by Robert Reed
addressed each other, shunning explanation, each fearing any com-
munication the other might make . Suddenly, however, the manners
of Raymond changed; he appeared to desire to find opportunities
of bringing about a return to kindness and intimacy with my sister .
The tide of love towards her appeared to flow again; he could never
forget, how once he had been devoted to her, making her the shrine
and storehouse wherein to place every thought and every sentiment .
Shame seemed to hold him back; yet he evidently wished to estab-
lish a renewal of confidence and affection. From the moment Perdita
had sufficiently recovered herself to form any plan of action, she
had laid one down, which now she prepared to follow . She received
these tokens of returning love with gentleness; she did not shun his
company; but she endeavoured to place a barrier in the way of fa-
miliar intercourse or painful discussion, which mingled pride and
shame prevented Raymond from surmounting . He began at last to
shew signs of angry impatience, and Perdita became aware that the
system she had adopted could not continue; she must explain herself
to him; she could not summon courage to speak—she wrote thus:—
“Read this letter with patience, I entreat you . It will
contain no reproaches . Reproach is indeed an idle word: for
what should I reproach you?
“Allow me in some degree to explain my feeling; without
that, we shall both grope in the dark, mistaking one another;
erring from the path which may conduct, one of us at least,
to a more eligible mode of life than that led by either during
the last few weeks .
“I loved you—I love you—neither anger nor pride dic-
tates these lines; but a feeling beyond, deeper, and more un-
alterable than either . My affections are wounded; it is impos-
sible to heal them:—cease then the vain endeavour, if indeed
that way your endeavours tend . Forgiveness! Return! Idle
words are these! I forgive the pain I endure; but the trodden
path cannot be retraced .
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 951
“Common affection might have been satisfied with com-
mon usages . I believed that you read my heart, and knew its
devotion, its unalienable fidelity towards you. I never loved
any but you . You came the embodied image of my fond-
est dreams . The praise of men, power and high aspirations
attended your career . Love for you invested the world for
me in enchanted light; it was no longer the earth I trod—the
earth, common mother, yielding only trite and stale repeti-
tion of objects and circumstances old and worn out . I lived
in a temple glorified by intensest sense of devotion and rap-
ture; I walked, a consecrated being, contemplating only your
power, your excellence;
For O, you stood beside me, like my youth,
Transformed for me the real to a dream,
Cloathing the palpable and familiar
With golden exhalations of the dawn.
‘The bloom has vanished from my life’—there is no morning
to this all investing night; no rising to the set-sun of love . In
those days the rest of the world was nothing to me: all other
men—I never considered nor felt what they were; nor did I
look on you as one of them . Separated from them; exalted
in my heart; sole possessor of my affections; single object of
my hopes, the best half of myself .
“Ah, Raymond, were we not happy? Did the sun shine
on any, who could enjoy its light with purer and more intense
bliss? It was not—it is not a common infidelity at which I
repine . It is the disunion of an whole which may not have
parts; it is the carelessness with which you have shaken off
the mantle of election with which to me you were invested,
and have become one among the many . Dream not to alter
this . Is not love a divinity, because it is immortal? Did not I
appear sanctified, even to myself, because this love had for
its temple my heart? I have gazed on you as you slept, melted
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 952
even to tears, as the idea filled my mind, that all I possessed
lay cradled in those idolized, but mortal lineaments before
me . Yet, even then, I have checked thick-coming fears with
one thought; I would not fear death, for the emotions that
linked us must be immortal .
“And now I do not fear death . I should be well pleased
to close my eyes, never more to open them again . And yet
I fear it; even as I fear all things; for in any state of being
linked by the chain of memory with this, happiness would
not return—even in Paradise, I must feel that your love was
less enduring than the mortal beatings of my fragile heart,
every pulse of which knells audibly,
The funeral note
Of love, deep buried, without resurrection.
No—no—me miserable; for love extinct there is no resurrec-
tion!
“Yet I love you . Yet, and for ever, would I contribute all
I possess to your welfare . On account of a tattling world; for
the sake of my—of our child, I would remain by you, Ray-
mond, share your fortunes, partake your counsel . Shall it be
thus? We are no longer lovers; nor can I call myself a friend
to any; since, lost as I am, I have no thought to spare from
my own wretched, engrossing self . But it will please me to
see you each day! to listen to the public voice praising you;
to keep up your paternal love for our girl; to hear your voice;
to know that I am near you, though you are no longer mine .
“If you wish to break the chains that bind us, say the
word, and it shall be done—I will take all the blame on my-
self, of harshness or unkindness, in the world’s eye .
“Yet, as I have said, I should be best pleased, at least for
the present, to live under the same roof with you . When the
fever of my young life is spent; when placid age shall tame
the vulture that devours me, friendship may come, love and
hope being dead . May this be true? Can my soul, inextricably
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 953
linked to this perishable frame, become lethargic and cold,
even as this sensitive mechanism shall lose its youthful elas-
ticity? Then, with lack-lustre eyes, grey hairs, and wrinkled
brow, though now the words sound hollow and meaningless,
then, tottering on the grave’s extreme edge, I may be—your
affectionate and true friend,
“PERDITA .”
Raymond’s answer was brief . What indeed could he reply to her
complaints, to her griefs which she jealously paled round, keeping
out all thought of remedy . “Notwithstanding your bitter letter,” he
wrote, “for bitter I must call it, you are the chief person in my esti-
mation, and it is your happiness that I would principally consult . Do
that which seems best to you: and if you can receive gratification
from one mode of life in preference to another, do not let me be any
obstacle . I foresee that the plan which you mark out in your letter
&nbs
p; will not endure long; but you are mistress of yourself, and it is my
sincere wish to contribute as far as you will permit me to your hap-
piness .”
“Raymond has prophesied well,” said Perdita, “alas, that it should
be so! our present mode of life cannot continue long, yet I will not
be the first to propose alteration. He beholds in me one whom he has
injured even unto death; and I derive no hope from his kindness; no
change can possibly be brought about even by his best intentions . As
well might Cleopatra have worn as an ornament the vinegar which
contained her dissolved pearl, as I be content with the love that Ray-
mond can now offer me .”
I own that I did not see her misfortune with the same eyes as Per-
dita . At all events methought that the wound could be healed; and,
if they remained together, it would be so . I endeavoured therefore
to sooth and soften her mind; and it was not until after many en-
deavours that I gave up the task as impracticable . Perdita listened to
me impatiently, and answered with some asperity:—“Do you think
that any of your arguments are new to me? or that my own burning
wishes and intense anguish have not suggested them all a thousand
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 954
times, with far more eagerness and subtlety than you can put into
them? Lionel, you cannot understand what woman’s love is . In days
of happiness I have often repeated to myself, with a grateful heart
and exulting spirit, all that Raymond sacrificed for me. I was a poor,
uneducated, unbefriended, mountain girl, raised from nothingness
by him . All that I possessed of the luxuries of life came from him . He
gave me an illustrious name and noble station; the world’s respect
reflected from his own glory: all this joined to his own undying love,
inspired me with sensations towards him, akin to those with which
we regard the Giver of life . I gave him love only . I devoted myself to
him: imperfect creature that I was, I took myself to task, that I might
become worthy of him . I watched over my hasty temper, subdued
my burning impatience of character, schooled my self-engrossing
thoughts, educating myself to the best perfection I might attain, that
the fruit of my exertions might be his happiness . I took no merit
to myself for this . He deserved it all—all labour, all devotion, all
sacrifice; I would have toiled up a scaleless Alp, to pluck a flower
that would please him . I was ready to quit you all, my beloved and
gifted companions, and to live only with him, for him . I could not do
otherwise, even if I had wished; for if we are said to have two souls,
he was my better soul, to which the other was a perpetual slave . One
only return did he owe me, even fidelity. I earned that; I deserved
it . Because I was mountain bred, unallied to the noble and wealthy,
shall he think to repay me by an empty name and station? Let him
take them back; without his love they are nothing to me . Their only
merit in my eyes was that they were his .”
Thus passionately Perdita ran on . When I adverted to the question
of their entire separation, she replied: “Be it so! One day the period
will arrive; I know it, and feel it . But in this I am a coward . This im-
perfect companionship, and our masquerade of union, are strangely
dear to me . It is painful, I allow, destructive, impracticable . It keeps
up a perpetual fever in my veins; it frets my immedicable wound; it
is instinct with poison . Yet I must cling to it; perhaps it will kill me
soon, and thus perform a thankful office.”
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 955
In the mean time, Raymond had remained with Adrian and Idris .
He was naturally frank; the continued absence of Perdita and myself
became remarkable; and Raymond soon found relief from the con-
straint of months, by an unreserved confidence with his two friends.
He related to them the situation in which he had found Evadne . At
first, from delicacy to Adrian he concealed her name; but it was di-
vulged in the course of his narrative, and her former lover heard
with the most acute agitation the history of her sufferings . Idris had
shared Perdita’s ill opinion of the Greek; but Raymond’s account
softened and interested her . Evadne’s constancy, fortitude, even her
ill-fated and ill-regulated love, were matter of admiration and pity;
especially when, from the detail of the events of the nineteenth of
October, it was apparent that she preferred suffering and death to
any in her eyes degrading application for the pity and assistance of
her lover . Her subsequent conduct did not diminish this interest . At
first, relieved from famine and the grave, watched over by Raymond
with the tenderest assiduity, with that feeling of repose peculiar to
convalescence, Evadne gave herself up to rapturous gratitude and
love. But reflection returned with health. She questioned him with
regard to the motives which had occasioned his critical absence . She
framed her enquiries with Greek subtlety; she formed her conclu-
sions with the decision and firmness peculiar to her disposition. She
could not divine, that the breach which she had occasioned between
Raymond and Perdita was already irreparable: but she knew, that
under the present system it would be widened each day, and that its
result must be to destroy her lover’s happiness, and to implant the
fangs of remorse in his heart . From the moment that she perceived
the right line of conduct, she resolved to adopt it, and to part from
Raymond for ever. Conflicting passions, long-cherished love, and
self-inflicted disappointment, made her regard death alone as suf-
ficient refuge for her woe. But the same feelings and opinions which
had before restrained her, acted with redoubled force; for she knew
that the reflection that he had occasioned her death, would pursue
Raymond through life, poisoning every enjoyment, clouding every
prospect . Besides, though the violence of her anguish made life
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 956
hateful, it had not yet produced that monotonous, lethargic sense
of changeless misery which for the most part produces suicide . Her
energy of character induced her still to combat with the ills of life;
even those attendant on hopeless love presented themselves, rather
in the shape of an adversary to be overcome, than of a victor to
whom she must submit . Besides, she had memories of past tender-
ness to cherish, smiles, words, and even tears, to con over, which,
though remembered in desertion and sorrow, were to be preferred
to the forgetfulness of the grave . It was impossible to guess at the
whole of her plan . Her letter to Raymond gave no clue for discov-
ery; it assured him, that she was in no danger of wanting the means
of life; she promised in it to preserve herself, and some future day
perhaps to present herself to him in a station not unworthy of her .
She then bade him, with the eloquence of despair and of unalterable
love, a last farewell .
All these circumstances were n
ow related to Adrian and Idris .
Raymond then lamented the cureless evil of his situation with Per-
dita . He declared, notwithstanding her harshness, he even called it
coldness, that he loved her . He had been ready once with the humil-
ity of a penitent, and the duty of a vassal, to surrender himself to
her; giving up his very soul to her tutelage, to become her pupil,
her slave, her bondsman . She had rejected these advances; and the
time for such exuberant submission, which must be founded on love
and nourished by it, was now passed . Still all his wishes and en-
deavours were directed towards her peace, and his chief discomfort
arose from the perception that he exerted himself in vain . If she were
to continue inflexible in the line of conduct she now pursued, they
must part . The combinations and occurrences of this senseless mode
of intercourse were maddening to him . Yet he would not propose the
separation . He was haunted by the fear of causing the death of one
or other of the beings implicated in these events; and he could not
persuade himself to undertake to direct the course of events, lest,
ignorant of the land he traversed, he should lead those attached to
the car into irremediable ruin .
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 957
After a discussion on this subject, which lasted for several hours,
he took leave of his friends, and returned to town, unwilling to meet
Perdita before us, conscious, as we all must be, of the thoughts up-
permost in the minds of both . Perdita prepared to follow him with
her child . Idris endeavoured to persuade her to remain . My poor
sister looked at the counsellor with affright . She knew that Ray-
mond had conversed with her; had he instigated this request?—was
this to be the prelude to their eternal separation?—I have said, that
the defects of her character awoke and acquired vigour from her un-
natural position . She regarded with suspicion the invitation of Idris;
she embraced me, as if she were about to be deprived of my affec-
tion also: calling me her more than brother, her only friend, her last
hope, she pathetically conjured me not to cease to love her; and with
encreased anxiety she departed for London, the scene and cause of
all her misery .
The scenes that followed, convinced her that she had not yet fath-
omed the obscure gulph into which she had plunged . Her unhappi-