The Last Man
voice made of many voices, resounded through the chamber; it syllabled
the name of Raymond.
He entered. I was on one of the highest seats, and saw him walk up the
passage to the table of the speaker. The native modesty of his
disposition conquered the joy of his triumph. He looked round timidly;
a mist seemed before his eyes. Adrian, who was beside me, hastened to
him, and jumping down the benches, was at his side in a moment. His
appearance re-animated our friend; and, when he came to speak and act,
his hesitation vanished, and he shone out supreme in majesty and
victory. The former Protector tendered him the oaths, and presented him
with the insignia of office, performing the ceremonies of installation.
The house then dissolved. The chief members of the state crowded round
the new magistrate, and conducted him to the palace of government.
Adrian suddenly vanished; and, by the time that Raymond’s supporters
were reduced to our intimate friends merely, returned leading Idris to
congratulate her friend on his success.
But where was Perdita? In securing solicitously an unobserved retreat
in case of failure, Raymond had forgotten to arrange the mode by which
she was to hear of his success; and she had been too much agitated to
revert to this circumstance. When Idris entered, so far had Raymond
forgotten himself, that he asked for my sister; one word, which told of
her mysterious disappearance, recalled him. Adrian it is true had
already gone to seek the fugitive, imagining that her tameless anxiety
had led her to the purlieus of the House, and that some sinister event
detained her. But Raymond, without explaining himself, suddenly quitted
us, and in another moment we heard him gallop down the street, in spite
of the wind and rain that scattered tempest over the earth. We did not
know how far he had to go, and soon separated, supposing that in a
short time he would return to the palace with Perdita, and that they
would not be sorry to find themselves alone.
Perdita had arrived with her child at Dartford, weeping and
inconsolable. She directed everything to be prepared for the
continuance of their journey, and placing her lovely sleeping charge on
a bed, passed several hours in acute suffering. Sometimes she observed
the war of elements, thinking that they also declared against her, and
listened to the pattering of the rain in gloomy despair. Sometimes she
hung over her child, tracing her resemblance to the father, and fearful
lest in after life she should display the same passions and
uncontrollable impulses, that rendered him unhappy. Again, with a gush
of pride and delight, she marked in the features of her little girl,
the same smile of beauty that often irradiated Raymond’s countenance.
The sight of it soothed her. She thought of the treasure she possessed
in the affections of her lord; of his accomplishments, surpassing those
of his contemporaries, his genius, his devotion to her.—Soon she
thought, that all she possessed in the world, except him, might well be
spared, nay, given with delight, a propitiatory offering, to secure the
supreme good she retained in him. Soon she imagined, that fate demanded
this sacrifice from her, as a mark she was devoted to Raymond, and that
it must be made with cheerfulness. She figured to herself their life in
the Greek isle he had selected for their retreat; her task of soothing
him; her cares for the beauteous Clara, her rides in his company, her
dedication of herself to his consolation. The picture then presented
itself to her in such glowing colours, that she feared the reverse, and
a life of magnificence and power in London; where Raymond would no
longer be hers only, nor she the sole source of happiness to him. So
far as she merely was concerned, she began to hope for defeat; and it
was only on his account that her feelings vacillated, as she heard him
gallop into the court-yard of the inn. That he should come to her
alone, wetted by 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 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 triumph,
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 London was
such, as to take away the idea of painful separation, when we quitted
Raymond and Perdita. We took leave of them in the Protectoral 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 estimation 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 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 enjoyed her situation. She was too full of
new ideas to feel much pain when we departed; she took an affectionate
leave of us, and promised 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 Raymond, 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 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 extravagant. 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 benefactor 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; so faulty, that although drawn with
the hand and eye of taste, it was evidently the work of one who was not
an architect. Raymond contemplated it with delight; the more he gazed,
the more pleased he was; and yet the errors multiplied under
inspection. He wrote to the 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 accepted. He was a man of few
words. Raymond questioned him; but his reserved answers soon made him
turn from the man to the drawing. 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