KNEBWOHTH LIMITED EDITION
DEVE RE U X
BY
EDWARD BULWER LYTTON
(LOUD LYTTON J
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
BOSTON
ESTES AND LAURIAT
1891
KNEBWORTH LIMITED EDITION.
Limited to One Thousand Copies.
Wo,..5.9.5
â– ^ -
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TYPOGRAPHY, ELECTROTYPING, AND
PRINTING BY JOHN WILSON AND SON,
UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
DEVEREUX
Moy^.'a;:^^
DEDICATORY EPISTLE
TO
JOHN AULDJO, Esq., Etc.,
AT NAPLES
London.
My dear Auldjo, — Permit me, as a memento of the pleasant hours
•we passed together, and the intimacy we formed by the winding shores
and the rosy seas of the old Parthonope, to dedicate to you this romance.
It was written in perhaps the happiest period of my literary life, —
when success began to brighten upon my labours, and it seemed to me a
fine thing to make a name. Reputation, like all possessions, fairer in
the hope than the reality, shone before me in the gloss of novelty ; and
1 had neither felt the envy it excites, the weariness it occasions, nor
(worse than all) that coarse and painful notoriety, that something be-
tween the gossip and the slander, which attends every man whose
writings become known, — surrendering the grateful privacies of life
to
" The gaudy, babbling, and remorseless day."
In short, yet almost a boy (for, in years at least, I was little more,
when " Pelham " and " The Disowned " were conceived and composed),
and full of the sanguine arrogance of hope, I pictured to myself far
greater triumphs than it will ever be mine to achieve : and never did
architect of dreams build his pyramid upon (alas !) a narrower base, or
a more crumbling soil ! . . . Time cures us effectually of these self-
conceits, and brings us, somewhat harshly, from the gay extravagance
of confounding the much that we design with the little that we can
accomplish.
" The Disowned " and " Devereux " were both completed in retire-^
ment, and in the midst of metaphysical studies and investigations, varied
and miscellaneous enough, if not very deeply conned. At that time I
was indeed engaged in preparing for the j)rcss a Philosoj)liical Work
/
vi DEDICATIOX.
which I had afterwards the good sense to postpone to a riper age and a
moi'e sobered mind. But tlie effect of these studies is somewhat preju-
dicially visible in both the romances I have referred to ; and the external
and dramatic colourings which belong to fiction are too often forsaken for
the inward and subtile analysis of motives, characters, and actions. The
workman was not sufficiently master of his art to forbear the vanity of
parading the wheels of the mechanism, and was too fond of calling
attention to the minute and tedious operations by which the movements
were to be performed and the result obtained. I believe that an author
is generally pleased with his work less in proportion as it is good, than
in projjortion as it fulfils the idea with which he commenced it. He is
rarely perhaps an accurate judge how far the execution is in itself
faulty or meritorious ; but he judges with tolerable success how far it
accomplishes the end and objects of the conception. He is pleased with
his work, in short, according as he can say, " This has expressed what
I meant it to convey." But the reader, who is not in the secret of the
author's original design, usually views the work through a different
medium ; and is perhaps in this the wiser critic of the two : for the
book that wanders the most from the idea which originated it may
often be better than that which is rigidly limited to the unfolding and
denouement of a single conception. If we accept this solution, we may be
enabled to understand why an author not unfrequently makes favourites
of some of his productions most condemned by the public. For my own
part, I remember that " Devereux " pleased me better than " Pelham "
or " The Disowned," because the execution more exactly corresponded
with the design. It expressed with tolerable fidelity what I meant it to
express. That was a happy age, my dear Auldjo, when, on finishing a
work, we could feel contented with our labour, and fancy we had done
our best ! Now, alas ! I have learned enough of the wonders of the Art
to recognize all the deficiencies of the Disciple ; and to know that no
author worth the reading can ever in one single work do half of which
he is capable.
What man ever wrote anything really good who did not feel that he
had the ability to write something better ? "Writing, after all, is a cold
and a coarse interpreter of thought. How much of the imagination,
how much of the intellect, evaporates and is lost while we seek to em-
body it in words ! Man made language and God the genius. Notliing
short of an eternity could enable men who imagine, think, and feel, to
express all they have imagined, thought, and felt. Immortality, the
spiritual desire, is the intellectual necessity.
In " Devereux " I wished to portray a man flourishing in the last
century with the train of mind and sentiment peculiar to the present ;
DEDICATION. Vll
describing a life, and not its dramatic epitome, the historical characters
introduced are not closely woven with the main i)lot, like those in the
fictions of Sir Walter Scott, but are rather, like the narrative romances
of an earlier school, designed to relieve the predominant interest, and
give a greater air of truth and actuality to the supposed memoir. It is
a fiction which deals less with the Picturesque than the Real. Of the
principal character thus introduced (the celebrated and graceful, but
charlatanic, Bolingbroke) I still think that my sketch, upon the whole,
is substantially just. AVe must not judge of the politicians of one age
by the lights of another. Happily we now demand in a statesman a
desire for other aims than his own advancement ; but at that period
ambition was almost universally selfish — the Statesman was yet a
Courtier — a man whose very destiny it was to intrigue, to plot, to
glitter, to deceive. It is in j)roportion as politics have ceased to be a
secret science, in proportion as courts are less to be flattered and tools
to be managed, that politicians have become useful and honest men ;
and the statesman now directs a people, where once he outwitted an
ante-chamber. Compare Bolingbroke — not with the men and by the
rules of this day, but with the men and by the rules of the last. He
will lose nothing in comparison with a Walpole, with a Marlborough on
the one side, — with an Oxford or a Swift upon the other.
And now, my dear Auldjo, you have had enough of my egotisms. As
our works grow up, — like old parents, we grow garrulous, and love to
recur to the happier days of their childhood ; we talk over the pleasant
pain they cost us in their rearing, and memory renews the season of
dreams and hopes ; we speak of their faults as of things past, of their
merits as of things enduring : we are proud to see them still living, and,
after many a harsh ordeal and rude assault, keeping a certain station in
the world ; we hoped perhaps something better for them in their cradle,
but as it is we have good cause to be contented. You, a fellow-author,
and one whose spirited and charming sketches embody so much of per-
sonal adventure, and therefore so much connect themselves with associ-
ations of real life as well as of the studious closet ; you know, and must
feel with me, that these our books are a part of us, bone of our bone
and flesh of our flesh 1 They treasure up the thoughts which stirred us,
the affections which warmed us, years ago ; they are the mirrors of how
much of what we were ! To the world they are hut as a certain number
of pages, — good or bad, — tedious or diverting ; but to ourselves, the
authors, they are as marks in the wild maze of life by which we can
retrace our steps, and be with our youth again. "What would I not give
to feel as I felt, to hope as I hoped, to believe as I believed, when this
work was first launched upon the world ! But time gives while it takes
viil DEDICATION.
away ; and amongst its recompenses for many losses are the memories
I referred to in commencing this letter, and gratefully revert to at its
close. From the land of cloud and the life of toil, I turn to that golden
clime and the happy indolence that so well accords with it ; and hope
once more, ere I die, with a companion whose knowledge can recall the
past and whose gayety can enliven the present, to visit the Disburied
City of Pompeii, and see the moonlight sparkle over the waves of
Naples. Adieu, my dear Auldjo,
And believe me,
Your obliged and attached friend,
E. B. Lytton.
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHER'S INTRODUCTION.
My life has been one of frequent adventure and constant
excitement. It has been passed, to this present day, in a
stirring age, and not without acquaintance of the most
eminent and active spirits of the time. Men of all grades
and of every character have been familiar to me. War,
love, ambition, the scroll of sages, the festivals of wit, the
intrigues of states, — all that agitate mankind, the hope
and the fear, the labour and the pleasure, the great drama
of vanities, with the little interludes of wisdom ; these have
been the occupations of my manhood ; these will furnish
forth the materials of that history which is now open to
your survey. Whatever be the faults of the historian, he
has no motive to palliate what he has committed nor to
conceal what he has felt.
Children of an after century, the very time in which
these pages will greet you destroys enough of the connec-
tion between you and myself to render me indifferent alike
to your censure and your applause. Exactly one hundred
years from the day this record is completed will the seal I
shall place on it be broken and the secrets it contains be
disclosed. I claim that congeniality with you which I have
found not among my own coevals. Their thoughts, their
feelings, their views, have nothing kindred to my own. I
speak their language, but it is not as a native : they know
not a syllable of mine ! With a future age my heart may
X AUTOBIOGRAPHEPt'S INTRODUCTIOX.
have more in common ; to a future age my thoughts may
be less unfamiliar, and my sentiments less strange. I trust
these confessions to the trial !
Children of an after century, between you and the being
who has traced the pages ye behold — that busy, versatile,
restless being — there is but one step, — but that step is a
century ! His now is separated from your now by an in-
terval of three generations ! While he writes, he is exult-
ing in the vigour of health and manhood ; while ye read,
the very worms are starving upon his dust. This com-
mune between the living and the dead ; this intercourse
between that which breathes and moves and ^s, and that
which life animates not nor mortality knows, — annihilates
falsehood, and chills even self-delusion into awe. Come,
then, and look upon the picture of a past day and of a gone
being, without apprehension of deceit ; and as the shadows
and lights of a checkered and wild existence flit before you,
watch if in your own hearts there be aught which mirrors
the reflection.
Morton Devereux.
NOTE TO THE PRESENT EDITION (1852).
If this work possess any merit of a Narrative order, it
will perhaps be found in its fidelity to the characteristics
of an Autobiography. The reader must, indeed, comply
with the condition exacted from his imagination and faith ;
that is to say, he must take the hero of the story upon the
terms for which Morton Devereux himself stipulates ; and
regard the supposed Count as one who lived and wrote in
the last century, but who (dimly conscious that the tone
of his mind harmonized less with his own age than with
that which was to come) left his biography as a legacy to
the present. This assumption (which is not an unfair
one) liberally conceded, and allowed to account for occa-
sional anachronisms in sentiment, Morton Devereux will
be found to write as a man who is not constructing a ro-
mance, but narrating a life. He gives to Love, its joy and
its sorrow, its due share in an eventful and passionate ex-
istence ; but it is the share of biography, not of fiction.
He selects from the crowd of personages with whom he is
brought into contact, not only those who directly influence
his personal destinies, but those of whom a sketch or an
anecdote would appear to a biographer likely to have in-
terest for posterity. Louis XIV., the Regent Orleans,
Peter the Great, Lord Bolingbroke, and others less emi-
nent, but still of mark in their own day, if growing obscure
to ours, are introduced not for the purposes and agencies
xu NOTE TO THE PRESENT EDITION.
of fiction, but as an autobiographer's natural illustrations
of the men and manners of his time.
And here be it pardoned if I add that so minute an atten-
tion has been paid to accuracy that even in petty details,
and in relation to historical characters but slightly known
to the ordinary reader, a critic deeply acquainted with the
memoirs of the age will allow that the novelist is always
merged in the narrator.
Unless the Author has failed more in his design than, on
revising the work of his early youth with the comparatively
impartial eye of maturer judgment, he is disposed to con-
cede, Morton Devereux will also be found with that marked
individuality of character which distinguishes the man who
has lived and laboured from the hero of romance. He ad-
mits into his life but few passions ; those are tenacious and
intense : conscious that none who are around him will
sympathize with his deeper feelings, he veils them under
the sneer of an irony which is often affected and never
mirthful. Wherever we find him, after surviving the brief
episode of love, we feel — though he does not tell us so —
that he is alone in the world. He is represented as a keen
observer and a successful actor in the busy theatre of man-
kind, precisely in proportion as no cloud from the heart
obscures the cold clearness of the mind. In the scenes of
pleasure there is no joy in his smile ; in the contests of am-
bition there is no quicker beat of the pulse. Attaining in
the prime of manhood such position and honour as would
first content and then sate a man of this mould, he has
nothing left but to discover the vanities of this world and
to ponder on the hopes of the next ; and, his last passion
dying out in the retribution that falls on his foe, he finally
sits down in retirement to rebuild the ruined home of his
youth, — unconscious that to that solitude the Destinies
have led him to repair the waste and ravages of his own
melancholy soul.
NOTE TO THE PRESENT EDITION. Xiu
But while outward Dramatic harmonies between cause
and effect, and the proportionate agencies which characters
introduced in the Drama bring to bear upon event and
catastrophe, are carefully shunned, — as real life does for
the most part shun them, — yet there is a latent coherence
in all that, by influencing the mind, do, though indirectly,
shape out the fate and guide the actions.
Dialogue and adventures which, considered dramatically,
would be episodical, — considered biographically, will be
found essential to the formation, change, and development
of the narrator's character. The grave conversations with
Bolingbroke and Richard Cromwell, the light scenes in
London and at Paris, the favour obtained with the Czar of
Russia, are all essential to the creation of that mixture of
wearied satiety and mournful thought which conducts the
Probationer to the lonely spot in which he is destined to
learn at once the mystery of his past life and to clear his
reason from the doubts that had obscured the future
world.
Viewing the work in this more subtile and contemplative
light, the reader will find not only the true test by which
to judge of its design and nature, but he may also recognize
sources of interest in the story which might otherwise have
been lost to him ; and if so, the Author will not be without
excuse for this criticism upon the scope and intention of
his own work. For it is not only the privilege of an artist,
but it is also sometimes his duty to the principles of Art,
to place the spectator in that point of view wherein the
light best falls upon the canvas. " Do not place yourself
there," says the painter ; "to judge of my composition you^
must stand where I place you."
CONTENTS.
Boofe I.
CHAPTER L
Page
Of the Hero's Birth and Parentage. — Nothing can differ more from the
End uf Tilings than their Beginning 1
CHAPTER II.
A Family Consultation. — A Priest, and an Era in Life 5
CHAPTER III.
A Change in Conduct and in Character : our evil Passions wiU some-
times produce good Effects ; and on the contrary, an Alteration for
the better in Manners will, not unfrequeatly, have amongst its
Causes a little Corruption of Mind ; for the Feelings are so blended
that, in suppressing those disagreeable to others, we often suppress
those which are amiablejn themselves 10
CHAPTER IV.
A Contest of Art and a League of Friendship. — Two Characters in
mutual Iguorance of each other, and the Reader no wiser than
either of them , 21
CHAPTER V.
Rural Hospitality. — An extraordinary Guest. — A Fine Gentleman is
not necessarily a Fool 27
CHAPTER VI.
A Dialogue, which might be dull if it were longer 32
CHAPTER VII.
A Change of Prospects. — A new Insight into the Character of the Hero.
— A Conference between two Brothers 35
XVI CONTENTS.
CHAPTER VIII.
Page
First Love 41
CHAPTER IX.
A Discovery and a Departure 54
CHAPTER X.
A very short Chapter, — containing a Valet 60
CHAPTER XL
The Hero acquits himself honourably as a Coxcomb. — A Fine Lady of
the Eighteenth Century, and a fashionable Dialogue ; the Substance
of fashionable Dialogue being in aU Centuries the same .... 62
CHAPTER XII.
The Abbe's Return. — A Sword, and a Soliloquy 69
CHAPTER XIII.
A mysterious Letter. — A Duel. — The Departure of one of the Family 72
CHAPTER XIV.
Being a Chapter of Trifles 82
CHAPTER XV.
The Mother and Son. — Virtue should be the Sovereign of the Feelings,
not their Destroyer 84
)15oofe II.
CHAPTER I.
The Hero in London. — Pleasure is often the shortest, as it is the earlie.st
road to Wisdom, and we may say of tlie "World wliat Zeal-of-the-
Land-Busy say.? of the Pig-Booth, " We escape so much of the
other Vanities by om early Entering " 90
CHAPTER IL
Gay Scenes and Conversations. — The New Exchange and the Puppet-
Show. — The Actor, the Sexton, and the Beauty 95
CONTENTS. xvii
CHAPTER UI.
Page
More Lions ^^^
CHAPTER IV.
An intellectual Adventure 106
CHAPTER V.
The Beau in his Den, and a Philosoplier discovered 109
CHAPTER VI.
A universal Genius. — Pericles turned Barber. — Names of Beauties in
171— . — The Toasts of the Ivit-Cat Club 119
CHAPTER VII.
A Dialogue of Sentiment succeeded by tlie Sketch of a Character, in
whose Eyes Sentiment was to Wise Men what Religion is to Fools ;
namely, a Subject of Ridicule 123
CHAPTER VIII.
Lightly won, lightly lost. — A Dialogue of equal Instruction and
Amusement. — A Visit to Sir Godfrey Kueller 130
CHAPTER IX.
A Development of Character, and a long Letter ; a Chapter, on the
whole, more important than it seems 135
CHAPTER X.
Being a short Chapter, containing a most important Event .... 144
CHAPTER XI.
Containing more than any other Chapter in the Second Book of this
History 149
515oofe III.
CHAPTER I.
Wherein the History makes great Progress and is marked by one impor-
tant Event in Human Life 169
6
xviii CONTEN^TS.
CHAPTER 11.
Love ; Parting ; a Death-Bed. — After all Human Nature is a beautiful
Fabric ; aud eveu its Imperfections are not odious to him who has
studied the Science of its Architecture, aud formed a reverent
Estimate of its Creator 181
CHAPTER in.
A great Change of Prospects 191
CHAPTER IV.
Au Episode. — The Son of the Greatest Man who (one only excepted)
ever rose to a Throne, but by uo means of the Greatest Man (save
one) who ever existed 198
CHAPTER V.
In which the Hero shows Decision on more Points than one. — More of
Isora's Character is developed 207
CHAPTER VI.
An Unexpected Meeting. — Conjecture and Anticipation 219
CHAPTER VII.
The Events of a Single Night. — Moments make the Hues in which
Years are coloured . 224
ai5ooU IV.
CHAPTER I.
A Re-entrance into Life through the Ebon Gate, AflSiction 236
CHAPTER n.
Ambitious Projects 242
CHAPTER HI.
The real Actors Spectators to the false ones 252
CHAPTER IV.
Paris. — A Female Politician, and an Ecclesiastical One. — Sundry other
Matters 255
CONTENTS. XIX
CHAPTER V.
Page
A Meeting of Wits. — Conversation gone out to Supper in her Dress of
Velvet and Jewels 262
CHAFfER VI.
A Court, Courtiers, and a King 272
CHAPTER VII.
Reflections. — A Soiree. — The Appearance of one important in the
History. — A Conversation with Madame de Balzac highly satisfac-
tory and cheering. — A Rencontre with a curious old Soldier. —
The Extinction of a once great Luminary 286
CHAPTER VIII.
In which there is Reason to fear that Princes are not invariably free
from Human Peccadilloes 303
CHAPTER IX.
A Prince, an Audience, and a Secret Embassy 308
CHAPTER X.
Royal Exertions for the Good of the People 316
CHAPTER XI.
An Interview 322
IBoofe V.
CHAPTER I.
A Portrait 327
CHAPTER n.
The Entrance into Petersburg. — A Rencontre with an inquisitive and
mysterious Stranger. — Nothing like Travel 333
CHAPTER m.
The Czar. — The Czarina. — A Feast at a Russian Nobleman's . . . 339
XX CONTENTS.
CHAPTER IV.
Page
Conversations with the Czar. — If Cromwell was the greatest Man
(Caesar excepted) who ever rose to the Supreme Power, Peter was
the greatest Man ever born to it 344
CHAPTER V.
Return to Paris. — Interview with Bolingbroke. — A gallant Adventure.
— Affair with Dubois. — Public Life is a Drama, in which private
Vices generally play the Part of the Scene-shifters 350
CHAPTER VI.
A long Interval of Years. — A Change of Mind and its Causes . . . 362
llBoofe VI.
CHAPTER I.
The Retreat 374
CHAPTER II.
The Victory 379
CHAPTER IIL
The Hermit of the Well 382
CHAPTER IV.
The Solution of many IMysteries. — A dark View of the Life and Nature
of Man 396
CHAPTER V.
In which the History makes a great Stride towards the final Catastrophe.
— The Return to England, and the Visit to a Devotee 427
CHAPTER VI.
The Retreat of a celebrated Man, and a Visit to a great Poet .... 435
CHAPTER Vn.
The Plot approaches its Denouement -147
CHAPTER VIII.
The Catastrophe ^^^
Conclusion '^^^
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Pack
IsOKA IN THE Gakden Froniispiece
The Castle Cave ' 46
Lady Hasselton 100
ISORA AND DeVEREUX AT THE WiNDOW 230
The Hermit of the Well 391
DEYEEEUX.
BOOK I.
CHAPTER I.
OF THE hero's BIRTH AXD PARENTAGE. — NOTHING CAN
DIFFER MORE FROM THE END OF THINGS THAN THEIR
BEGINNING.
My grandfather, Sir Arthur Devereux (peace be with his
ashes!) was a noble okl knight and cavalier, possessed of a
property sufficiently large to have maintained in full dignity
half a dozen peers, — such as peers have been since the days
of the first James. Nevertheless, my grandfather loved the
equestrian order better than the patrician, rejected all offers
of advancement, and left his posterity no titles but those to
his estate.
Sir Arthur had two children by wedlock, — both sons; at
his death, my father, the younger, bade adieu to the old hall
and his only brother, prayed to the grim portraits of his an-
cestors to inspire him, and set out — to join as a volunteer the
armies of that Louis, afterwards surnamed le grand. Of him
I shall say but little ; the life of a soldier has only two events
worth recording, — his first campaign and his last. My uncle
did as his ancestors had done before him, and, cheap as the
dignity had grown, went up to court to be knighted by
Charles II. He was so delighted with what he saw of the
metropolis that he forswore all intention of leaving it, took
to Sedley and champagne, flirted with Xell Gwynne, lost
double the value of his brother's portion at one sitting to the
1
2 DEVEREUX.
chivalrous Grammont, wrote a comedy corrected by Etherege,
and took a wife recommended by Rochester, The wife
brought him a child six months after marriage, and the infant
was born on the same day the comedy was acted. Luckily
for the honour of the house, my uncle shared the fate of