Edward Bulwer Lytton, or Lord Lytton, was Edward Bulwer until he became the first Lord Lytton. Born in 1803, a third son of a first son in the days of primogeniture. The first son William, Edward's eldest brother, who was to inherit the lands and benefits of the aristocracy they were born in to, perhaps in the end did not fare so well as the youngest brother. General Bulwer, their father, used funds to acquire more land which also acquires debt. The General did not have a long life and the heir we are led to believe did not have a luxurious life. In his autobiographical writing Edward writes these line to commemorate his father's legacy.
How many families have gone to the dogs because one daring ancestor has borrowed at five per cent in order to buy farms which yield two and a half! Would that my father had read more; read Roman history, and learned that the dying recommendation of the wise Augustus to his successor was ot beware of increasing the limits of the empire; a counsel as applicable to the Squire as to the Caesar. from-THE LIFE OF EDWARD BULWER FIRST LORD LYTTON
Many comments could easily flow in appreciation of the wit and wisdom in those lines, but we can just let history state the fate that follows.
The pages of his own young life story, written by his own hand, goes on in a lively and enchanting flow so easily read that I can confuse his memories with my own as I see it all so clearly by his words. I feel that I have just spent a pleasant hour watching home movies of his six year old world with his English grandfather. The good the bad and the ugly, from his little boy life. The good, in his little boy world, came about when after his grandfather had died the treasure he had was sent on to the London home of Edward's mother. He describes it this way,
Wain and van rolled up the streets of Marylebone, and startled the doze of dowagers in Nottingham Place. You might have thought you saw the carts of Zagathai laden with houses--a great city travelling towards you." They came, the mighty Nomads--the grand, restless race - the disturbers of all antique landmarks - the convulsers and conquerors of the globe. They came, the Souls of the Dead, file and rank, in the armament of Books!
Behold the great event of my infant life--my Siege of Troy, my Persian Invasion, my Gallic Revolution--the Arrival of my Grandfather's Books!
He does go on for another paragraph or two...and also relays that his mother is quite busy with managing the affairts following her father's death. He says,
So the house, with all its new treasures, was given up to me ...Words cannot paint the sensation of awe, of curiosity, of wonder, of delight, with which I dwelt in that City of the Dead.
Pages pass with his stories of attempting to read the vast depth of books with an eight year old wisdom. But how the wisdom began to grow just by being in company of such intelligent minds, dead or alive, comprehended maybe not yet, but understood in value and treasure held in the pages.
But oh, the English lives lived at leisure did not necessarily pass on that gift, or the treasure. The story is told a little further although I am not sure if days or months have passed. But,
One morning my mother and I got into the carriage; we were absent two or three days, and when we returned the books had vanished.
No warning, no foreknowledge, just to return home and find your treasure ...gone. Wait, what?! I am sure many of us know of this type of experience. But this is life, it shapes us and creates our character in the one story we live out. This was Edward's.
My grandfather had left debts to be defrayed. Everyone, Heaven knows, who comes into possession of an estate long neglected, and a great country-house half tumbling down, wants ready money to begin with. So my mother sold my grandfather's library.
Of course these words seem hardly relatable in the year 2025 and in some state in the U.S., or most places. But he is describing events in the English countryside in 1811, two hundred years ago. How will people read our stories in 200 years, in 2225. I hope they read our stories.
It turns out that the destination of Edward and his mother that morning they left in the carriage was to Knebworth. The old worn down Estate of Mr. Lytton.
Knebworth, the later home of Lord Lytton, Edward Bulwer, the first Lord Lytton. Much had to be managed by his mother with the funds from the sale of the library.
When I again was at Knebworth, the work of demolition was begun. My mother had resolved to pull down three sides of the great quadrangle, and confine the house ot the fourthside, which, indeed, was sufficiently capacious for estates so diminished by former proprietors.
I don't know if the demolition was begun in 1811, or what year. But it is interesting to see the images of the house prior to the bulk of it being taken down. The drawings are from 1805 and at the time of this book being published, which was 1913, the drawings were in the British Museum. The original estate is drawn from both the North and South view points.
images from-THE LIFE OF EDWARD BULWER FIRST LORD LYTTON
The biography of Lord Lytton, this book that is referenced for the drawing and all quotes interspersed in the writing, is a project completed by his grandson, The Earl of Lytton.
In giving this book to the public I have sought to fulfil an inherited obligation long overdue. It is now forty years since my grandfather died. He left his papers to his son, with instructions that by him and by no one else his Life was to be written. -The Earl of Lytton. 1913
And the son of Lord Lytton did partially fulfill the task of biography, though it was not completed and so his son, grandson of Edward, gave us the completed work. An earlier two volume publication of some of the autobiographical writings, and biography work by Lytton's son were taken and incorporated into this single complete edition.
I have only read these beginning chapters of his early childhood so far. I am also in the middle of reading his book Zanoni.
I met Edward Bulwer Lytton several years ago through his book The Coming Race. I recently started the book again and finished it. It is a slow beginning but becomes interesting as the story moves on. The old style language also lessens after the first couple chapters. Some people may know this book as Vril, The Power of The Coming Race as it was called in later publications. It is the story of a man who is exploring a mine and falls into deep realms. Unable to climb his way out he travels into the subterranian world of the Vril race of people. The book is written in a style that leads the reader to believe this could be a nonfiction book, though it is published as fiction. Just move past the first 20 odd pages and you'll want to finish it.
