The Last Man
many arguments and fervent persuasions to overcome her feeling, but she
remained unconvinced; and, agitated by the discussion, she wildly and
passionately made a solemn vow, to fly and hide herself where he never
could discover her, where famine would soon bring death to conclude her
woes, if he persisted in his to her disgracing offers. She could
support herself, she said. And then she shewed him how, by executing
various designs and paintings, she earned a pittance for her support.
Raymond yielded for the present. He felt assured, after he had for
awhile humoured her self-will, that in the end friendship and reason
would gain the day.
But the feelings that actuated Evadne were rooted in the depths of her
being, and were such in their growth as he had no means of
understanding. Evadne loved Raymond. He was the hero of her
imagination, the image carved by love in the unchanged texture of her
heart. Seven years ago, in her youthful prime, she had become attached
to him; he had served her country against the Turks; he had in her own
land acquired that military glory peculiarly dear to the Greeks, since
they were still obliged inch by inch to fight for their security. Yet
when he returned thence, and first appeared in public life in England,
her love did not purchase his, which then vacillated between Perdita
and a crown. While he was yet undecided, she had quitted England; the
news of his marriage reached her, and her hopes, poorly nurtured
blossoms, withered and fell. The glory of life was gone for her; the
roseate halo of love, which had imbued every object with its own
colour, faded;—she was content to take life as it was, and to make the
best of leaden-coloured reality. She married; and, carrying her
restless energy of character with her into new scenes, she turned her
thoughts to ambition, and aimed at the title and power of Princess of
Wallachia; while her patriotic feelings were soothed by the idea of the
good she might do her country, when her husband should be chief of this
principality. She lived to find ambition, as unreal a delusion as love.
Her intrigues with Russia for the furtherance of her object, excited
the jealousy of the Porte, and the animosity of the Greek government.
She was considered a traitor by both, the ruin of her husband followed;
they avoided death by a timely flight, and she fell from the height of
her desires to penury in England. Much of this tale she concealed from
Raymond; nor did she confess, that repulse and denial, as to a criminal
convicted of the worst of crimes, that of bringing the scythe of
foreign despotism to cut away the new springing liberties of her
country, would have followed her application to any among the Greeks.
She knew that she was the cause of her husband’s utter ruin; and she
strung herself to bear the consequences. The reproaches which agony
extorted; or worse, cureless, uncomplaining depression, when his mind
was sunk in a torpor, not the less painful because it was silent and
moveless. She reproached herself with the crime of his death; guilt and
its punishments appeared to surround her; in vain she endeavoured to
allay remorse by the memory of her real integrity; the rest of the
world, and she among them, judged of her actions, by their
consequences. She prayed for her husband’s soul; she conjured the
Supreme to place on her head the crime of his self-destruction—she
vowed to live to expiate his fault.
In the midst of such wretchedness as must soon have destroyed her, one
thought only was matter of consolation. She lived in the same country,
breathed the same air as Raymond. His name as Protector was the burthen
of every tongue; his achievements, projects, and magnificence, the
argument of every story. Nothing is so precious to a woman’s heart as
the glory and excellence of him she loves; thus in every horror Evadne
revelled in his fame and prosperity. While her husband lived, this
feeling was regarded by her as a crime, repressed, repented of. When he
died, the tide of love resumed its ancient flow, it deluged her soul
with its tumultuous waves, and she gave herself up a prey to its
uncontrollable power.
But never, O, never, should he see her in her degraded state. Never
should he behold her fallen, as she deemed, from her pride of beauty,
the poverty-stricken inhabitant of a garret, with a name which had
become a reproach, and a weight of guilt on her soul. But though
impenetrably veiled from him, his public office permitted her to become
acquainted with all his actions, his daily course of life, even his
conversation. She allowed herself one luxury, she saw the newspapers
every day, and feasted on the praise and actions of the Protector. Not
that this indulgence was devoid of accompanying grief. Perdita’s name
was for ever joined with his; their conjugal felicity was celebrated
even by the authentic testimony of facts. They were continually
together, nor could the unfortunate Evadne read the monosyllable that
designated his name, without, at the same time, being presented with
the image of her who was the faithful companion of all his labours and
pleasures. _They_, _their Excellencies_, met her eyes in each line,
mingling an evil potion that poisoned her very blood.
It was in the newspaper that she saw the advertisement for the design
for a national gallery. Combining with taste her remembrance of the
edifices which she had seen in the east, and by an effort of genius
enduing them with unity of design, she executed the plan which had been
sent to the Protector. She triumphed in the idea of bestowing, unknown
and forgotten as she was, a benefit upon him she loved; and with
enthusiastic pride looked forward to the accomplishment of a work of
hers, which, immortalized in stone, would go down to posterity stamped
with the name of Raymond. She awaited with eagerness the return of her
messenger from the palace; she listened insatiate to his account of
each word, each look of the Protector; she felt bliss in this
communication with her beloved, although he knew not to whom he
addressed his instructions. The drawing itself became ineffably dear to
her. He had seen it, and praised it; it was again retouched by her,
each stroke of her pencil was as a chord of thrilling music, and bore
to her the idea of a temple raised to celebrate the deepest and most
unutterable emotions of her soul. These contemplations engaged her,
when the voice of Raymond first struck her ear, a voice, once heard,
never to be forgotten; she mastered her gush of feelings, and welcomed
him with quiet gentleness.
Pride and tenderness now struggled, and at length made a compromise
together. She would see Raymond, since destiny had led him to her, and
her constancy and devotion must merit his friendship. But her rights
with regard to him, and her cherished independence, should not be
injured by the idea of interest, or the intervention of the complicated
feelings attendant on pecuniary obligation, and the relative situations
of the benefactor, and benefited. Her mind was of uncommon strength;
she could subdue her sensible wants to her mental wishes, and suffer
cold, hunger and misery, rather than concede to fortune a contested
point. Alas! that in human nature such a pitch of mental discipline,
and disdainful negligence of nature itself, should not have been allied
to the extreme of moral excellence! But the resolution that permitted
her to resist the pains of privation, sprung from the too great energy
of her passions; and the concentrated self-will of which this was a
sign, was destined to destroy even the very idol, to preserve whose
respect she submitted to this detail of wretchedness.
Their intercourse continued. By degrees Evadne related to her friend
the whole of her story, the stain her name had received in Greece, the
weight of sin which had accrued to her from the death of her husband.
When Raymond offered to clear her reputation, and demonstrate to the
world her real patriotism, she declared that it was only through her
present sufferings that she hoped for any relief to the stings of
conscience; that, in her state of mind, diseased as he might think it,
the necessity of occupation was salutary medicine; she ended by
extorting a promise that for the space of one month he would refrain
from the discussion of her interests, engaging after that time to yield
in part to his wishes. She could not disguise to herself that any
change would separate her from him; now she saw him each day. His
connection with Adrian and Perdita was never mentioned; he was to her a
meteor, a companionless star, which at its appointed hour rose in her
hemisphere, whose appearance brought felicity, and which, although it
set, was never eclipsed. He came each day to her abode of penury, and
his presence transformed it to a temple redolent with sweets, radiant
with heaven’s own light; he partook of her delirium. “They built a wall
between them and the world”—Without, a thousand harpies raved, remorse
and misery, expecting the destined moment for their invasion. Within,
was the peace as of innocence, reckless blindless, deluding joy, hope,
whose still anchor rested on placid but unconstant water.
Thus, while Raymond had been wrapt in visions of power and fame, while
he looked forward to entire dominion over the elements and the mind of
man, the territory of his own heart escaped his notice; and from that
unthought of source arose the mighty torrent that overwhelmed his will,
and carried to the oblivious sea, fame, hope, and happiness.
CHAPTER VIII.
In the mean time what did Perdita?
During the first months of his Protectorate, Raymond and she had been
inseparable; each project was discussed with her, each plan approved by
her. I never beheld any one so perfectly happy as my sweet sister. Her
expressive eyes were two stars whose beams were love; hope and
light-heartedness sat on her cloudless brow. She fed even to tears of
joy on the praise and glory of her Lord; her whole existence was one
sacrifice to him, and if in the humility of her heart she felt
self-complacency, it arose from the reflection that she had won the
distinguished hero of the age, and had for years preserved him, even
after time had taken from love its usual nourishment. Her own feeling
was as entire as at its birth. Five years had failed to destroy the
dazzling unreality of passion. Most men ruthlessly destroy the sacred
veil, with which the female heart is wont to adorn the idol of its
affections. Not so Raymond; he was an enchanter, whose reign was for
ever undiminished; a king whose power never was suspended: follow him
through the details of common life, still the same charm of grace and
majesty adorned him; nor could he be despoiled of the innate
deification with which nature had invested him. Perdita grew in beauty
and excellence under his eye; I no longer recognised my reserved
abstracted sister in the fascinating and open-hearted wife of Raymond.
The genius that enlightened her countenance, was now united to an
expression of benevolence, which gave divine perfection to her beauty.
Happiness is in its highest degree the sister of goodness. Suffering
and amiability may exist together, and writers have loved to depict
their conjunction; there is a human and touching harmony in the
picture. But perfect happiness is an attribute of angels; and those who
possess it, appear angelic. Fear has been said to be the parent of
religion: even of that religion is it the generator, which leads its
votaries to sacrifice human victims at its altars; but the religion
which springs from happiness is a lovelier growth; the religion which
makes the heart breathe forth fervent thanksgiving, and causes us to
pour out the overflowings of the soul before the author of our being;