No More Learning

In a
1
1
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EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON
2713
The gladiator felt that his doom was sealed; he uttered no
prayer - no groan. The people gave the signal of death! In
dogged but agonized submission he bent his neck to receive the
fatal stroke. And now, as the spear of the retiarius was not a
weapon to inflict instant and certain death, there stalked into the
arena a grim and fatal form, brandishing a short, sharp sword,
and with features utterly concealed beneath its visor. With slow
and measured step this dismal headsman approached the gladi-
ator, still kneeling — laid the left hand on his humbled crest
drew the edge of the blade across his neck — turned round to the
assembly, lest, in the last moment, remorse should come upon
them; the dread signal continued the same; the blade glittered
brightly in the air — fell — and the gladiator rolled upon the sand:
his limbs quivered
were still — he was a corpse.
His body was dragged at once from the arena through the
gate of death, and thrown into the gloomy den termed technically
the “spoliarium. ” And ere it had well reached that destination
the strife between the remaining combatants was decided. The
sword of Eumolpus had inflicted the death-wound upon the less
experienced combatant. A new victim was added to the recep-
tacle of the slain.
Throughout that mighty assembly there now ran a universal
movement; the people breathed more freely and settled them-
selves in their seats. A grateful shower was cast over every row
from the concealed conduits. In cool and luxurious pleasure
they talked over the late spectacle of blood. Eumolpus removed
his helmet and wiped his brows; his close-curled hair and short
beard, his noble Roman features and bright dark eye, attracted
the general admiration. He was fresh, unwounded, unfatigued.
The ædile paused, and proclaimed aloud that as Niger's
wound disabled him from again entering the arena, Lydon was
to be the successor to the slaughtered Nepimus and the new
combatant of Eumolpus.
“Yet, Lydon,” added he, if thou wouldst decline the combat
with one so brave and tried, thou mayst have full liberty to do
Eumolpus is not the antagonist that was originally decreed
for thee. Thou knowest best how far thou canst cope with him.
If thou failest, thy doom is honorable death; if thou conquerest,
out of my own purse I will double the stipulated prize. ”
The people shouted applause. Lydon stood in the lists; he
gazed around; high above he beheld the pale face, the straining
So.


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EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON
eyes of his father. He turned away irresolute for a moment.
No! the conquest of the cestus was not sufficient he had not
yet won the prize of victory -- his father was still a slave!
“Noble ædile! ” he replied, in a firm and deep tone, “I shrink
not from this combat. For the honor of Pompeii, I demand that
one trained by its long-celebrated lanista shall do battle with this
Roman. ”
The people shouted louder than before.
"Four to one against Lydon! ” said Clodius to Lepidus.
“I would not take twenty to one! Why, Eumolpus is a very
Achilles, and this poor fellow is but a tyro! ”
Eumolpus gazed hard on the face of Lydon: he smiled; yet
the smile was followed by a slight and scarce audible sigh-a
touch of compassionate emotion, which custom conquered the
moment the heart acknowledged it.
And now both, clad in complete armor, the sword drawn, the
visor closed, the two last combatants of the arena (ere man, at
least, was matched with beast) stood opposed to each other.
It was just at this time that a letter was delivered to the
prætor by one of the attendants of the arena; he removed the
cincture glanced
it for moment — his countenance
betrayed surprise and embarrassment. He re-read the letter, and
then muttering,— «Tush! it is impossible ! - the man must be
drunk, even in the morning, to dream of such follies! ” — threw
it carelessly aside and gravely settled himself once more in the
attitude of attention to the sports.
The interest of the public was wound up very high. Eumol-
pus had at first won their favor; but the gallantry of Lydon,
and his well-timed allusion to the honor of the Pompeiian lan-
ista, had afterward given the latter the preference in their eyes.
"Holla, old fellow! ” said Medon's neighbor to him. « Your
son is hardly matched; but never fear, the editor will not per-
mit him to be slain no, nor the people neither: he has behaved
too bravely for that. Ha! that was a home thrust ! - well averted
by Pollux ! At him again, Lydon ! - they stop to breathe! What
art thou muttering, old boy? ”
“Prayers! ” answered Medon, with a more calm and hopeful
mien than he had yet maintained.
“Prayers! — trifles! The time for gods to carry a man away
in a cloud is gone now. Ha! Jupiter, what a blow! Thy side -
thy side! — take care of thy side, Lydon! ”
over
a


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EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON
2715
There was a convulsive tremor throughout the assembly. A
fierce blow from Eumolpus, full on the crest, had brought Lydon
to his knee.
“ Habet! — he has it! ” cried a shrill female voice; "he has it! ”
It was the voice of the girl who had so anxiously anticipated
the sacrifice of some criminal to the beasts.
«Be silent, child! ” said the wife of Pansa, haughtily. « Non
habet! — he is not wounded! ”
"I wish he were, if only to spite old surly Medon,” muttered
the girl.
Meanwhile Lydon, who had hitherto defended himself with
great skill and valor, began to give way before the vigorous
assaults of the practiced Roman; his arm grew tired, his eye
dizzy, he breathed hard and painfully. The combatants paused
again for breath.
"Young man, ” said Eumolpus, in a low voice, “desist; I will
wound thee slightly — then lower thy arm; thou hast propitiated
the editor and the mob — thou wilt be honorably saved! ”
And my father still enslaved! ” groaned Lydon to himself.
“No! death or his freedom. ”
At that thought, and seeing that, his strength not being equal
to the endurance of the Roman, everything depended on a sud-
den and desperate effort, he threw himself fiercely on Eumolpus;
the Roman warily retreated — Lydon thrust again - Eumolpus
drew himself aside — the sword grazed his cuirass - Lydon's
breast was exposed — the Roman plunged his sword through the
joints of the armor, not meaning however to inflict a deep
wound; Lydon, weak and exhausted, fell forward, fell right on
the point; it passed through and through, even to the back.
Eumolpus drew forth his blade; Lydon still made an effort to
regain his balance - his sword left his grasp-he struck mechan-
ically at the gladiator with his naked hand and fell prostrate on
the arena. With one accord, ædile and assembly made the signal
of mercy; the officers of the arena approached, they took off the
helmet of the vanquished. He still breathed; his eyes rolled
fiercely on his foe; the savageness he had acquired in his calling
glared from
from his gaze and lowered upon the brow, darkened
already with the shades of death; then with a convulsive groan,
with a half-start, he lifted his eyes above. They rested not on
the face of the ædile nor on the pitying brows of the relenting
judges. He saw them not; they were as if the vast space was


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EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON
desolate and bare; one pale agonizing face alone was all he
recognized one cry of a broken heart was all that, amid the
murmurs and the shouts of the populace, reached his ear. The
ferocity vanished from his brow; a soft, tender expression of
sanctifying but despairing filial love played over his features
played — waned — darkened! His face suddenly became locked
and rigid, resuming its former fierceness. He fell upon the earth.
"Look to him," said the ædile; "he has done his duty! ”
The officers dragged him off to the spoliarium.
"A true type of glory, and of its fate! ” murmured Arbaces
to himself; and his eye, glancing around the amphitheatre,
betrayed so much of disdain and scorn that whoever encountered
it felt his breath suddenly arrested, and his emotions frozen into
one sensation of abasement and of awe.
Again rich perfumes were wafted around the theatre; the
attendants sprinkled fresh sand over the arena.
« Bring forth the lion and Glaucus the Athenian,” said the
ædile.
And a deep and breathless hush of overwrought interest and
intense (yet strange to say not unpleasing) terror lay like a
mighty and awful dream over the assembly.
The door swung gratingly back — the gleam of spears shot
along the wall.
“Glaucus the Athenian, thy time has come,” said a loud and
clear voice; “the lion awaits thee. ”
"I am ready,” said the Athenian. «Brother and co-mate, one
last embrace !
Bless me
and farewell! )
The Christian opened his arms; he clasped the young heathen
to his breast; he kissed his forehead and cheek; he sobbed aloud;
his tears flowed fast and hot over the features of his new friend.
“Oh! could I have converted thee, I had not wept. Oh that
I might say to thee, We two shall sup this night in Paradise ! ) )
"It may be so yet,” answered the Greek with a tremulous
voice. “They whom death parts now may yet meet beyond the
grave; on the earth-oh! the beautiful, the beloved earth, fare.
well for ever! Worthy officer, I attend you. "
Glaucus tore himself away; and when he came forth into the
air, its breath, which though sunless was hot and arid, smote
witheringly upon him. His frame, not yet restored from the


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EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON
2717
effects of the deadly draught, shrank and trembled. The officers
supported him.
"Courage! ” said one; “thou art young, active, well knit.
They give thee a weapon! despair not, and thou mayst yet con-
quer. ”
Glaucus did not reply; but ashamed of his infirmity, he made
a desperate and convulsive effort and regained the firmness of
his nerves. They anointed his body, completely naked save by a
cincture round the loins, placed the stilus (vain weapon ! ) in his
hand, and led him into the arena.
And now when the Greek saw the eyes of thousands and
tens of thousands upon him, he no longer felt that he was mor-
tal. All evidence of fear, all fear itself, was gone. A red and
haughty flush spread over the paleness of his features; he tow-
ered aloft to the full of his glorious stature. In the elastic
beauty of his limbs and form; in his intent but unfrowning
brow; in the high disdain and in the indomitable soul which
breathed visibly, which spoke audibly, from his attitude, his lip,
his eye,- he seemed the very incarnation, vivid and corporeal,
of the valor of his land; of the divinity of its worship: at once
a hero and a god!
The murmur of hatred and horror at his crime which had
greeted his entrance died into the silence of involuntary admira-
tion and half-compassionate respect; and with a quick and con-
vulsive sigh, that seemed to move the whole mass of life as if it
one body, the
gaze
of the spectators turned from the
Athenian to a dark uncouth object in the centre of the arena.
It was the grated den of the lion.
“By Venus, how warm it is! ” said Fulvia, “yet there is no
Would that those stupid sailors could have fastened up that
gap in the awning!
"Oh, it is warm indeed. I turn sick - I faint! ” said the wife
of Pansa; even her experienced stoicism giving way at the
struggle about to take place.
The lion had been kept without food for twenty-four hours,
and the animal had, during the whole morning, testified a singu-
lar and restless uneasiness, which the keeper had attributed to
the pangs of hunger. Yet its bearing seemed rather that of
fear than of rage; its roar was painful and distressed; it hung its
head-snuffed the air through the bars - then lay down--started
again - and again uttered its wild and far-resounding cries.
were
sun.
>>>


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2718
EDWARD BU'LWER-LYTTON
now in its den it lay utterly dumb and mute, with distended
nostrils forced hard against the grating, and disturbing, with a
heaving breath, the sand below on the arena.
The editor's lip quivered, and his cheek grew pale; he looked
anxiously around — hesitated - delayed; the crowd became impa-
tient. Slowly he gave the sign; the keeper, who was behind the
den, cautiously removed the grating, and the lion leaped forth
with a mighty and glad roar of release. The keeper hastily
retreated through the grated passage leading from the arena, and
left the lord of the forest — and his prey.
Glaucus had bent his limbs so as to give himself the firmest
posture at the expected rush of the lion, with his small and
shining weapon raised on high, in the faint hope that one well-
directed thrust (for he knew that he should have time but for
one) might penetrate through the eye to the brain of his grim foe.
But to the unutterable astonishment of all, the beast seemed
not even aware of the presence of the criminal.
At the first moment of its release it halted abruptly in the
arena, raised itself half on end, snuffing the upward air with
impatient signs, then suddenly it sprang forward, but not on the
Athenian. At half-speed it circled round and round the space,
turning its vast head from side to side with an anxious and per-
turbed gaze, as if seeking only some avenue of escape; once or
twice it endeavored to leap up the parapet that divided it from
the audience, and on falling, uttered rather a baffled howl than
its deep-toned and kingly roar. It evinced no sign either of
wrath or hunger; its tail drooped along the sand, instead of
lashing its gaunt sides; and its eye, though it wandered at times
to Glaucus, rolled again listlessly from him. At length, as if
tired of attempting to escape, it crept with a moan into its cage,
and once more laid itself down to rest.
The first surprise of the assembly at the apathy of the lion
soon grew converted into resentment at its cowardice; and the
populace already merged their pity for the fate of Glaucus into
angry compassion for their own disappointment.
The editor called to the keeper:- "How is this? Take the
goad, prick him forth, and then close the door of the den. ”
As the keeper, with some fear but more astonishment, was
preparing to obey, a loud cry was heard at one of the entrances
of the arena; there was a confusion, a bustle — voices of remon-
strance suddenly breaking forth, and suddenly silenced at the


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EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON
2719
reply. All eyes turned in wonder at the interruption, toward the
quarter of the disturbance; the crowd gave way, and suddenly
Sallust appeared on the senatorial benches, his hair disheveled —
breathless — heated — half exhausted. He cast his eyes hastily
round the ring Remove the Athenian! ” he cried; haste- he
is innocent! Arrest Arbaces the Egyptian — he is the murderer
of Apæcides!
Art thou mad, O Sallust! ” said the prætor, rising from his
seat. “What means this raving ? ”
“Remove the Athenian! - Quick! or his blood be on your
head. Prætor, delay, and you answer with your own life to the
Emperor! I bring with me the eye-witness to the death of the
priest Apæcides. Room there, stand back, give way. People of
Pompeii, fix every eye upon Arbaces; there he sits! Room there
for the priest Calenus! ”
Pale, haggard, fresh from the jaws of famine and of death,
his face fallen, his eyes dull as a vulture's, his broad frame gaunt
as a skeleton, Calenus was supported into the very row in which
Arbaces sat. His releasers had given him sparingly of food; but
the chief sustenance that nerved his feeble limbs was revenge!
«The priest Calenus — Calenus! » cried the mob. It is he?
No— it is a dead man! »
"It is the priest Calenus,” said the prætor, gravely.
hast thou to say ? ”
«Arbaces of Egypt is the murderer of Apæcides, the priest of
Isis; these eyes saw him deal the blow. It is from the dungeon
into which he plunged me - it is from the darkness and horror
of a death by famine — that the gods have raised me to proclaim
his crime! Release the Athenian- he is innocent! »
“It is for this, then, that the lion spared him. A miracle! a
miracle ! » cried Pansa.
"A miracle! a miracle! ” shouted the people; “remove the
Athenian - Arbaces to the lion. ”
And that shout echoed from hill to vale from coast to sea
Arbaces to the lion.
“Officers, remove the accused Glaucus
-remove, but guard
him yet,” said the prætor. « The gods lavish their wonders upon
this day. ”
As the prætor gave the word of release, there was a cry of
joy: a female voice, a child's voice; and it was of joy! It rang
through the heart of the assembly with electric force; it was
( What


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EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON
touching, it was holy, that child's voice. And the populace
echoed it back with sympathizing congratulation.
“Silence! ” said the grave prætor; «who is there ? ”
« The blind girl — Nydia,” answered Sallust; it is her hand
that has raised Calenus from the grave, and delivered Glaucus
from the lion. ”
"Of this hereafter,” said the prætor. "Calenus, priest of Isis,
thou accusest Arbaces of the murder of Apæcides ? »
«I do! ”
« Thou didst behold the deed ?
»
« Prætor — with these eyes –
“Enough at present—the details must be reserved for more
suiting time and place. Arbaces of Egypt, thou hearest the
charge against thee — thou hast not yet spoken — what hast thou
to say? "
The gaze of the crowd had been long riveted on Arbaces;
but not until the confusion which he had betrayed at the first
charge of Sallust and the entrance of Calenus had subsided. At
the shout, “Arbaces to the lion! ” he had indeed trembled, and
the dark bronze of his cheek had taken a paler hue. But he
had soon recovered his haughtiness and self-control. Proudly he
returned the angry glare of the countless eyes around him; and
replying now to the question of the prætor, he said, in that ac-
cent so peculiarly tranquil and commanding which characterized
his tones:
"Prætor, this charge is so mad that it scarcely deserves reply.
My first accuser is the noble Sallust — the most intimate friend
of Glaucus! My second is a priest: I revere his garb and call-
ing - but, people of Pompeii! ye know somewhat of the charac-
ter of Calenus — he is griping and gold-thirsty to a proverb; the
witness of such men is to be bought! Prætor, I am innocent!
“ Sallust,” said the magistrate, “where found you Calenus ? ”
"In the dungeons of Arbaces. ”
“Egyptian," said the prætor, frowning, “thou didst, then, dare
to imprison a priest of the gods — and wherefore ? »
"Hear me,” answered Arbaces, rising calmly, but with agita-
tion visible in his face.
This man
came to threaten that he
would make against me the charge he has now made, unless I
would purchase his silence with half my fortune; I remonstrated
- in vain. Peace there - let not the priest interrupt me! Noble
prætor - and ye, O people! I was a stranger in the land - I


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EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON
2721
knew myself innocent of crime — but the witness of a priest
against me might yet destroy me. In my perplexity I decoyed
him to the cell whence he has been released, on pretense that it
was the coffer-house of my gold. I resolved to detain him there
until the fate of the true criminal was sealed and his threats
could avail no longer; but I meant no worse.
I may have erred
- but who among ye will not acknowledge the equity of self-
preservation ? Were I guilty, why was the witness of this priest
silent at the trial ? — then I had not detained or concealed him.
Why did he not proclaim my guilt when I proclaimed that of
Glaucus ? Prætor, this needs an answer. For the rest, I throw
myself on your laws. I demand their protection. Remove hence
the accused and the accuser. I will willingly meet, and cheer-
fully abide by the decision of, the legitimate tribunal. This is
no place for further parley. "
“He says right,” said the prætor. “Ho! guards — remove
Arbaces - guard Calenus! Sallust, we hold you responsible for
your accusation.
Let the sports be resumed. ”
“What! ” cried Calenus, turning round to the people,
« shall
Isis be thus contemned ? Shall the blood of Apæcides yet cry
for vengeance? Shall justice be delayed now, that it may be
frustrated hereafter? Shall the lion be cheated of his lawful
prey? A god! a god! - I feel the god rush to my lips! To the
lion to the lion with Arbaces! »
His exhausted frame could support no longer the ferocious
malice of the priest; he sank on the ground in strong convul-
sions; the foam gathered to his mouth; he was as a man,
indeed, whom a supernatural power had entered! The people
saw, and shuddered.
“It is a god that inspires the holy man! To the lion with
the Egyptian! ”
With that cry up sprang, on moved, thousands upon thou-
sands. They rushed from the heights; they poured down in the
direction of the Egyptian. In vain did the ædile command; in
vain did the prætor lift his voice and proclaim the law. The
people had been already rendered savage by the exhibition of
blood; they thirsted for more; their superstition was aided by
their ferocity. Aroused, inflamed by the spectacle of their vic-
tims, they forgot the authority of their rulers. It was one of
those dread popular convulsions common to crowds wholly igno-
rant, half free and half servile, and which the peculiar constitution
V-171


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EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON
of the Roman provinces so frequently exhibited. The power of
the prætor was a reed beneath the whirlwind; still, at his word
the guards had drawn themselves along the lower benches, on
which the upper classes sat separate from the vulgar. They
made but a feeble barrier; the waves of the human sea halted
for a moment, to enable Arbaces to count the exact moment of
his doom! In despair, and in a terror which beat down even
pride, he glanced his eye over the rolling and rushing crowd;
when, right above them, through the wide chasm which had
been left in the velaria, he beheld a strange and awful appari-
tion; he beheld, and his craft restored his courage!
He stretched his hand on high; over his lofty brow and royal
features there came an expression of unutterable solemnity and
command.
“Behold! ” he shouted with a voice of thunder, which stilled
the roar of the crowd: "behold how the gods protect the guilt-
less! The fires of the avenging Orcus burst forth against the
false witness of my accusers! ”
The eyes of the crowd followed the gesture of the Egyptian,
and beheld with dismay a vast vapor shooting from the summit
of Vesuvius in the form of a gigantic pine-tree; the trunk,
blackness — the branches fire! a fire that shifted and wavered
in its hues with every moment, now fiercely luminous, now of a
dull and dying red, that again blazed terrifically forth with intol-
erable glare!
There was a dead, heart-sunken silence; through which there
suddenly broke the roar of the lion, which was echoed back from
within the building by the sharper and fiercer yells of its fellow-
beast. Dread seers were they of the Burden of the Atmosphere,
and wild prophets of the wrath to come!
Then there arose on high the universal shrieks of women; the
men stared at each other, but were dumb. At that moment
they felt the earth shake under their feet; the walls of the theatre
trembled; and beyond in the distance they heard the crash of
falling roofs; an instant more, and the mountain cloud seemed
to roll toward them, dark and rapid, like a torrent; at the same
time it cast forth from its bosom a shower of ashes mixed with
vast fragments of burning stone! over the crushing vines, over
the desolate streets, over the amphitheatre itself; far and wide,
with many a mighty splash in the agitated sea, fell that awful
shower!


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EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON
2723
No longer thought the crowd of justice or of Arbaces; safety
for themselves was their sole thought. Each turned to fly -- each
dashing, pressing, crushing against the other. Trampling reck
lessly over the fallen, amid groans and oaths and prayers and
sudden shrieks, the enormous crowd vomited itself forth through
the numerous passages. Whither should they fly? Some, antici-
pating a second earthquake, hastened to their homes to load
themselves with their more costly goods and escape while it was
yet time; others, dreading the showers of ashes that now fell
fast, torrent upon torrent, over the streets, rushed under the
roofs of the nearest houses, or temples, or sheds — shelter of any
kind - for protection from the terrors of the open air. But
darker, and larger, and mightier, spread the cloud above them.
It was a sudden and more ghastly Night rushing upon the realm
of Noon!
KENELM AND LILY
From Kenelm Chillingly)
THE
he children have come,- some thirty of them, pretty as Eng-
lish children generally are, happy in the joy of the summer
sunshine, and the flower lawns, and the feast under cover
of an awning suspended between chestnut-trees and carpeted
with sward.
No doubt Kenelm held his own at the banquet, and did his
best to increase the general gayety, for whenever he spoke the
children listened eagerly, and when he had done they laughed
mirthfully.
“The fair face I promised you,” whispered Mrs. Braefield, is
not here yet.
I have a little note from the young lady to say
that Mrs. Cameron does not feel very well this morning, but
hopes to recover sufficiently to come later in the afternoon. ”
And
pray
who is Mrs. Cameron ? »
"Ah! I forgot that you are a stranger to the place. Mrs.
Cameron is the aunt with whom Lily resides. Is it not a pretty
name, Lily ? »
“Very! emblematic of a spinster that does not spin, with a
white head and a thin stalk. "
« Then the name belies my Lily; as you will see. ”


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2724
EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON
The children now finished their feast and betook themselves
to dancing, in an alley smoothed for a croquet-ground and to
the sound of a violin played by the old grandfather of one of the
party. While Mrs. Braefield was busying herself with forming
the dance, Kenelm seized the occasion to escape from a young
nymph of the age of twelve, who had sat next to him at the
banquet and taken so great a fancy to him that he began to
fear she would vow never to forsake his side, — and stole away
undetected.
There are times when the mirth of others only saddens us,
especially the mirth of children with high spirits, that jar on our
own quiet mood. Gliding through a dense shrubbery, in which,
though the lilacs were faded, the laburnum still retained here
and there the waning gold of its clusters, Kenelm came into a
recess which bounded his steps and invited him to repose. It
was a circle, so formed artificially by slight trellises, to which
clung parasite roses heavy with leaves and flowers. In the midst
played a tiny fountain with a silvery murmuring sound; at the
background, dominating the place, rose the crests of stately trees,
on which the sunlight shimmered, but which rampired out all
horizon beyond. Even as in life do the great dominant pas-
sions - love, ambition, desire of power, or gold, or fame, or
knowledge — form the proud background to the brief-lived flow-
erets of our youth, lift our eyes beyond the smile of their bloom,
catch the glint of a loftier sunbeam, and yet - and yet - exclude
our sight from the lengths and the widths of the space which
extends behind and beyond them.
Kenelm threw himself on the turf beside the fountain. Froin
afar came the whoop and the laugh of the children in their
sports or their dance. At the distance their joy did not sadden
him - he marveled why; and thus, in musing reverie, thought to
explain the why to himself.
"The poet,” so ran his lazy thinking, has told us that dis-
tance lends enchantment to the view,' and thus compares to the
charm of distance the illusion of hope. But the poet narrow's
the scope of his own illustration. Distance lends enchantment to
the ear as well as to the sight; nor to these bodily senses alone.
Memory, no less than hope, owes its charm to the far away. '
"I cannot imagine myself again a child when I am in the
midst of yon noisy children. But as their noise reaches me here,
subdued and mellowed; and knowing, thank Heaven! that the


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EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON
2725
urchins are not within reach of me, I could readily dream myself
back into childhood and into sympathy with the lost playfields of
school.
« So surely it must be with grief: how different the terrible
agony for a beloved one just gone from earth, to the soft regret
for one who disappeared into heaven years ago! So with the art
of poetry: how imperatively, when it deals with the great emo-
tions of tragedy, it must remove the actors from us, in propor-
tion as the emotions are to elevate, and the tragedy is to please
us by the tears it draws! Imagine our shock if a poet were to
place on the stage some wise gentleman with whom we dined
yesterday, and who was discovered to have killed his father and
married his mother. But when Edipus commits those unhappy
mistakes nobody is shocked. Oxford in the nineteenth century is
a long way off from Thebes three thousand or four thousand
years ago.
"And,” continued Kenelm, plunging deeper into the maze of
metaphysical criticism, “even where the poet deals with persons
and things close upon our daily sight - if he would give them
poetic charm he must resort to a sort of moral or psychological
distance; the nearer they are to us in external circumstance, the
farther they must be in some internal peculiarities. Werter and
Clarissa Harlowe are described as contemporaries of their artistic
creation, and with the minutest details of an apparent realism;
yet they are at once removed from our daily lives by their idio-
syncrasies and their fates. We know that while Werter and Clar-
issa are so near to us in much that we sympathize with them as
friends and kinsfolk, they are yet as much remote from us in
the poetic and idealized side of their natures as if they belonged
to the age of Homer; and this it is that invests with charm the
very pain which their fate inflicts on Thus, I suppose, it
must be in love. If the love we feel is to have the glamor of
poetry, it must be love for some one morally at a distance from
our ordinary habitual selves; in short, differing from us in at-
tributes which, however near we draw to the possessor, we can
never approach, never blend, in attributes of our own; so that
there is something in the loved one that always remains an
ideal -a mystery -'a sun-bright summit mingling with the
sky! )
From this state, half comatose, half unconscious, Kenelm was
roused slowly, reluctantly. Something struck softly on his cheek
us.


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2726
EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON
- again a little less softly; he opened his eyes — they fell first
upon two tiny rosebuds, which, on striking his face, had fallen
on his breast; and then looking up, he saw before him, in an
opening of the trellised circle, a female child's laughing face.
Her hand was still uplifted, charged with another rosebud; but
behind the child's figure, looking over her shoulder and holding
back the menacing arm, was a face as innocent but lovelier far
the face of a girl in her first youth, framed round with the
blossoms that festooned the trellis. How the face became the
flowers! It seemed the fairy spirit of them.
Kenelm started and rose to his feet. The child, the one
whom he had so ungallantly escaped from, ran towards him
through a wicket in the circle. Her companion disappeared.
"Is it you ? ” said Kenelm to the child - "you who pelted me
so cruelly ? Ungrateful creature! Did I not give you the best
strawberries in the dish, and all my own cream ? ”
« But why did you run away and hide yourself when you
ought to be dancing with me? ” replied the young lady, evading,
with the instinct of her sex, all answer to the reproach she had
deserved.
"I did not run away; and it is clear that I did not mean to
hide myself, since you so easily found me out. But who was the
young lady with you? I suspect she pelted me too, for she
seems to have run away to hide herself. ”
“No, she did not pelt you; she wanted to stop me, and you
would have had another rosebud – oh, so much bigger! - if she
had not held back my arm. Don't you know her — don't you
know Lily? ”
“No; so that is Lily? You shall introduce me to her. ”
By this time they had passed out of the circle through the
little wicket opposite the path by which Kenelm had entered,
and opening at once on the lawn. Here at some distance the
children were grouped; some reclined on the grass, some walking
to and fro, in the interval of the dance.
Before he had reached the place, Mrs. Brae field met him.
Lily is come! ”
“I know it-I have seen her. ”
“Is not she beautiful ? »
"I must see more of her if I am to answer critically; but
before you introduce me, may I be permitted to ask who and
what is Lily? ”


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EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON
2727
« Did you
Mrs. Braefield paused a moment before she answered, and yet
the answer was brief enough not to need much consideration:
«She is a Miss Mordaunt, an orphan; and as I before told you,
resides with her aunt, Mrs. Cameron, a widow. They have the
prettiest cottage you ever saw on the banks of the river, or rather
rivulet, about a mile from this place. Mrs. Cameron is a very
good, simple-hearted woman. As to Lily, I can praise her beauty
only with safe conscience, for as yet she is a mere child — her
mind quite unformed. ”
ver meet any man, much less any woman, whose
mind was formed ? » muttered Kenelm. "I am sure mine is not,
and never will be on this earth. ”
Mrs. Braefield did not hear this low-voiced observation. She
was looking about for Lily; and perceiving her at last as the
children who surrounded her were dispersing to renew the dance,
she took Kenelm's arm, led him to the young lady, and a formal
introduction took place.
Formal as it could be on those sunlit swards, amidst the joy
of summer and the laugh of children. In such scene and such
circumstance, formality does not last long. I know not how it
was, but in a very few minutes Kenelm and Lily had ceased to
be strangers to each other. They found themselves seated apart
from the rest of the merry-makers, on the bank shadowed by
lime-trees; the man listening with downcast eyes, the girl with
mobile shifting glances, now on earth, now on heaven, and talking
freely, gayly - like the babble of a happy stream, with a silvery
dulcet voice and a sparkle of rippling smiles.
No doubt this is a reversal of the formalities of well-bred
life and conventional narrating thereof. According to them, no
doubt, it is for the man to talk and the maid to listen; but I
state the facts as they were, honestly. And Lily knew no more
of the formalities of drawing-room life than a skylark fresh from
its nest knows of the song-teacher and the cage. She was still
so much of a child. Mrs. Braefield was right — her mind was
still so unformed.
What she did talk about in that first talk between them that
could make the meditative Kenelm listen so mutely, so intently,
I know not; at least I could not jot it down on paper. I fear
it was very egotistical, as the talk of children generally is -
about herself and her aunt and her home and her friends all
her friends seemed children like herself, though younger -


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EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON
soon
Clemmy the chief of them. Clemmy was the one who had taken
a fancy to Kenelm. And amidst all the ingenuous prattle there
came flashes of a quick intellect, a lively fancy — nay, even
poetry of expression or of sentiment. It might be the talk of a
child, but certainly not of a silly child.
But as
as the dance was over, the little ones again
gathered round Lily. Evidently she was the prime favorite of
them all; and as her companions had now become tired of dan-
cing, new sports were proposed, and Lily was carried off to
“Prisoner's Base. ”
“I am very happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Chillingly,”
said a frank, pleasant voice; and a well-dressed, good-looking
man held out his hand to Kenelm.
“My husband,” said Mrs. Braefield with a certain pride in
her look.
Kenelm responded cordially to the civilities of the master
of the house, who had just returned from his city office, and
left all its cares behind him. You had only to look at him to
see that he was prosperous and deserved to be so. There were
in his countenance the signs of strong sense, of good-humor-
above all, of an active, energetic temperament. A man of broad
smooth forehead, keen hazel eyes, firm lips and jaw; with a
happy contentment in himself, his house, the world in general,
mantling over his genial smile, and outspoken in the metallic
ring of his voice.
“You will stay and dine with us, of course,” said Mr. Brae-
field; “and unless you want very much to be in town to-night, I
hope you will take a bed here. ”
Kenelm hesitated.
"Do stay at least till to-morrow," said Mrs. Braefield.