Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lyton Lytton

Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton, Bar

Sir Edward Bulwer-Lytton

This is the classic Victorian tale of the last days of Pompeii, the doomed city that lay at the feet of Mount Vesuvius. From poets to flower-girls, gladiators to Roman tribunes, here is a plausible story of their lives, their loves, and the tragic fate that awaited them.

The Last Days of Pompeii

Edward Bulwer-Lytton

The Coming Race, an early science-fiction work, with its superman race the Vril-ya descended from the same ancestors as the great Aryan family, from which in varied streams has flowed the dominant civilization of the world spawned a occult secret society known as the Vril Society or Luminous Lodge - its philosphy and swastika symbol profoundly influenced the Nazis.

The Power of the Coming Race

Vril

From Jules Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth to Rudy Rucker's The Hollow Earth, subterranean worlds have been a source of both fascination and fear for the literary imagination, and The Coming Race is no exception. An evolutionary fantasy first published in 1871, the story draws upon ideas of Darwinism to describe a near-future world characterized by female dominance, physical perfection, and vast technological progress. The novel was extremely popular in its time and is now considered seminal science fiction text by contemporary scholars.

'HO, Diomed, well met! Do you sup with Glaucus to-night?' said a young man of small stature, who wore his tunic in those loose and effeminate folds which proved him to be a gentleman and a coxcomb. 'Alas, no! dear Clodius; he has not invited me, ' replied Diomed, a man of portly frame and of middle age. 'By Pollux, a scurvy trick! for they say his suppers are the best in Pompeii'. 'Pretty well-though there is never enough of wine for me. It is not the old Greek blood that flows in his veins, for he pretends that wine makes him dull the next morning.' 'There may be another reason for that thrift, ' said Diomed, raising his brows. 'With all his conceit and extravagance he is not so rich, I fancy, as he affects to be, and perhaps loves to save his amphorae better than his wit.' 'An additional reason for supping with him while the sesterces last. Next year, Diomed, we must find another Glaucus.' 'He is fond of the dice, too, I hear.' 'He is fond of every pleasure; and while he likes the pleasure of giving suppers, we are all fond of him.' 'Ha, ha, Clodius, that is well said! Have you ever seen my wine-cellars, by-the-by?' 'I think not, my good Diomed.' 'Well, you must sup with me some evening; I have tolerable muraenae in my reservoir, and I ask Pansa the aedile to meet you.' 'O, no state with me!-Persicos odi apparatus, I am easily contented. Well, the day wanes; I am for the baths-and you...' 'To the quaestor-business of state-afterwards to the temple of Isis. Vale!' 'An ostentatious, bustling, ill-bred fellow, ' muttered Clodius to himself, as he sauntered slowly away. 'He thinks with his feasts and his wine-cellars to make us forget that he is the son of a freedman-and so we will, when we do him the honour of winning his money; these rich plebeians are a harvest for us spendthrift nobles.' - Taken from "The Last Days of Pompeii" written by Edward Bulwer-Lytton

Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton, Bar

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