by Robert Reed
already said, to what you before contemptuously set aside . This con-
tention is unworthy of both of us; and I confess that I am weary of
replying to charges at once unfounded and unkind .”
Perdita tried to read his countenance, which he angrily averted .
There was so much of truth and nature in his resentment, that her
doubts were dispelled . Her countenance, which for years had not
expressed a feeling unallied to affection, became again radiant and
satisfied. She found it however no easy task to soften and reconcile
Raymond. At first he refused to stay to hear her. But she would not
be put off; secure of his unaltered love, she was willing to undertake
any labour, use any entreaty, to dispel his anger . She obtained an
hearing, he sat in haughty silence, but he listened. She first assured
him of her boundless confidence; of this he must be conscious, since
but for that she would not seek to detain him . She enumerated their
years of happiness; she brought before him past scenes of intimacy
and happiness; she pictured their future life, she mentioned their
child—tears unbidden now filled her eyes. She tried to disperse
them, but they refused to be checked—her utterance was choaked .
She had not wept before . Raymond could not resist these signs of
distress: he felt perhaps somewhat ashamed of the part he acted of
the injured man, he who was in truth the injurer . And then he de-
voutly loved Perdita; the bend of her head, her glossy ringlets, the
turn of her form were to him subjects of deep tenderness and admi-
ration; as she spoke, her melodious tones entered his soul; he soon
softened towards her, comforting and caressing her, and endeavour-
ing to cheat himself into the belief that he had never wronged her .
Raymond staggered forth from this scene, as a man might do, who
had been just put to the torture, and looked forward to when it would
be again inflicted. He had sinned against his own honour, by affirm-
ing, swearing to, a direct falsehood; true this he had palmed on a
woman, and it might therefore be deemed less base—by others—not
by him;—for whom had he deceived?—his own trusting, devoted,
affectionate Perdita, whose generous belief galled him doubly, when
he remembered the parade of innocence with which it had been
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 937
exacted . The mind of Raymond was not so rough cast, nor had been
so rudely handled, in the circumstance of life, as to make him proof
to these considerations—on the contrary, he was all nerve; his spirit
was as a pure fire, which fades and shrinks from every contagion of
foul atmosphere: but now the contagion had become incorporated
with its essence, and the change was the more painful . Truth and
falsehood, love and hate lost their eternal boundaries, heaven rushed
in to mingle with hell; while his sensitive mind, turned to a field for
such battle, was stung to madness . He heartily despised himself, he
was angry with Perdita, and the idea of Evadne was attended by all
that was hideous and cruel . His passions, always his masters, ac-
quired fresh strength, from the long sleep in which love had cradled
them, the clinging weight of destiny bent him down; he was goaded,
tortured, fiercely impatient of that worst of miseries, the sense of
remorse . This troubled state yielded by degrees, to sullen animosity,
and depression of spirits . His dependants, even his equals, if in his
present post he had any, were startled to find anger, derision, and
bitterness in one, before distinguished for suavity and benevolence
of manner . He transacted public business with distaste, and hastened
from it to the solitude which was at once his bane and relief . He
mounted a fiery horse, that which had borne him forward to victory
in Greece; he fatigued himself with deadening exercise, losing the
pangs of a troubled mind in animal sensation .
He slowly recovered himself; yet, at last, as one might from the
effects of poison, he lifted his head from above the vapours of fever
and passion into the still atmosphere of calm reflection. He medi-
tated on what was best to be done. He was first struck by the space
of time that had elapsed, since madness, rather than any reasonable
impulse, had regulated his actions . A month had gone by, and dur-
ing that time he had not seen Evadne . Her power, which was linked
to few of the enduring emotions of his heart, had greatly decayed .
He was no longer her slave—no longer her lover: he would never
see her more, and by the completeness of his return, deserve the
confidence of Perdita.
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 938
Yet, as he thus determined, fancy conjured up the miserable
abode of the Greek girl . An abode, which from noble and lofty prin-
ciple, she had refused to exchange for one of greater luxury . He
thought of the splendour of her situation and appearance when he
first knew her; he thought of her life at Constantinople, attended by
every circumstance of oriental magnificence; of her present penury,
her daily task of industry, her lorn state, her faded, famine-struck
cheek . Compassion swelled his breast; he would see her once again;
he would devise some plan for restoring her to society, and the en-
joyment of her rank; their separation would then follow, as a matter
of course .
Again he thought, how during this long month, he had avoided
Perdita, flying from her as from the stings of his own conscience. But
he was awake now; all this should be remedied; and future devotion
erase the memory of this only blot on the serenity of their life . He
became cheerful, as he thought of this, and soberly and resolutely
marked out the line of conduct he would adopt . He remembered that
he had promised Perdita to be present this very evening (the 19th of
October, anniversary of his election as Protector) at a festival given
in his honour . Good augury should this festival be of the happiness
of future years . First, he would look in on Evadne; he would not
stay; but he owed her some account, some compensation for his
long and unannounced absence; and then to Perdita, to the forgotten
world, to the duties of society, the splendour of rank, the enjoyment
of power .
After the scene sketched in the preceding pages, Perdita had con-
templated an entire change in the manners and conduct of Raymond .
She expected freedom of communication, and a return to those hab-
its of affectionate intercourse which had formed the delight of her
life . But Raymond did not join her in any of her avocations . He
transacted the business of the day apart from her; he went out, she
knew not whither. The pain inflicted by this disappointment was tor-
menting and keen . She looked on it as a deceitful dream, and tried
to throw off the consciousness of it; but like the shirt of Nessus,
it clung to her very flesh, and ate with sharp agony into her vital
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 939
principle . She possessed that (though such an assertion may appear
a paradox) which belongs to few, a capacity of happiness . Her deli-
cate organization and creative imagination rendered her peculiarly
susceptible of pleasurable emotion. The overflowing warmth of
her heart, by making love a plant of deep root and stately growth,
had attuned her whole soul to the reception of happiness, when she
found in Raymond all that could adorn love and satisfy her imagina-
tion . But if the sentiment on which the fabric of her existence was
founded, became common place through participation, the endless
succession of attentions and graceful action snapt by transfer, his
universe of love wrested from her, happiness must depart, and then
be exchanged for its opposite . The same peculiarities of character
rendered her sorrows agonies; her fancy magnified them, her sen-
sibility made her for ever open to their renewed impression; love
envenomed the heart-piercing sting . There was neither submission,
patience, nor self-abandonment in her grief; she fought with it,
struggled beneath it, and rendered every pang more sharp by resis-
tance . Again and again the idea recurred, that he loved another . She
did him justice; she believed that he felt a tender affection for her;
but give a paltry prize to him who in some life-pending lottery has
calculated on the possession of tens of thousands, and it will disap-
point him more than a blank . The affection and amity of a Raymond
might be inestimable; but, beyond that affection, embosomed deeper
than friendship, was the indivisible treasure of love . Take the sum
in its completeness, and no arithmetic can calculate its price; take
from it the smallest portion, give it but the name of parts, separate it
into degrees and sections, and like the magician’s coin, the valueless
gold of the mine, is turned to vilest substance . There is a meaning in
the eye of love; a cadence in its voice, an irradiation in its smile, the
talisman of whose enchantments one only can possess; its spirit is
elemental, its essence single, its divinity an unit . The very heart and
soul of Raymond and Perdita had mingled, even as two mountain
brooks that join in their descent, and murmuring and sparkling flow
over shining pebbles, beside starry flowers; but let one desert its
primal course, or be dammed up by choaking obstruction, and the
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 940
other shrinks in its altered banks . Perdita was sensible of the failing
of the tide that fed her life . Unable to support the slow withering
of her hopes, she suddenly formed a plan, resolving to terminate at
once the period of misery, and to bring to an happy conclusion the
late disastrous events .
The anniversary was at hand of the exaltation of Raymond to
the office of Protector; and it was customary to celebrate this day
by a splendid festival . A variety of feelings urged Perdita to shed
double magnificence over the scene; yet, as she arrayed herself for
the evening gala, she wondered herself at the pains she took, to ren-
der sumptuous the celebration of an event which appeared to her the
beginning of her sufferings . Woe befall the day, she thought, woe,
tears, and mourning betide the hour, that gave Raymond another
hope than love, another wish than my devotion; and thrice joyful the
moment when he shall be restored to me! God knows, I put my trust
in his vows, and believe his asserted faith—but for that, I would not
seek what I am now resolved to attain . Shall two years more be thus
passed, each day adding to our alienation, each act being another
stone piled on the barrier which separates us? No, my Raymond,
my only beloved, sole possession of Perdita! This night, this splen-
did assembly, these sumptuous apartments, and this adornment of
your tearful girl, are all united to celebrate your abdication . Once
for me, you relinquished the prospect of a crown . That was in days
of early love, when I could only hold out the hope, not the assurance
of happiness . Now you have the experience of all that I can give,
the heart’s devotion, taintless love, and unhesitating subjection to
you . You must choose between these and your protectorate . This,
proud noble, is your last night! Perdita has bestowed on it all of
magnificent and dazzling that your heart best loves—but, from these
gorgeous rooms, from this princely attendance, from power and el-
evation, you must return with tomorrow’s sun to our rural abode; for
I would not buy an immortality of joy, by the endurance of one more
week sister to the last .
Brooding over this plan, resolved when the hour should come, to
propose, and insist upon its accomplishment, secure of his consent,
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 941
the heart of Perdita was lightened, or rather exalted . Her cheek was
flushed by the expectation of struggle; her eyes sparkled with the
hope of triumph . Having cast her fate upon a die, and feeling secure
of winning, she, whom I have named as bearing the stamp of queen
of nations on her noble brow, now rose superior to humanity, and
seemed in calm power, to arrest with her finger, the wheel of destiny.
She had never before looked so supremely lovely .
We, the Arcadian shepherds of the tale, had intended to be pres-
ent at this festivity, but Perdita wrote to entreat us not to come, or to
absent ourselves from Windsor; for she (though she did not reveal
her scheme to us) resolved the next morning to return with Ray-
mond to our dear circle, there to renew a course of life in which she
had found entire felicity . Late in the evening she entered the apart-
ments appropriated to the festival . Raymond had quitted the palace
the night before; he had promised to grace the assembly, but he had
not yet returned . Still she felt sure that he would come at last; and
the wider the breach might appear at this crisis, the more secure she
was of closing it for ever .
It was as I said, the nineteenth of October; the autumn was far
advanced and dreary . The wind howled; the half bare trees were
despoiled of the remainder of their summer ornament; the state of
the air which induced the decay of vegetation, was hostile to cheer-
fulness or hope . Raymond had been exalted by the determination
he had made; but with the declining day his spirits declined . First
he was to visit Evadne, and then to hasten to the palace of the Pro-
tectorate . As he walked through the wretched streets in the neigh-
bourhood of the luckless Greek’s abode, his heart smote him for the
whole course of his conduct towards her . First, his having entered
into any engagement that should permit her to remain in such a state
of degradation; and then, after a short wild dream, having left her
to drear solitude, anxious conjecture, and bitter, still—disappointed
expectation . What had she done the while, how supported his ab-
sence and neglect? Light grew dim in these close streets, and when
the well known door was opened, the staircase was shrouded in
perfect night . He groped his way up, he entered the garret, he found
; THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 942
Evadne stretched speechless, almost lifeless on her wretched bed .
He called for the people of the house, but could learn nothing from
them, except that they knew nothing . Her story was plain to him,
plain and distinct as the remorse and horror that darted their fangs
into him . When she found herself forsaken by him, she lost the heart
to pursue her usual avocations; pride forbade every application to
him; famine was welcomed as the kind porter to the gates of death,
within whose opening folds she should now, without sin, quickly
repose . No creature came near her, as her strength failed .
If she died, where could there be found on record a murderer,
whose cruel act might compare with his? What fiend more wanton
in his mischief, what damned soul more worthy of perdition! But he
was not reserved for this agony of self-reproach . He sent for medical
assistance; the hours passed, spun by suspense into ages; the dark-
ness of the long autumnal night yielded to day, before her life was
secure . He had her then removed to a more commodious dwelling,
and hovered about her, again and again to assure himself that she
was safe .
In the midst of his greatest suspense and fear as to the event,
he remembered the festival given in his honour, by Perdita; in his
honour then, when misery and death were affixing indelible disgrace
to his name, honour to him whose crimes deserved a scaffold; this
was the worst mockery . Still Perdita would expect him; he wrote
a few incoherent words on a scrap of paper, testifying that he was
well, and bade the woman of the house take it to the palace, and de-
liver it into the hands of the wife of the Lord Protector . The woman,
who did not know him, contemptuously asked, how he thought she
should gain admittance, particularly on a festal night, to that lady’s
presence? Raymond gave her his ring to ensure the respect of the
menials . Thus, while Perdita was entertaining her guests, and anx-
iously awaiting the arrival of her lord, his ring was brought her; and
she was told that a poor woman had a note to deliver to her from its
wearer .
The vanity of the old gossip was raised by her commission,
which, after all, she did not understand, since she had no suspicion,
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 943