The Last Man
indestructible tie; to preserve this little creature’s life became the
object of her being, and she joined the first division of migrants who
went over to Paris.
She became an easy prey to the methodist; her sensibility and acute
fears rendered her accessible to every impulse; her love for her child
made her eager to cling to the merest straw held out to save him. Her
mind, once unstrung, and now tuned by roughest inharmonious hands, made
her credulous: beautiful as fabled goddess, with voice of unrivalled
sweetness, burning with new lighted enthusiasm, she became a stedfast
proselyte, and powerful auxiliary to the leader of the elect. I had
remarked her in the crowd, on the day we met on the Place Vendome; and,
recollecting suddenly her providential rescue of my lost one, on the
night of the twentieth of November, I reproached myself for my neglect
and ingratitude, and felt impelled to leave no means that I could adopt
untried, to recall her to her better self, and rescue her from the
fangs of the hypocrite destroyer.
I will not, at this period of my story, record the artifices I used to
penetrate the asylum of the Tuileries, or give what would be a tedious
account of my stratagems, disappointments, and perseverance. I at last
succeeded in entering these walls, and roamed its halls and corridors
in eager hope to find my selected convert. In the evening I contrived
to mingle unobserved with the congregation, which assembled in the
chapel to listen to the crafty and eloquent harangue of their prophet.
I saw Juliet near him. Her dark eyes, fearfully impressed with the
restless glare of madness, were fixed on him; she held her infant, not
yet a year old, in her arms; and care of it alone could distract her
attention from the words to which she eagerly listened. After the
sermon was over, the congregation dispersed; all quitted the chapel
except she whom I sought; her babe had fallen asleep; so she placed it
on a cushion, and sat on the floor beside, watching its tranquil
slumber.
I presented myself to her; for a moment natural feeling produced a
sentiment of gladness, which disappeared again, when with ardent and
affectionate exhortation I besought her to accompany me in flight from
this den of superstition and misery. In a moment she relapsed into the
delirium of fanaticism, and, but that her gentle nature forbade, would
have loaded me with execrations. She conjured me, she commanded me to
leave her— “Beware, O beware,” she cried, “fly while yet your escape is
practicable. Now you are safe; but strange sounds and inspirations come
on me at times, and if the Eternal should in awful whisper reveal to me
his will, that to save my child you must be sacrificed, I would call in
the satellites of him you call the tyrant; they would tear you limb
from limb; nor would I hallow the death of him whom Idris loved, by a
single tear.”
She spoke hurriedly, with tuneless voice, and wild look; her child
awoke, and, frightened, began to cry; each sob went to the ill-fated
mother’s heart, and she mingled the epithets of endearment she
addressed to her infant, with angry commands that I should leave her.
Had I had the means, I would have risked all, have torn her by force
from the murderer’s den, and trusted to the healing balm of reason and
affection. But I had no choice, no power even of longer struggle; steps
were heard along the gallery, and the voice of the preacher drew near.
Juliet, straining her child in a close embrace, fled by another
passage. Even then I would have followed her; but my foe and his
satellites entered; I was surrounded, and taken prisoner.
I remembered the menace of the unhappy Juliet, and expected the full
tempest of the man’s vengeance, and the awakened wrath of his
followers, to fall instantly upon me. I was questioned. My answers were
simple and sincere. “His own mouth condemns him,” exclaimed the
impostor; “he confesses that his intention was to seduce from the way
of salvation our well-beloved sister in God; away with him to the
dungeon; to-morrow he dies the death; we are manifestly called upon to
make an example, tremendous and appalling, to scare the children of sin
from our asylum of the saved.”
My heart revolted from his hypocritical jargon: but it was unworthy of
me to combat in words with the ruffian; and my answer was cool; while,
far from being possessed with fear, methought, even at the worst, a man
true to himself, courageous and determined, could fight his way, even
from the boards of the scaffold, through the herd of these misguided
maniacs. “Remember,” I said, “who I am; and be well assured that I
shall not die unavenged. Your legal magistrate, the Lord Protector,
knew of my design, and is aware that I am here; the cry of blood will
reach him, and you and your miserable victims will long lament the
tragedy you are about to act.”
My antagonist did not deign to reply, even by a look;—“You know your
duty,” he said to his comrades,—“obey.”
In a moment I was thrown on the earth, bound, blindfolded, and hurried
away —liberty of limb and sight was only restored to me, when,
surrounded by dungeon-walls, dark and impervious, I found myself a
prisoner and alone.
Such was the result of my attempt to gain over the proselyte of this
man of crime; I could not conceive that he would dare put me to
death.—Yet I was in his hands; the path of his ambition had ever been
dark and cruel; his power was founded upon fear; the one word which
might cause me to die, unheard, unseen, in the obscurity of my dungeon,
might be easier to speak than the deed of mercy to act. He would not
risk probably a public execution; but a private assassination would at
once terrify any of my companions from attempting a like feat, at the
same time that a cautious line of conduct might enable him to avoid the
enquiries and the vengeance of Adrian.
Two months ago, in a vault more obscure than the one I now inhabited, I
had revolved the design of quietly laying me down to die; now I
shuddered at the approach of fate. My imagination was busied in shaping
forth the kind of death he would inflict. Would he allow me to wear out
life with famine; or was the food administered to me to be medicined
with death? Would he steal on me in my sleep; or should I contend to
the last with my murderers, knowing, even while I struggled, that I
must be overcome? I lived upon an earth whose diminished population a
child’s arithmetic might number; I had lived through long months with
death stalking close at my side, while at intervals the shadow of his
skeleton-shape darkened my path. I had believed that I despised the
grim phantom, and laughed his power to scorn.
Any other fate I should have met with courage, nay, have gone out
gallantly to encounter. But to be murdered thus at the midnight hour by
cold-blooded assassins, no friendly hand to close my eyes, or receive
my parting blessing—to die in combat, hate and execration—ah, why, my
angel love, didst thou restore me to life, when already I had stepped
within the portals of the tomb, now that so soon again I was to be
flung back a mangled corpse!
Hours passed—centuries. Could I give words to the many thoughts which
occupied me in endless succession during this interval, I should fill
volumes. The air was dank, the dungeon-floor mildewed and icy cold;
hunger came upon me too, and no sound reached me from without.
To-morrow the ruffian had declared that I should die. When would
to-morrow come? Was it not already here?
My door was about to be opened. I heard the key turn, and the bars and
bolts slowly removed. The opening of intervening passages permitted
sounds from the interior of the palace to reach me; and I heard the
clock strike one. They come to murder me, I thought; this hour does not
befit a public execution. I drew myself up against the wall opposite
the entrance; I collected my forces, I rallied my courage, I would not
fall a tame prey. Slowly the door receded on its hinges—I was ready to
spring forward to seize and grapple with the intruder, till the sight
of who it was changed at once the temper of my mind. It was Juliet
herself; pale and trembling she stood, a lamp in her hand, on the
threshold of the dungeon, looking at me with wistful countenance. But
in a moment she re-assumed her self-possession; and her languid eyes
recovered their brilliancy. She said, “I am come to save you, Verney.”
“And yourself also,” I cried: “dearest friend, can we indeed be saved?”
“Not a word,” she replied, “follow me!”
I obeyed instantly. We threaded with light steps many corridors,
ascended several flights of stairs, and passed through long galleries;
at the end of one she unlocked a low portal; a rush of wind
extinguished our lamp; but, in lieu of it, we had the blessed
moon-beams and the open face of heaven. Then first Juliet spoke:—“You
are safe,” she said, “God bless you!— farewell!”
I seized her reluctant hand—“Dear friend,” I cried, “misguided victim,
do you not intend to escape with me? Have you not risked all in
facilitating my flight? and do you think, that I will permit you to
return, and suffer alone the effects of that miscreant’s rage? Never!”
“Do not fear for me,” replied the lovely girl mournfully, “and do not
imagine that without the consent of our chief you could be without
these walls. It is he that has saved you; he assigned to me the part of
leading you hither, because I am best acquainted with your motives for
coming here, and can best appreciate his mercy in permitting you to
depart.”
“And are you,” I cried, “the dupe of this man? He dreads me alive as an
enemy, and dead he fears my avengers. By favouring this clandestine
escape he preserves a shew of consistency to his followers; but mercy
is far from his heart. Do you forget his artifices, his cruelty, and
fraud? As I am free, so are you. Come, Juliet, the mother of our lost
Idris will welcome you, the noble Adrian will rejoice to receive you;
you will find peace and love, and better hopes than fanaticism can
afford. Come, and fear not; long before day we shall be at Versailles;
close the door on this abode of crime —come, sweet Juliet, from
hypocrisy and guilt to the society of the affectionate and good.”
I spoke hurriedly, but with fervour: and while with gentle violence I
drew her from the portal, some thought, some recollection of past
scenes of youth and happiness, made her listen and yield to me;
suddenly she broke away with a piercing shriek:—“My child, my child! he
has my child; my darling girl is my hostage.”
She darted from me into the passage; the gate closed between us—she was
left in the fangs of this man of crime, a prisoner, still to inhale the
pestilential atmosphere which adhered to his demoniac nature; the
unimpeded breeze played on my cheek, the moon shone graciously upon me,
my path was free. Glad to have escaped, yet melancholy in my very joy,
I retrod my steps to Versailles.
CHAPTER VI.
Eventful winter passed; winter, the respite of our ills. By degrees the
sun, which with slant beams had before yielded the more extended reign
to night, lengthened his diurnal journey, and mounted his highest
throne, at once the fosterer of earth’s new beauty, and her lover. We
who, like flies that congregate upon a dry rock at the ebbing of the
tide, had played wantonly with time, allowing our passions, our hopes,
and our mad desires to rule us, now heard the approaching roar of the
ocean of destruction, and would have fled to some sheltered crevice,
before the first wave broke over us. We resolved without delay, to
commence our journey to Switzerland; we became eager to leave France.
Under the icy vaults of the glaciers, beneath the shadow of the pines,
the swinging of whose mighty branches was arrested by a load of snow;