by Robert Reed
the storm, careless of every thing except speed, what else could it
mean, than that, vanquished and solitary, they were to take their way
from native England, the scene of shame, and hide themselves in the
myrtle groves of the Grecian isles?
In a moment she was in his arms . The knowledge of his success
had become so much a part of himself, that he forgot that it was
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 915
necessary to impart it to his companion . She only felt in his embrace
a dear assurance that while he possessed her, he would not despair .
“This is kind,” she cried; “this is noble, my own beloved! O fear
not disgrace or lowly fortune, while you have your Perdita; fear not
sorrow, while our child lives and smiles . Let us go even where you
will; the love that accompanies us will prevent our regrets .”
Locked in his embrace, she spoke thus, and cast back her head,
seeking an assent to her words in his eyes—they were sparkling
with ineffable delight . “Why, my little Lady Protectress,” said he,
playfully, “what is this you say? And what pretty scheme have you
woven of exile and obscurity, while a brighter web, a gold-enwoven
tissue, is that which, in truth, you ought to contemplate?”
He kissed her brow—but the wayward girl, half sorry at his tri-
umph, agitated by swift change of thought, hid her face in his bosom
and wept . He comforted her; he instilled into her his own hopes
and desires; and soon her countenance beamed with sympathy . How
very happy were they that night! How full even to bursting was their
sense of joy!
CHAPTER VII.
HAVING seen our friend properly installed in his new office, we
turned our eyes towards Windsor . The nearness of this place to Lon-
don was such, as to take away the idea of painful separation, when
we quitted Raymond and Perdita . We took leave of them in the Pro-
tectoral Palace . It was pretty enough to see my sister enter as it were
into the spirit of the drama, and endeavour to fill her station with
becoming dignity . Her internal pride and humility of manner were
now more than ever at war. Her timidity was not artificial, but arose
from that fear of not being properly appreciated, that slight estima-
tion of the neglect of the world, which also characterized Raymond .
But then Perdita thought more constantly of others than he; and part
of her bashfulness arose from a wish to take from those around her
a sense of inferiority; a feeling which never crossed her mind . From
the circumstances of her birth and education, Idris would have been
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 916
better fitted for the formulae of ceremony; but the very ease which
accompanied such actions with her, arising from habit, rendered
them tedious; while, with every drawback, Perdita evidently en-
joyed her situation . She was too full of new ideas to feel much pain
when we departed; she took an affectionate leave of us, and prom-
ised to visit us soon; but she did not regret the circumstances that
caused our separation . The spirits of Raymond were unbounded; he
did not know what to do with his new got power; his head was full of
plans; he had as yet decided on none— but he promised himself, his
friends, and the world, that the aera of his Protectorship should be
signalized by some act of surpassing glory . Thus, we talked of them,
and moralized, as with diminished numbers we returned to Windsor
Castle . We felt extreme delight at our escape from political turmoil,
and sought our solitude with redoubled zest . We did not want for
occupation; but my eager disposition was now turned to the field of
intellectual exertion only; and hard study I found to be an excellent
medicine to allay a fever of spirit with which in indolence, I should
doubtless have been assailed . Perdita had permitted us to take Clara
back with us to Windsor; and she and my two lovely infants were
perpetual sources of interest and amusement .
The only circumstance that disturbed our peace, was the health
of Adrian . It evidently declined, without any symptom which could
lead us to suspect his disease, unless indeed his brightened eyes,
animated look, and flustering cheeks, made us dread consumption;
but he was without pain or fear . He betook himself to books with
ardour, and reposed from study in the society he best loved, that of
his sister and myself . Sometimes he went up to London to visit Ray-
mond, and watch the progress of events . Clara often accompanied
him in these excursions; partly that she might see her parents, partly
because Adrian delighted in the prattle, and intelligent looks of this
lovely child .
Meanwhile all went on well in London . The new elections were
finished; parliament met, and Raymond was occupied in a thousand
beneficial schemes. Canals, aqueducts, bridges, stately buildings,
and various edifices for public utility, were entered upon; he was
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 917
continually surrounded by projectors and projects, which were to
render England one scene of fertility and magnificence; the state of
poverty was to be abolished; men were to be transported from place
to place almost with the same facility as the Princes Houssain, Ali,
and Ahmed, in the Arabian Nights . The physical state of man would
soon not yield to the beatitude of angels; disease was to be banished;
labour lightened of its heaviest burden . Nor did this seem extrava-
gant . The arts of life, and the discoveries of science had augmented
in a ratio which left all calculation behind; food sprung up, so to
say, spontaneously—machines existed to supply with facility every
want of the population . An evil direction still survived; and men
were not happy, not because they could not, but because they would
not rouse themselves to vanquish self-raised obstacles . Raymond
was to inspire them with his beneficial will, and the mechanism of
society, once systematised according to faultless rules, would never
again swerve into disorder . For these hopes he abandoned his long-
cherished ambition of being enregistered in the annals of nations as
a successful warrior; laying aside his sword, peace and its enduring
glories became his aim—the title he coveted was that of the bene-
factor of his country .
Among other works of art in which he was engaged, he had
projected the erection of a national gallery for statues and pictures .
He possessed many himself, which he designed to present to the
Republic; and, as the edifice was to be the great ornament of his
Protectorship, he was very fastidious in his choice of the plan on
which it would be built . Hundreds were brought to him and rejected .
He sent even to Italy and Greece for drawings; but, as the design
was to be characterized by originality as well as by perfect beauty,
his endeavours were for a time without avail . At length a drawing
came, with an address where communications might be sent, and no
artist’s name affixed. The design was new and elegant, but faulty;
evidently the work of one who was not an architect . Raymond con-
templated it with delight; the more he gazed, the more pleased he
was; and yet the errors multiplied under inspection . He wrote to the
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 918
address given, desiring to see the draughtsman, that such alterations
might be made, as should be suggested in a consultation between
him and the original conceiver .
A Greek came . A middle-aged man, with some intelligence of
manner, but with so common-place a physiognomy, that Raymond
could scarcely believe that he was the designer . He acknowledged
that he was not an architect; but the idea of the building had struck
him, though he had sent it without the smallest hope of its being ac-
cepted . He was a man of few words . Raymond questioned him; but
his reserved answers soon made him turn from the man to the draw-
ing . He pointed out the errors, and the alterations that he wished
to be made; he offered the Greek a pencil that he might correct the
sketch on the spot; this was refused by his visitor, who said that
he perfectly understood, and would work at it at home . At length
Raymond suffered him to depart .
The next day he returned . The design had been re-drawn; but
many defects still remained, and several of the instructions given
had been misunderstood . “Come,” said Raymond, “I yielded to you
yesterday, now comply with my request—take the pencil .”
The Greek took it, but he handled it in no artist-like way; at
length he said: “I must confess to you, my Lord, that I did not make
this drawing . It is impossible for you to see the real designer; your
instructions must pass through me . Condescend therefore to have
patience with my ignorance, and to explain your wishes to me; in
time I am certain that you will be satisfied.”
Raymond questioned vainly; the mysterious Greek would say no
more . Would an architect be permitted to see the artist? This also
was refused . Raymond repeated his instructions, and the visitor re-
tired . Our friend resolved however not to be foiled in his wish . He
suspected, that unaccustomed poverty was the cause of the mystery,
and that the artist was unwilling to be seen in the garb and abode
of want . Raymond was only the more excited by this consideration
to discover him; impelled by the interest he took in obscure talent,
he therefore ordered a person skilled in such matters, to follow the
Greek the next time he came, and observe the house in which he
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 919
should enter . His emissary obeyed, and brought the desired intel-
ligence . He had traced the man to one of the most penurious streets
in the metropolis . Raymond did not wonder, that, thus situated, the
artist had shrunk from notice, but he did not for this alter his resolve .
On the same evening, he went alone to the house named to him .
Poverty, dirt, and squalid misery characterized its appearance . Alas!
thought Raymond, I have much to do before England becomes a
Paradise . He knocked; the door was opened by a string from above—
the broken, wretched staircase was immediately before him, but no
person appeared; he knocked again, vainly—and then, impatient of
further delay, he ascended the dark, creaking stairs . His main wish,
more particularly now that he witnessed the abject dwelling of the
artist, was to relieve one, possessed of talent, but depressed by want .
He pictured to himself a youth, whose eyes sparkled with genius,
whose person was attenuated by famine . He half feared to displease
him; but he trusted that his generous kindness would be adminis-
tered so delicately, as not to excite repulse . What human heart is
shut to kindness? and though poverty, in its excess, might render the
sufferer unapt to submit to the supposed degradation of a benefit, the
zeal of the benefactor must at last relax him into thankfulness . These
thoughts encouraged Raymond, as he stood at the door of the highest
room of the house . After trying vainly to enter the other apartments,
he perceived just within the threshold of this one, a pair of small
Turkish slippers; the door was ajar, but all was silent within . It was
probable that the inmate was absent, but secure that he had found
the right person, our adventurous Protector was tempted to enter, to
leave a purse on the table, and silently depart . In pursuance of this
idea, he pushed open the door gently—but the room was inhabited .
Raymond had never visited the dwellings of want, and the scene
that now presented itself struck him to the heart. The floor was sunk
in many places; the walls ragged and bare—the ceiling weather-
stained—a tattered bed stood in the corner; there were but two
chairs in the room, and a rough broken table, on which was a light in
a tin candlestick;—yet in the midst of such drear and heart sicken-
ing poverty, there was an air of order and cleanliness that surprised
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 920
him. The thought was fleeting; for his attention was instantly drawn
towards the inhabitant of this wretched abode . It was a female . She
sat at the table; one small hand shaded her eyes from the candle;
the other held a pencil; her looks were fixed on a drawing before
her, which Raymond recognized as the design presented to him . Her
whole appearance awakened his deepest interest . Her dark hair was
braided and twined in thick knots like the head-dress of a Grecian
statue; her garb was mean, but her attitude might have been selected
as a model of grace . Raymond had a confused remembrance that he
had seen such a form before; he walked across the room; she did not
raise her eyes, merely asking in Romaic, who is there? “A friend,”
replied Raymond in the same dialect . She looked up wondering, and
he saw that it was Evadne Zaimi . Evadne, once the idol of Adrian’s
affections; and who, for the sake of her present visitor, had dis-
dained the noble youth, and then, neglected by him she loved, with
crushed hopes and a stinging sense of misery, had returned to her
native Greece . What revolution of fortune could have brought her to
England, and housed her thus?
Raymond recognized her; and his manner changed from polite
beneficence to the warmest protestations of kindness and sympa-
thy . The sight of her, in her present situation, passed like an arrow
into his soul . He sat by her, he took her hand, and said a thousand
things which breathed the deepest spirit of compassion and affec-
tion . Evadne did not answer; her large dark eyes were cast down, at
length a tear glimmered on the lashes . “Thus,” she cried, “kindness
can do, what no want, no misery ever effected; I weep .” She shed
indeed many tears; her head sunk unconsciously on the shoulder of
Raymond; he held her hand: he kissed her sunken tear-stained cheek .
He told her, that her sufferings were now over: no one possessed the
art of consoling like Raymond; he did
not reason or declaim, but his
look shone with sympathy; he brought pleasant images before the
sufferer; his caresses excited no distrust, for they arose purely from
the feeling which leads a mother to kiss her wounded child; a desire
to demonstrate in every possible way the truth of his feelings, and
the keenness of his wish to pour balm into the lacerated mind of the
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 921
unfortunate . As Evadne regained her composure, his manner became
even gay; he sported with the idea of her poverty . Something told
him that it was not its real evils that lay heavily at her heart, but the
debasement and disgrace attendant on it; as he talked, he divested it
of these; sometimes speaking of her fortitude with energetic praise;
then, alluding to her past state, he called her his Princess in disguise .
He made her warm offers of service; she was too much occupied by
more engrossing thoughts, either to accept or reject them; at length
he left her, making a promise to repeat his visit the next day . He
returned home, full of mingled feelings, of pain excited by Evadne’s
wretchedness, and pleasure at the prospect of relieving it . Some mo-
tive for which he did not account, even to himself, prevented him
from relating his adventure to Perdita .
The next day he threw such disguise over his person as a cloak
afforded, and revisited Evadne . As he went, he bought a basket of
costly fruits, such as were natives of her own country, and throwing
over these various beautiful flowers, bore it himself to the miserable
garret of his friend . “Behold,” cried he, as he entered, “what bird’s
food I have brought for my sparrow on the house-top .”
Evadne now related the tale of her misfortunes . Her father,
though of high rank, had in the end dissipated his fortune, and even
destroyed his reputation and influence through a course of dissolute
indulgence . His health was impaired beyond hope of cure; and it be-
came his earnest wish, before he died, to preserve his daughter from
the poverty which would be the portion of her orphan state . He there-
fore accepted for her, and persuaded her to accede to, a proposal of
marriage, from a wealthy Greek merchant settled at Constantinople .
She quitted her native Greece; her father died; by degrees she was
cut off from all the companions and ties of her youth .