The Last Man
A light railing surrounded the garden of the cottage, which,
low-roofed, seemed to submit to the majesty of nature, and cower amidst
the venerable remains of forgotten time. Flowers, the children of the
spring, adorned her garden and casements; in the midst of lowliness
there was an air of elegance which spoke the graceful taste of the
inmate. With a beating heart I entered the enclosure; as I stood at the
entrance, I heard her voice, melodious as it had ever been, which
before I saw her assured me of her welfare.
A moment more and Perdita appeared; she stood before me in the fresh
bloom of youthful womanhood, different from and yet the same as the
mountain girl I had left. Her eyes could not be deeper than they were
in childhood, nor her countenance more expressive; but the expression
was changed and improved; intelligence sat on her brow; when she smiled
her face was embellished by the softest sensibility, and her low,
modulated voice seemed tuned by love. Her person was formed in the most
feminine proportions; she was not tall, but her mountain life had given
freedom to her motions, so that her light step scarce made her
foot-fall heard as she tript across the hall to meet me. When we had
parted, I had clasped her to my bosom with unrestrained warmth; we met
again, and new feelings were awakened; when each beheld the other,
childhood passed, as full grown actors on this changeful scene. The
pause was but for a moment; the flood of association and natural
feeling which had been checked, again rushed in full tide upon our
hearts, and with tenderest emotion we were swiftly locked in each
other’s embrace.
This burst of passionate feeling over, with calmed thoughts we sat
together, talking of the past and present. I alluded to the coldness of
her letters; but the few minutes we had spent together sufficiently
explained the origin of this. New feelings had arisen within her, which
she was unable to express in writing to one whom she had only known in
childhood; but we saw each other again, and our intimacy was renewed as
if nothing had intervened to check it. I detailed the incidents of my
sojourn abroad, and then questioned her as to the changes that had
taken place at home, the causes of Adrian’s absence, and her secluded
life.
The tears that suffused my sister’s eyes when I mentioned our friend,
and her heightened colour seemed to vouch for the truth of the reports
that had reached me. But their import was too terrible for me to give
instant credit to my suspicion. Was there indeed anarchy in the sublime
universe of Adrian’s thoughts, did madness scatter the well-appointed
legions, and was he no longer the lord of his own soul? Beloved friend,
this ill world was no clime for your gentle spirit; you delivered up
its governance to false humanity, which stript it of its leaves ere
winter-time, and laid bare its quivering life to the evil ministration
of roughest winds. Have those gentle eyes, those “channels of the soul”
lost their meaning, or do they only in their glare disclose the
horrible tale of its aberrations? Does that voice no longer “discourse
excellent music?” Horrible, most horrible! I veil my eyes in terror of
the change, and gushing tears bear witness to my sympathy for this
unimaginable ruin.
In obedience to my request Perdita detailed the melancholy
circumstances that led to this event.
The frank and unsuspicious mind of Adrian, gifted as it was by every
natural grace, endowed with transcendant powers of intellect,
unblemished by the shadow of defect (unless his dreadless independence
of thought was to be construed into one), was devoted, even as a victim
to sacrifice, to his love for Evadne. He entrusted to her keeping the
treasures of his soul, his aspirations after excellence, and his plans
for the improvement of mankind. As manhood dawned upon him, his schemes
and theories, far from being changed by personal and prudential
motives, acquired new strength from the powers he felt arise within
him; and his love for Evadne became deep-rooted, as he each day became
more certain that the path he pursued was full of difficulty, and that
he must seek his reward, not in the applause or gratitude of his fellow
creatures, hardly in the success of his plans, but in the approbation
of his own heart, and in her love and sympathy, which was to lighten
every toil and recompence every sacrifice.
In solitude, and through many wanderings afar from the haunts of men,
he matured his views for the reform of the English government, and the
improvement of the people. It would have been well if he had concealed
his sentiments, until he had come into possession of the power which
would secure their practical development. But he was impatient of the
years that must intervene, he was frank of heart and fearless. He gave
not only a brief denial to his mother’s schemes, but published his
intention of using his influence to diminish the power of the
aristocracy, to effect a greater equalization of wealth and privilege,
and to introduce a perfect system of republican government into
England. At first his mother treated his theories as the wild ravings
of inexperience. But they were so systematically arranged, and his
arguments so well supported, that though still in appearance
incredulous, she began to fear him. She tried to reason with him, and
finding him inflexible, learned to hate him.
Strange to say, this feeling was infectious. His enthusiasm for good
which did not exist; his contempt for the sacredness of authority; his
ardour and imprudence were all at the antipodes of the usual routine of
life; the worldly feared him; the young and inexperienced did not
understand the lofty severity of his moral views, and disliked him as a
being different from themselves. Evadne entered but coldly into his
systems. She thought he did well to assert his own will, but she wished
that will to have been more intelligible to the multitude. She had none
of the spirit of a martyr, and did not incline to share the shame and
defeat of a fallen patriot. She was aware of the purity of his motives,
the generosity of his disposition, his true and ardent attachment to
her; and she entertained a great affection for him. He repaid this
spirit of kindness with the fondest gratitude, and made her the
treasure-house of all his hopes.
At this time Lord Raymond returned from Greece. No two persons could be
more opposite than Adrian and he. With all the incongruities of his
character, Raymond was emphatically a man of the world. His passions
were violent; as these often obtained the mastery over him, he could
not always square his conduct to the obvious line of self-interest, but
self-gratification at least was the paramount object with him. He
looked on the structure of society as but a part of the machinery which
supported the web on which his life was traced. The earth was spread
out as an highway for him; the heavens built up as a canopy for him.
Adrian felt that he made a part of a great whole. He owned affinity not
only with mankind, but all nature was akin to him; the mountains and
sky were his friends; the winds of heaven and the offspring of earth
his playmates; while he the focus only of this mighty mirror, felt his
life mingle with the universe of existence. His soul was sympathy, and
dedicated to the worship of beauty and excellence. Adrian and Raymond
now came into contact, and a spirit of aversion rose between them.
Adrian despised the narrow views of the politician, and Raymond held in
supreme contempt the benevolent visions of the philanthropist.
With the coming of Raymond was formed the storm that laid waste at one
fell blow the gardens of delight and sheltered paths which Adrian
fancied that he had secured to himself, as a refuge from defeat and
contumely. Raymond, the deliverer of Greece, the graceful soldier, who
bore in his mien a tinge of all that, peculiar to her native clime,
Evadne cherished as most dear— Raymond was loved by Evadne. Overpowered
by her new sensations, she did not pause to examine them, or to
regulate her conduct by any sentiments except the tyrannical one which
suddenly usurped the empire of her heart. She yielded to its influence,
and the too natural consequence in a mind unattuned to soft emotions
was, that the attentions of Adrian became distasteful to her. She grew
capricious; her gentle conduct towards him was exchanged for asperity
and repulsive coldness. When she perceived the wild or pathetic appeal
of his expressive countenance, she would relent, and for a while resume
her ancient kindness. But these fluctuations shook to its depths the
soul of the sensitive youth; he no longer deemed the world subject to
him, because he possessed Evadne’s love; he felt in every nerve that
the dire storms of the mental universe were about to attack his fragile
being, which quivered at the expectation of its advent.
Perdita, who then resided with Evadne, saw the torture that Adrian
endured. She loved him as a kind elder brother; a relation to guide,
protect, and instruct her, without the too frequent tyranny of parental
authority. She adored his virtues, and with mixed contempt and
indignation she saw Evadne pile drear sorrow on his head, for the sake
of one who hardly marked her. In his solitary despair Adrian would
often seek my sister, and in covered terms express his misery, while
fortitude and agony divided the throne of his mind. Soon, alas! was one
to conquer. Anger made no part of his emotion. With whom should he be
angry? Not with Raymond, who was unconscious of the misery he
occasioned; not with Evadne, for her his soul wept tears of blood—poor,
mistaken girl, slave not tyrant was she, and amidst his own anguish he
grieved for her future destiny. Once a writing of his fell into
Perdita’s hands; it was blotted with tears—well might any blot it with
the like—
“Life”—it began thus—“is not the thing romance writers describe it;
going through the measures of a dance, and after various evolutions
arriving at a conclusion, when the dancers may sit down and repose.
While there is life there is action and change. We go on, each thought
linked to the one which was its parent, each act to a previous act. No
joy or sorrow dies barren of progeny, which for ever generated and
generating, weaves the chain that make our life:
Un dia llama à otro dia
y asi llama, y encadena
llanto à llanto, y pena à pena.
Truly disappointment is the guardian deity of human life; she sits at
the threshold of unborn time, and marshals the events as they come
forth. Once my heart sat lightly in my bosom; all the beauty of the
world was doubly beautiful, irradiated by the sun-light shed from my
own soul. O wherefore are love and ruin for ever joined in this our
mortal dream? So that when we make our hearts a lair for that gently
seeming beast, its companion enters with it, and pitilessly lays waste
what might have been an home and a shelter.”
By degrees his health was shaken by his misery, and then his intellect
yielded to the same tyranny. His manners grew wild; he was sometimes
ferocious, sometimes absorbed in speechless melancholy. Suddenly Evadne
quitted London for Paris; he followed, and overtook her when the vessel
was about to sail; none knew what passed between them, but Perdita had
never seen him since; he lived in seclusion, no one knew where,
attended by such persons as his mother selected for that purpose.
CHAPTER IV.
The next day Lord Raymond called at Perdita’s cottage, on his way to
Windsor Castle. My sister’s heightened colour and sparkling eyes half
revealed her secret to me. He was perfectly self-possessed; he accosted
us both with courtesy, seemed immediately to enter into our feelings,
and to make one with us. I scanned his physiognomy, which varied as he