This eBook was produced by David Widger
By Edward Bulwer Lytton
Ou peut-on etre mieux qu'au sein de sa famille?
—French Song.
[Where can on be better than in the bosom of
one's family?]
I am an only child. My father was the younger son of one of our oldestearls; my mother the dowerless daughter of a Scotch peer. Mr. Pelham wasa moderate whig, and gave sumptuous dinners; Lady Frances was a woman oftaste, and particularly fond of diamonds and old china.
Vulgar people know nothing of the necessaries required in good society,and the credit they give is as short as their pedigree. Six years aftermy birth, there was an execution in our house. My mother was just settingoff on a visit to the Duchess of D_____; she declared it was impossibleto go without her diamonds. The chief of the bailiffs declared it wasimpossible to trust them out of his sight. The matter was compromised—the bailiff went with my mother to C___, and was introduced as my tutor."A man of singular merit," whispered my mother, "but so shy!"Fortunately, the bailiff was abashed, and by losing his impudence he keptthe secret. At the end of the week, the diamonds went to the jeweller's,and Lady Frances wore paste.
I think it was about a month afterwards that a sixteenth cousin left mymother twenty thousand pounds. "It will just pay off our most importunatecreditors, and equip me for Melton," said Mr. Pelham.
"It will just redeem my diamonds, and refurnish the house," said Lady
Frances.
The latter alternative was chosen. My father went down to run his lasthorse at Newmarket, and my mother received nine hundred people in aTurkish tent. Both were equally fortunate, the Greek and the Turk; myfather's horse lost, in consequence of which he pocketed five thousandpounds; and my mother looked so charming as a Sultana, that SeymourConway fell desperately in love with her.
Mr. Conway had just caused two divorces; and of course, all the women inLondon were dying for him—judge then of the pride which Lady Francesfelt at his addresses. The end of the season was unusually dull, and mymother, after having looked over her list of engagements, and ascertainedthat she had none remaining worth staying for, agreed to elope with hernew lover.
The carriage was at the end of the square. My mother, for the first timein her life, got up at six o'clock. Her foot was on the step, and herhand next to Mr. Conway's heart, when she remembered that her favouritechina monster and her French dog were left behind. She insisted onreturning—re-entered the house, and was coming down stairs with oneunder each arm, when she was met by my father and two servants. Myfather's valet had discovered the flight (I forget how), and awakened hismaster.
When my father was convinced of his loss, he called for his dressing-gown—searched the garret and the kitchen—looked in the maid's drawersand the cellaret—and finally declared he was distracted. I have heardthat the servants were quite melted by his grief, and I do not doubt itin the least, for he was always celebrated for his skill in privatetheatricals. He was just retiring to vent his grief in his dressing-room,when he met my mother. It must altogether have been an awkward rencontre,and, indeed, for my father, a remarkably unfortunate occurrence; forSeymour Conway was immensely rich, and the damages would, no doubt, havebeen propor