Novelist, poet, essayist, and politician, Edward Bulwer Lytton
was born in London on May 25, 1805. His father was General
Earle Bulwer. He assumed his mother's family name on her death
in 1843, and was elevated to the peerage as Baron Lytton in
1866. At seventeen Lytton published a volume entitled,
"Ismael, and Other Poems." An unhappy marriage in 1827 was
followed by extraordinary literary activity, and during the
next ten years he produced twelve novels, two poems, a play,
"England and the English," and "Athens: Its Rise and Fall,"
besides an enormous number of shorter stories, essays, and
articles for contemporary periodicals. Altogether his output
is represented by nearly sixty volumes. Few books on their
publication have created a greater furore than Lord Lytton's
"Eugene Aram," which was published in 1832. One section of the
novel-reading public hailed its moving, dramatic story with
manifest delight, while the other severely condemned it on the
plea of its false morality. The story takes its title from
that remarkable scholar and criminal, Eugene Aram, at one time
a tutor in the Lytton family, who was executed at York in
1759, for a murder committed fourteen years before. The crime
caused much consternation at the time, Aram's refined and mild
disposition being apparently in direct contradiction to his
real nature. The novel is an unusually successful, though
perhaps one-sided psychological study. In a revised edition
Lytton made the narrative agree with his own conclusion that,
though an accomplice in robbery, Aram was not guilty of
premeditated or actual murder. Edward Bulwer Lytton died on
January 18, 1873.
_I.--At the Sign of the Spotted Dog_
In the county of ---- was a sequestered hamlet, to which I shall give
the name of Grassdale. It lay in a fruitful valley between gentle and
fertile hills. Its single hostelry, the Spotted Dog, was owned by one
Peter Dealtry, a small farmer, who was also clerk of the parish. On
summer evenings Peter was frequently to be seen outside his inn
discussing psalmody and other matters with Jacob Bunting, late a
corporal in his majesty's army, a man who prided himself on his
knowledge of the world, and found Peter's too easy fund of merriment
occasionally irritating.
On one such evening their discussion was interrupted by an
unprepossessing and travel-stained stranger, who, when his wants, none
too amiably expressed, had been attended to, exhibited a marked
curiosity concerning the people of the locality. As the stranger paid
for his welcome with a liberal hand, Peter became more than usually
communicative.
He described the lord of the manor, a distinguished nobleman who lived
at the castle some six miles away. He talked of the squire and his
household. "But," he continued, "the most noticeable man is a great
scholar. There, yonder," said he, "you may just catch a glimpse of the
tall what-d'ye-call-it he has built on the top of his house that he may
get nearer to the stars."
"The scholar, I suppose," observed the stranger, "is not very rich.
Learning does not clothe men nowadays, eh, corporal?"
"And why should it?" asked Bunting. "Zounds! can it teach a man how to
defend his country? Old England wants soldiers. But the man's well
enough, I must own--civil, modest----"
"And by no means a beggar," added Peter. "He gave as much to the poor
last winter as the squire himself. But if he were as rich as Lord----he
could not be more respected. The greatest folk in the country come in
their carriages-and-four to see him. There is not a man more talked on
in the whole county than Eugene Aram----"
"What!" cried the traveller, his countenance changing as he sprang from
his seat. "What! Aram! Did you say _Aram_? Great heavens! How strange!"
"What! You know him?" gasped the astonished landlord.
Instead of replying, the stranger muttered inaudible words between his
teeth. Now he strode two steps forward, clenching his hands. Now smiled
grimly. Then he threw himself upon his seat, still in silence.
"Rum tantrums!" ejaculated the corporal. "What the devil! Did the man
eat your grandmother?"
The stranger lifted his head, and addressing Peter, said, with a forced
smile, "You have done me a great kindness, my friend. Eugene Aram was an
early acquaintance of mine. We have not met for many years. I never
guessed that he lived in these parts."
And then, directed, in answer to his inquiries, to Aram's dwelling, a
lonely grey house in the middle of a broad plain, the traveller went his
way.
_II.--The Squire's Guest_
The man the stranger went to seek was one who perhaps might have
numbered some five-and-thirty years, but at a hasty glance would have
seemed considerably younger. His frame was tall, slender, but well-knit
and fair proportioned; his cheek was pale, but with thought; his hair
was long, and of a rich, deep brown; his brow was unfurrowed; his face
was one that a physiognomist would have loved to look upon, so much did
it speak of both the refinement and the dignity of intellect.
Eugene Aram had been now about two years settled in his present retreat,
with an elderly dame as housekeeper. From almost every college in Europe
came visitors to his humble dwelling, and willingly he imparted to
others any benefit derived from his lonely researches. But he proffered
no hospitality, and shrank from all offers of friendship. Yet, unsocial
as he was, everyone loved him. The peasant threw kindly pity into his
respectful greeting. Even that terror of the village, Mother Darkmans,
saved her bitterest gibes for others; and the village maiden, as she
curtseyed by him, stole a glance at his handsome but melancholy
countenance, and told her sweetheart she was certain the poor scholar
had been crossed in love.
At the manor house he was often the subject of remark, but only on the
day of the stranger's appearance at the Spotted Dog had the squire found
an opportunity of breaking through the scholar's habitual reserve, and
so persuaded him to dine with him and his family on the day following.
The squire, Rowland Lester, a man of cultivated tastes, was a widower,
with two daughters and a nephew. Walter, the only son of Rowland's
brother Geoffrey, who had absconded, leaving his wife and child to shift
for themselves, was in his twenty-first year, tall and strong, with a
striking if not strictly handsome face; high-spirited, jealous of the
affections of those he loved; cheerful outwardly, but given to moody
reflections on his orphaned and dependent lot, for his mother had not
long survived her desertion.
Madeline Lester, at the age of eighteen, was the beauty and toast of the
whole country; with a mind no less beautiful than her form was graceful,
and a desire for study equalled only by her regard for those who
possessed it, a regard which had extended secretly, if all but
unacknowledged to herself, to the solitary scholar of whom I have been
speaking. Ellinor, her junior by two years, was of a character equally
gentle, but less elevated, and a beauty akin to her sister's.
When Eugene Aram arrived at the manor house in keeping with his promise,
something appeared to rest upon his mind, from which, however, by the
excitement lent by wine and occasional bursts of eloquence, he seemed
striving to escape, and at length he apparently succeeded.
When the ladies had retired, Lester and his guest resumed their talk in
the open, Walter declining to join them.
Aram was advancing the view that it is impossible for a man who leads
the life of the world ever to experience content.
"For me," observed the squire, "I have my objects of interest in my
children."
"And I mine in my books," said Aram.
As they passed over the village green, the gaunt form of Corporal
Bunting arrested their progress.
"Beg pardon, your honour," said he to the scholar, "but strange-looking
dog here last evening--asked after you--said you were old friend of
his--trotted off in your direction--hope all was right, master--augh!"
"All right," repeated Aram, fixing his eyes on the corporal, who had
concluded his speech with a significant wink. Then, as if satisfied with
his survey, he added, "Ay, ay; I know whom you mean. He had become
acquainted with me some years ago. I don't know--I know very little of
him." And the student was turning away, but stopped to add, "The man
called on me last night for assistance. I gave what I could afford, and
he has now proceeded on his journey. Good evening!"
Lester and his companion passed on, the former somewhat surprised, a
feeling increased when shortly afterwards Aram abruptly bade him
farewell. But, recalling the peculiar habits of the scholar, he saw that
the only way to hope for a continuance of that society which had so
pleased him was to indulge Aram at first in his unsocial inclinations;
and so, without further discourse, he shook hands with him, and they
parted.
_III.--The Old Riding-Whip_
When Lester regained the little parlour in his home he found his nephew
sitting, silent and discontented, by the window. Madeline had taken up a
book, and Ellinor, in an opposite corner, was plying her needle with an
earnestness that contrasted with her customary cheerful vivacity.
The squire thought he had cause to complain of his nephew's conduct to
their guest. "You eyed the poor student," he said, "as if you wished him
amongst the books of Alexandria."
"I would he were burnt with them!" exclaimed Walter sharply. "He seems
to have bewitched my fair cousins here into a forgetfulness of all but
himself."
"Not me!" said Ellinor eagerly.
"No, not you; you are too just. It is a pity Madeline is not more like
you."
Thus was disturbance first introduced into a peaceful family. Walter was
jealous; he could not control his feelings. An open breach followed, not
only between him and Aram, but a quarrel between him and Madeline. The
position came as a revelation to his uncle, who, seeing no other way out
of the difficulty, yielded to Walter's request that he should be allowed
to travel.
Meanwhile, Aram, drawn out of his habitual solitude by the sweet
influence of Madeline, became a frequent visitor to the manor house and
the acknowledged suitor for Madeline's hand. As for Walter, when he set
out for London, with Corporal Bunting as his servant, he had found
consolation in the discovery that Ellinor's regard for him had gone
beyond mere cousinly affection. His uncle gave him several letters of
introduction to old friends; among them one to Sir Peter Hales, and
another to a Mr. Courtland.
An incident that befell him on the London road revived to an
extraordinary degree Walter's desire to ascertain the whereabouts of his
long-lost father. At the request of Sir Peter Hales he had alighted at a
saddler's for the purpose of leaving a parcel committed to him, when his
attention was attracted by an old-fashioned riding-whip. Taking it up,
he found it bore his own crest, and his father's initials, "G.L." Much
agitated, he made quick inquiries, and learned that the whip had been
left for repair about twelve years previously by a gentleman who was
visiting Mr. Courtland, and had not been heard of since.
Eagerly he sought out Mr. Courtland, and gleaned news which induced him,
much to Corporal Bunting's disgust, to set his back on London, and make
his way with all speed in the direction of Knaresborough. It appeared
that at the time the whip was left at the saddler's, Geoffrey Lester had
just returned from India, and when he called on his old acquaintance,
Mr. Courtland, he was travelling to the historic town in the West Riding
to claim a legacy his old colonel--he had been in the army--had left him
for saving his life. The name Geoffrey Lester had assumed on entering
the army was Clarke.
_IV.--Hush-Money_
While Walter Lester and Corporal Bunting were passing northward, the
squire of Grassdale saw, with evident complacency, the passion growing
up between his friend and his daughter. He looked upon it as a tie that
would permanently reconcile Aram to the hearth of social and domestic
life; a tie that would constitute the happiness of his daughter and
secure to himself a relation in the man he felt most inclined of all he
knew to honour and esteem. Aram seemed another man; and happy indeed was
Madeline in the change. But one evening, while the two were walking
together, and Aram was discoursing on their future, Madeline uttered a
faint shriek, and clung trembling to her lover's arm.
Amazed and roused from his enthusiasm, Aram looked up, and, on seeing
the cause of her alarm, seemed himself transfixed, as by a sudden terror
to the earth.
But a few paces distant, standing amidst the long and rank fern that
grew on each side of their path, quite motionless, and looking on the
pair with a sarcastic smile, stood the ominous stranger whom we first
met at the sign of the Spotted Dog.
"Pardon me, dear Madeline," said Aram, softly disengaging himself from
her, "but for one moment."
He then advanced to the stranger, and after a conversation that lasted
but a minute, the latter bowed, and, turning away, soon vanished among
the shrubs.
Aram, regaining the side of Madeline, explained, in answer to her
startled inquiries, that the man, whom he had known well some fourteen
years ago, had again come to ask for his help, and he supposed that he
would again have to aid him.
"And is that indeed _all_?" said Madeline, breathing more freely. "Well,
poor man, if he be your friend, he must be inoffensive. Here, Eugene."
And the simple-hearted girl put her purse into Aram's hand.
"No, dearest," said he, shrinking back. "I can easily spare him enough.
But let us turn back. It grows chill."
"And why did he leave us, Eugene?"
"Because," was the reply, "I desired him to visit me at home an hour
hence."
There was a past shared by these two men, and Houseman--for that was the
stranger's name--had come for the price of his silence. The next day, on
the plea of an old debt that suddenly had to be met, Aram approached his
prospective father-in-law for the loan of £300. This sum was readily
placed at his disposal. Indeed, he was offered double the amount. His
next action was to travel to London, where, with all the money at his
command, he purchased an annuity for Houseman, falling back, for his own
needs, upon the influence of Lord ---- to secure for him a small state
allowance which it was in that nobleman's power to grant to him as a
needy man of letters.
Houseman was surprised at the scholar's generosity when the paper
ensuring the annuity was placed in his hands. "Before daybreak
to-morrow," he said, "I will be on the road. You may now rest assured
that you are free of me for life. Go home--marry--enjoy your existence.
Within four days, if the wind set fair, I shall be in France."
The pale face of Eugene Aram brightened. He had resolved, had Houseman's
attitude been different, to surrender Madeline at once.
_V.--Human Bones_
The unexpected change in her lover's demeanour, on his return to
Grassdale, brought unspeakable joy to the heart of Madeline Lester. But
hardly had Aram left Houseman's squalid haunt in Lambeth when a letter
was put into the ruffian's hand telling of his daughter's serious
illness. For this daughter Houseman, villain as he was, would willingly
have given his life. Now, casting all other thoughts aside, he set
forth, not for France, but for Knaresborough, where his daughter was
lying, and whither, guided by his inquiries concerning his father,
Walter Lester was also on his way.
It was not long ere Walter found that a certain Colonel Elmore had died
in 17--, leaving £1,000 and a house to one Daniel Clarke, and that an
executor of the colonel's will survived in the person of a Mr. Jonas
Elmore. From Mr. Elmore, Walter learned that Clarke had disappeared
suddenly, after receiving the legacy, taking with him a number of jewels
with which Mr. Elmore had entrusted him. His disappearance had caused a
sensation at the time, and a man named Houseman had assigned as a cause
of Clarke's disappearance a loan which he did not mean to repay. It was
true that Houseman and a young scholar named Eugene Aram had been
interrogated by the authorities, but nothing could be proved against
them, and certainly nothing was suspected where Aram was concerned. He
left Knaresborough soon after Clarke had disappeared, having received a
legacy from a relative at York.
This story of a legacy Walter was not inclined to believe, but proof of
it was forthcoming. Another circumstance in Aram's favour was that his
memory was still honoured in the town, by the curate, Mr. Summers, as
well as by others.
Accompanied by Mr. Summers, Walter visited the house where Daniel Clarke
had stayed and also the woman at whose house Aram had lived. It was a
lonely, desolate-looking house; its solitary occupant a woman who
evidently had been drinking. When the name of Eugene Aram was mentioned,
the woman assumed a mysterious air, and eventually disclosed the fact
that she had seen Mr. Clarke, Houseman and Aram enter Aram's room early
one morning. They went away together. A little later Aram and Houseman
returned. She found out afterwards that they had been burning some
clothes. She also discovered a handkerchief belonging to Houseman with
blood upon it. She had shown this to Houseman, who had threatened to
shoot her should she say a word to anyone regarding himself or his
companions.
Armed with this narrative, extracted by the promise of pecuniary reward,
Walter and Mr. Summers were making their way to a magistrate's when
their attention was attracted by a crowd. A workman, digging for
limestone, had unearthed a big wooden chest. The chest contained a
skeleton!
In the midst of the commotion caused by this discovery a voice broke out
abruptly. It was that of Richard Houseman. His journey had been in vain.
His daughter was dead. His appearance revealed all too plainly to what
source he had flown for consolation.
"What do ye here, fools?" he cried, reeling forward. "Ha! Human bones!
And whose may they be, think ye?"
There were in the crowd those who remembered the disappearance which had
so surprised them years before, and more than one repeated the name of
"Daniel Clarke."
"Clarke's bones!" exclaimed Houseman. "Ha, ha! They are no more Clarke's
than mine!"
At this moment Walter stepped forward.
"Behold!" he cried, in a ringing voice, vibrant with emotion--"behold
the murderer!"
Pale, confused, conscience-stricken, the bewilderment of intoxication
mingling with that of fear, Houseman gasped out that if they wanted the
bones of Clarke they should search St. Robert's Cave. And in the place
he named they found at last the unhallowed burial-place of the murdered
dead.
But Houseman, now roused by a sense of personal danger, denied that he
was the guilty man. Drawing his breath hard, and setting his teeth as
with steeled determination, he cried, "The murderer is Eugene Aram!"
_VI.--"I Murdered my Own Life"_
It was a chill morning in November. But at Grassdale all was bustle and
excitement. The church bells were ringing merry peals. It wanted but an
hour or so to the wedding of Eugene Aram and Madeline Lester. In this
interval the scholar was alone with his thoughts. His reverie was rudely
disturbed by a loud knocking, the noise of which penetrated into his
study. The outer door was opened. Voices were heard.
"Great God!" he exclaimed. "'Murderer!' Was that the word I heard
shouted forth? The voice, too, is Walter Lester's. Can he have
learned----"
Calm succeeded to the agitation of the moment. He met the newcomers with
a courageous front. But, followed by his bride who was to be, by her
sister Ellinor, and by their father, all confident that Walter had made
some horrible mistake, Eugene Aram was taken away to be committed to
York on the capital charge.
The law's delays were numerous. Winter passed into spring, and spring
into summer before the trial came on. Eugene Aram's friends were
numerous. Lord ---- firmly believed in his innocence, and proffered
help. But the prisoner refused legal aid, and conducted his own
defence--how ably history records. Madeline was present at the closing
scene, in her wedding dress. Her father was all but broken in his grief
for daughter and friend. Walter was distraught by the havoc he had
caused, and in doubt whether, after all, his action had not been too
impetuous. The court was deeply impressed by the prisoner's defence. But
the judge's summing-up was all against the accused, and the verdict was
"Guilty!" Madeline lived but a few hours after hearing it.
The following evening Walter obtained admittance to the condemned cell.
"Eugene Aram," he said, in tones of agony, "if at this moment you can
lay your hand on your heart, and say, 'Before God, and at peril of my
soul, I am innocent of this deed,' I will depart; I will believe you,
and bear as I may the reflection that I have been one of the unconscious
agents in condemning to a fearful death an innocent man. But if you
cannot at so dark a crisis take that oath, then, oh then, be generous,
even in guilt, and let me not be haunted through life by the spectre of
a ghastly and restless doubt!"
On the eve of the day destined to be his last on earth Eugene Aram
placed in Walter's hands a paper which that young man pledged himself
not to read till Rowland Lester's grey hairs had gone to the grave. This
document set forth at length the story of Aram's early life, how he
sought knowledge amidst grinding poverty, and how, when a gigantic
discovery in science gleamed across his mind, a discovery which only
lack of means prevented him from realising to the vast benefit of truth
and man, the tempter came to him. This tempter took the form of a
distant relative, Richard Houseman, with his doctrine that "Laws order
me to starve, but self-preservation is an instinct more sacred than
society," and his demand for co-operation in an act of robbery from one
Daniel Clarke, whose crimes were many, who was, moreover, on the point
of disappearing with a number of jewels he had borrowed on false
pretences.
"Houseman lied," wrote the condemned man. "I did not strike the blow. I
never designed a murder. But the deed was done, and Houseman divided the
booty. My share he buried in the earth, leaving me to withdraw it when I
chose. There, perhaps, it lies still. I never touched what I had
murdered my _own_ life to gain. Three days after that deed a relative,
who had neglected me in life, died and left me wealth--wealth, at least,
to me! Wealth greater than that for which I had----My ambition died in
remorse!"
Houseman passed away in his own bed. But he had to be buried secretly in
the dead of night, for, ten years after Eugene Aram had died on the
scaffold, the hatred of the world survived for his accomplice. Rowland
Lester did not live long after Madeline's death. But when Walter
returned from a period of honourable service with the great Frederick of
Prussia, it was with no merely cousinly welcome that Ellinor received
him.
* * * * *