does. He bitterly retorts that 
 
334 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 it is the prince she loves, not the man, that had he paint- 
 ed poverty, toil, and care, she would have found no 
 honey on his ton^e and he declares that is not love. 
 She protests that though she might not have been won 
 save through the weakness of a flattered pride, that now 
 could he fall from power and sink — he interrupts, ' ' as 
 low as that poor gardener's son who dared to lift his 
 eyes to thee," and she replies that even then he would 
 but become more dear, and he is conscience stricken ; he 
 has won the woman's heart, when he desired to abase a 
 girl's vanity. In the guise of a prince he has acted like 
 a knave, and he goes out to seek from his fellow conspir- 
 ators release from his oath. But it is too late. They 
 have arranged that all shall be completed this day. 
 Damas comes to correct his Italian. He has brought two 
 swords and he forces a duel on Melnotte, who disarms 
 him, restores his weapon, and wins his admiration. Beau- 
 seant returns with Madame Deschappelles, greatly per- 
 turbed. The Directory suspects the prince and may ar- 
 rest him, therefore he must quit the town, and in order 
 to spare the mother disappointment, a marriage must 
 take place at once. Beauseant undertakes all arrange- 
 ments, fetching the priest and having a coach and six at 
 the door before the ceremony is over. Melnotte asks 
 Pauline if she has no scruples, for it is not yet too late. 
 She answers that when she loved him his fate became 
 hers; triumph or danger, joy or sorrow, she will be by 
 his side, and Damas wishes him joy and says he envies 
 him. 
 
 The first scene of the third act is at the village inn. 
 Pauline is within, the carriage having broken down. 
 
THE LADY OF LYONS 335 
 
 Beauseant and Glavis have come to gloat. They are ac- 
 costed by Mehiotte, who reminds them that he has kept 
 his oath ; thjat they are done with him and his ; that he 
 was Pauline's betrayer, he is now her protector; and he 
 orders them to be gone. Pauline, uncomfortable in the 
 inn where all are rude and boisterous, comes to Melnotte 
 for safety and he begs her to accompany him to a cottage 
 close at hand, where she will be more secure from vulgar 
 eyes and tongues, and he leads her towards his mother's 
 home. 
 
 The widow has been apprised of their coming by a line 
 so blotted she could scarce read it. She is bustling 
 about preparing supper when they enter. Her greeting 
 surprises Pauline, and further words make it plain that 
 he is Melnotte, a peasant, and her anger rises, she hys- 
 terically repeats his description of his palace, and per- 
 ceiving herself the jeer and byword of all Lyons, bids 
 him kill her and save his wife from madness, and de- 
 mands his reason for crushing her so, Melnotte tells 
 her that pride caused angels to fall before her time, and 
 that because of pride the evil spirit of a bitter love and 
 a revengeful heart had power upon her. He relates his 
 early romance, his toils to deserve her love, his confes- 
 sion and the disdain it received, the plot to humble her 
 so eagerly furthered, his struggle, anguish, and remorse. 
 He assures her that reparation to the full shall be given, 
 that her fraudful marriage is void, that he will restore 
 her to her parents and the law shall do her justice. He 
 calls his mother and commits to her care their honored 
 guest, and is left alone with his shame. 
 
 The fourth act is at the cottage. Day is breaking. 
 
336 PLAYS OF BULWEE 
 
 Melnotte is writing. His mother approves of the course 
 he has decided upon, and has no reproaches, but her 
 heart bleeds for him. He goes to send off messengers and 
 Pauline joins the widow, noting his consideration in ab- 
 senting himself. The two women converse. Claude is 
 their only theme, and Pauline learns how long and fond- 
 ly the gardener's son has worshiped her. Beauseant 
 comes to the door, tells the widow her son wants to see 
 her, then enters the cottage and urges Pauline to fly 
 with him. Again repulsed, he draws a pistol and is 
 about to seize her, when he is dashed across the room by 
 Melnotte who has returned. Pauline faints at the sight 
 of her husband's danger, but Beauseant retires with- 
 out firing his pistol. Pauline recovers just as the wid- 
 ow returns with the news that Monsieur Deschappelles 
 and his friends are at hand. All Pauline's anger has 
 vanished and her pride has changed. She is anxious 
 to remain with Melnotte, and seeks to induce him to 
 ask her to stay, but though his task is thus made 
 harder, he will not take advantage of her goodness. Her 
 parents and Damas enter and all upbraid the peasant. 
 Melnotte reminds the soldier that he was spared when 
 unarmed, and Damas, recognizing something fine in the 
 fellow, ceases to taunt and seeks to aid. Melnotte gives 
 to Pauline's father the necessary papers and promises 
 to rid them of his presence and in some other land mourn 
 his sin and pray for Pauline's peace. The widow begs 
 him not to leave her; no divorce can separate a mother 
 from her son, and Pauline becomes courageous, declares 
 all forgotten and forgiven, and announces her desire 
 to remain. But Melnotte will not rob her of holier ties. 
 
THE LADY OF LYONS 337 
 
 Her husband should be one who can look her in the face 
 without blushing. He is not that man and he accepts 
 Damas's offer of service in his regiment which starts for 
 Italy at once. 
 
 The fifth act is in Lyons. Two years and a half have 
 elapsed and the soldiers are returning. Officers are dis- 
 cussing Damas, who is now a general, and his friend 
 Morier, who interests all by his melancholy, his valor, 
 and his brilliant rise. Damas confides that Morier hopes 
 to find a miracle in Lyons — a constant woman. Beau- 
 seant passes and is accosted by the general, who learns 
 that Pauline has consented to annul her marriage with 
 Melnotte and unite herself to Beauseant. The papers 
 are to be signed to-day and Damas is invited to be pres- 
 ent. Melnotte joins Damas. He has heard the news and 
 is despairing and in grief. The general suggests that 
 Melnotte accompany him to the house. His dress, his 
 cloak, his moustache and bronzed hue will prevent any- 
 one from recognizing him, and thus he may see her and 
 perhaps learn something. 
 
 In a room of the Deschappelles residence Pauline in 
 great dejection is thanked by her father for consenting 
 to save his name from disgrace. Her repugnance to the 
 step he has urged is so evident, that he will rather face 
 the ruin than spoil her Hf e, but she tells him she is not 
 ungrateful, only human, and since there is no other hope 
 she is prepared. Congratulations are a mockery ; she is 
 reconciled to her doom. She appeals toi Beauseant to be 
 generous and save the father but spare the child. He 
 replies that he has not the sublime virtue to grant her 
 prayer. Damas enters and introduces Colonel Morier, 
 
338 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 and while others are engaged with the hero the general 
 gathers from Pauline the circumstances which compel 
 the barter of her hand. Damas cannot help her, but 
 Morier is the intimate friend of Melnotte and by him 
 she might send some message to soften the blow. Paul- 
 ine approaches Melnotte; she is ashamed and dare not 
 look up at the colonel, who must despise her. She asks 
 him to convey to Melnotte the assurance that she would 
 rather walk the world by his side, work, beg for him, 
 than wear a crown; that if he could read her heart he 
 would pardon the desertion; that her father is on an 
 abyss and calls his child to save him, and she must not 
 shrink; they will meet in heaven. A few words with 
 Damas acquaints Melnotte of the impending bankruptcy, 
 and when the contract is about to be signed, he seizes and 
 destroys it, putting forward his prior claim and giving 
 more than the needed sum, and speaking in his natural 
 voice, which is recognized by Pauline, who rushes into 
 her husband's arms. It is quickly explained how as 
 Morier he rose from rank to rank until he could again 
 bear his father's name spotless, and he is Morier no more 
 after this happy day. 
 
RICHELIEU 
 
 IN this heroic play the purposes and characteristics of 
 the cardinal-statesman who made France great, and 
 consolidated the power of its monarchy, are eluci- 
 dated and displayed. He opposed a king 's passion which 
 was fostered by his foes, and preferred to surrender 
 power and allow his patriotic labors in recreating the in- 
 stitutions of his country to be undone, rather than abate 
 his resistance to a monarch's unrighteous design. The 
 benefits he conferred and the motives which inspired him 
 are recounted as his titles to renown, the courage and 
 resolution with which he defied opposition and carried 
 to completion his aims are shown as incentives to emu- 
 lation, and the tenderness and disregard of kingly wrath 
 manifested in the fulfillment of his duty as protector of 
 the innocent are adduced as qualities which establish a 
 fonder claim on human sympathy than the distresses 
 which accumulated upon him. Santine's La Maitresse 
 de Louis XIII suggested the plot, but the fable, inci- 
 dents, and persons of the play bear little resemblance to 
 those of the romance. 
 
 A great character — combining hero, statesman, pa- 
 triot, and priest ; a great event — a conspiracy to admit 
 the foreigner into France ; great situations — a minister 
 humiliated by his king, yet not quailing ; a cardinal in- 
 terposing the Aegis of Rome between a monarch and his 
 
340 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 victim; a dying statesman reanimated by power con- 
 ferred anew — these receive adequate expression and rep- 
 resentation in noble verse and virile figures to which 
 have been imparted distinction, endurance, and anima- 
 tion, the signs of the mind of a man. 
 
 An oddity of effect pertaining to all dramatic repre- 
 sentation is illustrated in Richelieu. The destiny of 
 France is involved in the fate of the cardinal, the audi- 
 ence is aware that the Spaniard will dictate at Paris if 
 the conspiracy succeeds, yet the emotional response to 
 the agony of the minister who foresees the coming woes 
 is slight and limited in comparison to the ready and fer- 
 vent sympathy evoked by the sorrows of Julie ; and it is 
 the relation of the old man to the orphan — age guard- 
 \ ing innocence — which arousesi general pity, not the mis- 
 \^\ fortunes impending upon the country, nor the reverses 
 V^^/'pf a devoted patriot. 
 
 Richelieu is menaced by a conspiracy which seeks to de- 
 stroy him, to tamper with the army in the field, and to 
 f-^' use his ward who has charmed the king as an instrument 
 to ensure success. He hastens Julie's marriage with De 
 Mauprat to thwart the domestic scheme, arranges to in- 
 tercept a dispatch intended for the commander of the 
 army and thus defeat the larger plot, and by an addition 
 to the number of his guards he provides for his personal 
 safety. But the cardinal's plans all fail, the marriage 
 is annulled by Louis, Francois is despoiled of the papers 
 and the captain of the troops turns traitor. 
 
 Julie, separated from her husband and tempted by the 
 king, seeks refuge with Richelieu, and De Mauprat en- 
 ters the minister's castle bent on slaying him. Finding 
 
RICHELIEU 341 
 
 his wife safe with her guardian and perceiving that he 
 has been duped by his false friend, the chevalier becomes 
 assiduous in defense. Enemies are everywhere, so the 
 cardinal feigns death and the news is carried to the plot- 
 ters at Paris, who to prevent possible confessions prompt- 
 ly imprison the message-bearers. 
 
 Richelieu 's reported assassination gives encouragement 
 to the conspirators and when, surprising all, he enters 
 the presence of the monarch and reports the planned 
 murder, his demand for justice is denied. Posts of honor 
 are conferred upon the cardinal's foes, who promise to 
 secure Julie's return to the court, and Richelieu, an- 
 ticipating dismissal, and more enfeebled by fear for 
 France if his policies are reversed than by his ailments, 
 attends the king to surrender his portfolios. The report 
 of conditions everywhere save in Prance alarms Louis 
 and he perceives that his court has no capable successor 
 to the cardinal whose life appears to be ebbing away. 
 Francois has recovered the lost dispatch and brings it to 
 Richelieu, who desires the king to read it. Learning 
 from this document the real designs of his pretended 
 friends and his own imminent danger, Louis begs his old 
 minister to live and rule with absolute power, and, re- 
 vivified by the restoration to authority, the cardinal 
 rises, orders the arrest of the conspirators, issues in- 
 structions to the envoys, wins clemency for Julie and De 
 Mauprat, and resumes his position as minister of France. 
 
 The incidents which are links in this chain of events 
 increase in importance, impressiveness, and poignancy as 
 the action progresses, and each discloses a different phase 
 of the many-sided patriot-priest. His familiar unbend- 
 
342 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 ings with Joseph and his resignation to a state of phys- 
 ical weakness, since he is able to wield a mightier weapon 
 than the sword, are followed by the revelation of his 
 minute information, his earnestness, and his grim irony, 
 together with his rapid appreciation of manliness in De 
 Mauprat. The soliloquy wherein he defends his use of 
 equivocal means by the glorious ends accomplished, un- 
 folds his ambition and designs, and discloses the latent 
 justice which denies happiness to him. His ardent in- 
 terest in the young gives warmth and gentleness to the 
 grave but encouraging words by which he restores con- 
 fidence and hope to Francois. His colloquy with the king 
 is distinguished by the sustained dignity mth which he 
 recounts his services, sweeps aside all rivalry, asserts his 
 confidence in future justice, and proudly disdains all 
 temporizing. His defiance of Baradas is matchless for 
 its denunciatory intensity. And the potency of his will 
 to triumph over bodily exhaustion is startliagly evi- 
 denced when with the new grant of power fresh life 
 seems to invigorate his frame and he rises from his couch 
 to crush his foes and complete his projects. 
 
 The figures whose cooperations and antagonisms at- 
 tract attention to and from the great cardinal are such 
 as the circumstances and the time associated with the 
 minister. The shrewd, tactful, and unscupulous Ca- 
 puchin Joseph, the eager, devoted, and persevering 
 Francois, the frail confidence-betrayer Marion, and the 
 traitor-spy Huguet are such instruments as Richelieu 
 availed himself of — for beneficent ends using devious 
 means — and they reflect the enthusiasm he inspired in 
 those to whom he deigned to be gracious. Julie arouses 
 
RICHELIEU 343 
 
 the deepest interest, the innocence, grief, and danger of 
 the young wife make a stronger appeal to emotion than 
 the vicissitudes of the statesman, for she is a representa- 
 tive of the race and her peril comes home to all, he of 
 the passing generation, and political misfortunes are 
 only comprehended by the few. The fatherly tenderness 
 of the old man to the young orphan wins sympathy for 
 both which deepens into awe when he throws around her 
 the august protection of the Church. De Mauprat, the 
 frank and highminded chevalier who, misled by the sus- 
 picions plausibly insinuated by his rival, is confused into 
 doubt, error, and almost into crime, is a worthy specimen 
 of that noblesse which cheerfully dared all danger and 
 preferred death to baseness. The unstable Gaston, Bar- 
 adas, the ennobled knave inebriate with unmerited suc- 
 cess, De Beringhen, whose chief business in life is eat- 
 ing — these envious coveters of power, who by their con- 
 trol to the austere demeanor of Richelieu win temporary 
 favor T^^th the timorous, selfish king, are the complaisant 
 and sycophantic creatures natural to such a court as that 
 of Louis XIII. 
 
 Richelieu's personality dominates the play, and his 
 designs, methods, and traits of character are compacted 
 into a comprehensive portrait which impresses by its 
 qualities of grandeur and concentrated will. And though 
 the cardinal is exhibited only in kindly and noble ac- 
 tions — evincing human emotion in fatherlike cherishing 
 of the weak and moral strength in his devotion to a sub- 
 lime abstraction — the alloy of evil in the aspiring states- 
 man is not ignored ; the fact that men conspired against 
 his rule is but one indication of grave faults in the min- 
 
344 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 ister and he reveals his own consciousness that undue 
 severity has accompanied the carrying out of his meas- 
 ures. 
 
 The creation of a united and powerful France was the 
 object of Richelieu's every act and thought. He disre- 
 garded an agonizing disease and overtasked a feeble con- 
 stitution in his endeavors to compass that achievement. 
 His agents were spies, courtesans, and priests, he was 
 ruthless in dealing with opposition and sent many to the 
 headsman, but never one who was not an enemy to France 
 — no merely private foe was ever his victim. And de- 
 spite the caprices of an ailing king whose bodily in- 
 firmities rivalled his own, despite intrigues, plots, and 
 treasons, before he died, worn out at fifty-seven, he had 
 established order, reformed the administration, de- 
 stroyed feudalism, exacted restitution from the Church, 
 enlarged the army, created a navy, and made France 
 safe, strong, and paramount among the nations. 
 
 The white-haired, deep-eyed, sharp-visaged man whose 
 pain-racked frame housed an indomitable will and a 
 large-visioned mind was a strange blending of seemingly 
 incongruous qualities. Ever oscillating between ex- 
 tremes of arrogance and humility, sternness and play, 
 courage and timidity, high ambitions and petty desires; 
 subjecting France to iron rule he submitted to tjrranny 
 from his own domestics. The most powerful of states- 
 men, he yearned for fame as a poet. When the queen- 
 mother visited him he received her capped and in the 
 purple. Her majesty stood and he sat. When a half- 
 dozen mediocre authors were engaged in criticising his 
 
RICHELIEU 345 
 
 verses, they were seated and wore their hats while the 
 cardinal stood bare-headed. 
 
 His manner was as variable as his moods. His move- 
 ments were at times quick and impulsive, at others lan- 
 ^id and slow. At one moment he seemed a dying 
 man, soon he would display unusual vivacity and energy. 
 The scornful contempt long bestowed upon rivals would 
 suddenly be abandoned for a serious appraisement of 
 their merits. He could be a gay flatterer, an adroit 
 courtier, an impassioned orator, and he knew how to 
 praise. Generally fervidly earnest in discourse, he did 
 not disdain the resort to familiar cajolery, and cynical 
 irony was a frequently used weapon. 
 
 His judgment of character seemed unerring. The men 
 whom he preferred to office proved themselves able, loyal, 
 and worthy, and his penetration into motives and rapid 
 decision as to actions were as remarkable as the thorough- 
 ness with which he kept himself informed of antagonistic 
 movements. 
 
 In displaying the patriot-minister, a juster view of the 
 man is presented than is usually adopted by writers. 
 Bulwer's characterization of Richelieu is the result of in- 
 dependent study and research. He condemned the nu- 
 merous exaggerations of the cardinal's cruelty and wrote 
 as follows in accounting for the deeper impression cre- 
 ated by his punishments than his achievements : 
 
 ' ' Compare the One Man with the Multiform People, — 
 compare Richelieu with the Republic. How much wiser 
 in his generation is the One Man! Richelieu, with his 
 errors, his crimes, his foibles, and his cruelties, marches 
 
346 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 invariably to one result and obtains it ; — he overthrows 
 but to construct — he destroys but to establish ; — he de- 
 sired to create a great monarchy, and he succeeded. The 
 People — with crimes to which those of the One Man 
 seem fair and spotless, — with absurdities which turn 
 the Tragedy of Massacre into Farce, — with energies to 
 which all individual strength is as the leaf upon the 
 whirlpool, — sets up a democracy as the bridge to a des- 
 potism. And suddenly the Soldier with the iron crown 
 of the Lombard fills, solitary and sublime, the vast 
 space where the loud Democracy roared and swayed. 
 And this because in the individual there is continuity of 
 ^f purpose. The One is a man, the Many a child. 
 
 **Like all men who rise to supreme power, the great 
 Cardinal had the characteristics of the time and the na- 
 tion that he wielded. In his faults or in his merits he 
 was eminently French. He represented the want of the 
 French People at the precise period in their history in 
 which Providence placed him as its tool: he reduced 
 provinces into a nation: he forced discordant elements, 
 whether plebian or patrician, into order ; he did not malie 
 the people free, nor were they fit for it ; but out of riot- 
 ous and barbarous factions he called forth orderly sub- 
 jects, and a rough undeveloped system of civil govern- 
 ment. He never once appeared as the enemy of the Mul- 
 titude: his cruelty was directed against their enemies. 
 In an early state of civilization the worst foe to the 
 country is the powerful baron, whose intrigues are 
 hatched under the helmet, and whose threat is civil war. 
 The traitor to the King is in these times the traitor to 
 the country. The silken and graceful Cinq Mars, in re- 
 
RICHELIEU 347 
 
 belling against the monarch who had heaped him with 
 favors, aims at introducing the foreigner into France. 
 In all those contests for power, in which we see the worn, 
 anxious, solemn image of the Cardinal-Minister, with 
 his terrible familiars of Spy and Hangman, he is still 
 on that side where the French Nation should have ranged, 
 building up the school beside the throne, and making at 
 least a State, though the time and the men had not yet 
 arrived for the creation of a people. But it was pre- 
 cisely because his cruelties (with some rare exceptions 
 when his religious opinions, in common with those of the 
 Catholics of the age, pushed him into intolerance) were 
 exercised, not against the mean but the great, that in the 
 very rank of their tyrants the ignorant multitude saw 
 greater cause for compassion, and condemned the rigid 
 severity that alone preserved them from feudal outrage 
 and civil war. It is true that Richelieu was often thus 
 personally unpopular, but that is the general lot of those 
 who boldly and sternly represent the People. ' ' 
 
 The play opens in the house of Marion de Lorme, which 
 the conspirators have chosen as the safest meeting place. 
 Baradas has arranged that at the given signal Bouillon 
 with his army will join the Spaniards, march on Paris, 
 dethrone the king, install Orleans as regent and con- 
 stitute a new council calling their friends to the impor- 
 tant positions. To assure complete success, RicheUeu^s 
 assassination is necessary and Baradas charges himself 
 with the duty of procuring his removal. De Mauprat 
 has been playing at dice while the conference was pro- 
 ceeding. He has lost heavily but shows no sign of dis- 
 
348 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 appointment. There is something in his demeanor that 
 provokes curiosity and Baradas determines to learn what 
 secret causes his contrasting behavior; presuming on 
 their boyhood intimacy he questions De Mauprat, who in- 
 forms him that he daily expects a summons to the gal- 
 lows, that he participated in one of Orleans' revolts, and 
 was omitted from the general pardon by the cardinal, on 
 the ground that in one enterprise he had acted without 
 orders, for which death is the penalty; that Richelieu 
 had given him opportunity to change the traitor's scaf- 
 fold for the soldier's grave and sent him against the 
 Spaniards, but seeking death he could not die ; and when 
 the cardinal reviewing the troops beheld him he grimly 
 observed that he had shunned the sword, but the axe 
 would fall one day. Baradas thinks he has here the in- 
 strument for slaying the cardinal and invites him to join 
 the conspiracy and assist in freeing France from the 
 tyrant, but De Mauprat refuses to be an assassin. Riche- 
 lieu is needed, he is not. Further queries lead Baradas 
 to discover in his companion a rival in love, and he de- 
 termines to make him a victim since he will not be a 
 murderer. As they are leaving the apartment the agents 
 of the cardinal arrest De Mauprat ; his suspense is over. 
 Richelieu and his confidant, Joseph, are discussing the 
 new conspiracy of which spies have informed them. 
 Their penetration enables them to see many weaknesses 
 in their foe's arrangements, and one detail angers the 
 minister. His orphan-ward has charmed the king, and 
 Baradas schemes to make her useful by marrying her as 
 a cloak for the king's designs, and that indignity the 
 cardinal determines to prevent. Julie is announced, and 
 
RICHELIEU 349 
 
 Richelieu questions her, fearing that she may care for 
 the king or for Baradas. Her answers reassure and con- 
 vince him that De Mauprat is the object of her prefer- 
 ence. He bids her forget him. Huguet reports that De 
 Mauprat waits below and Julie manifests a betraying 
 concern and anxiety, begging the cardinal not to rank 
 Adrian among his foes. She is told to wait in the tap- 
 estry chamber while the chevalier is interrogated, and 
 De Mauprat is brought in. Richelieu reminds him of the 
 clemency shown him three years ago requited by evil 
 living, wassail, gambling, dishonesty, and fraud. De 
 Mauprat indignantly demands that these words be un- 
 said, and Huguet, waiting behind a screen to protect the 
 cardinal, raises his carbine. With a wave of his hand 
 Richelieu deters Huguet, remarking : ' ' Messire de Mau- 
 prat is a patient man and he can wait. ' ' Turning again 
 to the chevalier he tells him the amount he owes, and 
 says he must pay his debts. De Mauprat 's answers are 
 bold, frank, but respectful, and please the cardinal, who 
 rising impressively describes the condition in which he 
 found his country, his labors to recreate France, the jus- 
 tice of his rule, and the evil judgments men circulate 
 about him. He declares he intends to make De Mauprat 
 his champion to confute the detractors; he shall be rich 
 and great, and in return shall accept from Richelieu a 
 bride whose dower shall match but not exceed her beau- 
 ty. The chevalier demurs, he has no wish to marry. 
 Richelieu charges him with loving his ward Julie, which 
 De Mauprat admits, advancing that as a reason why he 
 cannot consent to other nuptials. He would rather meet 
 the fate he looked for. Rapidly and sternly Richelieu 
 
350 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 orders Huguet to conduct his prisoner to the tapestry 
 chamber. Then Joseph is instructed to prepare the 
 house by the Luxembourg for a bridal present for Julie, 
 who weds tomorrow. De Mauprat, expecting death, has 
 found himself in the presence of the woman for whom 
 he braved it, and doubtful of their good fortune Julie 
 and he come forward, are assured that they are not 
 dreaming, and the cardinal blesses his children. 
 
 The second act begins in De Mauprat 's new house. 
 Baradas, intent on ruining his successful rival, has com- 
 municated both the secret of his unexpiated offense and 
 his marriage with Julie to the king, who has declared 
 the nuptials contrary to law, and has ordered De Mau- 
 prat, on penalty of death, to refrain from communicat- 
 ing with Julie. Baradas persuades De Mauprat that 
 he has been snared by Richelieu, that the pretended 
 favors are blinds to facilitate the suit of the king, who 
 is infatuated with Julie, and he again urges the cheva- 
 lier to join the conspiracy and revenge his wrongs while 
 delivering his country. De Mauprat is confounded and 
 distracted and requires time to think. The sight of man 
 is loathsome, and he goes into the gardens. Meanwhile 
 Julie has been summoned to the Louvre and this extra- 
 ordinary command, together with the perturbed and 
 strange behavior of her husband, cause anxious misgiv- 
 ings. De Mauprat returning finds that his wife has 
 gone in the king's carriage. The insinuations of Bara- 
 das seem confirmed, and concluding that he has been 
 misused and outraged by Richelieu, he joins in the plot 
 to destroy him. 
 
 Particulars of the conspiracy are accumulating and 
 
RICHELIEU 351 
 
 the cardinal's contemptuous levity is changed by the 
 information Marion de Lorme brings to him and he rec- 
 ognizes that there is danger which it will tax his re- 
 sources to circumvent. A dispatch is to be sent to Bou- 
 illon, and the interception of that document would place 
 the cardinal's foes in his power. Marion can choose the 
 messenger and Francois is entrusted with the duty of 
 receiving it, and because another agent is needed, against 
 Joseph's advice Huguet is to be promoted to greater 
 power. That individual overhears that certain personal 
 requests he has made are to be promised as an incentive 
 to faithfulness, but not complied with because too un- 
 reasonable, and therefore he becomes a traitor. 
 
 The third act discloses Richelieu in a gothic chamber 
 of his castle, reading and soliloquizing about his own 
 career and acts. He has done great things by such in- 
 struments as he could command. These have not always 
 been commendable, but no selfish aim has ever degraded 
 his ambition. All his energies have been expended for 
 France, yet happiness has not rewarded his efforts. 
 Francois enters hastily and asks the cardinal to punish 
 him, for he received the package but it was wrested 
 from him by an armed man who avowed designs on Rich- 
 elieu 's life. The cardinal tells him the treasure meant 
 honor, which is more than life ; that he must track the 
 robber and regain the despatch; he has not failed, 
 there's no such word as fail; and with renewed courage 
 Francois goes back to his task. Julie comes for protec- 
 tion. The king having commanded her attendance at 
 the palace, at night sought her chamber and when re- 
 pulsed sent Baradas, who told her that De Mauprat 
 
352 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 knew the king's purpose and deemed it honor; and she, 
 recalling her husband's mystery in words, looks, acts, 
 begins to see an impost er where she had loved a god. 
 Richelieu remarks that he thinks she wrongs De Mau- 
 prat, but bids her proceed. She relates how the queen 
 preserved her and secured egress from the Louvre, how 
 she hastened to her home and found it desolate and so 
 came hither. The cardinal assures her that she wrongs 
 her husband and conducts her to her room. When Riche- 
 lieu returns he is menaced by a figure in complete 
 armor who threatens death. Undauntedly the cardinal 
 proclaims that earth has no parricide who dares in 
 Richelieu murder France, and asks what cause has led 
 to such a purpose. The intruder relates his tale of sup- 
 posed wrongs, bids the cardinal expect no mercy,' and 
 lifting his visor reveals De Mauprat. With lofty pity 
 Richelieu shows how he has been duped, calls Julie as 
 proof of his statements, and composes their misunder- 
 standing. De Mauprat, perceiving his error, now be- 
 stirs himself to save the cardinal, whose castle is filled 
 with armed foes. Escape being impossible, Richelieu 
 eke's out the lion's skin with the fox's and feigns death. 
 As other conspirators burst into the room the doors of 
 the recess wherein he lies are thrown open by De Mau- 
 prat, who cries "Live the king, Richelieu is dead!" and 
 eager for promised reward, all rush back to Paris with 
 the tidings. 
 
 Orleans and De Beringhen, dubious of the success of 
 the plot, are arranging for their own safety if the plans 
 miscarry. Baradas has prepared for the quick punish- 
 ment of his agents if they succeed. Huguet brings news 
 
RICHELIEU 353 
 
 of Richelieu's murder and demands the promised re- 
 ward. He is sent, a gagged prisoner, to the Bastile. 
 Francois reports the theft of the despatch hy an armed 
 man who watched without. In alann they conclude this 
 must have heen De Mauprat and order Francois to find 
 him. 
 
 In the fourth act Louis XIII appears. He half re- 
 grets Richelieu's death, not knowing who can govern 
 France ; he is half glad that a restraint is removed from 
 his own actions; he pities himself because on so prom- 
 ising a day it would be indecorous for him to hunt, and 
 he resents the loss of Julie, which he attributes to the 
 cardinal's want of love for him. De Mauprat, eager to 
 punish Baradas' duplicity, enters in search of that con- 
 spirator. Francois asks him about the despatch, but be- 
 fore an answer can be given Baradas is seen, and De 
 Mauprat orders him to draw and they are fighting when 
 the king enters. Baradas protests that his crime was 
 self-defense and informs the monarch that his adver- 
 sary is Julie's husband. De Mauprat is ordered to the 
 Bastile. At this moment, to the consternation of king 
 and courtiers His Eminence the Cardinal Richelieu and 
 his attendants enter and be Mauprat calls upon the 
 minister for protection. The cardinal takes the writ 
 from the guard. Louis, determined to exercise author- 
 ity himself, confirms the sentence and De Mauprat is re- 
 moved. In the meanwhile Francois has elicited the name 
 of him to whom the despatch was given. Richelieu 
 fiercely demands uninterrupted audience with the king, 
 who, prompted by Baradas, persists in disregarding the 
 minister's demand for justice, and leaves him disgraced 
 
354 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 and powerless. Joseph suggests to Richelieu that he 
 should have been less haughty, relates fresh instances of 
 the activities of their foes, and sees that nothing can save 
 them now but the production of the despatch. Julie de- 
 mands her husband, who saved the cardinal's life. Riche- 
 lieu, more concerned for her trouble than his own, tries 
 to comfort her, but has to tell her that De Mauprat is 
 in the Bastile. Joseph acquaints her with the king's 
 anger and the present inability of Richelieu to help any- 
 one. A courtier comes commanded by the king to pray 
 Julie's presence. Richelieu orders him away, and is 
 leading his ward out when Baradas comes to enforce the 
 king's orders. The cardinal with terrible energy turns, 
 and threatens him with the curse of Rome if he or any- 
 one dares to approach her. The effort exhausts the weak- 
 ened old man ; he sinks and appears to swoon. The cow- 
 ering Baradas regards his fainting as an indication of 
 failing powers, but he retires knowing that his head is in 
 jeopardy. 
 
 In the fifth act, Joseph fails in an attempt to bribe his 
 way to Huguet. De Beringhen has better success and 
 good-naturedly obtains admission for Francois, who rep- 
 resents himself as Huguet 's son. De Beringhen by force 
 secures the package and as he emerges from the prison- 
 er's cell Francois seizes and struggles with him. 
 
 Baradas and Orleans see all their plans near realiza- 
 tion, their only disturbing fear being lest the despatch 
 finds its way to Richelieu. The king makes Baradas min- 
 ister and confers upon Orleans the baton of his armies. 
 Julie petitions the monarch for her husband's life but is 
 
RICHELIEU 355 
 
 referred to Baradas, who promises to free De Mauprat 
 if she will become his wife, otherwise her husband 's fate 
 is sealed. Julie offers to separate from De Mauprat and 
 enter a convent if his life is spared, but Baradas declares 
 he will not lose her, and orders De Mauprat to be 
 brought in a prisoner to pass to death unless she saves 
 him, and he seizes Julie's hand. That touch decides 
 them — they choose death. The cardinal, apparently on 
 the verge of the grave, attends the king to deliver up the 
 ledgers of a realm and spare his majesty some pains of 
 conscience by resigning office. As one by one the secre- 
 taries describe the condition of their departments, about 
 which Baradas has no practical advice, affairs appear so 
 critical that the king repents the change he has made, 
 since there is no one else with Richelieu's ability. 
 
 The cardinal is very weak. In depriving him of power 
 they crush his heart and his enfeebled frame can scarce 
 sustain the agony with which he perceives his policies 
 which have made France great being thrown to the 
 winds. Francois has been wounded but he brings the 
 despatch to Richelieu, who hands it to the king, whom it 
 most concerns. Louis reads and discovers the pur- 
 poses of his supposed friends. The cardinal sinks su- 
 pine. The king, alarmed, beseeches him to live to re- 
 sume sway and reign with absolute power. Revived by 
 restoration to his place and authority, Richelieu rises, 
 gives quick instructions to the secretaries, orders Bara- 
 das away, "he has lost the stake," destroys the death- 
 warrant of De Mauprat and bids Julie embrace her hus- 
 band. The king observes pee\dshly that one moment 
 
356 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 makes a startling cure and Richelieu replies that the 
 might of France passed into his withered frame in that 
 moment. 
 
 The conspiracy is foiled, the cardinal is restored to 
 power, and Julie and De Mauprat are forgiven. 
 
THE RIGHTFUL HEIR 
 
 THE story of the sin of a mother whose undue par- 
 tiality for a younger son impelled her to deny and 
 attempt to defraud her firstborn, is utilized in this 
 tragic play to show the defeat of a fraudulent design by 
 affection, and the withering of worthy ambitions by re- 
 morse. Its characters fill important stations in the so- 
 cial life of the haughtiest days of England's nobility. 
 Its period is that of the Spanish Armada and its catas- 
 trophe the sacrifice of wealth and title — the things men 
 value more than life. It is rich in incident, sentiment, 
 and situations. 
 
 Poems which take for their subject the acts of per- 
 sons previously distinguished, more quickly win favor 
 than those wherein the author creates his characters. 
 Unknown heroes excite only a limited interest until time 
 has enlarged our familiarity with them so as to make an 
 impression of reality. The personages of The Rightful 
 Heir are unusual but enduring varieties of human life, ;JP 
 but they have not the foundation in the actual which se-/ 
 cures immediate faith in their existence. 
 
 The chief and highest character is the Countess-mother 
 whose preference for the offspring of a second marriage 
 leads her to plot against the firstborn, and nearly causes 
 the destruction of both. The combination of pride, iron 
 will, and waxen heart, the opposition of an affection 
 
358 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 which, circumstances surround with dignity, against a 
 love never ardent and only revivified by admiration and 
 sympathy, her ambition and her weakness, provide emo- 
 tional conflicts of an uncommon kind. She is proud of 
 her name, her station, her ancestry, her repute, and 
 haughtily stern to everyone but her favorite son. The 
 memory of her early imprudent marriage is reminiscent 
 of humiliation and shame ; the child of her low-born hus- 
 band never had much of her love nor any of her atten- 
 tion and his reported death years ago was the more read- 
 ily credited because it relieved her of the dread of de- 
 grading disclosures. The child born of more august 
 nuptials was hers entirely, the recipient of her care, the 
 reflection of her pride, the object of her ambitions, her 
 comfort and her companion. The habit and custom of a 
 life made the latter-bom the best beloved. 
 
 When Vyvian relates his history she realizes that he 
 is her son, that they both have been deceived, cheated, 
 and wronged, and her heart yearns to comfort and claim 
 him, but the remembrance of the other to whom luxury 
 and wealth have become necessities, makes her resolve to 
 temporize and if need be repudiate the elder and pre- 
 serve the inheritance for her younger son. Calling craft 
 to her aid she seeks to hinder discovery by the lure of 
 marriage with Eveline and immediate departure in Vy- 
 vian *s ship. 
 
 Thwarted through the machinations of the poor cou- 
 sin, pleaded with and confronted by proofs, her denials 
 and rejection grow weak before the earnestness and ten- 
 derness of Vyvian. And the war of two affections ends 
 in the displacement of the favorite, but the generosity of 
 
THE RIGHTFUL HEIR 359 
 
 the heir is as great as his love ; he relinquishes his rights. 
 He has found the mother he sought and that suffices. 
 
 When Vyvian's disappearance and Clarence's dejec- 
 tion arouse in her the fear that a crime she suspects but 
 dare not name has robbed her of one son and imperilled 
 the other her emotions and anxieties become tragically 
 intense. After all else seems to have been lost she would 
 yield up her own life to save that of Clarence. 
 
 The poor cousin whose abilities were suppressed and 
 denied scope and opportunity because of his nearness to 
 a great inheritance is an original and profoundly im- 
 pressive character. His equivocal position enables his 
 elders to disappoint his every youthful and pure ambi- 
 tion and constrains him to restrict the activities of an 
 aspiring mind to the services of more fortunate kinsmen 
 whose mental inferiority he despises. The enforced de- 
 pendent condition makes him coveteous, and humilia- 
 tions to which he is subjected embitter his disposition. 
 The deference of others to the wealth he sees but does 
 not share, their subserviency to his equals, their insolence 
 to himself, make him a scomer of all. His talents de- 
 generate into cunning, his passions into malice, his pride 
 remains but is shown now in an ostentatious obtrusion of 
 his poverty. The earldom which has prevented his use- 
 ful activity is regarded as his due and the lives whose 
 rights interfere with his are obstructions to be removed. 
 He employs his intellect in weaving plots to secure his 
 succession and stings those who have fared better than 
 himself. The apparent success of his schemes turns his 
 head, and from indulging anticipations of coming great- 
 ness he begins to fancy himself already in possession and 
 
360 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 rehearses the part as he intends to play it, and when all 
 his plans are frustrated, his scorn of humanity survives 
 his failures and he desires to be buried in the grave of 
 his dog. 
 
 Vy vian 's characteristics partake of those of the adven- 
 turous men of his day. The enthusiasm of the poet, the 
 chivalry of the knight, and the daring of the sea-rover 
 blend in the youth who, trained by a priest, was incited 
 to become a sailor by wild tales of new-discovered lands. 
 Perplexed by mysteries of his life, yearning for knowl- 
 edge of his parentage, surviving misfortunes, hardships, 
 and danger, and acquiring wealth despite all his handi- 
 caps, the first brief interval of rest is devoted to the search 
 for his betrothed and enquiring into his birth. Rejected 
 by the mother so longed for, his tenderness gives way to 
 passion and he dares the threatened indignity with which 
 his appeal is received, but when the countess, quailing 
 before his determination, admits his claim, his affection 
 resumes dominance and his native magnanimity prompts 
 the surrender of all he might claim, for wealth and title 
 he sought not, and they are of little worth compared to 
 the mother he has gained. 
 
 The younger son is more than a passive agent, haughty, 
 imperious, and courageous as befits one taught to brook 
 no rival, to endure no superior, his hopes and purposes 
 are patriotic and lofty, his speech frank and undissimu- 
 lating, and, until another is preferred by his cousin and 
 favored by his mother, he is worthy of his race. Art- 
 fully worked upon by the poor cousin he forces a quarrel 
 upon Vyvian and horrified at the unexpected conse- 
 quence becomes a prey to remorse, shunning those whose 
 
THE RIGHTFUL HEIR 361 
 
 actions he had been emulous of sharing because deeming 
 himself the doer of a dishonorable deed. All that his 
 mother's fondness sought to secure him was valueless, 
 and he a burden to himself until Vj^vian's return, disr 
 sipating dread and grief and peril, restored his hopes by 
 clearing his honor. 
 
 In the first act Sir Grrey de Malpas, my lord's poor 
 cousin, learns from a hireling that the heir to Montre- 
 ville, whose death he had plotted years ago, is alive and 
 in the neighborhood. This is a third between himself 
 and the earldom, and he has again to scheme for his re- 
 moval. Vyvian, the heir, having heard that fighting is 
 put off, but hoping that the rumor is false, sends one of 
 his officers to learn the truth from Drake, and occupies 
 the interval by endeavoring to learn something of his 
 birth, and visiting his betrothed. To save time he asks 
 his lieutenant to apprise the priest who reared him of 
 his landing and then hastens to the castle which is Eve- 
 line's present home. The countess has dreamed of her 
 son who died ten years ago, and is perturbed. Her fa- 
 vorite, Clarence, asks about Eveline and is rebuked. It 
 is not meet that he should haunt the steps of one who 
 cannot be his wife. The young man disclaims all thought 
 of wedlock but wants the society of their ward when he 
 returns from hunting, which now attracts him. Eveline 
 is warned by the countess not to build serious expecta- 
 tions on Clarence's flattering attentions, because for him 
 high destinies are anticipated. Sir G-rey informs the 
 countess that her eldest son is not dead as was reported, 
 that he lives and is coming hither, and that she must de- 
 
362 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 tain him as guest until they can arrange to secure and 
 destroy all proofs of his rights. Eveline is musing on 
 her absent lover, and wondering where he is, when Vy- 
 vian enters and answers her questions. The love scene 
 which follows is ended by a beautiful eulogy of the sea. 
 He is introduced to the countess and they enter the castle. 
 
 Seated at table, the sailor relates some of his adven- 
 tures, jesting merrily at his misfortunes but distressing 
 the countess by these relations, which show the heartless- 
 ness of his parents. The recital of his punishment by 
 the pirates is a magnificent declamatory passage. The 
 lovers are seen by Clarence, who is maliciously told by 
 Sir Grey that the stranger's suit to Eveline is approved 
 by his mother. Clarence imperiously interferes, is dis- 
 regarded by Vyvian, and draws his sword, when the 
 countess commands him to abstain from such unseemly 
 conduct and dismisses Sir Grey to soothe and mollify 
 him, then because of this dangerous rivalry she proposes 
 to Vyvian that he marry Eveline at once, and bear his 
 bride away in his ship. She will in the meantime sharp- 
 en law, explore the mystery of his birth, and discover 
 his parents. Thus the terror of a mother will be re- 
 moved and Eveline and himself made happy. Messen- 
 gers bring Vyvian news that the Armada has sailed and 
 that he is wanted by Drake. The countess' plan cannot 
 therefore be carried out; Vyvian must meet his foster- 
 father, say farewell to Eveline and hurry to his ship. 
 
 Vyvian learns from Alton, the priest who watched 
 over his childhood, that Lady Montreville is his mother, 
 and is given letters and documents proving his birth. 
 At once he hastens back to the castle. Sir Grey discerns 
 
THE RIGHTFUL HEIR 363 
 
 him advancing rapidly and whispers to the countess that 
 his eagerness may arise from having learned his birth 
 from Alton. She interrogates Clarence as to his willing- 
 ness to accept a less luxurious station and his answer 
 that if he fell it would be after the Roman fashion on 
 his sword's point hardens her resolution to defend all 
 for him. Sir Grey betrays the countess' scheme to Clar- 
 ence, who forces a quarrel on Vyvian, St. Kinian's cliff 
 being selected as the place. There Vyvian hopes to clasp 
 a brother, and when Eveline anxiously questions about 
 Clarence's purpose, he throws away his sword and as- 
 sures her that both will be safe for one will be unarmed. 
 Sir Grey and his hireling have heard all, and a great pos- 
 sibility reveals itself to the poor cousin. His instrument 
 is instructed to track the brothers but not to interfere 
 until in the duel one is slain. Then his testimony will 
 convict the other and this calamity will kill the countess 
 and the poor cousin will become Earl of Montreville. 
 
 In the interview between Vyvian and his mother, she, 
 determined to protect her youngest son at all risks, de- 
 nies the claim, and would leave the presence of the man 
 who declares himself her son. Before his earnestness and 
 proofs her resolution is weakened, but remembering Clar- 
 ence she turns fiercely, denounces Vyvian as an impostor 
 and calls her people to eject him. Her rejection arouses 
 his wrath. He defies her anger and dares her threats. 
 Realizing the certainty of injurious publicity if she per- 
 sists, the countess dismisses her servants and becomes the 
 petitioner. She confesses that he is her son but entreats 
 him to renounce her and accept a huge dowry with his 
 bride. He refuses to give up the mother so longed for, 
 
364 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 and she, foreseeing that Clarence will not survive the 
 loss of all he has been taught to regard as his own, pre- 
 pares to abandon all to Yyvain and bids him take his 
 revenge. Revolted by her unkindness to himself, his re- 
 sentment is mitigated by the evidence of her tenderness 
 for Clarence, and to the mother who misjudges his af- 
 fection and desires, he gives the papers which jeopardize 
 her favorite's future and turns to leave her. His gener- 
 osity breaks down her determination; she acknowledges 
 and blesses him, though aware that by her act she dis- 
 possesses Clarence. But the heir declares that her bless- 
 ing was the birthright he desires and having won that, 
 Clarence is welcome to all the rest and they may deem 
 him dead. Clarence at the tryst impatiently awaits his 
 rival and the hired bravo is there to compass the de- 
 struction of the survivor. Vyvian's ship signals for him, 
 and he is hastening towards it, but Clarence intercepts 
 him and insists on fighting. Backing away from the 
 lifted sword the sailor loses his footing and falls over the 
 cliff; the bravo crawls after him. Vyvian's ship sails 
 away. 
 
 A year later Alton discovers that Vyvian was not 
 among those who dispersed thei ships of Spain and seeks 
 Sir Grey to learn what befell when with the proofs of 
 his heirship Vyvian came to claim his mother. The poor 
 cousin artfully increases the priest's suspicions by ac- 
 quainting Alton of the rivalry of the brothers. Vyvian 's 
 lieutenant, now that war is over, seeks for his missing 
 captain, and tracking his steps comes upon bleaching 
 bones and articles of clothing belonging to Vyvian. Clar- 
 ence has been a different man ever since the captain's 
 
THE RIGHTFUL HEIR 365 
 
 visit. He has no longer either joy in exercise or ambi- 
 tion for enterprise, and honors sought for him by the 
 countess are declined by the son on the ground that he 
 is unworthy. His demeanor causes his mother to fear 
 that some crime has wrought this alteration and she can- 
 not avoid associating the guilt with Vyvian's visit. The 
 constable, Sir Geoffrey Seymour, has been called to en- 
 quire as to the missing Vyvian, and the discovered bones 
 have been borne into the justice hall, to which the coun- 
 tess and her son are summoned. Sir Grey is active in 
 the investigation. With seeming reluctance he deposes 
 to acts which inculpate, and elicits facts which make it 
 seem that Clarence is a murderer. The countess at- 
 tempts to protect her son but is confronted by Alton, 
 who asks if she conspired to slay her firstborn and if 
 Clarence knew that Vyvian was his brother. The young 
 man, horrified, calls upon his mother to confute the slan- 
 der, but the proofs are overwhelming, and Sir Grey is 
 about to take his unfortunate relations into custody — 
 the step which will make him earl — when an armed sol- 
 dier comes opportunely, asserts that the bones are those 
 of the instrument Sir Grey hired to commit murder, and 
 explains how Vyvian escaped death. Sir Grey in des- 
 peration draws his sword, reasserts that Clarence slew 
 Vyvian, and offers to prove his charge by battle. The 
 soldier removes his helmet and is recognized as Vyvian. 
 He relates how after failing to reach his ship he joined 
 Essex's expedition and has just returned a knight. 
 Riches and title he has no need for, but his bride and 
 his mother and his brother will share them. The world's 
 most royal heritage is his who most enjoys, most loves, 
 and most forgives. 
 
THE HOUSE OF DAENLEY 
 
 UNDER this title, four acts of an uncompleted play 
 by Bulwer, with an incongruous addition by 
 Charles Coghlan, were produced by John Hare 
 at the Court Theatre, October 6, 1877. 
 
 From internal evidence the work appears to have been 
 written before 1842, but the possibility of a satisfactory 
 production never presented itself during the author's 
 lifetime and therefore it remained unfinished. 
 
 It is a vigorous specimen of the playwright's crafts- 
 manship; has poignant and strong situations and the 
 characters give indications of great possibilities of de- 
 velopment which are never realized because of the lack 
 of the completing act. 
 
 The mischief caused by indulging in jealousy, that 
 phase of lunacy so prevalent with frivolous women, is the 
 theme of the work, and the exposition of the great in- 
 jury resulting from this evil passion would have furn- 
 ished the binding interest, and supplied the material for 
 the completing fifth act. 
 
 Lady Juliet is infected with this form of dementia by 
 the gossip of a designing relative and mistakenly con- 
 cludes that she is wronged by her husband. She prompt- 
 ly resolves upon a separation. He, hiding the hurt 
 caused by this unexpected and undeserved return for 
 much toleration and indulgence, consents to the over- 
 
THE HOUSE OF DAKNLEY 367 
 
 throw of his household hopes, and facilitates the execu- 
 tion of her purpose, but the blight makes him indifferent 
 to the future and incapable of giving his customary at- 
 tention to his business affairs, which soon threaten to 
 involve him in bankruptcy. Then he perceives the un- 
 wisdom of allowing his love for an unworthy wife to 
 make shipwreck of his reputation and career, and be- 
 stirs himself to retrieve his business and fortune, now in 
 extreme danger. Lady Juliet, hearing of his reverses, 
 with a woman's inconsistency pawns all her jewels and 
 pays the sum thus realized to his account. This unex- 
 pected and unknown assistance staves off the run on the 
 house of Darnley, and his own energetic resumption of 
 activity effects changes which a^ure an early freedom 
 from financial anxieties, but his confidence in himself is 
 gone and his ambition has no further motive, and he de- 
 termines to abandon business and with his daughter 
 seek a new home in some foreign land. 
 
 Only to this point is the story conducted, and modifica- 
 tions in some of the scenes would have been necessitated 
 by the concluding act. The fragment is but the draft 
 of a play of which some portions would have received 
 elaboration and others condensation, had the work been 
 brought to a symmetrical completion. 
 
 Sir Francis Marsden is reading the newspapers when 
 Selby Fyshe calls upon him ; news, being the concerns of 
 other people, has no interest for this gentleman who fe- 
 licitates himself on not being injured by the calamities 
 of others. Marsden craves excitement, fighting, politics, 
 gaming, drinking, wine, love, which are all bores to 
 
368 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 Fyshe, who, however, is impressed mth the tranquil 
 qualifications of Miss Placid, whose uncle has left her a 
 large legacy, half of which she forfeits if she refuses to 
 marry him. Marsden congratulates him and solicits his 
 good wishes regarding his Juliet, which Fyshe demurs 
 to, because Juliet is married, and joy is high priced at 
 Doctors Commons. Juliet is the wife of Darnley, a well- 
 born, scholarly speculator who by daring and originality 
 has acquired an enormous fortune. To his house Mars- 
 den goes. 
 
 Darnley is engaged with his head clerk. Parsons, plan- 
 ning investments and giving reasons for steps which Par- 
 sons considers imprudent. Mainwaring's school friend 
 and intimate companion wishes Darnley would stop 
 money-making and give more attention to domestic mat- 
 ters, and especially curb Lady Juliet's extravagauce and 
 the constant attentions of Marsden. Darnley regards this 
 advice as the result of the disappearance of his friend's 
 sister, whose desertion worries and makes her brother 
 severe. Lady Juliet and several guests including Mars- 
 den come to examine the drawings for a new villa. 
 Darnley disconcerts Marsden by his irony, but when 
 they have gone is half inclined to call Lady Juliet back. 
 She of her own accord returns, thinking he may wish 
 her to stay at home, but he, desiring not to be selfish, 
 contents himself with merely asking her to take their 
 child with her. A lady calls to see Darnley, and Main- 
 waring is in the way so he is dismissed and Darnley takes 
 upon himself the task of finding shelter for her. 
 
 Marsden learns from Fyshe that Darnley has rented a 
 villa and installed therein a young and pretty female 
 
THE HOUSE OF DARNLEY 369 
 
 whom he visits every day. Fyshe has an intei'view with 
 Miss Placid, whose quietness charms him. "When he 
 takes his departure she, desiring to revolt him, perceives 
 that her playing the fool will not do, and resolves on an- 
 other course of action. Mainwaring, whom she cares for, 
 is asked to counsel her, and shows that he would marry 
 her even without fortune, but he is perturbed ; Dam- 
 ley 's last and greatest venture has failed, and all who 
 have demands upon him, chiefly Lady Juliet 's tradesmen, 
 are making a run on him. Darnley tries to intercede 
 with Mainwaring in his sister's behalf but is rebuffed, 
 and urged again to curtail Lady Juliet's expenditures. 
 Fanny, the daughter, asks Darnley to go to her mother, 
 who has just heard that he has come in. Marsden is 
 with Lady Juliet making theatrical love, when Darnley 
 enters, and taking up some of Marsden 's phrases turns 
 them into ridicule and in sarcasm describes Marsden 's 
 present pursuit under the parable of a friend, and leaves 
 the room. Lady Juliet, deeply grieved that her thought- 
 less levity has stung her husband's heart, turns to dis- 
 miss the cause of her folly, and Marsden, defending him- 
 self and claiming that his accuser is a hypocrite, gives 
 Julie the address he learned from Fyshe. 
 
 The Lady in the Villa is visited by Lady Juliet, who 
 determines to know the truth, makes vague charges 
 which are not denied, and leaves confirmed in her sus- 
 picions. The run on the bank continues. Mainwaring 
 takes all he possesses to the head clerk. Miss Placid pre- 
 pares to shock Fyshe, and rehearses to Mainwaring her 
 new role. In the midst of the relation of her adventures 
 at a hunt Fyshe enters and is dumfounded. Lady 
 
a70 PLAYS OF BULWER 
 
 Juliet seeks Miss Placid, announces her intention to part 
 forever from Damley, and writes him a notification of 
 her purpose. Darnley is exerting himself to provide 
 supplies to meet the continual run when Lady Juliet's 
 letter is brought in to him, and his coolness and stoicism 
 fail. News of losses no longer affect him and he is pre- 
 pared to give up. Main waring 's counsel encourages him 
 to renewed effort ; he makes preparation for the protec- 
 tion of his name, but his spirit is broken. 
 
 Darnley seeks explanation from his wife, but her de- 
 termination to give no reasons prevents anything but 
 further complications, and her father is sent for to com- 
 plete the details of the separation, and Damley leaves. 
 Marsden comes and entreats her to allow him to deserve 
 the affection her ingrate husband has cast away. Darn- 
 ley returns with Fanny, sees Juliet weeping, Marsden 
 kneeling, and retires. Mainwaring enters, and outstays 
 Marsden, and chides Lady Juliet for listening to a soft 
 tongued knave when her husband is on the verge of ruin, 
 ruin caused by her. She asks particulars; she will not 
 leave her husband at present despite her wrongs. Main- 
 waring tells her that supplies counted upon have failed, 
 and a few thousand pounds would be worth more now to 
 Darnley than half a million at other times. Lady Juliet 
 brings her jewels, and asks Mainwaring to dispose of 
 them and get the money to Damley, but never tell her 
 husband. Damley consents to the separation, leaving all 
 details to Lady Juliet's father, but retaining Fanny. 
 Mainwaring joyfully informs Darnley that timely aid 
 has enabled the house to meet all demands, and the panic 
 is subsiding, and also assures him that Lady Juliet re- 
 
THE HOUSE OF DARNLEY 371 
 
 tracts and repents. But Darnley is obdurate now; he 
 saw Marsden at her feet, his wrongs he cannot forgive ; 
 henceforth his child shall be the only heart left him to 
 cherish, with her he will go abroad. Lady Juliet, com- 
 ing to her husband, hears his words and misapplies them, 
 and as he goes out she swoons. 
 
MONEY 
 
 THIS comedy satirizes a prevailing form of toler- 
 ated despicability, by displaying the quackeries 
 of one of its successful practicers, while ridiculing 
 certain fashionable affectations by exposing the inferior- 
 ity of the adopters in comparison with others who are 
 natural, unpretentious, and unselfish. Variety of charac- 
 ter and felicitous groupings of masses of individuals in 
 effective situatidns are its most interesting features, but 
 the structural beauty of the work results from the ade- 
 quacy of the plot, the consistency of the incidents and 
 situations, and the appropriate language by which the 
 purposes of the comedy are developed. 
 
 The characters are such as flourished in 1840, typical 
 of the time, sufficiently marked for the use of the play- 
 wright, and individually distinct from the ephemera 
 which in each generation supply illustrations of fashion- 
 able vagaries. 
 
 The utterances of 4J[ie characters are appropriate to the 
 circumstances in which, they appear, action is never re- 
 tarded by conversational vivacity, but bright, cynical, 
 wise, and terse observations are frequent, and there are 
 occasions where the remarks of many are ingeniously in- 
 terlaced and dovetailed. 
 
 The reading of the will, which changes Evelyn's fate, 
 with the alternations of feverish expectancy and pro- 
 
MONEY 373 
 
 found disgust; the courting scene where Lady Franklin 
 successfully schemes to make the disconsolate widower 
 laugh, sing, and dance ; the game at piquet with Evelyn 
 losing fabulous sums to Smooth, and his friends aban- 
 doning their prejudices against gambling in their eager- 
 ness to secure a share of the plunder while the lone old 
 member keeps the waiter in perpetual journeyings after 
 the snuffbox ; and the final collapse of Sir John 's machi- 
 nations, are the great scenes of the comedy, but more 
 poignant incidents are the several interviews between 
 Clara and Evelyn — when she rejects him, when she 
 urges him to useful activity, and when she defends her 
 refusal to drag him down by marrying on nothing. 
 
 Sir John Vesey is the most important character, en- 
 abled by his acquired reputation for respectability to 
 perpetrate quackeries, deceits, and knaveries with as 
 much unction as though they were virtuous actions, with- 
 out drawing down the reprehension of his class ; a genu- 
 ine whig, inherently mendacious, selfish, and hypocritical, 
 titled but without honor, associate of learned societies 
 but neither studious nor erudite, famed as an orator but 
 incapable of composing a speech; less benevolent than 
 the poor dependent, less honest than the professional 
 gambler — the typical product of nineteenth century 
 political society, and the evidence of the power of a title 
 to shield rascality from its deserts, L 'Avares and Tar- 
 tuffes are neither so numerous nor so insidiously cor- 
 rupting as this specimen of the modern man who has suc- 
 ceeded, and who justifies to himself the frauds and mean- 
 nesses he regards as necessary incidents in that manage- 
 ment by which he humbugs a world which otherwise 
 
374 COMEDIES OF BULWER 
 
 would deny him the station and prominence he has so 
 long usurped. 
 
 Alfred Evelyn, scholar and gentleman, poor and there- 
 fore imposed upon until an unexpected legacy lifts him 
 above the herd of his relatives, is a cynic in profession 
 but a philanthropist in practice. Penury has taught him 
 the value of money, experience has familiarized him with 
 the crushing influence of circumstances, and affection 
 has prompted to ambitious projects. Able, practical, and 
 sagacious in everything where intellect is called into 
 play, but undiscerning and a blunderer where the heart 
 is concerned, he misjudges the girl who rejected him be- 
 cause both were poor, and attributes nonexistent gener- 
 osity to the daughter of his former oppressor. 
 
 Made suspicious by his friend's criticism, he resorts 
 to stratagem to test the sincerity of Georgina and Sir 
 John, and finds that the money, not the man, attracted. 
 Professing friends fell away when wealth was supposed 
 exhausted, while those who had presumed to reprove, 
 and desire activities more suitable to his abilities, re- 
 mained loyal and wishful to aid. He escapes from the 
 clutches of Sir John and his daughter, and is restored 
 to her who thought more of him than of herself when she 
 refused to share his poverty. 
 
 There is wonderful variety in the minor characters. 
 Mr. Graves, hiding a kindly heart and genial disposi- 
 tion under the exaggerated evidences of his grief for his 
 sainted Maria, meanwhile enjoys good sherry, admires 
 fine women, and contrives to get much good out of life. 
 Sir Frederick Blount, who objects to the letter R be- 
 cause it is too rough and therefore drops its acquaint- 
 
MONEY 375 
 
 ance ; Lord Glossmore, whose grandfather kept a pawn- 
 broker's shop and who accordingly entertains the pro- 
 foundest contempt for everything plebeian; Mr. Stout, 
 puffing, hot, and radical, with immense misinformation 
 about political economy and no clear opinion about any- 
 thing; Captain Smooth, with the mildest manners and 
 the deadliest success in duels, able to keep a secret, ready 
 to do anything to oblige, and though a gambler evincing 
 a nicer honor than the pretentious superior persons with 
 whom he is brought in contact. 
 
 Georgina Vesey is frivolous, Clara Douglas amiable 
 and serious, but Lady Franklin, experienced, good-na- 
 tured, shrewd, well-informed, and unaffected, is the most 
 captivating of the ladies in the comedy. 
 
 Mr. Graves has notified Sir John Vesey that at two 
 o'clock he will bring the lawyer to read the will of the 
 late Mr. Mordaunt. Sir John, assuming confidently that 
 his daughter Georgina will inherit the nabob's wealth 
 and become thereby the richest heiress in England, takes 
 this opportunity to inform that young lady that not- 
 withstanding appearances and report, he is not the rich 
 man he seems, that the world judges men by what they 
 appear to be, not by what they are, and that therefore 
 he humbugs the world by always living above his means 
 and taking credit for more than he possesses. By man- 
 agement he has obtained the repute of being stingy, 
 which implies wealth, but it is all humbug. Further, as 
 now she will be a great heiress, all thought of Sir Fred- 
 erick must be dismissed, and she must look out for a 
 duke. Lady Franklin with her niece Clara joins them, 
 and they discuss the relatives of the deceased, until Sir 
 
376 COMEDIES OF BULWER 
 
 John's secretary enters and interrupts their satire. Each 
 has some errand or task which needs Evelyn's attention 
 but he cannot perform their commissions because his old 
 nurse is dying and he wants some assistance for her. 
 He asks Sir John for ten pounds but does not obtain it. 
 Georgina, contemplating sending something when she re- 
 ceives her legacy, writes down the poor woman 's address. 
 Clara copies it unobserved, and, Lady Franklin assisting 
 her, sends the sum anonymously. Sir Frederick Blount 
 enters. His manner to Clara is lacking in courtesy, and 
 provokes Evelyn, whose interjections make Sir Freder- 
 ict lincomf ortable. When he has gone, Evelyn seeks to 
 compensate for the cavalier treatment Clara has re- 
 ceived by evidencing his own respect. He commiserates 
 her position, like his own, that of a dependent, and pas- 
 sion carrying away his reserve, he asks her to marry him, 
 and is gently but firmly rejected, because he is poor and 
 she too. She loves but will not ruin him. Stout, Gloss- 
 more and presently Graves and the lawyer arrive, and 
 Sir John dismisses his secretary so that they may get to 
 business. The lawyer observes that all the relatives 
 should be present and bids Evelyn be seated. The will 
 is read. The testator has indulged a bitter ironical spirit 
 in his bequests, most of which cause disappointment and 
 indignation in the recipients, but to Georgina he leaves 
 ten thousand pounds, to Graves five thousand, and all the 
 residue to Alfred Evelyn, whose wealth now separates 
 him from Clara more than his poverty did. Those who 
 had hitherto been condescending to the poor secretary, 
 become effusively kind to the heir, and when he asks for 
 ten pounds for his old uurse every man offers it. 
 
MONEY 377 
 
 The anteroom of Evelyn's new house is crowded with 
 artists, publishers, builders, and the tradesmen whom 
 wealth attracts. Stout, the explosive, vigorous radical, 
 bursts in, having heard that Evelyn has bought the great 
 Groginhole property. The member for that borough 
 cannot live another month and Stout wants the new pro- 
 prietor to support Popkins. Glossmore, with the same 
 information, solicits his interest for Lord Cipher. Ev- 
 elyn bids them go and play at battledore and shuttlecock 
 by themselves. Graves is the most cordially valued of 
 all Evelyn's new friends and to him, after cataloguing 
 the miseries of life, Evelyn relates his early harsh ex- 
 periences and' even his rejection by Clara, in revenge for 
 which he has pretended that in a letter which accom- 
 panied the will Mr. Mordaunt had ordered the payment 
 of twenty thousand pounds to Clara Douglas, which 
 amount has been given to the woman who refused him. 
 Mr. Mordaunt had expressed the desire that Evelyn 
 should choose one of his two cousins for wife, and as 
 Clara had declined his hand, and his nurse had received 
 ten pounds anonymously and only Georgina knew her 
 address, he concludes that he is in duty bound to pro- 
 pose to Sir John's daughter. Sir John overhears Lady 
 Franklin conversing with Clara and learns of the send- 
 ing of the money. Dudley Smooth, a successful gambler 
 and a dead shot, is introduced and Sir Frederick asks 
 Evelyn's good offices in his suit for Clara, for Georgina 
 now pretends a prior attachment. Sir John represents 
 to Evelyn that Georgina, at some sacrifice, sent relief 
 to his nurse and that apparent fact decides Evelyn. He 
 proposes to Georgina and is accepted. 
 
378 COMEDIES OF BULWER 
 
 Evelyn has not pressed the fixing of the wedding day ; 
 he seldom conies to the house, and Sir John is uneasy. 
 He determines to get Clara out of the way and to that 
 end he tells her that lest it might embarrass her he let 
 Evelyn suppose that Georgina sent that letter and he 
 pleads his interest in his daughter's happiness as an ex- 
 cuse for suggesting that Clara, whose presence keeps 
 Evelyn away, could accompany Mrs. Carleton abroad. 
 Clara is miserable, hails the opportunity and agrees to 
 the proposition. Meeting Evelyn she informs him of her 
 plans, thanks him for past kindnesses, asks that they 
 part friends, and as a sister to a brother begs that he will 
 use his benevolence, his intellect, his genius so that she 
 may always recall with pride that once this man loved 
 her. Graves thinks that Evelyn has been too hasty, hints 
 that Georgina cares more for Sir Frederick, whom Clara 
 has refused, than for him, and leads Evelyn to perceive 
 that he has been duped by Sir John, who is immensely 
 fond of his prospective son-in-law's money. Evelyn de- 
 termines to beat Sir John at his own weapons ; he there- 
 fore) recants his promise to foreswear gambling and pre- 
 tends to disregard certain important information regard- 
 ing banks. Lady Franklin receives Graves in her boudoir, 
 and in the way of a widow with a man cajoles him into 
 laughing, declaiming, singing, and dancing. Just as he 
 is proposing and about to embrace her, a troop of their 
 friends enter. The lady escapes and Graves stops in 
 front of Sir John. Their mirth is resented and Graves 
 leaves in anger. At the club Evelyn is engaged in play. 
 He bargains with Smooth that they will pretend to gam- 
 ble for enormous stakes to the end that Sir John's sin- 
 
MONEY 379 
 
 cerity may be tested. The play is so high that all watch. 
 Sir John is in agony. After tremendous losses Evelyn 
 proposes to make a night of it and they adjourn to his 
 own house in spite of Sir John's entreaties. 
 
 In the anteroom the tradesmen and other gnats are re- 
 gretfully commenting on their patron's transference of 
 the privilege of ruining him to gamblers. Evelyn's bad 
 luck continues and it becomes evident that after losing 
 all else he has staked his house on the odd trick, and lost. 
 The tailor arranges to arrest Evelyn as an absconding 
 debtor because he overhears that a passport for Belgium 
 has been procured. Evelyn borrows from Sir John, Sir 
 Frederick, and Glossmore. He announces that he is 
 through with Smooth, but is crippled and must retrench 
 and he asks Georgina to advance him the ten thousand 
 pounds bequeathed to her. That discreet young lady 
 will let him hear from her tomorrow. Evelyn questions 
 his friends if in the twelve months since he became rich 
 he could have spent his money in a way more worthy of 
 their good opinion. They answer no emphatically. The 
 lawyer whispers to Evelyn, ''The bank's broke." He 
 repeats the words in a frightened voice. Simultaneously 
 he finds there is an execution in the house, and opinions 
 change. Sir John demands the return of his loan, and all 
 save Smooth and Graves abuse Evelyn and depart in dis- 
 gust. 
 
 At the club Glossmore receives a despatch acquainting 
 him that Evelyn has been nominated for Groginhole. 
 He despairs of the country if men of unknown principles 
 are to make its laws, and considers it infamous in a 
 bankrupt to get into parliament just to keep out of pris- 
 
380 COMEDIES OF BULWER 
 
 on. Sir John makes it up with Sir Frederick; he will 
 not sacrifice his daughter 's happiness to ambition, there- 
 fore at dinner tonight they will talk over the settlements. 
 Her ten thousand pounds is to remain her own, which is 
 not agreeable to Sir Frederick, who wonders if it 
 wouldn 't be better to elope with Georgina. Stout, more 
 heated than usual, informs Sir John that Evelyn has 
 played a trick on them ; he hasn't lost any money to speak 
 of ; the Groginhole purchase has been completed and be- 
 fore the day is over he will be a member of Parliament. 
 Sir John promptly revokes his promise to Sir Frederick 
 and sets about strengthening his claims on Evelyn. Sir 
 Frederick, roused to anger, determines to induce Georg- 
 ina, with whom he has an appointment, to elope. Graves 
 is questioned by Clara as to Evelyn's reverses and how 
 he bears them. Having heard from Georgina that ten 
 thousand pounds will free him from all liabilities she 
 has paid that amount to his credit. Graves assures her 
 that it is not Georgina that Evelyn cares for, tells her 
 that Evelyn concocted the story about her bequest, and 
 encourages her to hope that all will come right, for 
 Georgina will prove herself Sir John's daughter. Clara, 
 anxious that when others desert she should not be classed 
 with such false friends, induces Lady Franklin to ac- 
 company her to her cousin 's house. There Evelyn is dis- 
 cussing affairs with Graves, pointing out that it was not 
 regarded as wrong for him to gamble, the crime consisted 
 in losing. Graves offers to assist his friend financially 
 and Evelyn confides to him that his losses have been 
 trivial, that all has been a pretense to test Sir John and 
 Georgina and see whether it was the money or the man 
 
MONEY 381 
 
 they cared for. A letter is brought notifying Evelyn 
 that ten thousand pounds has been placed to his credit, 
 and concluding that Georgina is the donor and that his 
 suspicions have wronged her, he writes to undeceive her 
 as to his supposed losses, and binds himself irrevocably 
 by asking her to fix the day for their wedding. Lady 
 Franklin and Clara come. Graves regrets that they are 
 too late, as whatever is good for anything generally is. 
 Sir John enters beaming and effusive and announces that 
 they will all lend him any amount he requires and that 
 Georgina insists upon giving him the required sum. He 
 is perplexed to learn that it has already been received 
 and an answer sent. He beseeches Lady Franklin to 
 search for Georgina, whom he has not been able to find. 
 A deputation confirms the news of Evelyn's election for 
 Groginhole and Sir John elicits from the lawyer that the 
 gambling losses amounted to less than a week's income, 
 and hugs himself on having caught Evelyn in his own 
 trap. Lady Franklin returns, bringing Georgina and 
 Sir Frederick with her. Evelyn, preventing Sir John 
 from communicating with his daughter, asks Georgina if 
 she is still willing to marry him. She answers that his 
 fortune dazzled her ; she pities his reverses ; life is noth- 
 ing without money, and as their engagement is annulled 
 — as papa told her — she has promised her hand where 
 she has given her heart, to Sir Frederick. Evelyn pro- 
 duces the letters on the strength of which he proposed 
 and asks their meaning. Lady Franklin explains that 
 her maid wrote them at Clara's request. Eveljoi is free 
 and at once claims Clara as his wife. Sir John is furi- 
 ous, scolds Georgina, and denounces Lady Franklin un- 
 
382 COMEDIES OF BULWER 
 
 til he learns that his daughter was on the point of elop- 
 ing to Scotland. Evelyn doubles; Georgina's legacy and 
 a match is made between her and Sir Frederick. Lady 
 Franklin accepts Graves and they undertake to finish 
 their reel on their wedding day. 
 
NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM 
 
 THIS title was given by Charles Dickens to a com- 
 edy written by Bulwer for performance by a com- 
 pany of amateurs whose oddities of speech, bear- 
 ing, and demeanor were transferred to the figures in- 
 vented for them, as were also, in some instances, salient 
 characteristics of the players. Wilmot, like Dickens, 
 ' ' with heart as large as his genius, ' ' was better known to 
 the many because of negligible affectations and obtruded 
 foibles than by his natural goodness and geniality, and 
 Forster had Hardman's failing of occasionally allowing 
 his zeal to outrun his prudence. 
 
 The limited histrionic experiences of these players had 
 to be taken into account in the invention and arrange- 
 ment of incidents and business. Subtleties and intensi- 
 ties in effects and situations are avoided, and the fem- 
 inine interest is of the slightest proportions. The com- 
 edy called for all the skill and adroitness of the actors, 
 and gave excellent opportunities for the display of their 
 ability in an unfamiliar art, without inviting failure by 
 too high an aim. 
 
 " The illusion of remoteness was obtained by casting the 
 comedy in the time of George the First, and the greatest 
 artists of the day cooperated in ensuring faithfulness in 
 the details of scenery, furniture, and costume when it 
 was first performed. 
 
 The language is terse and fluent, sometimes delicately 
 
384 COMEDIES OF BULWER 
 
 touclied with satire, often rising to fervor, and the situ- 
 ations amuse, compel attention, and arouse admiration. 
 As the action progresses the characters develop, and ami- 
 able and admirable traits are shown in all. Each collision 
 of antagonism in purpose and disposition has an amend- 
 ing result. The foibles inviting ridicule are found to be 
 mere trivial accompaniments of praiseworthy qualities, 
 and it is revealed that there is more of good in every man 
 than our superficial judgments acknowledge. Therefore 
 it heightens our regard for human nature and has an 
 ennobling effect. 
 
 Not So Bad As We Seem was first produced at Devon- 
 shire House, May 16, 1851. It was afterwards played 
 by Mr. Webster's company at the Haymarket. 
 
 Wilmot is the principal character, the admired leader 
 of the mode, masking by a pretense of heartlessness, cyn- 
 icism, and levity, a quick sympathy with the noble and 
 aspiring, an eager activity in beneficent deeds, and an 
 unselfish readiness to assist less fortunate individuals. 
 
 Hardman is sterner and less amiable than his friend, 
 and his ambition and selfwill nearly turn to evil a dis- 
 position prone to overvalue practical success. With the 
 ability to discern what is right, and with eloquence to 
 move others to noble action, he plays the sophist with 
 himself and contemplates a resort to treachery. Sur- 
 prised at finding unexpected goodness in others, and re- 
 alizing the unfavorable comparison his own conduct sug- 
 gests, better desires are awakened in him and as a first 
 step to becoming actively useful to humanity he changes 
 his intention, aids those he had planned to injure, and 
 enjoys the happiest moment he has ever known. 
 
NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM 385 
 
 Next to Wilmot, Sir Geoffrey is the best of the charac- 
 ters. Early experiences of man's duplicity and deceit 
 have made distrust habitual to him, and he is suspicious 
 of eveiything. His wrongs have made him reserved but 
 not sullen, the injuries he has received have embittered 
 his life, without making him revengeful. He is unable 
 to suppress his inherent kindliness and generosity, and 
 however droll his imaginary dangers and the fears they 
 cause may make him appear, his shrewdness, wisdom, and 
 greatheartedness win respect and admiration. 
 
 The duke of Middlesex carries pride to the boundary 
 of the absurd, yet is nevertheless more than a grandiose 
 figure. In his interview with Hardman, where the honor 
 of a woman is in question, he rises to the sublime. 
 
 The distressed poet is a pitiful yet ennobling portrait 
 of unfriended and neglected genius. Ambitious to per- 
 fect a worthy legacy to his country, he is compelled to 
 write pamphlets instead, and scarcely able to support 
 his family by his own toils he yet resists the temptation 
 to sell the scandalous composition of another for the 
 high price the publishers offer. In a work designed to 
 emphasize the importance of the literary calling, it was 
 necessary to place its representative in a favorable light, 
 and David Fallen portrays the professional author, not 
 as he is, or has been, but as he should be. 
 
 Lord Wilmot, rising late, finds that he has no duels 
 awaiting him, and less than a score of social engage- 
 ments, and therefore a dull day confronts him. A lady 
 who professes interest in Sir Geoffrey Thomside and his 
 daughter and wishes to communicate with Miss Thorn- 
 
386 COMEDIES OP BULWER 
 
 side, applies to Wilmot to assist her. Their interview 
 being interrupted by another visitor, she leaves hurried- 
 ly, appointing the evening for a fuller explanation. Mr. 
 Shadowly Softhead, an imitator of his lordship, is the 
 caller. He is the best fellow in the world, neither strong 
 nor wise, yet ambitious to be thought as daring and wild 
 as the exquisite he copies. Hardman, a rising politician, 
 conies to secure Wilmot *s support for the government, 
 but finds that his lordship is more attracted by art than 
 politics and has just bought a superb Murillo, the very 
 thing Walpole most desires. Hardman 's punctilious 
 formality is disagreeable to Wilmot, who wants to forget 
 he is a lord, in his bachelor's apartments, and he de- 
 clares that if a duke called upon him he would dispense 
 with all titles and call him by his name. The valet an- 
 nounces his grace the duke of Middlesex and to justify 
 his boast, Wilmot accosts his visitor as Middlesex, an im- 
 pertinence which Softhead imitates, to the consternation 
 of the duke. Hardman takes Softhead out of the room, 
 and Wilmot explains and apologizes for his assumption 
 of familiarity. The duke is anxious about a scandalous 
 narrative written by his sarcastic brother and reflecting 
 injuriously on himself, which he is told is about to be 
 published, but the purpose of his call is to invite Wilmot 
 to join in a project for restoring James the Third to the 
 throne. Wilmot undertakes to gain possession of the 
 dreaded manuscript but he declines to assist in what 
 would cause civil war, and the duke takes his leave re- 
 gretting that he mistook the son of Lord Loftus. Wil- 
 mot is perturbed by the reference to his father, who may 
 be compromising himself in a conspiracy, and he en- 
 
NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM 387 
 
 treats Hardman, who has a knack of finding out every- 
 thing, to sound Lord Loftus and learn if he is being 
 lured into treason. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey manifests an aversion to Wilmot, and in- 
 terposes obstacles to his meeting Lucy. In order to put 
 the father on a wrong scent, Wilmot arranges that Soft- 
 head shall make pretended love to Miss Thomside while 
 Sir Geoffrey is present, and he will devote his attentions 
 to Miss Easy, whom Softhead worships, and they pro- 
 ceed to the Thornside home. 
 
 Sir Geo^rey is distressed because the dog howled last 
 night, and his servant's behavior makes him apprehen- 
 sive of designs on his peace, and some enemy must be 
 plotting against his life because every day flowers are 
 thrown into his room. Mr. Easy and his daughter come 
 to visit Lucy, and Sir Geoffrey confides his fears to his 
 friend. Mr. Easy suggests that the flowers come from 
 a female admirer, or are intended for Lucy, who may 
 have attracted some one who takes this method of show- 
 ing attention. This reminds Sir Geoffrey of Lord Wil- 
 mot, who persists in calling despite every rebuff, and 
 who may mean making love to Lucy, which Easy thinks 
 the only likely suspicion his friend has hit on for many 
 a day. He has heard of Wilmot, who is rather a madcap, 
 but adored by his companions, and Softhead professes 
 to copy him; he incenses Sir Geoffrey by wishing him 
 joy, for the knight has other designs for his daughter. 
 Lord Wilmot and Softhead call. They devote them- 
 selves to Lucy and Barbara according to their prear- 
 rangement. Easy is delighted to observe Wilmot 's at- 
 tention to his daughter, and visions of her as my lady 
 
388 COMEDIES OF BULWER 
 
 and himself as member for the city loom before him, and 
 he facilitates the stratagem of the visitors by enticing 
 Sir Geoffrey from the room. As soon as the fathers have 
 gone the partners are changed, but a return to the pre- 
 vious alliance is necessitated by the entrance of Hard- 
 man, who intends to marry Lucy, and fears a rival in 
 Wilmot, but he is deceived by the pretended attentions 
 and concludes that it is Barbara who is preferred by his 
 friend. Miss Easy agrees to aid Wilmot on condition 
 that Softhead is sent back to the city and reconciled to 
 her father, but she is afraid that this is no longer pos- 
 sible for Mr. Easy is severe on social indulgences and 
 dislikes men who make themselves absurd by aping those 
 of another class. Wilmot determines to test Mr. Easy's 
 severity and invites him to Wills Coffee house. 
 
 Easy, despite his prejudices, contrives to advertise to 
 all his acquaintances the fact that he is to meet his friend 
 Lord Wilmot. Hardman has asked for an office in the 
 gift of the minister and is expectant but anxious. From 
 David Fallen he will learn about the new plot. Lords 
 Middlesex and Loftus are engaged with the pamphleteer, 
 a requisition is ready for conveyance to France, and a 
 messenger is to be procured by Fallen to whom Middle- 
 sex will deliver the document at an appointed place. 
 When the noblemen depart, Fallen acquaints Hardman 
 of the arrangements and leaves to him, the choice of a 
 messenger. Walpole writes expressing regret that the 
 place asked for is needed to conciliate a family other- 
 wise dangerous. Wilmot introduces Softhead to some of 
 his friends whom he represents as fire-eaters and duel- 
 lists, and in whose company he leaves him, while he 
 
NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM 389 
 
 gathers from Tonson, the publisher, particulars of Lord 
 Mowbray 's memoirs and the address of the poor poet who 
 has them in his custody. Hardman, bitter and resent- 
 ful, confides to Wilmot his disappointment, but for w^hich 
 he would have had courage to ask for the hand of one 
 long-beloved but above him in station and birth, and he 
 contrasts his position with that of his friend, who need 
 fear no rebuff where he places his affections. Wilmot 
 stuns him by confessing that it is to Lucy and not Bar- 
 bara that he has lost his heart. Hardman determines to 
 crush his rival by means of his knowledge of the plot in 
 which Lord Lof tus is compromised, and hastens away to 
 possess himself of the papers intended for conveyance to 
 France. Wilmot, grieved that his friend should lose the 
 woman he loves for want of a pitiful place, resolves to 
 gain it for him by giving Walpole his Murillo, and for 
 that purpose he drives to the minister's house. 
 
 Lucy prefers to be unhappy rather than to deceive 
 her father, and therefore acquaints him that it is not 
 Barbara but herself whom Lord Wilmot comes to see. 
 Hardman later informs Sir Geoffrey that Wilmot has no 
 thought of Mr. Easy's daughter, and undertakes to find 
 out the sender of the flowers. 
 
 After dinner at Wills Coffee house, Easy, hilarious, 
 musical, and oratorical, Softhead, abject, sorrowful, and 
 lachrymose, and Wilmot, sober but affecting inebriety, 
 are on their way home. Easy promises Barbara to Soft- 
 head since Wilmot is preengaged, and then upsetting a 
 watchman and securing possession of his rattle, he im- 
 agines himself a successful contestant for the city's rep- 
 resentation, and emphasizing his speech of thanks springs 
 
390 COMEDIES OF BULWER 
 
 his rattle, which brin^ other watchmen who carry him 
 to the guardhouse, he all the while believing he is being 
 chaired member for the city. Wilmot describes the house 
 they are to visit, as devoted to dreadful purposes, and 
 so terrifies Softhead that he runs home, and Wilmot en- 
 ters alone. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey has conceived a new suspicion and fancy- 
 ing that the annoyances to which he is subjected orig- 
 inate with an old enemy, he resolves that he will find and 
 fight this foe, and as he may receive death instead of 
 dealing it, he must at once secure a protector for Lucy, 
 therefore he must hasten her marriage with Hardman, 
 whom he has chosen for her, whose career he has secretly 
 furthered and whose worth he will judge by the candor 
 with which he answers certain questions. Hardman 's 
 replies, while attributing all his successes to his own un- 
 aided efforts and ability, satisfy Sir Geoffrey, although 
 every step, save the latest, in the progress so proudly set 
 forth was smoothed for him by his benefactor. The last 
 honor received today is the government appointment 
 previously refused. He is told to win Lucy's consent 
 and soon, because Sir Geoffrey is determined to fight his 
 insulter. Hardman assures him that the man he ac- 
 cuses died two months ago. He recalls that the memoirs 
 bequeathed to Fallen may put a different construction 
 on the acts which Sir Geoffrey deems so unforgivable 
 and he goes to secure the memoirs. 
 
 David Fallen in his garret, endeavoring to write while 
 worried for the wherewithal for food, is visited by Wil- 
 mot, who personates Edmund Currl. The mock pub- 
 lisher declines to buy the poem Fallen regards as his 
 
NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM 391 
 
 greatest book but offers a large sum for the papers of 
 Lord Mowbray. Despite his needs the poet refuses to al- 
 low writings which would cause pain to many to be given 
 to the public. The pretended publisher changes his at- 
 tack and represents himself as the agent of the Duke of 
 Middlesex. Fallen has cause to resent the neglect and 
 contempt with which the duke has treated him. These 
 memoirs would make the proud duke the jeer of the 
 town, but he will not sell scandal even to the head of the 
 Mowbrays nor will he be the instrument of a brother's 
 revenge ; he will retain the confessions. Then, revealing 
 himself, Wilmot apologizes for his deception, and asks 
 for the papers not as a matter of price, but as an evi- 
 dence of the nobility of the poet who can humble by a 
 gift the prince who insulted him by alms, and having re- 
 ceived the memoirs Wilmot begs Fallen's acceptance of 
 an annuity from him. Hardman hears with dismay that 
 the confessions he needs are now in the hands of the 
 duke. He learns enough of the contents to see that Sir 
 Geoffrey has been mistaken and perceives that it is the 
 attempts of Lucy's mother to attract her daughter's at- 
 tention which have perturbed the Thornside home. Turn- 
 ing to the Jacobite plot, Hardman arranges to supply 
 the messenger and thus receive the incriminating docu- 
 ments. 
 
 Softhead acquires knowledge of the bribery of the 
 prime minister which secured Hardman his appoint- 
 ment, and is confirmed in his purpose to quit fashionable 
 life, but perceiving Lucy and Wilmot entering the house 
 he has been taught to dread he becomes alarmed, and 
 not finding Sir Geoffrey at home, he seeks Hardman and 
 
392 COMEDIES OF BULWER 
 
 confides his fears to him. Hardman has secured the 
 requisition of the plotters, and he has successfully ap- 
 pealed to the heart of the proud duke, who has promised 
 to produce his brother's confessions, and he sees that 
 Wilmot has forestalled his plan and led the daughter to 
 the mother's arms. He sends Softhead for officers and 
 for Sir Geoffrey, who is with Mr. Easy, and then enters 
 the house and accosting Wilmot proclaims his rivalry, 
 exhibits the proof of Lord Loftus' treason, and exacts as 
 the price of the surrender of that document the with- 
 drawal of Wilmot 's suit to Lucy, and the personal at- 
 tendance of both the conspiring lords. To Lucy he prom- 
 ises the restoration of her mother to the hearth of her 
 father, but at the price of her hand, and he has just 
 wrung this pledge from her, when Sir Geoffrey and his 
 friends arrive. Hardman is thanked for having saved 
 Lucy and thus requited the kindnesses and preferments 
 which have been rendered in secret to him, and when he 
 protests that no man has ever aided him, that alone he 
 has carved out his own pathway, Mr. Easy confounds 
 him by detailing the interference of Sir Geoffrey, which 
 made each step save the last one possible, and Softhead 
 tells him how Wilmot secured that for him. Hardman, 
 perceiving that all have been beneficent to him, becomes 
 ashamed of his planned treachery and changes his pur- 
 poses. He explains to Sir Geoffrey that Lucy was but 
 led to her mother, that that mother had been maligned, 
 and he produces as the proofs of her innocence the con- 
 fession of Lord Henry Mowbray, the authenticity of 
 which Lord Middlesex attests. Sir Geoffrey, convinced 
 of his wrongful suspicions, goes to ask forgiveness, Wil- 
 
NOT SO BAD AS WE SEEM 393 
 
 mot fulfils his ag^reement with Barbara by winning 
 Easy's confirmation of his yesterday's promise, Hardman 
 destroys the treasonable requisition and yields Lucy's 
 hand to Wilmot. There are many sides to a character 
 and when men are better known they are not so bad as 
 they seem. 
 
WALPOLE 
 
 THIS innovation in comedy was developed from an 
 experiment adventured upon in the years when 
 Bulwer was actively engaged in producing plays 
 for the stage. It was completed and published in 1869. 
 
 The immediate object of the work is to show that com- 
 edy can be furnished with an appropriate muse-like 
 measure in which the mirth and satire of its dialogue 
 may be expressed more pleasantly than in prose, and it 
 submits the twleve-foot couplet used by Moliere as an 
 available and advantageous verse for the purpose. 
 
 Constructed for representation, it was not submitted 
 to any manager, for Hayward and others who were con- 
 sulted were unanimous in reporting that no London the- 
 atre possessed performers to whom the principal parts 
 in Walpole would be congenial or suited. Therefore it 
 was published as a comic poem of a kind in which there 
 is no previous example in the English language. 
 
 It is a satisfactory demonstration of the advantages 
 metre gives to the colloquy or recital of comedy which 
 aims at permanence. The lines flow freely, elisions and 
 inverted constructions are avoided, there is no sign of 
 effort, and the dialogue takes an added point and terse- 
 ness from the rhyme. It may require greater care in de- 
 livery by the actor, but it does not appear to have oc- 
 casioned any difficulty to the playwright. 
 
WALPOLE 395 
 
 The differing influence of private aims npon political 
 action is illustrated in the work, which consists of three 
 acts. The story is one of intrigue and every incident 
 adds to our knowledge of the character of Sir Robert. 
 
 The tactful and masterful whig could only be appro- 
 priately treated in comedy, for though he was neither 
 more selfish nor unscrupulous than other leaders of his 
 political caste, there is nothing of the exalted or noble in 
 the man or his measures. Large, strong, shrewd, and 
 tolerant, he was determined to maintain peace at all 
 hazards, and took whatever steps were necessary to se- 
 cure that boon. He bribed right and left, for his ex- 
 perience taught him that every man has his price. But 
 statesmen must labor for that which they perceive is ex- 
 pedient, and use such means as the circumstances of the 
 times make available to carry their measures, and the 
 censure incurred by Walpole 's lax methods should be ex- 
 tended to the lords and commons of his day. 
 
 The clemency, adroitness, and purposeful cajolery of 
 the practical politician are humanized in the comedy by 
 the addition of an unexpected tenderness. Walpole had 
 no sister, but without the introduction of Lucy he would 
 have been but coldly interesting. The call upon his emo- 
 tions by revealing a warm heart within a cold mechan- 
 ism increases and heightens our regard. 
 
 The exuberant, sunny, and unselfish Bellaire is a pre- 
 possessing embodiment of noble youth. The minister 
 cannot induce him to sacrifice his participation in the 
 onrushing time, yet in a woman's face he sees a fairer 
 paradise than office promises to the ambitious Blount. 
 Nothing in his conduct is unworthy, he acts as becomes 
 
396 COMEDIES OP BULWER 
 
 him without hesitation even when knowingly incurring 
 danger, his trust in his father's friend is not a weakness, 
 and it is but just that he wins the bride Blount would 
 rob him of, for May and December can never agree. 
 
 Blount, the veteran leader of an opposition, has out- 
 grown all enthusiasms except that of thwarting Walpole, 
 until the knowledge that his ward has attracted a young- 
 er suitor rouses passion and determination which neither 
 scruple nor consideration is allowed to interfere with. 
 He cannot believe that the superior person he considers 
 himself to be can fail to receive the preference of her to 
 whom he deigns to offer marriage, and the obstructions 
 his plans encounter make him ungenerous, deceitful, and 
 treacherous, for 
 ''When love comes so late how it maddens the brain 
 
 Between shame for our folly and rage at our pain. ' ' 
 Dazed and made desperate by the failure of his schemes 
 to secure a wife, he would add crime to the blunder 
 which has exposed him to ridicule and shame, but is 
 saved by the intercession of Lucy and the generous ad- 
 monition of Walpole to hold up his head and keep a 
 laugh for the ass who has never gone out of his wits for 
 a lass. 
 
 Walpole explains to his agent Vesey that until the new 
 king and his government are more firmly established the 
 risk of an unfavorable general election must be avoided. 
 A bill extending the life of the present parliament can 
 be carried if Sir Sidney Bellair and Selden Blount can 
 be induced to support it, therefore these men must be 
 won or bought even if the price be high. Vesey under- 
 
WALPOLE 397 
 
 takes to arrange a meeting between Blount and the min- 
 ister which may bring about the conversion of a present 
 opponent. Bellair enters humming a tune. Walpole 
 compliments him on the brilliancy of his last speech — 
 though the subject, an attack upon himself, was not quite 
 to his liking; invites him to Haughton and then leaves 
 the young member with Vesey, who wonders why Bel- 
 lair is not among Walpole 's friends, and hints at a duke's 
 daughter and a peerage as certainties if Sir Sidney al- 
 lies himself with the minister. Vesey 's attempt to se- 
 cure Bellair is unsuccessful. Blount enters fresh from 
 the Guildhall where his patriotism has been lauded at a 
 banquet. Vesey suggests that he call upon Walpole and 
 discuss a measure in which they are both interested and 
 names three o'clock, which Blount, who has vowed to 
 amend every ministerial proposal, changes to two, then 
 addressing Bellair the opposition leader seeks to estab- 
 lish a community of interests with him. Walpole can- 
 not buy Sir Sidney but Blount can, for he visits at the 
 home of a young lady who has interested Bellair, and by 
 facilitating his meetings with Lucy Wilmot, the patriot 
 will so serve him as to ensure his constant support. 
 Blount alleges that the lady is of such lowly station that 
 it is useless to think of her as a wife, and he himself 
 would defend her against a philanderer. Bellair per- 
 sists in requesting that Blount aid him in winning Lucy 
 for his bride, and the reluctant patriot is constrained to 
 comply. 
 
 Walpole has connived at Nithsdale's escape from the 
 tower, and is pleased that the young man has relieved 
 the government by evading the fate of a martyr, which 
 
 N 
 
398 COMEDIES OF BULWER 
 
 would have strengthened his party. Free, he can do no 
 harm. Blount calls and the minister reasons with him 
 on the proposal to extend the life of the parliament. 
 Blount regards this attempt to silence the nation as in- 
 famous and declares that he is not to be bought. "Wal- 
 pole argues that man prevails only by buying and sell- 
 ing, and that only those who are worth nothing are not 
 bought. Blount is worth much, he is wanted, and he is 
 asked to write his price. On the paper handed to him 
 he writes ''Among the men who are bought to save Eng- 
 land inscribe me, and my price is the head of the man 
 who would bribe me. ' ' That strikes Walpole as too high 
 reaching, but he must have Blount's support, so other 
 means must be thought of. 
 
 At Mrs. Vizard's house, where Lucy Wilmot has her 
 home, two Jacobite lords seek shelter for a lady until 
 evening and as they reward her amply she accepts the 
 charge. It is Nithsdale disguised in his wife's dress. 
 Blount enters and upbraids Mrs. Vizard for her careless- 
 ness in permitting Bellair to see and confer with Lucy. 
 He has represented himself as John Jones, and his in- 
 tention to make Lucy his wife has never been divulged. 
 Now his plans being in danger he decides to hurry mat- 
 ters and will see and talk to Lucy. To her he denounces 
 Bellair as a wolf in sheep's clothing to save her from 
 whom he wiU marry her tomorrow, and he goes to per- 
 fect the necessary arrangements, giving the astounded 
 Lucy no chance to either protest or refuse. The news- 
 fnen announce Nithsdale 's flight from the tower dis- 
 guised in his wife's dress and Mrs. Vizard, convinced 
 that her new guest is the escaped lord and intent upon 
 
WALPOLE 399 
 
 the offered reward, locks her doors and hurries to Wal- 
 pole to sell her prisoner. Nithsdale, suspecting that he 
 is in a trap, smashes the door of his room and finds Lucy 
 similarly caged. He explains his danger, asks for an- 
 other hood and mantle, and retires to change his disguise. 
 Blount informs Bellair that Lucy his promised her hand 
 to Mr. Jones, and Sir Sidney, resolved to know his fate 
 from her own lips, tries to attract h^r attention by 
 throwing a pebble at the window. Nithsdale interprets 
 this as the signal of his friends and descends from the 
 window to the astonishment of Bellair. The mistake is 
 explained, the danger told, and Nithsdale is sent to safe- 
 ty in Bellair 's carriage. Lucy, replying to Sir Sidney's 
 enquiries, relates how she has been told to marry Mr. 
 Jones, whom she reveres as a grandfather but never 
 dreamed of aS a lover. Bellair arranges to come with a 
 ladder at ten o'clock and convey her to his home, where 
 priest and friends will be present. Blount, having 
 found a parson and secured a cottage, is felicitating him- 
 self on his success in misleading Bellair, and gloating in 
 advance over the cheers he will win in the house when he 
 exposes Walpole's attempt to bribe him, meets Sir Sid- 
 ney and is told that Lucy never intended to marry old 
 Mr. Jones, that on the contrary she is to become Lady 
 Bellair this day and he is asked to attend the nuptials 
 and act as the bride's father. A Jacobite lord thanks 
 Sir Sidney for his generous assistance to Nithsdale, who 
 has now got safely away, and gives him a letter exposing 
 the treachery of Mrs. Vizard which he hands to Blount, 
 who retains and transfers the missive to Vesey, making 
 the arrest of Bellair the price of its surrender. 
 
400 COMEDIES OF BULWER 
 
 Vesey hurries to Walpale, and an order for Sir Sid- 
 ney's arrest is signed, but the minister insists that only 
 gentle measures are to be taken. Bellair must stay 
 within doors, and Yesey had best keep him company. 
 When Mrs Vizard came to betray Nithsdale, Walpole de- 
 tained her until his messenger could make sure that the 
 bird was flown. In her den his agent found another cap- 
 tive, a weeping girl named Wihnot, and the minister 
 must know who she is and how she came there. Mrs. 
 Vizard is summoned. She explains how Seldon Blount 
 has been benefactor to Lucy Wilmot, an orphan, and the 
 name being that of Walpole 's sister, the minister sus- 
 pects that she is a member of his own family and he ac- 
 companies Mrs. Vizard to her home to investigate. An 
 interview with Lucy convinces him thatjbe has found his 
 lost sister's child. He learns all about her two lovers 
 and how Bellair proposes to take her away tonight. Dis- 
 approving of the planned abduction Walpole sends his 
 servant to bring Sir Sidney. A pebble is thrown against 
 the window, as agreed upon, but it cannot be the signal 
 of BeUair, for he is safe. Walpole looks from the win- 
 dow and sees a ladder, so he instructs his niece to whis- 
 per '*I'm chained to the floor, come up and release me," 
 and he hides behind the door. Blount enters through 
 the window. He upbraids Lucy for her deceptions and 
 falsities, and when she defends her actions, he grows 
 stem and declares that only as his bride shall she leave 
 these walls. Then Walpole taps him on the shoulder, 
 steps into the balcony and pushes down the ladder, and 
 returns as Blount, realizing the impossibility of escape, 
 draws his sword. The minister bids him abstain from 
 
WALPOLE 401 
 
 further blundering, and Lucy intercedes and asks for- 
 ge tfulness of a moment's madness which cannot wipe out 
 the long-continued kindness shown a poor orphan, and 
 Walpole agrees that the matter shall be a secret. A 
 knock at the door behind which Walpole conceals him- 
 self precedes the entrance of Bellair, Vesey, and Mrs. 
 Vizard. Sir Sidney upbraids Blount for his betrayal of 
 friendship and confidence. The minister interrupts 
 what threatens to become a quarrel, by representing the 
 disclosure of Nithsdale's letter aa a kindness, for it was 
 coupled with the condition of Bellair 's pardon, which is 
 granted, and Blount's presence is another service since 
 it saves Sir Sidney from degrading his bride by the 
 scandal of flight. He asks Bellair in a whisper if he in- 
 tended honest wedlock with one seemingly so far beneath 
 him, and when assured of his good faith, bids him ask 
 of Walpole the hand of his niece, and thank the friend 
 who has preengaged his consent. Bellair 's good opinion 
 of Blount is restored, and a nephew cannot vote against 
 his uncle. The generosity of the minister converts the 
 opponent into a friend and assures the safety of the bill, 
 and so the matters which threatened storm take on an- 
 other complexion and the glass stands at fair for the 
 minister. 
 
i 
 
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