The Last Man
by it I should have thought; but nothing of this appeared; he saluted
my companions, and addressed me with a cordial greeting. Idris appeared
suspended for a moment, and then with extreme sweetness, she said,
“Lord Raymond, I confide in your goodness and honour.”
Smiling haughtily, he bent his head, and replied, with emphasis, “Do
you indeed confide, Lady Idris?”
She endeavoured to read his thought, and then answered with dignity,
“As you please. It is certainly best not to compromise oneself by any
concealment.”
“Pardon me,” he replied, “if I have offended. Whether you trust me or
not, rely on my doing my utmost to further your wishes, whatever they
may be.”
Idris smiled her thanks, and rose to take leave. Lord Raymond requested
permission to accompany her to Windsor Castle, to which she consented,
and they quitted the cottage together. My sister and I were left—truly
like two fools, who fancied that they had obtained a golden treasure,
till daylight shewed it to be lead—two silly, luckless flies, who had
played in sunbeams and were caught in a spider’s web. I leaned against
the casement, and watched those two glorious creatures, till they
disappeared in the forest-glades; and then I turned. Perdita had not
moved; her eyes fixed on the ground, her cheeks pale, her very lips
white, motionless and rigid, every feature stamped by woe, she sat.
Half frightened, I would have taken her hand; but she shudderingly
withdrew it, and strove to collect herself. I entreated her to speak to
me: “Not now,” she replied, “nor do you speak to me, my dear Lionel;
you _can_ say nothing, for you know nothing. I will see you to-morrow;
in the meantime, adieu!” She rose, and walked from the room; but
pausing at the door, and leaning against it, as if her over-busy
thoughts had taken from her the power of supporting herself, she said,
“Lord Raymond will probably return. Will you tell him that he must
excuse me to-day, for I am not well. I will see him to-morrow if he
wishes it, and you also. You had better return to London with him; you
can there make the enquiries agreed upon, concerning the Earl of
Windsor and visit me again to-morrow, before you proceed on your
journey—till then, farewell!”
She spoke falteringly, and concluded with a heavy sigh. I gave my
assent to her request; and she left me. I felt as if, from the order of
the systematic world, I had plunged into chaos, obscure, contrary,
unintelligible. That Raymond should marry Idris was more than ever
intolerable; yet my passion, though a giant from its birth, was too
strange, wild, and impracticable, for me to feel at once the misery I
perceived in Perdita. How should I act? She had not confided in me; I
could not demand an explanation from Raymond without the hazard of
betraying what was perhaps her most treasured secret. I would obtain
the truth from her the following day—in the mean time—But, while I was
occupied by multiplying reflections, Lord Raymond returned. He asked
for my sister; and I delivered her message. After musing on it for a
moment, he asked me if I were about to return to London, and if I would
accompany him: I consented. He was full of thought, and remained silent
during a considerable part of our ride; at length he said, “I must
apologize to you for my abstraction; the truth is, Ryland’s motion
comes on to-night, and I am considering my reply.”
Ryland was the leader of the popular party, a hard-headed man, and in
his way eloquent; he had obtained leave to bring in a bill making it
treason to endeavour to change the present state of the English
government and the standing laws of the republic. This attack was
directed against Raymond and his machinations for the restoration of
the monarchy.
Raymond asked me if I would accompany him to the House that evening. I
remembered my pursuit for intelligence concerning Adrian; and, knowing
that my time would be fully occupied, I excused myself. “Nay,” said my
companion, “I can free you from your present impediment. You are going
to make enquiries concerning the Earl of Windsor. I can answer them at
once, he is at the Duke of Athol’s seat at Dunkeld. On the first
approach of his disorder, he travelled about from one place to another;
until, arriving at that romantic seclusion he refused to quit it, and
we made arrangements with the Duke for his continuing there.”
I was hurt by the careless tone with which he conveyed this
information, and replied coldly: “I am obliged to you for your
intelligence, and will avail myself of it.”
“You shall, Verney,” said he, “and if you continue of the same mind, I
will facilitate your views. But first witness, I beseech you, the
result of this night’s contest, and the triumph I am about to achieve,
if I may so call it, while I fear that victory is to me defeat. What
can I do? My dearest hopes appear to be near their fulfilment. The
ex-queen gives me Idris; Adrian is totally unfitted to succeed to the
earldom, and that earldom in my hands becomes a kingdom. By the
reigning God it is true; the paltry earldom of Windsor shall no longer
content him, who will inherit the rights which must for ever appertain
to the person who possesses it. The Countess can never forget that she
has been a queen, and she disdains to leave a diminished inheritance to
her children; her power and my wit will rebuild the throne, and this
brow will be clasped by a kingly diadem.—I can do this—I can marry
Idris.”—-
He stopped abruptly, his countenance darkened, and its expression
changed again and again under the influence of internal passion. I
asked, “Does Lady Idris love you?”
“What a question,” replied he laughing. “She will of course, as I shall
her, when we are married.”
“You begin late,” said I, ironically, “marriage is usually considered
the grave, and not the cradle of love. So you are about to love her,
but do not already?”
“Do not catechise me, Lionel; I will do my duty by her, be assured.
Love! I must steel my heart against _that_; expel it from its tower of
strength, barricade it out: the fountain of love must cease to play,
its waters be dried up, and all passionate thoughts attendant on it
die—that is to say, the love which would rule me, not that which I
rule. Idris is a gentle, pretty, sweet little girl; it is impossible
not to have an affection for her, and I have a very sincere one; only
do not speak of love —love, the tyrant and the tyrant-queller; love,
until now my conqueror, now my slave; the hungry fire, the untameable
beast, the fanged snake—no—no—I will have nothing to do with that love.
Tell me, Lionel, do you consent that I should marry this young lady?”
He bent his keen eyes upon me, and my uncontrollable heart swelled in
my bosom. I replied in a calm voice—but how far from calm was the
thought imaged by my still words—“Never! I can never consent that Lady
Idris should be united to one who does not love her.”
“Because you love her yourself.”
“Your Lordship might have spared that taunt; I do not, dare not love
her.”
“At least,” he continued haughtily, “she does not love you. I would not
marry a reigning sovereign, were I not sure that her heart was free.
But, O, Lionel! a kingdom is a word of might, and gently sounding are
the terms that compose the style of royalty. Were not the mightiest men
of the olden times kings? Alexander was a king; Solomon, the wisest of
men, was a king; Napoleon was a king; Cæsar died in his attempt to
become one, and Cromwell, the puritan and king-killer, aspired to
regality. The father of Adrian yielded up the already broken sceptre of
England; but I will rear the fallen plant, join its dismembered frame,
and exalt it above all the flowers of the field.
“You need not wonder that I freely discover Adrian’s abode. Do not
suppose that I am wicked or foolish enough to found my purposed
sovereignty on a fraud, and one so easily discovered as the truth or
falsehood of the Earl’s insanity. I am just come from him. Before I
decided on my marriage with Idris, I resolved to see him myself again,
and to judge of the probability of his recovery.—He is irrecoverably
mad.”
I gasped for breath—
“I will not detail to you,” continued Raymond, “the melancholy
particulars. You shall see him, and judge for yourself; although I fear
this visit, useless to him, will be insufferably painful to you. It has
weighed on my spirits ever since. Excellent and gentle as he is even in
the downfall of his reason, I do not worship him as you do, but I would
give all my hopes of a crown and my right hand to boot, to see him
restored to himself.”
His voice expressed the deepest compassion: “Thou most unaccountable
being,” I cried, “whither will thy actions tend, in all this maze of
purpose in which thou seemest lost?”
“Whither indeed? To a crown, a golden be-gemmed crown, I hope; and yet
I dare not trust and though I dream of a crown and wake for one, ever
and anon a busy devil whispers to me, that it is but a fool’s cap that
I seek, and that were I wise, I should trample on it, and take in its
stead, that which is worth all the crowns of the east and
presidentships of the west.”
“And what is that?”
“If I do make it my choice, then you shall know; at present I dare not
speak, even think of it.”
Again he was silent, and after a pause turned to me laughingly. When
scorn did not inspire his mirth, when it was genuine gaiety that
painted his features with a joyous expression, his beauty became
super-eminent, divine. “Verney,” said he, “my first act when I become
King of England, will be to unite with the Greeks, take Constantinople,
and subdue all Asia. I intend to be a warrior, a conqueror; Napoleon’s
name shall vail to mine; and enthusiasts, instead of visiting his rocky
grave, and exalting the merits of the fallen, shall adore my majesty,
and magnify my illustrious achievements.”
I listened to Raymond with intense interest. Could I be other than all
ear, to one who seemed to govern the whole earth in his grasping
imagination, and who only quailed when he attempted to rule himself.
Then on his word and will depended my own happiness—the fate of all
dear to me. I endeavoured to divine the concealed meaning of his words.
Perdita’s name was not mentioned; yet I could not doubt that love for
her caused the vacillation of purpose that he exhibited. And who was so
worthy of love as my noble-minded sister? Who deserved the hand of this
self-exalted king more than she whose glance belonged to a queen of
nations? who loved him, as he did her; notwithstanding that
disappointment quelled her passion, and ambition held strong combat
with his.
We went together to the House in the evening. Raymond, while he knew
that his plans and prospects were to be discussed and decided during
the expected debate, was gay and careless. An hum, like that of ten
thousand hives of swarming bees, stunned us as we entered the
coffee-room. Knots of politicians were assembled with anxious brows and
loud or deep voices. The aristocratical party, the richest and most
influential men in England, appeared less agitated than the others, for
the question was to be discussed without their interference. Near the
fire was Ryland and his supporters. Ryland was a man of obscure birth
and of immense wealth, inherited from his father, who had been a
manufacturer. He had witnessed, when a young man, the abdication of the
king, and the amalgamation of the two houses of Lords and Commons; he
had sympathized with these popular encroachments, and it had been the
business of his life to consolidate and encrease them. Since then, the
influence of the landed proprietors had augmented; and at first Ryland
was not sorry to observe the machinations of Lord Raymond, which drew
off many of his opponent’s partizans. But the thing was now going too