The Last Man
better to fit me for this task, we must now separate. He found my name
a good passport to preferment, and he had procured for me the situation
of private secretary to the Ambassador at Vienna, where I should enter
on my career under the best auspices. In two years, I should return to
my country, with a name well known and a reputation already founded.
And Perdita?—Perdita was to become the pupil, friend and younger sister
of Evadne. With his usual thoughtfulness, he had provided for her
independence in this situation. How refuse the offers of this generous
friend?—I did not wish to refuse them; but in my heart of hearts, I
made a vow to devote life, knowledge, and power, all of which, in as
much as they were of any value, he had bestowed on me—all, all my
capacities and hopes, to him alone I would devote.
Thus I promised myself, as I journied towards my destination with
roused and ardent expectation: expectation of the fulfilment of all
that in boyhood we promise ourselves of power and enjoyment in
maturity. Methought the time was now arrived, when, childish
occupations laid aside, I should enter into life. Even in the Elysian
fields, Virgil describes the souls of the happy as eager to drink of
the wave which was to restore them to this mortal coil. The young are
seldom in Elysium, for their desires, outstripping possibility, leave
them as poor as a moneyless debtor. We are told by the wisest
philosophers of the dangers of the world, the deceits of men, and the
treason of our own hearts: but not the less fearlessly does each put
off his frail bark from the port, spread the sail, and strain his oar,
to attain the multitudinous streams of the sea of life. How few in
youth’s prime, moor their vessels on the “golden sands,” and collect
the painted shells that strew them. But all at close of day, with riven
planks and rent canvas make for shore, and are either wrecked ere they
reach it, or find some wave-beaten haven, some desart strand, whereon
to cast themselves and die unmourned.
A truce to philosophy!—Life is before me, and I rush into possession.
Hope, glory, love, and blameless ambition are my guides, and my soul
knows no dread. What has been, though sweet, is gone; the present is
good only because it is about to change, and the to come is all my own.
Do I fear, that my heart palpitates? high aspirations cause the flow of
my blood; my eyes seem to penetrate the cloudy midnight of time, and to
discern within the depths of its darkness, the fruition of all my soul
desires.
Now pause!—During my journey I might dream, and with buoyant wings
reach the summit of life’s high edifice. Now that I am arrived at its
base, my pinions are furled, the mighty stairs are before me, and step
by step I must ascend the wondrous fane—
Speak!—What door is opened?
Behold me in a new capacity. A diplomatist: one among the
pleasure-seeking society of a gay city; a youth of promise; favourite
of the Ambassador. All was strange and admirable to the shepherd of
Cumberland. With breathless amaze I entered on the gay scene, whose
actors were
—the lilies glorious as Solomon,
Who toil not, neither do they spin.
Soon, too soon, I entered the giddy whirl; forgetting my studious
hours, and the companionship of Adrian. Passionate desire of sympathy,
and ardent pursuit for a wished-for object still characterized me. The
sight of beauty entranced me, and attractive manners in man or woman
won my entire confidence. I called it rapture, when a smile made my
heart beat; and I felt the life’s blood tingle in my frame, when I
approached the idol which for awhile I worshipped. The mere flow of
animal spirits was Paradise, and at night’s close I only desired a
renewal of the intoxicating delusion. The dazzling light of ornamented
rooms; lovely forms arrayed in splendid dresses; the motions of a
dance, the voluptuous tones of exquisite music, cradled my senses in
one delightful dream.
And is not this in its kind happiness? I appeal to moralists and sages.
I ask if in the calm of their measured reveries, if in the deep
meditations which fill their hours, they feel the extasy of a youthful
tyro in the school of pleasure? Can the calm beams of their
heaven-seeking eyes equal the flashes of mingling passion which blind
his, or does the influence of cold philosophy steep their soul in a joy
equal to his, engaged
In this dear work of youthful revelry.
But in truth, neither the lonely meditations of the hermit, nor the
tumultuous raptures of the reveller, are capable of satisfying man’s
heart. From the one we gather unquiet speculation, from the other
satiety. The mind flags beneath the weight of thought, and droops in
the heartless intercourse of those whose sole aim is amusement. There
is no fruition in their vacant kindness, and sharp rocks lurk beneath
the smiling ripples of these shallow waters.
Thus I felt, when disappointment, weariness, and solitude drove me back
upon my heart, to gather thence the joy of which it had become barren.
My flagging spirits asked for something to speak to the affections; and
not finding it, I drooped. Thus, notwithstanding the thoughtless
delight that waited on its commencement, the impression I have of my
life at Vienna is melancholy. Goethe has said, that in youth we cannot
be happy unless we love. I did not love; but I was devoured by a
restless wish to be something to others. I became the victim of
ingratitude and cold coquetry—then I desponded, and imagined that my
discontent gave me a right to hate the world. I receded to solitude; I
had recourse to my books, and my desire again to enjoy the society of
Adrian became a burning thirst.
Emulation, that in its excess almost assumed the venomous properties of
envy, gave a sting to these feelings. At this period the name and
exploits of one of my countrymen filled the world with admiration.
Relations of what he had done, conjectures concerning his future
actions, were the never-failing topics of the hour. I was not angry on
my own account, but I felt as if the praises which this idol received
were leaves torn from laurels destined for Adrian. But I must enter
into some account of this darling of fame—this favourite of the
wonder-loving world.
Lord Raymond was the sole remnant of a noble but impoverished family.
From early youth he had considered his pedigree with complacency, and
bitterly lamented his want of wealth. His first wish was
aggrandisement; and the means that led towards this end were secondary
considerations. Haughty, yet trembling to every demonstration of
respect; ambitious, but too proud to shew his ambition; willing to
achieve honour, yet a votary of pleasure,— he entered upon life. He was
met on the threshold by some insult, real or imaginary; some repulse,
where he least expected it; some disappointment, hard for his pride to
bear. He writhed beneath an injury he was unable to revenge; and he
quitted England with a vow not to return, till the good time should
arrive, when she might feel the power of him she now despised.
He became an adventurer in the Greek wars. His reckless courage and
comprehensive genius brought him into notice. He became the darling
hero of this rising people. His foreign birth, and he refused to throw
off his allegiance to his native country, alone prevented him from
filling the first offices in the state. But, though others might rank
higher in title and ceremony, Lord Raymond held a station above and
beyond all this. He led the Greek armies to victory; their triumphs
were all his own. When he appeared, whole towns poured forth their
population to meet him; new songs were adapted to their national airs,
whose themes were his glory, valour, and munificence. A truce was
concluded between the Greeks and Turks. At the same time, Lord Raymond,
by some unlooked-for chance, became the possessor of an immense fortune
in England, whither he returned, crowned with glory, to receive the
meed of honour and distinction before denied to his pretensions. His
proud heart rebelled against this change. In what was the despised
Raymond not the same? If the acquisition of power in the shape of
wealth caused this alteration, that power should they feel as an iron
yoke. Power therefore was the aim of all his endeavours; aggrandizement
the mark at which he for ever shot. In open ambition or close intrigue,
his end was the same—to attain the first station in his own country.
This account filled me with curiosity. The events that in succession
followed his return to England, gave me keener feelings. Among his
other advantages, Lord Raymond was supremely handsome; every one
admired him; of women he was the idol. He was courteous,
honey-tongued—an adept in fascinating arts. What could not this man
achieve in the busy English world? Change succeeded to change; the
entire history did not reach me; for Adrian had ceased to write, and
Perdita was a laconic correspondent. The rumour went that Adrian had
become—how write the fatal word—mad: that Lord Raymond was the
favourite of the ex-queen, her daughter’s destined husband. Nay, more,
that this aspiring noble revived the claim of the house of Windsor to
the crown, and that, on the event of Adrian’s incurable disorder and
his marriage with the sister, the brow of the ambitious Raymond might
be encircled with the magic ring of regality.
Such a tale filled the trumpet of many voiced fame; such a tale
rendered my longer stay at Vienna, away from the friend of my youth,
intolerable. Now I must fulfil my vow; now range myself at his side,
and be his ally and support till death. Farewell to courtly pleasure;
to politic intrigue; to the maze of passion and folly! All hail,
England! Native England, receive thy child! thou art the scene of all
my hopes, the mighty theatre on which is acted the only drama that can,
heart and soul, bear me along with it in its development. A voice most
irresistible, a power omnipotent, drew me thither. After an absence of
two years I landed on its shores, not daring to make any inquiries,
fearful of every remark. My first visit would be to my sister, who
inhabited a little cottage, a part of Adrian’s gift, on the borders of
Windsor Forest. From her I should learn the truth concerning our
protector; I should hear why she had withdrawn from the protection of
the Princess Evadne, and be instructed as to the influence which this
overtopping and towering Raymond exercised over the fortunes of my
friend.
I had never before been in the neighbourhood of Windsor; the fertility
and beauty of the country around now struck me with admiration, which
encreased as I approached the antique wood. The ruins of majestic oaks
which had grown, flourished, and decayed during the progress of
centuries, marked where the limits of the forest once reached, while
the shattered palings and neglected underwood shewed that this part was
deserted for the younger plantations, which owed their birth to the
beginning of the nineteenth century, and now stood in the pride of
maturity. Perdita’s humble dwelling was situated on the skirts of the
most ancient portion; before it was stretched Bishopgate Heath, which
towards the east appeared interminable, and was bounded to the west by
Chapel Wood and the grove of Virginia Water. Behind, the cottage was
shadowed by the venerable fathers of the forest, under which the deer
came to graze, and which for the most part hollow and decayed, formed
fantastic groups that contrasted with the regular beauty of the younger
trees. These, the offspring of a later period, stood erect and seemed
ready to advance fearlessly into coming time; while those out worn
stragglers, blasted and broke, clung to each other, their weak boughs
sighing as the wind buffetted them—a weather-beaten crew.