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diff --git a/18247-h/18247-h.htm b/18247-h/18247-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ca029bc --- /dev/null +++ b/18247-h/18247-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,18374 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Last Man, by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +sup { vertical-align: top; font-size: 0.6em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Last Man, by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Last Man</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: April 24, 2006 [eBook #18247]<br /> +[Most recently updated: October 29, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST MAN ***</div> + +<h1>The Last Man</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley</h2> + +<h4>LONDON:<br/> +HENRY COLBURN.<br/> +1826.</h4> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol01"><b>VOL. I.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#pref01">INTRODUCTION.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER IV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER V.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER IX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER X.</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol02"><b>VOL. II.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER II.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER III.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER IV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER V.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER VI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER VII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER IX.</a><br /><br /></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#vol03"><b>VOL. III.</b></a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER II.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER III.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER IV.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER V.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER VI.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER VII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap29">CHAPTER IX.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap30">CHAPTER X.</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol01"></a>VOL. I.</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="pref01"></a>INTRODUCTION.</h2> + +<p> +I visited Naples in the year 1818. On the 8th of December of that year, my +companion and I crossed the Bay, to visit the antiquities which are scattered +on the shores of Baiæ. The translucent and shining waters of the calm sea +covered fragments of old Roman villas, which were interlaced by sea-weed, and +received diamond tints from the chequering of the sun-beams; the blue and +pellucid element was such as Galatea might have skimmed in her car of mother of +pearl; or Cleopatra, more fitly than the Nile, have chosen as the path of her +magic ship. Though it was winter, the atmosphere seemed more appropriate to +early spring; and its genial warmth contributed to inspire those sensations of +placid delight, which are the portion of every traveller, as he lingers, loath +to quit the tranquil bays and radiant promontories of Baiæ. +</p> + +<p> +We visited the so called Elysian Fields and Avernus; and wandered through +various ruined temples, baths, and classic spots; at length we entered the +gloomy cavern of the Cumæan Sibyl. Our Lazzeroni bore flaring torches, which +shone red, and almost dusky, in the murky subterranean passages, whose darkness +thirstily surrounding them, seemed eager to imbibe more and more of the element +of light. We passed by a natural archway, leading to a second gallery, and +enquired, if we could not enter there also. The guides pointed to the +reflection of their torches on the water that paved it, leaving us to form our +own conclusion; but adding it was a pity, for it led to the Sibyl’s Cave. +Our curiosity and enthusiasm were excited by this circumstance, and we insisted +upon attempting the passage. As is usually the case in the prosecution of such +enterprizes, the difficulties decreased on examination. We found, on each side +of the humid pathway, “dry land for the sole of the foot.” At +length we arrived at a large, desert, dark cavern, which the Lazzeroni assured +us was the Sibyl’s Cave. We were sufficiently disappointed—Yet we +examined it with care, as if its blank, rocky walls could still bear trace of +celestial visitant. On one side was a small opening. Whither does this lead? we +asked: can we enter here?—“<i>Questo poi, no,</i>”—said +the wild looking savage, who held the torch; “you can advance but a short +distance, and nobody visits it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nevertheless, I will try it,” said my companion; “it may +lead to the real cavern. Shall I go alone, or will you accompany me?” +</p> + +<p> +I signified my readiness to proceed, but our guides protested against such a +measure. With great volubility, in their native Neapolitan dialect, with which +we were not very familiar, they told us that there were spectres, that the roof +would fall in, that it was too narrow to admit us, that there was a deep hole +within, filled with water, and we might be drowned. My friend shortened the +harangue, by taking the man’s torch from him; and we proceeded alone. +</p> + +<p> +The passage, which at first scarcely admitted us, quickly grew narrower and +lower; we were almost bent double; yet still we persisted in making our way +through it. At length we entered a wider space, and the low roof heightened; +but, as we congratulated ourselves on this change, our torch was extinguished +by a current of air, and we were left in utter darkness. The guides bring with +them materials for renewing the light, but we had none—our only resource +was to return as we came. We groped round the widened space to find the +entrance, and after a time fancied that we had succeeded. This proved however +to be a second passage, which evidently ascended. It terminated like the +former; though something approaching to a ray, we could not tell whence, shed a +very doubtful twilight in the space. By degrees, our eyes grew somewhat +accustomed to this dimness, and we perceived that there was no direct passage +leading us further; but that it was possible to climb one side of the cavern to +a low arch at top, which promised a more easy path, from whence we now +discovered that this light proceeded. With considerable difficulty we scrambled +up, and came to another passage with still more of illumination, and this led +to another ascent like the former. +</p> + +<p> +After a succession of these, which our resolution alone permitted us to +surmount, we arrived at a wide cavern with an arched dome-like roof. An +aperture in the midst let in the light of heaven; but this was overgrown with +brambles and underwood, which acted as a veil, obscuring the day, and giving a +solemn religious hue to the apartment. It was spacious, and nearly circular, +with a raised seat of stone, about the size of a Grecian couch, at one end. The +only sign that life had been here, was the perfect snow-white skeleton of a +goat, which had probably not perceived the opening as it grazed on the hill +above, and had fallen headlong. Ages perhaps had elapsed since this +catastrophe; and the ruin it had made above, had been repaired by the growth of +vegetation during many hundred summers. +</p> + +<p> +The rest of the furniture of the cavern consisted of piles of leaves, fragments +of bark, and a white filmy substance, resembling the inner part of the green +hood which shelters the grain of the unripe Indian corn. We were fatigued by +our struggles to attain this point, and seated ourselves on the rocky couch, +while the sounds of tinkling sheep-bells, and shout of shepherd-boy, reached us +from above. +</p> + +<p> +At length my friend, who had taken up some of the leaves strewed about, +exclaimed, “This <i>is</i> the Sibyl’s cave; these are Sibylline +leaves.” On examination, we found that all the leaves, bark, and other +substances, were traced with written characters. What appeared to us more +astonishing, was that these writings were expressed in various languages: some +unknown to my companion, ancient Chaldee, and Egyptian hieroglyphics, old as +the Pyramids. Stranger still, some were in modern dialects, English and +Italian. We could make out little by the dim light, but they seemed to contain +prophecies, detailed relations of events but lately passed; names, now well +known, but of modern date; and often exclamations of exultation or woe, of +victory or defeat, were traced on their thin scant pages. This was certainly +the Sibyl’s Cave; not indeed exactly as Virgil describes it; but the +whole of this land had been so convulsed by earthquake and volcano, that the +change was not wonderful, though the traces of ruin were effaced by time; and +we probably owed the preservation of these leaves, to the accident which had +closed the mouth of the cavern, and the swift-growing vegetation which had +rendered its sole opening impervious to the storm. We made a hasty selection of +such of the leaves, whose writing one at least of us could understand; and +then, laden with our treasure, we bade adieu to the dim hypæthric cavern, and +after much difficulty succeeded in rejoining our guides. +</p> + +<p> +During our stay at Naples, we often returned to this cave, sometimes alone, +skimming the sun-lit sea, and each time added to our store. Since that period, +whenever the world’s circumstance has not imperiously called me away, or +the temper of my mind impeded such study, I have been employed in deciphering +these sacred remains. Their meaning, wondrous and eloquent, has often repaid my +toil, soothing me in sorrow, and exciting my imagination to daring flights, +through the immensity of nature and the mind of man. For awhile my labours were +not solitary; but that time is gone; and, with the selected and matchless +companion of my toils, their dearest reward is also lost to me— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Di mie tenere frondi altro lavoro<br/> +Credea mostrarte; e qual fero pianeta<br/> +Ne’ nvidiò insieme, o mio nobil tesoro? +</p> + +<p> +I present the public with my latest discoveries in the slight Sibylline pages. +Scattered and unconnected as they were, I have been obliged to add links, and +model the work into a consistent form. But the main substance rests on the +truths contained in these poetic rhapsodies, and the divine intuition which the +Cumæan damsel obtained from heaven. +</p> + +<p> +I have often wondered at the subject of her verses, and at the English dress of +the Latin poet. Sometimes I have thought, that, obscure and chaotic as they +are, they owe their present form to me, their decipherer. As if we should give +to another artist, the painted fragments which form the mosaic copy of +Raphael’s Transfiguration in St. Peter’s; he would put them +together in a form, whose mode would be fashioned by his own peculiar mind and +talent. Doubtless the leaves of the Cumæan Sibyl have suffered distortion and +diminution of interest and excellence in my hands. My only excuse for thus +transforming them, is that they were unintelligible in their pristine +condition. +</p> + +<p> +My labours have cheered long hours of solitude, and taken me out of a world, +which has averted its once benignant face from me, to one glowing with +imagination and power. Will my readers ask how I could find solace from the +narration of misery and woeful change? This is one of the mysteries of our +nature, which holds full sway over me, and from whose influence I cannot +escape. I confess, that I have not been unmoved by the development of the tale; +and that I have been depressed, nay, agonized, at some parts of the recital, +which I have faithfully transcribed from my materials. Yet such is human +nature, that the excitement of mind was dear to me, and that the imagination, +painter of tempest and earthquake, or, worse, the stormy and ruin-fraught +passions of man, softened my real sorrows and endless regrets, by clothing +these fictitious ones in that ideality, which takes the mortal sting from pain. +</p> + +<p> +I hardly know whether this apology is necessary. For the merits of my +adaptation and translation must decide how far I have well bestowed my time and +imperfect powers, in giving form and substance to the frail and attenuated +Leaves of the Sibyl. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<p> +I am the native of a sea-surrounded nook, a cloud-enshadowed land, which, when +the surface of the globe, with its shoreless ocean and trackless continents, +presents itself to my mind, appears only as an inconsiderable speck in the +immense whole; and yet, when balanced in the scale of mental power, far +outweighed countries of larger extent and more numerous population. So true it +is, that man’s mind alone was the creator of all that was good or great +to man, and that Nature herself was only his first minister. England, seated +far north in the turbid sea, now visits my dreams in the semblance of a vast +and well-manned ship, which mastered the winds and rode proudly over the waves. +In my boyish days she was the universe to me. When I stood on my native hills, +and saw plain and mountain stretch out to the utmost limits of my vision, +speckled by the dwellings of my countrymen, and subdued to fertility by their +labours, the earth’s very centre was fixed for me in that spot, and the +rest of her orb was as a fable, to have forgotten which would have cost neither +my imagination nor understanding an effort. +</p> + +<p> +My fortunes have been, from the beginning, an exemplification of the power that +mutability may possess over the varied tenor of man’s life. With regard +to myself, this came almost by inheritance. My father was one of those men on +whom nature had bestowed to prodigality the envied gifts of wit and +imagination, and then left his bark of life to be impelled by these winds, +without adding reason as the rudder, or judgment as the pilot for the voyage. +His extraction was obscure; but circumstances brought him early into public +notice, and his small paternal property was soon dissipated in the splendid +scene of fashion and luxury in which he was an actor. During the short years of +thoughtless youth, he was adored by the high-bred triflers of the day, nor +least by the youthful sovereign, who escaped from the intrigues of party, and +the arduous duties of kingly business, to find never-failing amusement and +exhilaration of spirit in his society. My father’s impulses, never under +his own controul, perpetually led him into difficulties from which his +ingenuity alone could extricate him; and the accumulating pile of debts of +honour and of trade, which would have bent to earth any other, was supported by +him with a light spirit and tameless hilarity; while his company was so +necessary at the tables and assemblies of the rich, that his derelictions were +considered venial, and he himself received with intoxicating flattery. +</p> + +<p> +This kind of popularity, like every other, is evanescent: and the difficulties +of every kind with which he had to contend, increased in a frightful ratio +compared with his small means of extricating himself. At such times the king, +in his enthusiasm for him, would come to his relief, and then kindly take his +friend to task; my father gave the best promises for amendment, but his social +disposition, his craving for the usual diet of admiration, and more than all, +the fiend of gambling, which fully possessed him, made his good resolutions +transient, his promises vain. With the quick sensibility peculiar to his +temperament, he perceived his power in the brilliant circle to be on the wane. +The king married; and the haughty princess of Austria, who became, as queen of +England, the head of fashion, looked with harsh eyes on his defects, and with +contempt on the affection her royal husband entertained for him. My father felt +that his fall was near; but so far from profiting by this last calm before the +storm to save himself, he sought to forget anticipated evil by making still +greater sacrifices to the deity of pleasure, deceitful and cruel arbiter of his +destiny. +</p> + +<p> +The king, who was a man of excellent dispositions, but easily led, had now +become a willing disciple of his imperious consort. He was induced to look with +extreme disapprobation, and at last with distaste, on my father’s +imprudence and follies. It is true that his presence dissipated these clouds; +his warm-hearted frankness, brilliant sallies, and confiding demeanour were +irresistible: it was only when at a distance, while still renewed tales of his +errors were poured into his royal friend’s ear, that he lost his +influence. The queen’s dextrous management was employed to prolong these +absences, and gather together accusations. At length the king was brought to +see in him a source of perpetual disquiet, knowing that he should pay for the +short-lived pleasure of his society by tedious homilies, and more painful +narrations of excesses, the truth of which he could not disprove. The result +was, that he would make one more attempt to reclaim him, and in case of ill +success, cast him off for ever. +</p> + +<p> +Such a scene must have been one of deepest interest and high-wrought passion. A +powerful king, conspicuous for a goodness which had heretofore made him meek, +and now lofty in his admonitions, with alternate entreaty and reproof, besought +his friend to attend to his real interests, resolutely to avoid those +fascinations which in fact were fast deserting him, and to spend his great +powers on a worthy field, in which he, his sovereign, would be his prop, his +stay, and his pioneer. My father felt this kindness; for a moment ambitious +dreams floated before him; and he thought that it would be well to exchange his +present pursuits for nobler duties. With sincerity and fervour he gave the +required promise: as a pledge of continued favour, he received from his royal +master a sum of money to defray pressing debts, and enable him to enter under +good auspices his new career. That very night, while yet full of gratitude and +good resolves, this whole sum, and its amount doubled, was lost at the +gaming-table. In his desire to repair his first losses, my father risked double +stakes, and thus incurred a debt of honour he was wholly unable to pay. Ashamed +to apply again to the king, he turned his back upon London, its false delights +and clinging miseries; and, with poverty for his sole companion, buried himself +in solitude among the hills and lakes of Cumberland. His wit, his bon mots, the +record of his personal attractions, fascinating manners, and social talents, +were long remembered and repeated from mouth to mouth. Ask where now was this +favourite of fashion, this companion of the noble, this excelling beam, which +gilt with alien splendour the assemblies of the courtly and the gay—you +heard that he was under a cloud, a lost man; not one thought it belonged to him +to repay pleasure by real services, or that his long reign of brilliant wit +deserved a pension on retiring. The king lamented his absence; he loved to +repeat his sayings, relate the adventures they had had together, and exalt his +talents—but here ended his reminiscence. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile my father, forgotten, could not forget. He repined for the loss of +what was more necessary to him than air or food—the excitements of +pleasure, the admiration of the noble, the luxurious and polished living of the +great. A nervous fever was the consequence; during which he was nursed by the +daughter of a poor cottager, under whose roof he lodged. She was lovely, +gentle, and, above all, kind to him; nor can it afford astonishment, that the +late idol of high-bred beauty should, even in a fallen state, appear a being of +an elevated and wondrous nature to the lowly cottage-girl. The attachment +between them led to the ill-fated marriage, of which I was the offspring. +Notwithstanding the tenderness and sweetness of my mother, her husband still +deplored his degraded state. Unaccustomed to industry, he knew not in what way +to contribute to the support of his increasing family. Sometimes he thought of +applying to the king; pride and shame for a while withheld him; and, before his +necessities became so imperious as to compel him to some kind of exertion, he +died. For one brief interval before this catastrophe, he looked forward to the +future, and contemplated with anguish the desolate situation in which his wife +and children would be left. His last effort was a letter to the king, full of +touching eloquence, and of occasional flashes of that brilliant spirit which +was an integral part of him. He bequeathed his widow and orphans to the +friendship of his royal master, and felt satisfied that, by this means, their +prosperity was better assured in his death than in his life. This letter was +enclosed to the care of a nobleman, who, he did not doubt, would perform the +last and inexpensive office of placing it in the king’s own hand. +</p> + +<p> +He died in debt, and his little property was seized immediately by his +creditors. My mother, pennyless and burthened with two children, waited week +after week, and month after month, in sickening expectation of a reply, which +never came. She had no experience beyond her father’s cottage; and the +mansion of the lord of the manor was the chiefest type of grandeur she could +conceive. During my father’s life, she had been made familiar with the +name of royalty and the courtly circle; but such things, ill according with her +personal experience, appeared, after the loss of him who gave substance and +reality to them, vague and fantastical. If, under any circumstances, she could +have acquired sufficient courage to address the noble persons mentioned by her +husband, the ill success of his own application caused her to banish the idea. +She saw therefore no escape from dire penury: perpetual care, joined to sorrow +for the loss of the wondrous being, whom she continued to contemplate with +ardent admiration, hard labour, and naturally delicate health, at length +released her from the sad continuity of want and misery. +</p> + +<p> +The condition of her orphan children was peculiarly desolate. Her own father +had been an emigrant from another part of the country, and had died long since: +they had no one relation to take them by the hand; they were outcasts, paupers, +unfriended beings, to whom the most scanty pittance was a matter of favour, and +who were treated merely as children of peasants, yet poorer than the poorest, +who, dying, had left them, a thankless bequest, to the close-handed charity of +the land. +</p> + +<p> +I, the elder of the two, was five years old when my mother died. A remembrance +of the discourses of my parents, and the communications which my mother +endeavoured to impress upon me concerning my father’s friends, in slight +hope that I might one day derive benefit from the knowledge, floated like an +indistinct dream through my brain. I conceived that I was different and +superior to my protectors and companions, but I knew not how or wherefore. The +sense of injury, associated with the name of king and noble, clung to me; but I +could draw no conclusions from such feelings, to serve as a guide to action. My +first real knowledge of myself was as an unprotected orphan among the valleys +and fells of Cumberland. I was in the service of a farmer; and with crook in +hand, my dog at my side, I shepherded a numerous flock on the near uplands. I +cannot say much in praise of such a life; and its pains far exceeded its +pleasures. There was freedom in it, a companionship with nature, and a reckless +loneliness; but these, romantic as they were, did not accord with the love of +action and desire of human sympathy, characteristic of youth. Neither the care +of my flock, nor the change of seasons, were sufficient to tame my eager +spirit; my out-door life and unemployed time were the temptations that led me +early into lawless habits. I associated with others friendless like myself; I +formed them into a band, I was their chief and captain. All shepherd-boys +alike, while our flocks were spread over the pastures, we schemed and executed +many a mischievous prank, which drew on us the anger and revenge of the +rustics. I was the leader and protector of my comrades, and as I became +distinguished among them, their misdeeds were usually visited upon me. But +while I endured punishment and pain in their defence with the spirit of an +hero, I claimed as my reward their praise and obedience. +</p> + +<p> +In such a school my disposition became rugged, but firm. The appetite for +admiration and small capacity for self-controul which I inherited from my +father, nursed by adversity, made me daring and reckless. I was rough as the +elements, and unlearned as the animals I tended. I often compared myself to +them, and finding that my chief superiority consisted in power, I soon +persuaded myself that it was in power only that I was inferior to the chiefest +potentates of the earth. Thus untaught in refined philosophy, and pursued by a +restless feeling of degradation from my true station in society, I wandered +among the hills of civilized England as uncouth a savage as the wolf-bred +founder of old Rome. I owned but one law, it was that of the strongest, and my +greatest deed of virtue was never to submit. +</p> + +<p> +Yet let me a little retract from this sentence I have passed on myself. My +mother, when dying, had, in addition to her other half-forgotten and misapplied +lessons, committed, with solemn exhortation, her other child to my fraternal +guardianship; and this one duty I performed to the best of my ability, with all +the zeal and affection of which my nature was capable. My sister was three +years younger than myself; I had nursed her as an infant, and when the +difference of our sexes, by giving us various occupations, in a great measure +divided us, yet she continued to be the object of my careful love. Orphans, in +the fullest sense of the term, we were poorest among the poor, and despised +among the unhonoured. If my daring and courage obtained for me a kind of +respectful aversion, her youth and sex, since they did not excite tenderness, +by proving her to be weak, were the causes of numberless mortifications to her; +and her own disposition was not so constituted as to diminish the evil effects +of her lowly station. +</p> + +<p> +She was a singular being, and, like me, inherited much of the peculiar +disposition of our father. Her countenance was all expression; her eyes were +not dark, but impenetrably deep; you seemed to discover space after space in +their intellectual glance, and to feel that the soul which was their soul, +comprehended an universe of thought in its ken. She was pale and fair, and her +golden hair clustered on her temples, contrasting its rich hue with the living +marble beneath. Her coarse peasant-dress, little consonant apparently with the +refinement of feeling which her face expressed, yet in a strange manner +accorded with it. She was like one of Guido’s saints, with heaven in her +heart and in her look, so that when you saw her you only thought of that +within, and costume and even feature were secondary to the mind that beamed in +her countenance. +</p> + +<p> +Yet though lovely and full of noble feeling, my poor Perdita (for this was the +fanciful name my sister had received from her dying parent), was not altogether +saintly in her disposition. Her manners were cold and repulsive. If she had +been nurtured by those who had regarded her with affection, she might have been +different; but unloved and neglected, she repaid want of kindness with distrust +and silence. She was submissive to those who held authority over her, but a +perpetual cloud dwelt on her brow; she looked as if she expected enmity from +every one who approached her, and her actions were instigated by the same +feeling. All the time she could command she spent in solitude. She would ramble +to the most unfrequented places, and scale dangerous heights, that in those +unvisited spots she might wrap herself in loneliness. Often she passed whole +hours walking up and down the paths of the woods; she wove garlands of flowers +and ivy, or watched the flickering of the shadows and glancing of the leaves; +sometimes she sat beside a stream, and as her thoughts paused, threw flowers or +pebbles into the waters, watching how those swam and these sank; or she would +set afloat boats formed of bark of trees or leaves, with a feather for a sail, +and intensely watch the navigation of her craft among the rapids and shallows +of the brook. Meanwhile her active fancy wove a thousand combinations; she +dreamt “of moving accidents by flood and field”—she lost +herself delightedly in these self-created wanderings, and returned with +unwilling spirit to the dull detail of common life. Poverty was the cloud that +veiled her excellencies, and all that was good in her seemed about to perish +from want of the genial dew of affection. She had not even the same advantage +as I in the recollection of her parents; she clung to me, her brother, as her +only friend, but her alliance with me completed the distaste that her +protectors felt for her; and every error was magnified by them into crimes. If +she had been bred in that sphere of life to which by inheritance the delicate +framework of her mind and person was adapted, she would have been the object +almost of adoration, for her virtues were as eminent as her defects. All the +genius that ennobled the blood of her father illustrated hers; a generous tide +flowed in her veins; artifice, envy, or meanness, were at the antipodes of her +nature; her countenance, when enlightened by amiable feeling, might have +belonged to a queen of nations; her eyes were bright; her look fearless. +</p> + +<p> +Although by our situation and dispositions we were almost equally cut off from +the usual forms of social intercourse, we formed a strong contrast to each +other. I always required the stimulants of companionship and applause. Perdita +was all-sufficient to herself. Notwithstanding my lawless habits, my +disposition was sociable, hers recluse. My life was spent among tangible +realities, hers was a dream. I might be said even to love my enemies, since by +exciting me they in a sort bestowed happiness upon me; Perdita almost disliked +her friends, for they interfered with her visionary moods. All my feelings, +even of exultation and triumph, were changed to bitterness, if unparticipated; +Perdita, even in joy, fled to loneliness, and could go on from day to day, +neither expressing her emotions, nor seeking a fellow-feeling in another mind. +Nay, she could love and dwell with tenderness on the look and voice of her +friend, while her demeanour expressed the coldest reserve. A sensation with her +became a sentiment, and she never spoke until she had mingled her perceptions +of outward objects with others which were the native growth of her own mind. +She was like a fruitful soil that imbibed the airs and dews of heaven, and gave +them forth again to light in loveliest forms of fruits and flowers; but then +she was often dark and rugged as that soil, raked up, and new sown with unseen +seed. +</p> + +<p> +She dwelt in a cottage whose trim grass-plat sloped down to the waters of the +lake of Ulswater; a beech wood stretched up the hill behind, and a purling +brook gently falling from the acclivity ran through poplar-shaded banks into +the lake. I lived with a farmer whose house was built higher up among the +hills: a dark crag rose behind it, and, exposed to the north, the snow lay in +its crevices the summer through. Before dawn I led my flock to the sheep-walks, +and guarded them through the day. It was a life of toil; for rain and cold were +more frequent than sunshine; but it was my pride to contemn the elements. My +trusty dog watched the sheep as I slipped away to the rendezvous of my +comrades, and thence to the accomplishment of our schemes. At noon we met +again, and we threw away in contempt our peasant fare, as we built our +fire-place and kindled the cheering blaze destined to cook the game stolen from +the neighbouring preserves. Then came the tale of hair-breadth escapes, combats +with dogs, ambush and flight, as gipsey-like we encompassed our pot. The search +after a stray lamb, or the devices by which we elude or endeavoured to elude +punishment, filled up the hours of afternoon; in the evening my flock went to +its fold, and I to my sister. +</p> + +<p> +It was seldom indeed that we escaped, to use an old-fashioned phrase, scot +free. Our dainty fare was often exchanged for blows and imprisonment. Once, +when thirteen years of age, I was sent for a month to the county jail. I came +out, my morals unimproved, my hatred to my oppressors encreased tenfold. Bread +and water did not tame my blood, nor solitary confinement inspire me with +gentle thoughts. I was angry, impatient, miserable; my only happy hours were +those during which I devised schemes of revenge; these were perfected in my +forced solitude, so that during the whole of the following season, and I was +freed early in September, I never failed to provide excellent and plenteous +fare for myself and my comrades. This was a glorious winter. The sharp frost +and heavy snows tamed the animals, and kept the country gentlemen by their +firesides; we got more game than we could eat, and my faithful dog grew sleek +upon our refuse. +</p> + +<p> +Thus years passed on; and years only added fresh love of freedom, and contempt +for all that was not as wild and rude as myself. At the age of sixteen I had +shot up in appearance to man’s estate; I was tall and athletic; I was +practised to feats of strength, and inured to the inclemency of the elements. +My skin was embrowned by the sun; my step was firm with conscious power. I +feared no man, and loved none. In after life I looked back with wonder to what +I then was; how utterly worthless I should have become if I had pursued my +lawless career. My life was like that of an animal, and my mind was in danger +of degenerating into that which informs brute nature. Until now, my savage +habits had done me no radical mischief; my physical powers had grown up and +flourished under their influence, and my mind, undergoing the same discipline, +was imbued with all the hardy virtues. But now my boasted independence was +daily instigating me to acts of tyranny, and freedom was becoming +licentiousness. I stood on the brink of manhood; passions, strong as the trees +of a forest, had already taken root within me, and were about to shadow with +their noxious overgrowth, my path of life. +</p> + +<p> +I panted for enterprises beyond my childish exploits, and formed distempered +dreams of future action. I avoided my ancient comrades, and I soon lost them. +They arrived at the age when they were sent to fulfil their destined situations +in life; while I, an outcast, with none to lead or drive me forward, paused. +The old began to point at me as an example, the young to wonder at me as a +being distinct from themselves; I hated them, and began, last and worst +degradation, to hate myself. I clung to my ferocious habits, yet half despised +them; I continued my war against civilization, and yet entertained a wish to +belong to it. +</p> + +<p> +I revolved again and again all that I remembered my mother to have told me of +my father’s former life; I contemplated the few relics I possessed +belonging to him, which spoke of greater refinement than could be found among +the mountain cottages; but nothing in all this served as a guide to lead me to +another and pleasanter way of life. My father had been connected with nobles, +but all I knew of such connection was subsequent neglect. The name of the +king,—he to whom my dying father had addressed his latest prayers, and +who had barbarously slighted them, was associated only with the ideas of +unkindness, injustice, and consequent resentment. I was born for something +greater than I was—and greater I would become; but greatness, at least to +my distorted perceptions, was no necessary associate of goodness, and my wild +thoughts were unchecked by moral considerations when they rioted in dreams of +distinction. Thus I stood upon a pinnacle, a sea of evil rolled at my feet; I +was about to precipitate myself into it, and rush like a torrent over all +obstructions to the object of my wishes— when a stranger influence came +over the current of my fortunes, and changed their boisterous course to what +was in comparison like the gentle meanderings of a meadow-encircling streamlet. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p> +I lived far from the busy haunts of men, and the rumour of wars or political +changes came worn to a mere sound, to our mountain abodes. England had been the +scene of momentous struggles, during my early boyhood. In the year 2073, the +last of its kings, the ancient friend of my father, had abdicated in compliance +with the gentle force of the remonstrances of his subjects, and a republic was +instituted. Large estates were secured to the dethroned monarch and his family; +he received the title of Earl of Windsor, and Windsor Castle, an ancient +royalty, with its wide demesnes were a part of his allotted wealth. He died +soon after, leaving two children, a son and a daughter. +</p> + +<p> +The ex-queen, a princess of the house of Austria, had long impelled her husband +to withstand the necessity of the times. She was haughty and fearless; she +cherished a love of power, and a bitter contempt for him who had despoiled +himself of a kingdom. For her children’s sake alone she consented to +remain, shorn of regality, a member of the English republic. When she became a +widow, she turned all her thoughts to the educating her son Adrian, second Earl +of Windsor, so as to accomplish her ambitious ends; and with his mother’s +milk he imbibed, and was intended to grow up in the steady purpose of +re-acquiring his lost crown. Adrian was now fifteen years of age. He was +addicted to study, and imbued beyond his years with learning and talent: report +said that he had already begun to thwart his mother’s views, and to +entertain republican principles. However this might be, the haughty Countess +entrusted none with the secrets of her family-tuition. Adrian was bred up in +solitude, and kept apart from the natural companions of his age and rank. Some +unknown circumstance now induced his mother to send him from under her +immediate tutelage; and we heard that he was about to visit Cumberland. A +thousand tales were rife, explanatory of the Countess of Windsor’s +conduct; none true probably; but each day it became more certain that we should +have the noble scion of the late regal house of England among us. +</p> + +<p> +There was a large estate with a mansion attached to it, belonging to this +family, at Ulswater. A large park was one of its appendages, laid out with +great taste, and plentifully stocked with game. I had often made depredations +on these preserves; and the neglected state of the property facilitated my +incursions. When it was decided that the young Earl of Windsor should visit +Cumberland, workmen arrived to put the house and grounds in order for his +reception. The apartments were restored to their pristine splendour, and the +park, all disrepairs restored, was guarded with unusual care. +</p> + +<p> +I was beyond measure disturbed by this intelligence. It roused all my dormant +recollections, my suspended sentiments of injury, and gave rise to the new one +of revenge. I could no longer attend to my occupations; all my plans and +devices were forgotten; I seemed about to begin life anew, and that under no +good auspices. The tug of war, I thought, was now to begin. He would come +triumphantly to the district to which my parent had fled broken-hearted; he +would find the ill-fated offspring, bequeathed with such vain confidence to his +royal father, miserable paupers. That he should know of our existence, and +treat us, near at hand, with the same contumely which his father had practised +in distance and absence, appeared to me the certain consequence of all that had +gone before. Thus then I should meet this titled stripling—the son of my +father’s friend. He would be hedged in by servants; nobles, and the sons +of nobles, were his companions; all England rang with his name; and his coming, +like a thunderstorm, was heard from far: while I, unlettered and unfashioned, +should, if I came in contact with him, in the judgment of his courtly +followers, bear evidence in my very person to the propriety of that ingratitude +which had made me the degraded being I appeared. +</p> + +<p> +With my mind fully occupied by these ideas, I might be said as if fascinated, +to haunt the destined abode of the young Earl. I watched the progress of the +improvements, and stood by the unlading waggons, as various articles of luxury, +brought from London, were taken forth and conveyed into the mansion. It was +part of the Ex-Queen’s plan, to surround her son with princely +magnificence. I beheld rich carpets and silken hangings, ornaments of gold, +richly embossed metals, emblazoned furniture, and all the appendages of high +rank arranged, so that nothing but what was regal in splendour should reach the +eye of one of royal descent. I looked on these; I turned my gaze to my own mean +dress.—Whence sprung this difference? Whence but from ingratitude, from +falsehood, from a dereliction on the part of the prince’s father, of all +noble sympathy and generous feeling. Doubtless, he also, whose blood received a +mingling tide from his proud mother—he, the acknowledged focus of the +kingdom’s wealth and nobility, had been taught to repeat my +father’s name with disdain, and to scoff at my just claims to protection. +I strove to think that all this grandeur was but more glaring infamy, and that, +by planting his gold-enwoven flag beside my tarnished and tattered banner, he +proclaimed not his superiority, but his debasement. Yet I envied him. His stud +of beautiful horses, his arms of costly workmanship, the praise that attended +him, the adoration, ready servitor, high place and high esteem,—I +considered them as forcibly wrenched from me, and envied them all with novel +and tormenting bitterness. +</p> + +<p> +To crown my vexation of spirit, Perdita, the visionary Perdita, seemed to awake +to real life with transport, when she told me that the Earl of Windsor was +about to arrive. +</p> + +<p> +“And this pleases you?” I observed, moodily. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed it does, Lionel,” she replied; “I quite long to see +him; he is the descendant of our kings, the first noble of the land: every one +admires and loves him, and they say that his rank is his least merit; he is +generous, brave, and affable.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have learnt a pretty lesson, Perdita,” said I, “and +repeat it so literally, that you forget the while the proofs we have of the +Earl’s virtues; his generosity to us is manifest in our plenty, his +bravery in the protection he affords us, his affability in the notice he takes +of us. His rank his least merit, do you say? Why, all his virtues are derived +from his station only; because he is rich, he is called generous; because he is +powerful, brave; because he is well served, he is affable. Let them call him +so, let all England believe him to be thus—we know him—he is our +enemy—our penurious, dastardly, arrogant enemy; if he were gifted with +one particle of the virtues you call his, he would do justly by us, if it were +only to shew, that if he must strike, it should not be a fallen foe. His father +injured my father—his father, unassailable on his throne, dared despise +him who only stooped beneath himself, when he deigned to associate with the +royal ingrate. We, descendants from the one and the other, must be enemies +also. He shall find that I can feel my injuries; he shall learn to dread my +revenge!” +</p> + +<p> +A few days after he arrived. Every inhabitant of the most miserable cottage, +went to swell the stream of population that poured forth to meet him: even +Perdita, in spite of my late philippic, crept near the highway, to behold this +idol of all hearts. I, driven half mad, as I met party after party of the +country people, in their holiday best, descending the hills, escaped to their +cloud-veiled summits, and looking on the sterile rocks about me, +exclaimed—“<i>They</i> do not cry, long live the Earl!” Nor, +when night came, accompanied by drizzling rain and cold, would I return home; +for I knew that each cottage rang with the praises of Adrian; as I felt my +limbs grow numb and chill, my pain served as food for my insane aversion; nay, +I almost triumphed in it, since it seemed to afford me reason and excuse for my +hatred of my unheeding adversary. All was attributed to him, for I confounded +so entirely the idea of father and son, that I forgot that the latter might be +wholly unconscious of his parent’s neglect of us; and as I struck my +aching head with my hand, I cried: “He shall hear of this! I will be +revenged! I will not suffer like a spaniel! He shall know, beggar and +friendless as I am, that I will not tamely submit to injury!” Each day, +each hour added to these exaggerated wrongs. His praises were so many +adder’s stings infixed in my vulnerable breast. If I saw him at a +distance, riding a beautiful horse, my blood boiled with rage; the air seemed +poisoned by his presence, and my very native English was changed to a vile +jargon, since every phrase I heard was coupled with his name and honour. I +panted to relieve this painful heart-burning by some misdeed that should rouse +him to a sense of my antipathy. It was the height of his offending, that he +should occasion in me such intolerable sensations, and not deign himself to +afford any demonstration that he was aware that I even lived to feel them. +</p> + +<p> +It soon became known that Adrian took great delight in his park and preserves. +He never sported, but spent hours in watching the tribes of lovely and almost +tame animals with which it was stocked, and ordered that greater care should be +taken of them than ever. Here was an opening for my plans of offence, and I +made use of it with all the brute impetuosity I derived from my active mode of +life. I proposed the enterprize of poaching on his demesne to my few remaining +comrades, who were the most determined and lawless of the crew; but they all +shrunk from the peril; so I was left to achieve my revenge myself. At first my +exploits were unperceived; I increased in daring; footsteps on the dewy grass, +torn boughs, and marks of slaughter, at length betrayed me to the game-keepers. +They kept better watch; I was taken, and sent to prison. I entered its gloomy +walls in a fit of triumphant extasy: “He feels me now,” I cried, +“and shall, again and again!”—I passed but one day in +confinement; in the evening I was liberated, as I was told, by the order of the +Earl himself. This news precipitated me from my self-raised pinnacle of honour. +He despises me, I thought; but he shall learn that I despise him, and hold in +equal contempt his punishments and his clemency. On the second night after my +release, I was again taken by the gamekeepers—again imprisoned, and again +released; and again, such was my pertinacity, did the fourth night find me in +the forbidden park. The gamekeepers were more enraged than their lord by my +obstinacy. They had received orders that if I were again taken, I should be +brought to the Earl; and his lenity made them expect a conclusion which they +considered ill befitting my crime. One of them, who had been from the first the +leader among those who had seized me, resolved to satisfy his own resentment, +before he made me over to the higher powers. +</p> + +<p> +The late setting of the moon, and the extreme caution I was obliged to use in +this my third expedition, consumed so much time, that something like a qualm of +fear came over me when I perceived dark night yield to twilight. I crept along +by the fern, on my hands and knees, seeking the shadowy coverts of the +underwood, while the birds awoke with unwelcome song above, and the fresh +morning wind, playing among the boughs, made me suspect a footfall at each +turn. My heart beat quick as I approached the palings; my hand was on one of +them, a leap would take me to the other side, when two keepers sprang from an +ambush upon me: one knocked me down, and proceeded to inflict a severe +horse-whipping. I started up—a knife was in my grasp; I made a plunge at +his raised right arm, and inflicted a deep, wide wound in his hand. The rage +and yells of the wounded man, the howling execrations of his comrade, which I +answered with equal bitterness and fury, echoed through the dell; morning broke +more and more, ill accordant in its celestial beauty with our brute and noisy +contest. I and my enemy were still struggling, when the wounded man exclaimed, +“The Earl!” I sprang out of the herculean hold of the keeper, +panting from my exertions; I cast furious glances on my persecutors, and +placing myself with my back to a tree, resolved to defend myself to the last. +My garments were torn, and they, as well as my hands, were stained with the +blood of the man I had wounded; one hand grasped the dead birds—my +hard-earned prey, the other held the knife; my hair was matted; my face +besmeared with the same guilty signs that bore witness against me on the +dripping instrument I clenched; my whole appearance was haggard and squalid. +Tall and muscular as I was in form, I must have looked like, what indeed I was, +the merest ruffian that ever trod the earth. +</p> + +<p> +The name of the Earl startled me, and caused all the indignant blood that +warmed my heart to rush into my cheeks; I had never seen him before; I figured +to myself a haughty, assuming youth, who would take me to task, if he deigned +to speak to me, with all the arrogance of superiority. My reply was ready; a +reproach I deemed calculated to sting his very heart. He came up the while; and +his appearance blew aside, with gentle western breath, my cloudy wrath: a tall, +slim, fair boy, with a physiognomy expressive of the excess of sensibility and +refinement stood before me; the morning sunbeams tinged with gold his silken +hair, and spread light and glory over his beaming countenance. “How is +this?” he cried. The men eagerly began their defence; he put them aside, +saying, “Two of you at once on a mere lad— for shame!” He +came up to me: “Verney,” he cried, “Lionel Verney, do we meet +thus for the first time? We were born to be friends to each other; and though +ill fortune has divided us, will you not acknowledge the hereditary bond of +friendship which I trust will hereafter unite us?” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, his earnest eyes, fixed on me, seemed to read my very soul: my +heart, my savage revengeful heart, felt the influence of sweet benignity sink +upon it; while his thrilling voice, like sweetest melody, awoke a mute echo +within me, stirring to its depths the life-blood in my frame. I desired to +reply, to acknowledge his goodness, accept his proffered friendship; but words, +fitting words, were not afforded to the rough mountaineer; I would have held +out my hand, but its guilty stain restrained me. Adrian took pity on my +faltering mien: “Come with me,” he said, “I have much to say +to you; come home with me—you know who I am?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” I exclaimed, “I do believe that I now know you, and +that you will pardon my mistakes—my crime.” +</p> + +<p> +Adrian smiled gently; and after giving his orders to the gamekeepers, he came +up to me; putting his arm in mine, we walked together to the mansion. +</p> + +<p> +It was not his rank—after all that I have said, surely it will not be +suspected that it was Adrian’s rank, that, from the first, subdued my +heart of hearts, and laid my entire spirit prostrate before him. Nor was it I +alone who felt thus intimately his perfections. His sensibility and courtesy +fascinated every one. His vivacity, intelligence, and active spirit of +benevolence, completed the conquest. Even at this early age, he was deep read +and imbued with the spirit of high philosophy. This spirit gave a tone of +irresistible persuasion to his intercourse with others, so that he seemed like +an inspired musician, who struck, with unerring skill, the “lyre of +mind,” and produced thence divine harmony. In person, he hardly appeared +of this world; his slight frame was overinformed by the soul that dwelt within; +he was all mind; “Man but a rush against” his breast, and it would +have conquered his strength; but the might of his smile would have tamed an +hungry lion, or caused a legion of armed men to lay their weapons at his feet. +</p> + +<p> +I spent the day with him. At first he did not recur to the past, or indeed to +any personal occurrences. He wished probably to inspire me with confidence, and +give me time to gather together my scattered thoughts. He talked of general +subjects, and gave me ideas I had never before conceived. We sat in his +library, and he spoke of the old Greek sages, and of the power which they had +acquired over the minds of men, through the force of love and wisdom only. The +room was decorated with the busts of many of them, and he described their +characters to me. As he spoke, I felt subject to him; and all my boasted pride +and strength were subdued by the honeyed accents of this blue-eyed boy. The +trim and paled demesne of civilization, which I had before regarded from my +wild jungle as inaccessible, had its wicket opened by him; I stepped within, +and felt, as I entered, that I trod my native soil. +</p> + +<p> +As evening came on, he reverted to the past. “I have a tale to +relate,” he said, “and much explanation to give concerning the +past; perhaps you can assist me to curtail it. Do you remember your father? I +had never the happiness of seeing him, but his name is one of my earliest +recollections: he stands written in my mind’s tablets as the type of all +that was gallant, amiable, and fascinating in man. His wit was not more +conspicuous than the overflowing goodness of his heart, which he poured in such +full measure on his friends, as to leave, alas! small remnant for +himself.” +</p> + +<p> +Encouraged by this encomium, I proceeded, in answer to his inquiries, to relate +what I remembered of my parent; and he gave an account of those circumstances +which had brought about a neglect of my father’s testamentary letter. +When, in after times, Adrian’s father, then king of England, felt his +situation become more perilous, his line of conduct more embarrassed, again and +again he wished for his early friend, who might stand a mound against the +impetuous anger of his queen, a mediator between him and the parliament. From +the time that he had quitted London, on the fatal night of his defeat at the +gaming-table, the king had received no tidings concerning him; and when, after +the lapse of years, he exerted himself to discover him, every trace was lost. +With fonder regret than ever, he clung to his memory; and gave it in charge to +his son, if ever he should meet this valued friend, in his name to bestow every +succour, and to assure him that, to the last, his attachment survived +separation and silence. +</p> + +<p> +A short time before Adrian’s visit to Cumberland, the heir of the +nobleman to whom my father had confided his last appeal to his royal master, +put this letter, its seal unbroken, into the young Earl’s hands. It had +been found cast aside with a mass of papers of old date, and accident alone +brought it to light. Adrian read it with deep interest; and found there that +living spirit of genius and wit he had so often heard commemorated. He +discovered the name of the spot whither my father had retreated, and where he +died; he learnt the existence of his orphan children; and during the short +interval between his arrival at Ulswater and our meeting in the park, he had +been occupied in making inquiries concerning us, and arranging a variety of +plans for our benefit, preliminary to his introducing himself to our notice. +</p> + +<p> +The mode in which he spoke of my father was gratifying to my vanity; the veil +which he delicately cast over his benevolence, in alledging a duteous +fulfilment of the king’s latest will, was soothing to my pride. Other +feelings, less ambiguous, were called into play by his conciliating manner and +the generous warmth of his expressions, respect rarely before experienced, +admiration, and love—he had touched my rocky heart with his magic power, +and the stream of affection gushed forth, imperishable and pure. In the evening +we parted; he pressed my hand: “We shall meet again; come to me +to-morrow.” I clasped that kind hand; I tried to answer; a fervent +“God bless you!” was all my ignorance could frame of speech, and I +darted away, oppressed by my new emotions. +</p> + +<p> +I could not rest. I sought the hills; a west wind swept them, and the stars +glittered above. I ran on, careless of outward objects, but trying to master +the struggling spirit within me by means of bodily fatigue. “This,” +I thought, “is power! Not to be strong of limb, hard of heart, ferocious, +and daring; but kind, compassionate and soft.”—Stopping short, I +clasped my hands, and with the fervour of a new proselyte, cried, “Doubt +me not, Adrian, I also will become wise and good!” and then quite +overcome, I wept aloud. +</p> + +<p> +As this gust of passion passed from me, I felt more composed. I lay on the +ground, and giving the reins to my thoughts, repassed in my mind my former +life; and began, fold by fold, to unwind the many errors of my heart, and to +discover how brutish, savage, and worthless I had hitherto been. I could not +however at that time feel remorse, for methought I was born anew; my soul threw +off the burthen of past sin, to commence a new career in innocence and love. +Nothing harsh or rough remained to jar with the soft feelings which the +transactions of the day had inspired; I was as a child lisping its devotions +after its mother, and my plastic soul was remoulded by a master hand, which I +neither desired nor was able to resist. +</p> + +<p> +This was the first commencement of my friendship with Adrian, and I must +commemorate this day as the most fortunate of my life. I now began to be human. +I was admitted within that sacred boundary which divides the intellectual and +moral nature of man from that which characterizes animals. My best feelings +were called into play to give fitting responses to the generosity, wisdom, and +amenity of my new friend. He, with a noble goodness all his own, took infinite +delight in bestowing to prodigality the treasures of his mind and fortune on +the long-neglected son of his father’s friend, the offspring of that +gifted being whose excellencies and talents he had heard commemorated from +infancy. +</p> + +<p> +After his abdication the late king had retreated from the sphere of politics, +yet his domestic circle afforded him small content. The ex-queen had none of +the virtues of domestic life, and those of courage and daring which she +possessed were rendered null by the secession of her husband: she despised him, +and did not care to conceal her sentiments. The king had, in compliance with +her exactions, cast off his old friends, but he had acquired no new ones under +her guidance. In this dearth of sympathy, he had recourse to his almost infant +son; and the early development of talent and sensibility rendered Adrian no +unfitting depository of his father’s confidence. He was never weary of +listening to the latter’s often repeated accounts of old times, in which +my father had played a distinguished part; his keen remarks were repeated to +the boy, and remembered by him; his wit, his fascinations, his very faults were +hallowed by the regret of affection; his loss was sincerely deplored. Even the +queen’s dislike of the favourite was ineffectual to deprive him of his +son’s admiration: it was bitter, sarcastic, contemptuous—but as she +bestowed her heavy censure alike on his virtues as his errors, on his devoted +friendship and his ill-bestowed loves, on his disinterestedness and his +prodigality, on his pre-possessing grace of manner, and the facility with which +he yielded to temptation, her double shot proved too heavy, and fell short of +the mark. Nor did her angry dislike prevent Adrian from imaging my father, as +he had said, the type of all that was gallant, amiable, and fascinating in man. +It was not strange therefore, that when he heard of the existence of the +offspring of this celebrated person, he should have formed the plan of +bestowing on them all the advantages his rank made him rich to afford. When he +found me a vagabond shepherd of the hills, a poacher, an unlettered savage, +still his kindness did not fail. In addition to the opinion he entertained that +his father was to a degree culpable of neglect towards us, and that he was +bound to every possible reparation, he was pleased to say that under all my +ruggedness there glimmered forth an elevation of spirit, which could be +distinguished from mere animal courage, and that I inherited a similarity of +countenance to my father, which gave proof that all his virtues and talents had +not died with him. Whatever those might be which descended to me, my noble +young friend resolved should not be lost for want of culture. +</p> + +<p> +Acting upon this plan in our subsequent intercourse, he led me to wish to +participate in that cultivation which graced his own intellect. My active mind, +when once it seized upon this new idea, fastened on it with extreme avidity. At +first it was the great object of my ambition to rival the merits of my father, +and render myself worthy of the friendship of Adrian. But curiosity soon awoke, +and an earnest love of knowledge, which caused me to pass days and nights in +reading and study. I was already well acquainted with what I may term the +panorama of nature, the change of seasons, and the various appearances of +heaven and earth. But I was at once startled and enchanted by my sudden +extension of vision, when the curtain, which had been drawn before the +intellectual world, was withdrawn, and I saw the universe, not only as it +presented itself to my outward senses, but as it had appeared to the wisest +among men. Poetry and its creations, philosophy and its researches and +classifications, alike awoke the sleeping ideas in my mind, and gave me new +ones. +</p> + +<p> +I felt as the sailor, who from the topmast first discovered the shore of +America; and like him I hastened to tell my companions of my discoveries in +unknown regions. But I was unable to excite in any breast the same craving +appetite for knowledge that existed in mine. Even Perdita was unable to +understand me. I had lived in what is generally called the world of reality, +and it was awakening to a new country to find that there was a deeper meaning +in all I saw, besides that which my eyes conveyed to me. The visionary Perdita +beheld in all this only a new gloss upon an old reading, and her own was +sufficiently inexhaustible to content her. She listened to me as she had done +to the narration of my adventures, and sometimes took an interest in this +species of information; but she did not, as I did, look on it as an integral +part of her being, which having obtained, I could no more put off than the +universal sense of touch. +</p> + +<p> +We both agreed in loving Adrian: although she not having yet escaped from +childhood could not appreciate as I did the extent of his merits, or feel the +same sympathy in his pursuits and opinions. I was for ever with him. There was +a sensibility and sweetness in his disposition, that gave a tender and +unearthly tone to our converse. Then he was gay as a lark carolling from its +skiey tower, soaring in thought as an eagle, innocent as the mild-eyed dove. He +could dispel the seriousness of Perdita, and take the sting from the torturing +activity of my nature. I looked back to my restless desires and painful +struggles with my fellow beings as to a troubled dream, and felt myself as much +changed as if I had transmigrated into another form, whose fresh sensorium and +mechanism of nerves had altered the reflection of the apparent universe in the +mirror of mind. But it was not so; I was the same in strength, in earnest +craving for sympathy, in my yearning for active exertion. My manly virtues did +not desert me, for the witch Urania spared the locks of Sampson, while he +reposed at her feet; but all was softened and humanized. Nor did Adrian +instruct me only in the cold truths of history and philosophy. At the same time +that he taught me by their means to subdue my own reckless and uncultured +spirit, he opened to my view the living page of his own heart, and gave me to +feel and understand its wondrous character. +</p> + +<p> +The ex-queen of England had, even during infancy, endeavoured to implant daring +and ambitious designs in the mind of her son. She saw that he was endowed with +genius and surpassing talent; these she cultivated for the sake of afterwards +using them for the furtherance of her own views. She encouraged his craving for +knowledge and his impetuous courage; she even tolerated his tameless love of +freedom, under the hope that this would, as is too often the case, lead to a +passion for command. She endeavoured to bring him up in a sense of resentment +towards, and a desire to revenge himself upon, those who had been instrumental +in bringing about his father’s abdication. In this she did not succeed. +The accounts furnished him, however distorted, of a great and wise nation +asserting its right to govern itself, excited his admiration: in early days he +became a republican from principle. Still his mother did not despair. To the +love of rule and haughty pride of birth she added determined ambition, +patience, and self-control. She devoted herself to the study of her son’s +disposition. By the application of praise, censure, and exhortation, she tried +to seek and strike the fitting chords; and though the melody that followed her +touch seemed discord to her, she built her hopes on his talents, and felt sure +that she would at last win him. The kind of banishment he now experienced arose +from other causes. +</p> + +<p> +The ex-queen had also a daughter, now twelve years of age; his fairy sister, +Adrian was wont to call her; a lovely, animated, little thing, all sensibility +and truth. With these, her children, the noble widow constantly resided at +Windsor; and admitted no visitors, except her own partizans, travellers from +her native Germany, and a few of the foreign ministers. Among these, and highly +distinguished by her, was Prince Zaimi, ambassador to England from the free +States of Greece; and his daughter, the young Princess Evadne, passed much of +her time at Windsor Castle. In company with this sprightly and clever Greek +girl, the Countess would relax from her usual state. Her views with regard to +her own children, placed all her words and actions relative to <i>them</i> +under restraint: but Evadne was a plaything she could in no way fear; nor were +her talents and vivacity slight alleviations to the monotony of the +Countess’s life. +</p> + +<p> +Evadne was eighteen years of age. Although they spent much time together at +Windsor, the extreme youth of Adrian prevented any suspicion as to the nature +of their intercourse. But he was ardent and tender of heart beyond the common +nature of man, and had already learnt to love, while the beauteous Greek smiled +benignantly on the boy. It was strange to me, who, though older than Adrian, +had never loved, to witness the whole heart’s sacrifice of my friend. +There was neither jealousy, inquietude, or mistrust in his sentiment; it was +devotion and faith. His life was swallowed up in the existence of his beloved; +and his heart beat only in unison with the pulsations that vivified hers. This +was the secret law of his life—he loved and was beloved. The universe was +to him a dwelling, to inhabit with his chosen one; and not either a scheme of +society or an enchainment of events, that could impart to him either happiness +or misery. What, though life and the system of social intercourse were a +wilderness, a tiger-haunted jungle! Through the midst of its errors, in the +depths of its savage recesses, there was a disentangled and flowery pathway, +through which they might journey in safety and delight. Their track would be +like the passage of the Red Sea, which they might traverse with unwet feet, +though a wall of destruction were impending on either side. +</p> + +<p> +Alas! why must I record the hapless delusion of this matchless specimen of +humanity? What is there in our nature that is for ever urging us on towards +pain and misery? We are not formed for enjoyment; and, however we may be +attuned to the reception of pleasureable emotion, disappointment is the +never-failing pilot of our life’s bark, and ruthlessly carries us on to +the shoals. Who was better framed than this highly-gifted youth to love and be +beloved, and to reap unalienable joy from an unblamed passion? If his heart had +slept but a few years longer, he might have been saved; but it awoke in its +infancy; it had power, but no knowledge; and it was ruined, even as a too +early-blowing bud is nipt by the killing frost. +</p> + +<p> +I did not accuse Evadne of hypocrisy or a wish to deceive her lover; but the +first letter that I saw of hers convinced me that she did not love him; it was +written with elegance, and, foreigner as she was, with great command of +language. The hand-writing itself was exquisitely beautiful; there was +something in her very paper and its folds, which even I, who did not love, and +was withal unskilled in such matters, could discern as being tasteful. There +was much kindness, gratitude, and sweetness in her expression, but no love. +Evadne was two years older than Adrian; and who, at eighteen, ever loved one so +much their junior? I compared her placid epistles with the burning ones of +Adrian. His soul seemed to distil itself into the words he wrote; and they +breathed on the paper, bearing with them a portion of the life of love, which +was his life. The very writing used to exhaust him; and he would weep over +them, merely from the excess of emotion they awakened in his heart. +</p> + +<p> +Adrian’s soul was painted in his countenance, and concealment or deceit +were at the antipodes to the dreadless frankness of his nature. Evadne made it +her earnest request that the tale of their loves should not be revealed to his +mother; and after for a while contesting the point, he yielded it to her. A +vain concession; his demeanour quickly betrayed his secret to the quick eyes of +the ex-queen. With the same wary prudence that characterized her whole conduct, +she concealed her discovery, but hastened to remove her son from the sphere of +the attractive Greek. He was sent to Cumberland; but the plan of correspondence +between the lovers, arranged by Evadne, was effectually hidden from her. Thus +the absence of Adrian, concerted for the purpose of separating, united them in +firmer bonds than ever. To me he discoursed ceaselessly of his beloved Ionian. +Her country, its ancient annals, its late memorable struggles, were all made to +partake in her glory and excellence. He submitted to be away from her, because +she commanded this submission; but for her influence, he would have declared +his attachment before all England, and resisted, with unshaken constancy, his +mother’s opposition. Evadne’s feminine prudence perceived how +useless any assertion of his resolves would be, till added years gave weight to +his power. Perhaps there was besides a lurking dislike to bind herself in the +face of the world to one whom she did not love—not love, at least, with +that passionate enthusiasm which her heart told her she might one day feel +towards another. He obeyed her injunctions, and passed a year in exile in +Cumberland. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<p> +Happy, thrice happy, were the months, and weeks, and hours of that year. +Friendship, hand in hand with admiration, tenderness and respect, built a bower +of delight in my heart, late rough as an untrod wild in America, as the +homeless wind or herbless sea. Insatiate thirst for knowledge, and boundless +affection for Adrian, combined to keep both my heart and understanding +occupied, and I was consequently happy. What happiness is so true and +unclouded, as the overflowing and talkative delight of young people. In our +boat, upon my native lake, beside the streams and the pale bordering +poplars—in valley and over hill, my crook thrown aside, a nobler flock to +tend than silly sheep, even a flock of new-born ideas, I read or listened to +Adrian; and his discourse, whether it concerned his love or his theories for +the improvement of man, alike entranced me. Sometimes my lawless mood would +return, my love of peril, my resistance to authority; but this was in his +absence; under the mild sway of his dear eyes, I was obedient and good as a boy +of five years old, who does his mother’s bidding. +</p> + +<p> +After a residence of about a year at Ulswater, Adrian visited London, and came +back full of plans for our benefit. You must begin life, he said: you are +seventeen, and longer delay would render the necessary apprenticeship more and +more irksome. He foresaw that his own life would be one of struggle, and I must +partake his labours with him. The 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Speak!—What door is opened? +</p> + +<p> +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 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +—the lilies glorious as Solomon,<br/> +Who toil not, neither do they spin. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +In this dear work of youthful revelry. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +In obedience to my request Perdita detailed the melancholy circumstances that +led to this event. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Un dia llama à otro dia<br/> +y asi llama, y encadena<br/> +llanto à llanto, y pena à pena. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p> +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 spoke, yet was beautiful +in every change. The usual expression of his eyes was soft, though at times he +could make them even glare with ferocity; his complexion was colourless; and +every trait spoke predominate self-will; his smile was pleasing, though disdain +too often curled his lips—lips which to female eyes were the very throne +of beauty and love. His voice, usually gentle, often startled you by a sharp +discordant note, which shewed that his usual low tone was rather the work of +study than nature. Thus full of contradictions, unbending yet haughty, gentle +yet fierce, tender and again neglectful, he by some strange art found easy +entrance to the admiration and affection of women; now caressing and now +tyrannizing over them according to his mood, but in every change a despot. +</p> + +<p> +At the present time Raymond evidently wished to appear amiable. Wit, hilarity, +and deep observation were mingled in his talk, rendering every sentence that he +uttered as a flash of light. He soon conquered my latent distaste; I +endeavoured to watch him and Perdita, and to keep in mind every thing I had +heard to his disadvantage. But all appeared so ingenuous, and all was so +fascinating, that I forgot everything except the pleasure his society afforded +me. Under the idea of initiating me in the scene of English politics and +society, of which I was soon to become a part, he narrated a number of +anecdotes, and sketched many characters; his discourse, rich and varied, flowed +on, pervading all my senses with pleasure. But for one thing he would have been +completely triumphant. He alluded to Adrian, and spoke of him with that +disparagement that the worldly wise always attach to enthusiasm. He perceived +the cloud gathering, and tried to dissipate it; but the strength of my feelings +would not permit me to pass thus lightly over this sacred subject; so I said +emphatically, “Permit me to remark, that I am devotedly attached to the +Earl of Windsor; he is my best friend and benefactor. I reverence his goodness, +I accord with his opinions, and bitterly lament his present, and I trust +temporary, illness. That illness, from its peculiarity, makes it painful to me +beyond words to hear him mentioned, unless in terms of respect and +affection.” +</p> + +<p> +Raymond replied; but there was nothing conciliatory in his reply. I saw that in +his heart he despised those dedicated to any but worldly idols. “Every +man,” he said, “dreams about something, love, honour, and pleasure; +you dream of friendship, and devote yourself to a maniac; well, if that be your +vocation, doubtless you are in the right to follow it.”— +</p> + +<p> +Some reflection seemed to sting him, and the spasm of pain that for a moment +convulsed his countenance, checked my indignation. “Happy are +dreamers,” he continued, “so that they be not awakened! Would I +could dream! but ‘broad and garish day’ is the element in which I +live; the dazzling glare of reality inverts the scene for me. Even the ghost of +friendship has departed, and love”——He broke off; nor could I +guess whether the disdain that curled his lip was directed against the passion, +or against himself for being its slave. +</p> + +<p> +This account may be taken as a sample of my intercourse with Lord Raymond. I +became intimate with him, and each day afforded me occasion to admire more and +more his powerful and versatile talents, that together with his eloquence, +which was graceful and witty, and his wealth now immense, caused him to be +feared, loved, and hated beyond any other man in England. +</p> + +<p> +My descent, which claimed interest, if not respect, my former connection with +Adrian, the favour of the ambassador, whose secretary I had been, and now my +intimacy with Lord Raymond, gave me easy access to the fashionable and +political circles of England. To my inexperience we at first appeared on the +eve of a civil war; each party was violent, acrimonious, and unyielding. +Parliament was divided by three factions, aristocrats, democrats, and +royalists. After Adrian’s declared predeliction to the republican form of +government, the latter party had nearly died away, chiefless, guideless; but, +when Lord Raymond came forward as its leader, it revived with redoubled force. +Some were royalists from prejudice and ancient affection, and there were many +moderately inclined who feared alike the capricious tyranny of the popular +party, and the unbending despotism of the aristocrats. More than a third of the +members ranged themselves under Raymond, and their number was perpetually +encreasing. The aristocrats built their hopes on their preponderant wealth and +influence; the reformers on the force of the nation itself; the debates were +violent, more violent the discourses held by each knot of politicians as they +assembled to arrange their measures. Opprobrious epithets were bandied about, +resistance even to the death threatened; meetings of the populace disturbed the +quiet order of the country; except in war, how could all this end? Even as the +destructive flames were ready to break forth, I saw them shrink back; allayed +by the absence of the military, by the aversion entertained by every one to any +violence, save that of speech, and by the cordial politeness and even +friendship of the hostile leaders when they met in private society. I was from +a thousand motives induced to attend minutely to the course of events, and +watch each turn with intense anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +I could not but perceive that Perdita loved Raymond; methought also that he +regarded the fair daughter of Verney with admiration and tenderness. Yet I knew +that he was urging forward his marriage with the presumptive heiress of the +Earldom of Windsor, with keen expectation of the advantages that would thence +accrue to him. All the ex-queen’s friends were his friends; no week +passed that he did not hold consultations with her at Windsor. +</p> + +<p> +I had never seen the sister of Adrian. I had heard that she was lovely, +amiable, and fascinating. Wherefore should I see her? There are times when we +have an indefinable sentiment of impending change for better or for worse, to +arise from an event; and, be it for better or for worse, we fear the change, +and shun the event. For this reason I avoided this high-born damsel. To me she +was everything and nothing; her very name mentioned by another made me start +and tremble; the endless discussion concerning her union with Lord Raymond was +real agony to me. Methought that, Adrian withdrawn from active life, and this +beauteous Idris, a victim probably to her mother’s ambitious schemes, I +ought to come forward to protect her from undue influence, guard her from +unhappiness, and secure to her freedom of choice, the right of every human +being. Yet how was I to do this? She herself would disdain my interference. +Since then I must be an object of indifference or contempt to her, better, far +better avoid her, nor expose myself before her and the scornful world to the +chance of playing the mad game of a fond, foolish Icarus. One day, several +months after my return to England, I quitted London to visit my sister. Her +society was my chief solace and delight; and my spirits always rose at the +expectation of seeing her. Her conversation was full of pointed remark and +discernment; in her pleasant alcove, redolent with sweetest flowers, adorned by +magnificent casts, antique vases, and copies of the finest pictures of Raphael, +Correggio, and Claude, painted by herself, I fancied myself in a fairy retreat +untainted by and inaccessible to the noisy contentions of politicians and the +frivolous pursuits of fashion. On this occasion, my sister was not alone; nor +could I fail to recognise her companion: it was Idris, the till now unseen +object of my mad idolatry. +</p> + +<p> +In what fitting terms of wonder and delight, in what choice expression and soft +flow of language, can I usher in the loveliest, wisest, best? How in poor +assemblage of words convey the halo of glory that surrounded her, the thousand +graces that waited unwearied on her. The first thing that struck you on +beholding that charming countenance was its perfect goodness and frankness; +candour sat upon her brow, simplicity in her eyes, heavenly benignity in her +smile. Her tall slim figure bent gracefully as a poplar to the breezy west, and +her gait, goddess-like, was as that of a winged angel new alit from +heaven’s high floor; the pearly fairness of her complexion was stained by +a pure suffusion; her voice resembled the low, subdued tenor of a flute. It is +easiest perhaps to describe by contrast. I have detailed the perfections of my +sister; and yet she was utterly unlike Idris. Perdita, even where she loved, +was reserved and timid; Idris was frank and confiding. The one recoiled to +solitude, that she might there entrench herself from disappointment and injury; +the other walked forth in open day, believing that none would harm her. +Wordsworth has compared a beloved female to two fair objects in nature; but his +lines always appeared to me rather a contrast than a similitude: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +A violet by a mossy stone<br/> + Half hidden from the eye,<br/> +Fair as a star when only one<br/> + Is shining in the sky. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Such a violet was sweet Perdita, trembling to entrust herself to the very air, +cowering from observation, yet betrayed by her excellences; and repaying with a +thousand graces the labour of those who sought her in her lonely bye-path. +Idris was as the star, set in single splendour in the dim anadem of balmy +evening; ready to enlighten and delight the subject world, shielded herself +from every taint by her unimagined distance from all that was not like herself +akin to heaven. +</p> + +<p> +I found this vision of beauty in Perdita’s alcove, in earnest +conversation with its inmate. When my sister saw me, she rose, and taking my +hand, said, “He is here, even at our wish; this is Lionel, my +brother.” Idris arose also, and bent on me her eyes of celestial blue, +and with grace peculiar said—“You hardly need an introduction; we +have a picture, highly valued by my father, which declares at once your name. +Verney, you will acknowledge this tie, and as my brother’s friend, I feel +that I may trust you.” +</p> + +<p> +Then, with lids humid with a tear and trembling voice, she continued— +“Dear friends, do not think it strange that now, visiting you for the +first time, I ask your assistance, and confide my wishes and fears to you. To +you alone do I dare speak; I have heard you commended by impartial spectators; +you are my brother’s friends, therefore you must be mine. What can I say? +if you refuse to aid me, I am lost indeed!” She cast up her eyes, while +wonder held her auditors mute; then, as if carried away by her feelings, she +cried—“My brother! beloved, ill-fated Adrian! how speak of your +misfortunes? Doubtless you have both heard the current tale; perhaps believe +the slander; but he is not mad! Were an angel from the foot of God’s +throne to assert it, never, never would I believe it. He is wronged, betrayed, +imprisoned—save him! Verney, you must do this; seek him out in whatever +part of the island he is immured; find him, rescue him from his persecutors, +restore him to himself, to me—on the wide earth I have none to love but +only him!” +</p> + +<p> +Her earnest appeal, so sweetly and passionately expressed, filled me with +wonder and sympathy; and, when she added, with thrilling voice and look, +“Do you consent to undertake this enterprize?” I vowed, with energy +and truth, to devote myself in life and death to the restoration and welfare of +Adrian. We then conversed on the plan I should pursue, and discussed the +probable means of discovering his residence. While we were in earnest +discourse, Lord Raymond entered unannounced: I saw Perdita tremble and grow +deadly pale, and the cheeks of Idris glow with purest blushes. He must have +been astonished at our conclave, disturbed by it I should have thought; but +nothing of this appeared; he saluted my companions, and addressed me with a +cordial greeting. Idris appeared suspended for a moment, and then with extreme +sweetness, she said, “Lord Raymond, I confide in your goodness and +honour.” +</p> + +<p> +Smiling haughtily, he bent his head, and replied, with emphasis, “Do you +indeed confide, Lady Idris?” +</p> + +<p> +She endeavoured to read his thought, and then answered with dignity, “As +you please. It is certainly best not to compromise oneself by any +concealment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me,” he replied, “if I have offended. Whether you +trust me or not, rely on my doing my utmost to further your wishes, whatever +they may be.” +</p> + +<p> +Idris smiled her thanks, and rose to take leave. Lord Raymond requested +permission to accompany her to Windsor Castle, to which she consented, and they +quitted the cottage together. My sister and I were left—truly like two +fools, who fancied that they had obtained a golden treasure, till daylight +shewed it to be lead—two silly, luckless flies, who had played in +sunbeams and were caught in a spider’s web. I leaned against the +casement, and watched those two glorious creatures, till they disappeared in +the forest-glades; and then I turned. Perdita had not moved; her eyes fixed on +the ground, her cheeks pale, her very lips white, motionless and rigid, every +feature stamped by woe, she sat. Half frightened, I would have taken her hand; +but she shudderingly withdrew it, and strove to collect herself. I entreated +her to speak to me: “Not now,” she replied, “nor do you speak +to me, my dear Lionel; you <i>can</i> say nothing, for you know nothing. I will +see you to-morrow; in the meantime, adieu!” She rose, and walked from the +room; but pausing at the door, and leaning against it, as if her over-busy +thoughts had taken from her the power of supporting herself, she said, +“Lord Raymond will probably return. Will you tell him that he must excuse +me to-day, for I am not well. I will see him to-morrow if he wishes it, and you +also. You had better return to London with him; you can there make the +enquiries agreed upon, concerning the Earl of Windsor and visit me again +to-morrow, before you proceed on your journey—till then, farewell!” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke falteringly, and concluded with a heavy sigh. I gave my assent to her +request; and she left me. I felt as if, from the order of the systematic world, +I had plunged into chaos, obscure, contrary, unintelligible. That Raymond +should marry Idris was more than ever intolerable; yet my passion, though a +giant from its birth, was too strange, wild, and impracticable, for me to feel +at once the misery I perceived in Perdita. How should I act? She had not +confided in me; I could not demand an explanation from Raymond without the +hazard of betraying what was perhaps her most treasured secret. I would obtain +the truth from her the following day—in the mean time—But, while I +was occupied by multiplying reflections, Lord Raymond returned. He asked for my +sister; and I delivered her message. After musing on it for a moment, he asked +me if I were about to return to London, and if I would accompany him: I +consented. He was full of thought, and remained silent during a considerable +part of our ride; at length he said, “I must apologize to you for my +abstraction; the truth is, Ryland’s motion comes on to-night, and I am +considering my reply.” +</p> + +<p> +Ryland was the leader of the popular party, a hard-headed man, and in his way +eloquent; he had obtained leave to bring in a bill making it treason to +endeavour to change the present state of the English government and the +standing laws of the republic. This attack was directed against Raymond and his +machinations for the restoration of the monarchy. +</p> + +<p> +Raymond asked me if I would accompany him to the House that evening. I +remembered my pursuit for intelligence concerning Adrian; and, knowing that my +time would be fully occupied, I excused myself. “Nay,” said my +companion, “I can free you from your present impediment. You are going to +make enquiries concerning the Earl of Windsor. I can answer them at once, he is +at the Duke of Athol’s seat at Dunkeld. On the first approach of his +disorder, he travelled about from one place to another; until, arriving at that +romantic seclusion he refused to quit it, and we made arrangements with the +Duke for his continuing there.” +</p> + +<p> +I was hurt by the careless tone with which he conveyed this information, and +replied coldly: “I am obliged to you for your intelligence, and will +avail myself of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You shall, Verney,” said he, “and if you continue of the +same mind, I will facilitate your views. But first witness, I beseech you, the +result of this night’s contest, and the triumph I am about to achieve, if +I may so call it, while I fear that victory is to me defeat. What can I do? My +dearest hopes appear to be near their fulfilment. The ex-queen gives me Idris; +Adrian is totally unfitted to succeed to the earldom, and that earldom in my +hands becomes a kingdom. By the reigning God it is true; the paltry earldom of +Windsor shall no longer content him, who will inherit the rights which must for +ever appertain to the person who possesses it. The Countess can never forget +that she has been a queen, and she disdains to leave a diminished inheritance +to her children; her power and my wit will rebuild the throne, and this brow +will be clasped by a kingly diadem.—I can do this—I can marry +Idris.”—- +</p> + +<p> +He stopped abruptly, his countenance darkened, and its expression changed again +and again under the influence of internal passion. I asked, “Does Lady +Idris love you?” +</p> + +<p> +“What a question,” replied he laughing. “She will of course, +as I shall her, when we are married.” +</p> + +<p> +“You begin late,” said I, ironically, “marriage is usually +considered the grave, and not the cradle of love. So you are about to love her, +but do not already?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not catechise me, Lionel; I will do my duty by her, be assured. Love! +I must steel my heart against <i>that</i>; expel it from its tower of strength, +barricade it out: the fountain of love must cease to play, its waters be dried +up, and all passionate thoughts attendant on it die—that is to say, the +love which would rule me, not that which I rule. Idris is a gentle, pretty, +sweet little girl; it is impossible not to have an affection for her, and I +have a very sincere one; only do not speak of love —love, the tyrant and +the tyrant-queller; love, until now my conqueror, now my slave; the hungry +fire, the untameable beast, the fanged snake—no—no—I will +have nothing to do with that love. Tell me, Lionel, do you consent that I +should marry this young lady?” +</p> + +<p> +He bent his keen eyes upon me, and my uncontrollable heart swelled in my bosom. +I replied in a calm voice—but how far from calm was the thought imaged by +my still words—“Never! I can never consent that Lady Idris should +be united to one who does not love her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because you love her yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your Lordship might have spared that taunt; I do not, dare not love +her.” +</p> + +<p> +“At least,” he continued haughtily, “she does not love you. I +would not marry a reigning sovereign, were I not sure that her heart was free. +But, O, Lionel! a kingdom is a word of might, and gently sounding are the terms +that compose the style of royalty. Were not the mightiest men of the olden +times kings? Alexander was a king; Solomon, the wisest of men, was a king; +Napoleon was a king; Cæsar died in his attempt to become one, and Cromwell, +the puritan and king-killer, aspired to regality. The father of Adrian yielded +up the already broken sceptre of England; but I will rear the fallen plant, +join its dismembered frame, and exalt it above all the flowers of the field. +</p> + +<p> +“You need not wonder that I freely discover Adrian’s abode. Do not +suppose that I am wicked or foolish enough to found my purposed sovereignty on +a fraud, and one so easily discovered as the truth or falsehood of the +Earl’s insanity. I am just come from him. Before I decided on my marriage +with Idris, I resolved to see him myself again, and to judge of the probability +of his recovery.—He is irrecoverably mad.” +</p> + +<p> +I gasped for breath— +</p> + +<p> +“I will not detail to you,” continued Raymond, “the +melancholy particulars. You shall see him, and judge for yourself; although I +fear this visit, useless to him, will be insufferably painful to you. It has +weighed on my spirits ever since. Excellent and gentle as he is even in the +downfall of his reason, I do not worship him as you do, but I would give all my +hopes of a crown and my right hand to boot, to see him restored to +himself.” +</p> + +<p> +His voice expressed the deepest compassion: “Thou most unaccountable +being,” I cried, “whither will thy actions tend, in all this maze +of purpose in which thou seemest lost?” +</p> + +<p> +“Whither indeed? To a crown, a golden be-gemmed crown, I hope; and yet I +dare not trust and though I dream of a crown and wake for one, ever and anon a +busy devil whispers to me, that it is but a fool’s cap that I seek, and +that were I wise, I should trample on it, and take in its stead, that which is +worth all the crowns of the east and presidentships of the west.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“If I do make it my choice, then you shall know; at present I dare not +speak, even think of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Again he was silent, and after a pause turned to me laughingly. When scorn did +not inspire his mirth, when it was genuine gaiety that painted his features +with a joyous expression, his beauty became super-eminent, divine. +“Verney,” said he, “my first act when I become King of +England, will be to unite with the Greeks, take Constantinople, and subdue all +Asia. I intend to be a warrior, a conqueror; Napoleon’s name shall vail +to mine; and enthusiasts, instead of visiting his rocky grave, and exalting the +merits of the fallen, shall adore my majesty, and magnify my illustrious +achievements.” +</p> + +<p> +I listened to Raymond with intense interest. Could I be other than all ear, to +one who seemed to govern the whole earth in his grasping imagination, and who +only quailed when he attempted to rule himself. Then on his word and will +depended my own happiness—the fate of all dear to me. I endeavoured to +divine the concealed meaning of his words. Perdita’s name was not +mentioned; yet I could not doubt that love for her caused the vacillation of +purpose that he exhibited. And who was so worthy of love as my noble-minded +sister? Who deserved the hand of this self-exalted king more than she whose +glance belonged to a queen of nations? who loved him, as he did her; +notwithstanding that disappointment quelled her passion, and ambition held +strong combat with his. +</p> + +<p> +We went together to the House in the evening. Raymond, while he knew that his +plans and prospects were to be discussed and decided during the expected +debate, was gay and careless. An hum, like that of ten thousand hives of +swarming bees, stunned us as we entered the coffee-room. Knots of politicians +were assembled with anxious brows and loud or deep voices. The aristocratical +party, the richest and most influential men in England, appeared less agitated +than the others, for the question was to be discussed without their +interference. Near the fire was Ryland and his supporters. Ryland was a man of +obscure birth and of immense wealth, inherited from his father, who had been a +manufacturer. He had witnessed, when a young man, the abdication of the king, +and the amalgamation of the two houses of Lords and Commons; he had sympathized +with these popular encroachments, and it had been the business of his life to +consolidate and encrease them. Since then, the influence of the landed +proprietors had augmented; and at first Ryland was not sorry to observe the +machinations of Lord Raymond, which drew off many of his opponent’s +partizans. But the thing was now going too far. The poorer nobility hailed the +return of sovereignty, as an event which would restore them to their power and +rights, now lost. The half extinct spirit of royalty roused itself in the minds +of men; and they, willing slaves, self-constituted subjects, were ready to bend +their necks to the yoke. Some erect and manly spirits still remained, pillars +of state; but the word republic had grown stale to the vulgar ear; and +many—the event would prove whether it was a majority— pined for the +tinsel and show of royalty. Ryland was roused to resistance; he asserted that +his sufferance alone had permitted the encrease of this party; but the time for +indulgence was passed, and with one motion of his arm he would sweep away the +cobwebs that blinded his countrymen. +</p> + +<p> +When Raymond entered the coffee-room, his presence was hailed by his friends +almost with a shout. They gathered round him, counted their numbers, and +detailed the reasons why they were now to receive an addition of such and such +members, who had not yet declared themselves. Some trifling business of the +House having been gone through, the leaders took their seats in the chamber; +the clamour of voices continued, till Ryland arose to speak, and then the +slightest whispered observation was audible. All eyes were fixed upon him as he +stood—ponderous of frame, sonorous of voice, and with a manner which, +though not graceful, was impressive. I turned from his marked, iron countenance +to Raymond, whose face, veiled by a smile, would not betray his care; yet his +lips quivered somewhat, and his hand clasped the bench on which he sat, with a +convulsive strength that made the muscles start again. +</p> + +<p> +Ryland began by praising the present state of the British empire. He recalled +past years to their memory; the miserable contentions which in the time of our +fathers arose almost to civil war, the abdication of the late king, and the +foundation of the republic. He described this republic; shewed how it gave +privilege to each individual in the state, to rise to consequence, and even to +temporary sovereignty. He compared the royal and republican spirit; shewed how +the one tended to enslave the minds of men; while all the institutions of the +other served to raise even the meanest among us to something great and good. He +shewed how England had become powerful, and its inhabitants valiant and wise, +by means of the freedom they enjoyed. As he spoke, every heart swelled with +pride, and every cheek glowed with delight to remember, that each one there was +English, and that each supported and contributed to the happy state of things +now commemorated. Ryland’s fervour increased—his eyes lighted +up—his voice assumed the tone of passion. There was one man, he +continued, who wished to alter all this, and bring us back to our days of +impotence and contention:—one man, who would dare arrogate the honour +which was due to all who claimed England as their birthplace, and set his name +and style above the name and style of his country. I saw at this juncture that +Raymond changed colour; his eyes were withdrawn from the orator, and cast on +the ground; the listeners turned from one to the other; but in the meantime the +speaker’s voice filled their ears—the thunder of his denunciations +influenced their senses. The very boldness of his language gave him weight; +each knew that he spoke truth—a truth known, but not acknowledged. He +tore from reality the mask with which she had been clothed; and the purposes of +Raymond, which before had crept around, ensnaring by stealth, now stood a +hunted stag—even at bay—as all perceived who watched the +irrepressible changes of his countenance. Ryland ended by moving, that any +attempt to re-erect the kingly power should be declared treason, and he a +traitor who should endeavour to change the present form of government. Cheers +and loud acclamations followed the close of his speech. +</p> + +<p> +After his motion had been seconded, Lord Raymond rose,—his countenance +bland, his voice softly melodious, his manner soothing, his grace and sweetness +came like the mild breathing of a flute, after the loud, organ-like voice of +his adversary. He rose, he said, to speak in favour of the honourable +member’s motion, with one slight amendment subjoined. He was ready to go +back to old times, and commemorate the contests of our fathers, and the +monarch’s abdication. Nobly and greatly, he said, had the illustrious and +last sovereign of England sacrificed himself to the apparent good of his +country, and divested himself of a power which could only be maintained by the +blood of his subjects—these subjects named so no more, these, his friends +and equals, had in gratitude conferred certain favours and distinctions on him +and his family for ever. An ample estate was allotted to them, and they took +the first rank among the peers of Great Britain. Yet it might be conjectured +that they had not forgotten their ancient heritage; and it was hard that his +heir should suffer alike with any other pretender, if he attempted to regain +what by ancient right and inheritance belonged to him. He did not say that he +should favour such an attempt; but he did say that such an attempt would be +venial; and, if the aspirant did not go so far as to declare war, and erect a +standard in the kingdom, his fault ought to be regarded with an indulgent eye. +In his amendment he proposed, that an exception should be made in the bill in +favour of any person who claimed the sovereign power in right of the earls of +Windsor. Nor did Raymond make an end without drawing in vivid and glowing +colours, the splendour of a kingdom, in opposition to the commercial spirit of +republicanism. He asserted, that each individual under the English monarchy, +was then as now, capable of attaining high rank and power—with one only +exception, that of the function of chief magistrate; higher and nobler rank, +than a bartering, timorous commonwealth could afford. And for this one +exception, to what did it amount? The nature of riches and influence forcibly +confined the list of candidates to a few of the wealthiest; and it was much to +be feared, that the ill-humour and contention generated by this triennial +struggle, would counterbalance its advantages in impartial eyes. I can ill +record the flow of language and graceful turns of expression, the wit and easy +raillery that gave vigour and influence to his speech. His manner, timid at +first, became firm—his changeful face was lit up to superhuman +brilliancy; his voice, various as music, was like that enchanting. +</p> + +<p> +It were useless to record the debate that followed this harangue. Party +speeches were delivered, which clothed the question in cant, and veiled its +simple meaning in a woven wind of words. The motion was lost; Ryland withdrew +in rage and despair; and Raymond, gay and exulting, retired to dream of his +future kingdom. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p> +Is there such a feeling as love at first sight? And if there be, in what does +its nature differ from love founded in long observation and slow growth? +Perhaps its effects are not so permanent; but they are, while they last, as +violent and intense. We walk the pathless mazes of society, vacant of joy, till +we hold this clue, leading us through that labyrinth to paradise. Our nature +dim, like to an unlighted torch, sleeps in formless blank till the fire attain +it; this life of life, this light to moon, and glory to the sun. What does it +matter, whether the fire be struck from flint and steel, nourished with care +into a flame, slowly communicated to the dark wick, or whether swiftly the +radiant power of light and warmth passes from a kindred power, and shines at +once the beacon and the hope. In the deepest fountain of my heart the pulses +were stirred; around, above, beneath, the clinging Memory as a cloak enwrapt +me. In no one moment of coming time did I feel as I had done in time gone by. +The spirit of Idris hovered in the air I breathed; her eyes were ever and for +ever bent on mine; her remembered smile blinded my faint gaze, and caused me to +walk as one, not in eclipse, not in darkness and vacancy—but in a new and +brilliant light, too novel, too dazzling for my human senses. On every leaf, on +every small division of the universe, (as on the hyacinth ας is engraved) was +imprinted the talisman of my existence—SHE LIVES! SHE IS! —I had +not time yet to analyze my feeling, to take myself to task, and leash in the +tameless passion; all was one idea, one feeling, one knowledge —it was my +life! +</p> + +<p> +But the die was cast—Raymond would marry Idris. The merry marriage bells +rung in my ears; I heard the nation’s gratulation which followed the +union; the ambitious noble uprose with swift eagle-flight, from the lowly +ground to regal supremacy—and to the love of Idris. Yet, not so! She did +not love him; she had called me her friend; she had smiled on me; to me she had +entrusted her heart’s dearest hope, the welfare of Adrian. This +reflection thawed my congealing blood, and again the tide of life and love +flowed impetuously onward, again to ebb as my busy thoughts changed. +</p> + +<p> +The debate had ended at three in the morning. My soul was in tumults; I +traversed the streets with eager rapidity. Truly, I was mad that night— +love—which I have named a giant from its birth, wrestled with despair! My +heart, the field of combat, was wounded by the iron heel of the one, watered by +the gushing tears of the other. Day, hateful to me, dawned; I retreated to my +lodgings—I threw myself on a couch—I slept—was it +sleep?—for thought was still alive—love and despair struggled +still, and I writhed with unendurable pain. +</p> + +<p> +I awoke half stupefied; I felt a heavy oppression on me, but knew not +wherefore; I entered, as it were, the council-chamber of my brain, and +questioned the various ministers of thought therein assembled; too soon I +remembered all; too soon my limbs quivered beneath the tormenting power; soon, +too soon, I knew myself a slave! +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly, unannounced, Lord Raymond entered my apartment. He came in gaily, +singing the Tyrolese song of liberty; noticed me with a gracious nod, and threw +himself on a sopha opposite the copy of a bust of the Apollo Belvidere. After +one or two trivial remarks, to which I sullenly replied, he suddenly cried, +looking at the bust, “I am called like that victor! Not a bad idea; the +head will serve for my new coinage, and be an omen to all dutiful subjects of +my future success.” +</p> + +<p> +He said this in his most gay, yet benevolent manner, and smiled, not +disdainfully, but in playful mockery of himself. Then his countenance suddenly +darkened, and in that shrill tone peculiar to himself, he cried, “I +fought a good battle last night; higher conquest the plains of Greece never saw +me achieve. Now I am the first man in the state, burthen of every ballad, and +object of old women’s mumbled devotions. What are your meditations? You, +who fancy that you can read the human soul, as your native lake reads each +crevice and folding of its surrounding hills—say what you think of me; +king-expectant, angel or devil, which?” +</p> + +<p> +This ironical tone was discord to my bursting, over-boiling-heart; I was +nettled by his insolence, and replied with bitterness; “There is a +spirit, neither angel or devil, damned to limbo merely.” I saw his cheeks +become pale, and his lips whiten and quiver; his anger served but to enkindle +mine, and I answered with a determined look his eyes which glared on me; +suddenly they were withdrawn, cast down, a tear, I thought, wetted the dark +lashes; I was softened, and with involuntary emotion added, “Not that you +are such, my dear lord.” +</p> + +<p> +I paused, even awed by the agitation he evinced; “Yes,” he said at +length, rising and biting his lip, as he strove to curb his passion; +“Such am I! You do not know me, Verney; neither you, nor our audience of +last night, nor does universal England know aught of me. I stand here, it would +seem, an elected king; this hand is about to grasp a sceptre; these brows feel +in each nerve the coming diadem. I appear to have strength, power, victory; +standing as a dome-supporting column stands; and I am—a reed! I have +ambition, and that attains its aim; my nightly dreams are realized, my waking +hopes fulfilled; a kingdom awaits my acceptance, my enemies are overthrown. But +here,” and he struck his heart with violence, “here is the rebel, +here the stumbling-block; this over-ruling heart, which I may drain of its +living blood; but, while one fluttering pulsation remains, I am its +slave.” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke with a broken voice, then bowed his head, and, hiding his face in his +hands, wept. I was still smarting from my own disappointment; yet this scene +oppressed me even to terror, nor could I interrupt his access of passion. It +subsided at length; and, throwing himself on the couch, he remained silent and +motionless, except that his changeful features shewed a strong internal +conflict. At last he rose, and said in his usual tone of voice, “The time +grows on us, Verney, I must away. Let me not forget my chiefest errand here. +Will you accompany me to Windsor to-morrow? You will not be dishonoured by my +society, and as this is probably the last service, or disservice you can do me, +will you grant my request?” +</p> + +<p> +He held out his hand with almost a bashful air. Swiftly I thought—Yes, I +will witness the last scene of the drama. Beside which, his mien conquered me, +and an affectionate sentiment towards him, again filled my heart—I bade +him command me. “Aye, that I will,” said he gaily, +“that’s my cue now; be with me to-morrow morning by seven; be +secret and faithful; and you shall be groom of the stole ere long.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he hastened away, vaulted on his horse, and with a gesture as if he +gave me his hand to kiss, bade me another laughing adieu. Left to myself, I +strove with painful intensity to divine the motive of his request and foresee +the events of the coming day. The hours passed on unperceived; my head ached +with thought, the nerves seemed teeming with the over full fraught—I +clasped my burning brow, as if my fevered hand could medicine its pain. I was +punctual to the appointed hour on the following day, and found Lord Raymond +waiting for me. We got into his carriage, and proceeded towards Windsor. I had +tutored myself, and was resolved by no outward sign to disclose my internal +agitation. +</p> + +<p> +“What a mistake Ryland made,” said Raymond, “when he thought +to overpower me the other night. He spoke well, very well; such an harangue +would have succeeded better addressed to me singly, than to the fools and +knaves assembled yonder. Had I been alone, I should have listened to him with a +wish to hear reason, but when he endeavoured to vanquish me in my own +territory, with my own weapons, he put me on my mettle, and the event was such +as all might have expected.” +</p> + +<p> +I smiled incredulously, and replied: “I am of Ryland’s way of +thinking, and will, if you please, repeat all his arguments; we shall see how +far you will be induced by them, to change the royal for the patriotic +style.” +</p> + +<p> +“The repetition would be useless,” said Raymond, “since I +well remember them, and have many others, self-suggested, which speak with +unanswerable persuasion.” +</p> + +<p> +He did not explain himself, nor did I make any remark on his reply. Our silence +endured for some miles, till the country with open fields, or shady woods and +parks, presented pleasant objects to our view. After some observations on the +scenery and seats, Raymond said: “Philosophers have called man a +microcosm of nature, and find a reflection in the internal mind for all this +machinery visibly at work around us. This theory has often been a source of +amusement to me; and many an idle hour have I spent, exercising my ingenuity in +finding resemblances. Does not Lord Bacon say that, ‘the falling from a +discord to a concord, which maketh great sweetness in music, hath an agreement +with the affections, which are re-integrated to the better after some +dislikes?’ What a sea is the tide of passion, whose fountains are in our +own nature! Our virtues are the quick-sands, which shew themselves at calm and +low water; but let the waves arise and the winds buffet them, and the poor +devil whose hope was in their durability, finds them sink from under him. The +fashions of the world, its exigencies, educations and pursuits, are winds to +drive our wills, like clouds all one way; but let a thunderstorm arise in the +shape of love, hate, or ambition, and the rack goes backward, stemming the +opposing air in triumph.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet,” replied I, “nature always presents to our eyes the +appearance of a patient: while there is an active principle in man which is +capable of ruling fortune, and at least of tacking against the gale, till it in +some mode conquers it.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is more of what is specious than true in your distinction,” +said my companion. “Did we form ourselves, choosing our dispositions, and +our powers? I find myself, for one, as a stringed instrument with chords and +stops—but I have no power to turn the pegs, or pitch my thoughts to a +higher or lower key.” +</p> + +<p> +“Other men,” I observed, “may be better musicians.” +</p> + +<p> +“I talk not of others, but myself,” replied Raymond, “and I +am as fair an example to go by as another. I cannot set my heart to a +particular tune, or run voluntary changes on my will. We are born; we choose +neither our parents, nor our station; we are educated by others, or by the +world’s circumstance, and this cultivation, mingling with our innate +disposition, is the soil in which our desires, passions, and motives +grow.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is much truth in what you say,” said I, “and yet no +man ever acts upon this theory. Who, when he makes a choice, says, Thus I +choose, because I am necessitated? Does he not on the contrary feel a freedom +of will within him, which, though you may call it fallacious, still actuates +him as he decides?” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly so,” replied Raymond, “another link of the breakless +chain. Were I now to commit an act which would annihilate my hopes, and pluck +the regal garment from my mortal limbs, to clothe them in ordinary weeds, would +this, think you, be an act of free-will on my part?” +</p> + +<p> +As we talked thus, I perceived that we were not going the ordinary road to +Windsor, but through Englefield Green, towards Bishopgate Heath. I began to +divine that Idris was not the object of our journey, but that I was brought to +witness the scene that was to decide the fate of Raymond—and of Perdita. +Raymond had evidently vacillated during his journey, and irresolution was +marked in every gesture as we entered Perdita’s cottage. I watched him +curiously, determined that, if this hesitation should continue, I would assist +Perdita to overcome herself, and teach her to disdain the wavering love of him, +who balanced between the possession of a crown, and of her, whose excellence +and affection transcended the worth of a kingdom. +</p> + +<p> +We found her in her flower-adorned alcove; she was reading the newspaper report +of the debate in parliament, that apparently doomed her to hopelessness. That +heart-sinking feeling was painted in her sunk eyes and spiritless attitude; a +cloud was on her beauty, and frequent sighs were tokens of her distress. This +sight had an instantaneous effect on Raymond; his eyes beamed with tenderness, +and remorse clothed his manners with earnestness and truth. He sat beside her; +and, taking the paper from her hand, said, “Not a word more shall my +sweet Perdita read of this contention of madmen and fools. I must not permit +you to be acquainted with the extent of my delusion, lest you despise me; +although, believe me, a wish to appear before you, not vanquished, but as a +conqueror, inspired me during my wordy war.” +</p> + +<p> +Perdita looked at him like one amazed; her expressive countenance shone for a +moment with tenderness; to see him only was happiness. But a bitter thought +swiftly shadowed her joy; she bent her eyes on the ground, endeavouring to +master the passion of tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Raymond +continued, “I will not act a part with you, dear girl, or appear other +than what I am, weak and unworthy, more fit to excite your disdain than your +love. Yet you do love me; I feel and know that you do, and thence I draw my +most cherished hopes. If pride guided you, or even reason, you might well +reject me. Do so; if your high heart, incapable of my infirmity of purpose, +refuses to bend to the lowness of mine. Turn from me, if you will,—if you +can. If your whole soul does not urge you to forgive me—if your entire +heart does not open wide its door to admit me to its very centre, forsake me, +never speak to me again. I, though sinning against you almost beyond remission, +I also am proud; there must be no reserve in your pardon—no drawback to +the gift of your affection.” +</p> + +<p> +Perdita looked down, confused, yet pleased. My presence embarrassed her; so +that she dared not turn to meet her lover’s eye, or trust her voice to +assure him of her affection; while a blush mantled her cheek, and her +disconsolate air was exchanged for one expressive of deep-felt joy. Raymond +encircled her waist with his arm, and continued, “I do not deny that I +have balanced between you and the highest hope that mortal men can entertain; +but I do so no longer. Take me—mould me to your will, possess my heart +and soul to all eternity. If you refuse to contribute to my happiness, I quit +England to-night, and will never set foot in it again. +</p> + +<p> +“Lionel, you hear: witness for me: persuade your sister to forgive the +injury I have done her; persuade her to be mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“There needs no persuasion,” said the blushing Perdita, +“except your own dear promises, and my ready heart, which whispers to me +that they are true.” +</p> + +<p> +That same evening we all three walked together in the forest, and, with the +garrulity which happiness inspires, they detailed to me the history of their +loves. It was pleasant to see the haughty Raymond and reserved Perdita changed +through happy love into prattling, playful children, both losing their +characteristic dignity in the fulness of mutual contentment. A night or two ago +Lord Raymond, with a brow of care, and a heart oppressed with thought, bent all +his energies to silence or persuade the legislators of England that a sceptre +was not too weighty for his hand, while visions of dominion, war, and triumph +floated before him; now, frolicsome as a lively boy sporting under his +mother’s approving eye, the hopes of his ambition were complete, when he +pressed the small fair hand of Perdita to his lips; while she, radiant with +delight, looked on the still pool, not truly admiring herself, but drinking in +with rapture the reflection there made of the form of herself and her lover, +shewn for the first time in dear conjunction. +</p> + +<p> +I rambled away from them. If the rapture of assured sympathy was theirs, I +enjoyed that of restored hope. I looked on the regal towers of Windsor. High is +the wall and strong the barrier that separate me from my Star of Beauty. But +not impassible. She will not be his. A few more years dwell in thy native +garden, sweet flower, till I by toil and time acquire a right to gather thee. +Despair not, nor bid me despair! What must I do now? First I must seek Adrian, +and restore him to her. Patience, gentleness, and untired affection, shall +recall him, if it be true, as Raymond says, that he is mad; energy and courage +shall rescue him, if he be unjustly imprisoned. +</p> + +<p> +After the lovers again joined me, we supped together in the alcove. Truly it +was a fairy’s supper; for though the air was perfumed by the scent of +fruits and wine, we none of us either ate or drank—even the beauty of the +night was unobserved; their extasy could not be increased by outward objects, +and I was wrapt in reverie. At about midnight Raymond and I took leave of my +sister, to return to town. He was all gaiety; scraps of songs fell from his +lips; every thought of his mind—every object about us, gleamed under the +sunshine of his mirth. He accused me of melancholy, of ill-humour and envy. +</p> + +<p> +“Not so,” said I, “though I confess that my thoughts are not +occupied as pleasantly as yours are. You promised to facilitate my visit to +Adrian; I conjure you to perform your promise. I cannot linger here; I long to +soothe —perhaps to cure the malady of my first and best friend. I shall +immediately depart for Dunkeld.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thou bird of night,” replied Raymond, “what an eclipse do +you throw across my bright thoughts, forcing me to call to mind that melancholy +ruin, which stands in mental desolation, more irreparable than a fragment of a +carved column in a weed-grown field. You dream that you can restore him? +Daedalus never wound so inextricable an error round Minotaur, as madness has +woven about his imprisoned reason. Nor you, nor any other Theseus, can thread +the labyrinth, to which perhaps some unkind Ariadne has the clue.” +</p> + +<p> +“You allude to Evadne Zaimi: but she is not in England.” +</p> + +<p> +“And were she,” said Raymond, “I would not advise her seeing +him. Better to decay in absolute delirium, than to be the victim of the +methodical unreason of ill-bestowed love. The long duration of his malady has +probably erased from his mind all vestige of her; and it were well that it +should never again be imprinted. You will find him at Dunkeld; gentle and +tractable he wanders up the hills, and through the wood, or sits listening +beside the waterfall. You may see him—his hair stuck with wild flowers +—his eyes full of untraceable meaning—his voice broken—his +person wasted to a shadow. He plucks flowers and weeds, and weaves chaplets of +them, or sails yellow leaves and bits of bark on the stream, rejoicing in their +safety, or weeping at their wreck. The very memory half unmans me. By Heaven! +the first tears I have shed since boyhood rushed scalding into my eyes when I +saw him.” +</p> + +<p> +It needed not this last account to spur me on to visit him. I only doubted +whether or not I should endeavour to see Idris again, before I departed. This +doubt was decided on the following day. Early in the morning Raymond came to +me; intelligence had arrived that Adrian was dangerously ill, and it appeared +impossible that his failing strength should surmount the disorder. +“To-morrow,” said Raymond, “his mother and sister set out for +Scotland to see him once again.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I go to-day,” I cried; “this very hour I will engage a +sailing balloon; I shall be there in forty-eight hours at furthest, perhaps in +less, if the wind is fair. Farewell, Raymond; be happy in having chosen the +better part in life. This turn of fortune revives me. I feared madness, not +sickness—I have a presentiment that Adrian will not die; perhaps this +illness is a crisis, and he may recover.” +</p> + +<p> +Everything favoured my journey. The balloon rose about half a mile from the +earth, and with a favourable wind it hurried through the air, its feathered +vans cleaving the unopposing atmosphere. Notwithstanding the melancholy object +of my journey, my spirits were exhilarated by reviving hope, by the swift +motion of the airy pinnace, and the balmy visitation of the sunny air. The +pilot hardly moved the plumed steerage, and the slender mechanism of the wings, +wide unfurled, gave forth a murmuring noise, soothing to the sense. Plain and +hill, stream and corn-field, were discernible below, while we unimpeded sped on +swift and secure, as a wild swan in his spring-tide flight. The machine obeyed +the slightest motion of the helm; and, the wind blowing steadily, there was no +let or obstacle to our course. Such was the power of man over the elements; a +power long sought, and lately won; yet foretold in by-gone time by the prince +of poets, whose verses I quoted much to the astonishment of my pilot, when I +told him how many hundred years ago they had been written:— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Oh! human wit, thou can’st invent much ill,<br/> +Thou searchest strange arts: who would think by skill,<br/> +An heavy man like a light bird should stray,<br/> +And through the empty heavens find a way? +</p> + +<p> +I alighted at Perth; and, though much fatigued by a constant exposure to the +air for many hours, I would not rest, but merely altering my mode of +conveyance, I went by land instead of air, to Dunkeld. The sun was rising as I +entered the opening of the hills. After the revolution of ages Birnam hill was +again covered with a young forest, while more aged pines, planted at the very +commencement of the nineteenth century by the then Duke of Athol, gave +solemnity and beauty to the scene. The rising sun first tinged the pine tops; +and my mind, rendered through my mountain education deeply susceptible of the +graces of nature, and now on the eve of again beholding my beloved and perhaps +dying friend, was strangely influenced by the sight of those distant beams: +surely they were ominous, and as such I regarded them, good omens for Adrian, +on whose life my happiness depended. +</p> + +<p> +Poor fellow! he lay stretched on a bed of sickness, his cheeks glowing with the +hues of fever, his eyes half closed, his breath irregular and difficult. Yet it +was less painful to see him thus, than to find him fulfilling the animal +functions uninterruptedly, his mind sick the while. I established myself at his +bedside; I never quitted it day or night. Bitter task was it, to behold his +spirit waver between death and life: to see his warm cheek, and know that the +very fire which burned too fiercely there, was consuming the vital fuel; to +hear his moaning voice, which might never again articulate words of love and +wisdom; to witness the ineffectual motions of his limbs, soon to be wrapt in +their mortal shroud. Such for three days and nights appeared the consummation +which fate had decreed for my labours, and I became haggard and spectre-like, +through anxiety and watching. At length his eyes unclosed faintly, yet with a +look of returning life; he became pale and weak; but the rigidity of his +features was softened by approaching convalescence. He knew me. What a brimful +cup of joyful agony it was, when his face first gleamed with the glance of +recognition—when he pressed my hand, now more fevered than his own, and +when he pronounced my name! No trace of his past insanity remained, to dash my +joy with sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +This same evening his mother and sister arrived. The Countess of Windsor was by +nature full of energetic feeling; but she had very seldom in her life permitted +the concentrated emotions of her heart to shew themselves on her features. The +studied immovability of her countenance; her slow, equable manner, and soft but +unmelodious voice, were a mask, hiding her fiery passions, and the impatience +of her disposition. She did not in the least resemble either of her children; +her black and sparkling eye, lit up by pride, was totally unlike the blue +lustre, and frank, benignant expression of either Adrian or Idris. There was +something grand and majestic in her motions, but nothing persuasive, nothing +amiable. Tall, thin, and strait, her face still handsome, her raven hair hardly +tinged with grey, her forehead arched and beautiful, had not the eye-brows been +somewhat scattered—it was impossible not to be struck by her, almost to +fear her. Idris appeared to be the only being who could resist her mother, +notwithstanding the extreme mildness of her character. But there was a +fearlessness and frankness about her, which said that she would not encroach on +another’s liberty, but held her own sacred and unassailable. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess cast no look of kindness on my worn-out frame, though afterwards +she thanked me coldly for my attentions. Not so Idris; her first glance was for +her brother; she took his hand, she kissed his eye-lids, and hung over him with +looks of compassion and love. Her eyes glistened with tears when she thanked +me, and the grace of her expressions was enhanced, not diminished, by the +fervour, which caused her almost to falter as she spoke. Her mother, all eyes +and ears, soon interrupted us; and I saw, that she wished to dismiss me +quietly, as one whose services, now that his relatives had arrived, were of no +use to her son. I was harassed and ill, resolved not to give up my post, yet +doubting in what way I should assert it; when Adrian called me, and clasping my +hand, bade me not leave him. His mother, apparently inattentive, at once +understood what was meant, and seeing the hold we had upon her, yielded the +point to us. +</p> + +<p> +The days that followed were full of pain to me; so that I sometimes regretted +that I had not yielded at once to the haughty lady, who watched all my motions, +and turned my beloved task of nursing my friend to a work of pain and +irritation. Never did any woman appear so entirely made of mind, as the +Countess of Windsor. Her passions had subdued her appetites, even her natural +wants; she slept little, and hardly ate at all; her body was evidently +considered by her as a mere machine, whose health was necessary for the +accomplishment of her schemes, but whose senses formed no part of her +enjoyment. There is something fearful in one who can thus conquer the animal +part of our nature, if the victory be not the effect of consummate virtue; nor +was it without a mixture of this feeling, that I beheld the figure of the +Countess awake when others slept, fasting when I, abstemious naturally, and +rendered so by the fever that preyed on me, was forced to recruit myself with +food. She resolved to prevent or diminish my opportunities of acquiring +influence over her children, and circumvented my plans by a hard, quiet, +stubborn resolution, that seemed not to belong to flesh and blood. War was at +last tacitly acknowledged between us. We had many pitched battles, during which +no word was spoken, hardly a look was interchanged, but in which each resolved +not to submit to the other. The Countess had the advantage of position; so I +was vanquished, though I would not yield. +</p> + +<p> +I became sick at heart. My countenance was painted with the hues of ill health +and vexation. Adrian and Idris saw this; they attributed it to my long watching +and anxiety; they urged me to rest, and take care of myself, while I most truly +assured them, that my best medicine was their good wishes; those, and the +assured convalescence of my friend, now daily more apparent. The faint rose +again blushed on his cheek; his brow and lips lost the ashy paleness of +threatened dissolution; such was the dear reward of my unremitting +attention—and bounteous heaven added overflowing recompence, when it gave +me also the thanks and smiles of Idris. +</p> + +<p> +After the lapse of a few weeks, we left Dunkeld. Idris and her mother returned +immediately to Windsor, while Adrian and I followed by slow journies and +frequent stoppages, occasioned by his continued weakness. As we traversed the +various counties of fertile England, all wore an exhilarating appearance to my +companion, who had been so long secluded by disease from the enjoyments of +weather and scenery. We passed through busy towns and cultivated plains. The +husbandmen were getting in their plenteous harvests, and the women and +children, occupied by light rustic toils, formed groupes of happy, healthful +persons, the very sight of whom carried cheerfulness to the heart. One evening, +quitting our inn, we strolled down a shady lane, then up a grassy slope, till +we came to an eminence, that commanded an extensive view of hill and dale, +meandering rivers, dark woods, and shining villages. The sun was setting; and +the clouds, straying, like new-shorn sheep, through the vast fields of sky, +received the golden colour of his parting beams; the distant uplands shone out, +and the busy hum of evening came, harmonized by distance, on our ear. Adrian, +who felt all the fresh spirit infused by returning health, clasped his hands in +delight, and exclaimed with transport: +</p> + +<p> +“O happy earth, and happy inhabitants of earth! A stately palace has God +built for you, O man! and worthy are you of your dwelling! Behold the verdant +carpet spread at our feet, and the azure canopy above; the fields of earth +which generate and nurture all things, and the track of heaven, which contains +and clasps all things. Now, at this evening hour, at the period of repose and +refection, methinks all hearts breathe one hymn of love and thanksgiving, and +we, like priests of old on the mountain-tops, give a voice to their sentiment. +</p> + +<p> +“Assuredly a most benignant power built up the majestic fabric we +inhabit, and framed the laws by which it endures. If mere existence, and not +happiness, had been the final end of our being, what need of the profuse +luxuries which we enjoy? Why should our dwelling place be so lovely, and why +should the instincts of nature minister pleasurable sensations? The very +sustaining of our animal machine is made delightful; and our sustenance, the +fruits of the field, is painted with transcendant hues, endued with grateful +odours, and palatable to our taste. Why should this be, if HE were not good? We +need houses to protect us from the seasons, and behold the materials with which +we are provided; the growth of trees with their adornment of leaves; while +rocks of stone piled above the plains variegate the prospect with their +pleasant irregularity. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor are outward objects alone the receptacles of the Spirit of Good. +Look into the mind of man, where wisdom reigns enthroned; where imagination, +the painter, sits, with his pencil dipt in hues lovelier than those of sunset, +adorning familiar life with glowing tints. What a noble boon, worthy the giver, +is the imagination! it takes from reality its leaden hue: it envelopes all +thought and sensation in a radiant veil, and with an hand of beauty beckons us +from the sterile seas of life, to her gardens, and bowers, and glades of bliss. +And is not love a gift of the divinity? Love, and her child, Hope, which can +bestow wealth on poverty, strength on the weak, and happiness on the sorrowing. +</p> + +<p> +“My lot has not been fortunate. I have consorted long with grief, entered +the gloomy labyrinth of madness, and emerged, but half alive. Yet I thank God +that I have lived! I thank God, that I have beheld his throne, the heavens, and +earth, his footstool. I am glad that I have seen the changes of his day; to +behold the sun, fountain of light, and the gentle pilgrim moon; to have seen +the fire bearing flowers of the sky, and the flowery stars of earth; to have +witnessed the sowing and the harvest. I am glad that I have loved, and have +experienced sympathetic joy and sorrow with my fellow-creatures. I am glad now +to feel the current of thought flow through my mind, as the blood through the +articulations of my frame; mere existence is pleasure; and I thank God that I +live! +</p> + +<p> +“And all ye happy nurslings of mother-earth, do ye not echo my words? Ye +who are linked by the affectionate ties of nature, companions, friends, lovers! +fathers, who toil with joy for their offspring; women, who while gazing on the +living forms of their children, forget the pains of maternity; children, who +neither toil nor spin, but love and are loved! +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that death and sickness were banished from our earthly home! that +hatred, tyranny, and fear could no longer make their lair in the human heart! +that each man might find a brother in his fellow, and a nest of repose amid the +wide plains of his inheritance! that the source of tears were dry, and that +lips might no longer form expressions of sorrow. Sleeping thus under the +beneficent eye of heaven, can evil visit thee, O Earth, or grief cradle to +their graves thy luckless children? Whisper it not, let the demons hear and +rejoice! The choice is with us; let us will it, and our habitation becomes a +paradise. For the will of man is omnipotent, blunting the arrows of death, +soothing the bed of disease, and wiping away the tears of agony. And what is +each human being worth, if he do not put forth his strength to aid his +fellow-creatures? My soul is a fading spark, my nature frail as a spent wave; +but I dedicate all of intellect and strength that remains to me, to that one +work, and take upon me the task, as far as I am able, of bestowing blessings on +my fellow-men!” +</p> + +<p> +His voice trembled, his eyes were cast up, his hands clasped, and his fragile +person was bent, as it were, with excess of emotion. The spirit of life seemed +to linger in his form, as a dying flame on an altar flickers on the embers of +an accepted sacrifice. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p> +When we arrived at Windsor, I found that Raymond and Perdita had departed for +the continent. I took possession of my sister’s cottage, and blessed +myself that I lived within view of Windsor Castle. It was a curious fact, that +at this period, when by the marriage of Perdita I was allied to one of the +richest individuals in England, and was bound by the most intimate friendship +to its chiefest noble, I experienced the greatest excess of poverty that I had +ever known. My knowledge of the worldly principles of Lord Raymond, would have +ever prevented me from applying to him, however deep my distress might have +been. It was in vain that I repeated to myself with regard to Adrian, that his +purse was open to me; that one in soul, as we were, our fortunes ought also to +be common. I could never, while with him, think of his bounty as a remedy to my +poverty; and I even put aside hastily his offers of supplies, assuring him of a +falsehood, that I needed them not. How could I say to this generous being, +“Maintain me in idleness. You who have dedicated your powers of mind and +fortune to the benefit of your species, shall you so misdirect your exertions, +as to support in uselessness the strong, healthy, and capable?” +</p> + +<p> +And yet I dared not request him to use his influence that I might obtain an +honourable provision for myself—for then I should have been obliged to +leave Windsor. I hovered for ever around the walls of its Castle, beneath its +enshadowing thickets; my sole companions were my books and my loving thoughts. +I studied the wisdom of the ancients, and gazed on the happy walls that +sheltered the beloved of my soul. My mind was nevertheless idle. I pored over +the poetry of old times; I studied the metaphysics of Plato and Berkeley. I +read the histories of Greece and Rome, and of England’s former periods, +and I watched the movements of the lady of my heart. At night I could see her +shadow on the walls of her apartment; by day I viewed her in her flower-garden, +or riding in the park with her usual companions. Methought the charm would be +broken if I were seen, but I heard the music of her voice and was happy. I gave +to each heroine of whom I read, her beauty and matchless excellences—such +was Antigone, when she guided the blind Œdipus to the grove of the Eumenides, +and discharged the funeral rites of Polynices; such was Miranda in the +unvisited cave of Prospero; such Haidee, on the sands of the Ionian island. I +was mad with excess of passionate devotion; but pride, tameless as fire, +invested my nature, and prevented me from betraying myself by word or look. +</p> + +<p> +In the mean time, while I thus pampered myself with rich mental repasts, a +peasant would have disdained my scanty fare, which I sometimes robbed from the +squirrels of the forest. I was, I own, often tempted to recur to the lawless +feats of my boy-hood, and knock down the almost tame pheasants that perched +upon the trees, and bent their bright eyes on me. But they were the property of +Adrian, the nurslings of Idris; and so, although my imagination rendered +sensual by privation, made me think that they would better become the spit in +my kitchen, than the green leaves of the forest, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Nathelesse,<br/> +I checked my haughty will, and did not eat; +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +but supped upon sentiment, and dreamt vainly of “such morsels +sweet,” as I might not waking attain. +</p> + +<p> +But, at this period, the whole scheme of my existence was about to change. The +orphan and neglected son of Verney, was on the eve of being linked to the +mechanism of society by a golden chain, and to enter into all the duties and +affections of life. Miracles were to be wrought in my favour, the machine of +social life pushed with vast effort backward. Attend, O reader! while I narrate +this tale of wonders! +</p> + +<p> +One day as Adrian and Idris were riding through the forest, with their mother +and accustomed companions, Idris, drawing her brother aside from the rest of +the cavalcade, suddenly asked him, “What had become of his friend, Lionel +Verney?” +</p> + +<p> +“Even from this spot,” replied Adrian, pointing to my +sister’s cottage, “you can see his dwelling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” said Idris, “and why, if he be so near, does he not +come to see us, and make one of our society?” +</p> + +<p> +“I often visit him,” replied Adrian; “but you may easily +guess the motives, which prevent him from coming where his presence may annoy +any one among us.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do guess them,” said Idris, “and such as they are, I would +not venture to combat them. Tell me, however, in what way he passes his time; +what he is doing and thinking in his cottage retreat?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, my sweet sister,” replied Adrian, “you ask me more than +I can well answer; but if you feel interest in him, why not visit him? He will +feel highly honoured, and thus you may repay a part of the obligation I owe +him, and compensate for the injuries fortune has done him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will most readily accompany you to his abode,” said the lady, +“not that I wish that either of us should unburthen ourselves of our +debt, which, being no less than your life, must remain unpayable ever. But let +us go; to-morrow we will arrange to ride out together, and proceeding towards +that part of the forest, call upon him.” +</p> + +<p> +The next evening therefore, though the autumnal change had brought on cold and +rain, Adrian and Idris entered my cottage. They found me Curius-like, feasting +on sorry fruits for supper; but they brought gifts richer than the golden +bribes of the Sabines, nor could I refuse the invaluable store of friendship +and delight which they bestowed. Surely the glorious twins of Latona were not +more welcome, when, in the infancy of the world, they were brought forth to +beautify and enlighten this “sterile promontory,” than were this +angelic pair to my lowly dwelling and grateful heart. We sat like one family +round my hearth. Our talk was on subjects, unconnected with the emotions that +evidently occupied each; but we each divined the other’s thought, and as +our voices spoke of indifferent matters, our eyes, in mute language, told a +thousand things no tongue could have uttered. +</p> + +<p> +They left me in an hour’s time. They left me happy—how unspeakably +happy. It did not require the measured sounds of human language to syllable the +story of my extasy. Idris had visited me; Idris I should again and again +see—my imagination did not wander beyond the completeness of this +knowledge. I trod air; no doubt, no fear, no hope even, disturbed me; I clasped +with my soul the fulness of contentment, satisfied, undesiring, beatified. +</p> + +<p> +For many days Adrian and Idris continued to visit me thus. In this dear +intercourse, love, in the guise of enthusiastic friendship, infused more and +more of his omnipotent spirit. Idris felt it. Yes, divinity of the world, I +read your characters in her looks and gesture; I heard your melodious voice +echoed by her—you prepared for us a soft and flowery path, all gentle +thoughts adorned it—your name, O Love, was not spoken, but you stood the +Genius of the Hour, veiled, and time, but no mortal hand, might raise the +curtain. Organs of articulate sound did not proclaim the union of our hearts; +for untoward circumstance allowed no opportunity for the expression that +hovered on our lips. Oh my pen! haste thou to write what was, before the +thought of what is, arrests the hand that guides thee. If I lift up my eyes and +see the desart earth, and feel that those dear eyes have spent their mortal +lustre, and that those beauteous lips are silent, their “crimson +leaves” faded, for ever I am mute! +</p> + +<p> +But you live, my Idris, even now you move before me! There was a glade, O +reader! a grassy opening in the wood; the retiring trees left its velvet +expanse as a temple for love; the silver Thames bounded it on one side, and a +willow bending down dipt in the water its Naiad hair, dishevelled by the +wind’s viewless hand. The oaks around were the home of a tribe of +nightingales—there am I now; Idris, in youth’s dear prime, is by my +side —remember, I am just twenty-two, and seventeen summers have scarcely +passed over the beloved of my heart. The river swollen by autumnal rains, +deluged the low lands, and Adrian in his favourite boat is employed in the +dangerous pastime of plucking the topmost bough from a submerged oak. Are you +weary of life, O Adrian, that you thus play with danger?— +</p> + +<p> +He has obtained his prize, and he pilots his boat through the flood; our eyes +were fixed on him fearfully, but the stream carried him away from us; he was +forced to land far lower down, and to make a considerable circuit before he +could join us. “He is safe!” said Idris, as he leapt on shore, and +waved the bough over his head in token of success; “we will wait for him +here.” +</p> + +<p> +We were alone together; the sun had set; the song of the nightingales began; +the evening star shone distinct in the flood of light, which was yet unfaded in +the west. The blue eyes of my angelic girl were fixed on this sweet emblem of +herself: “How the light palpitates,” she said, “which is that +star’s life. Its vacillating effulgence seems to say that its state, even +like ours upon earth, is wavering and inconstant; it fears, methinks, and it +loves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gaze not on the star, dear, generous friend,” I cried, “read +not love in <i>its</i> trembling rays; look not upon distant worlds; speak not +of the mere imagination of a sentiment. I have long been silent; long even to +sickness have I desired to speak to you, and submit my soul, my life, my entire +being to you. Look not on the star, dear love, or do, and let that eternal +spark plead for me; let it be my witness and my advocate, silent as it +shines—love is to me as light to the star; even so long as that is +uneclipsed by annihilation, so long shall I love you.” +</p> + +<p> +Veiled for ever to the world’s callous eye must be the transport of that +moment. Still do I feel her graceful form press against my full-fraught +heart—still does sight, and pulse, and breath sicken and fail, at the +remembrance of that first kiss. Slowly and silently we went to meet Adrian, +whom we heard approaching. +</p> + +<p> +I entreated Adrian to return to me after he had conducted his sister home. And +that same evening, walking among the moon-lit forest paths, I poured forth my +whole heart, its transport and its hope, to my friend. For a moment he looked +disturbed—“I might have foreseen this,” he said, “what +strife will now ensue! Pardon me, Lionel, nor wonder that the expectation of +contest with my mother should jar me, when else I should delightedly confess +that my best hopes are fulfilled, in confiding my sister to your protection. If +you do not already know it, you will soon learn the deep hate my mother bears +to the name Verney. I will converse with Idris; then all that a friend can do, +I will do; to her it must belong to play the lover’s part, if she be +capable of it.” +</p> + +<p> +While the brother and sister were still hesitating in what manner they could +best attempt to bring their mother over to their party, she, suspecting our +meetings, taxed her children with them; taxed her fair daughter with deceit, +and an unbecoming attachment for one whose only merit was being the son of the +profligate favourite of her imprudent father; and who was doubtless as +worthless as he from whom he boasted his descent. The eyes of Idris flashed at +this accusation; she replied, “I do not deny that I love Verney; prove to +me that he is worthless; and I will never see him more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Madam,” said Adrian, “let me entreat you to see him, to +cultivate his friendship. You will wonder then, as I do, at the extent of his +accomplishments, and the brilliancy of his talents.” (Pardon me, gentle +reader, this is not futile vanity;—not futile, since to know that Adrian +felt thus, brings joy even now to my lone heart). +</p> + +<p> +“Mad and foolish boy!” exclaimed the angry lady, “you have +chosen with dreams and theories to overthrow my schemes for your own +aggrandizement; but you shall not do the same by those I have formed for your +sister. I but too well understand the fascination you both labour under; since +I had the same struggle with your father, to make him cast off the parent of +this youth, who hid his evil propensities with the smoothness and subtlety of a +viper. In those days how often did I hear of his attractions, his wide spread +conquests, his wit, his refined manners. It is well when flies only are caught +by such spiders’ webs; but is it for the high-born and powerful to bow +their necks to the flimsy yoke of these unmeaning pretensions? Were your sister +indeed the insignificant person she deserves to be, I would willingly leave her +to the fate, the wretched fate, of the wife of a man, whose very person, +resembling as it does his wretched father, ought to remind you of the folly and +vice it typifies—but remember, Lady Idris, it is not alone the once royal +blood of England that colours your veins, you are a Princess of Austria, and +every life-drop is akin to emperors and kings. Are you then a fit mate for an +uneducated shepherd-boy, whose only inheritance is his father’s tarnished +name?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can make but one defence,” replied Idris, “the same +offered by my brother; see Lionel, converse with my +shepherd-boy”—-The Countess interrupted her +indignantly—“Yours!”—she cried: and then, smoothing her +impassioned features to a disdainful smile, she continued—“We will +talk of this another time. All I now ask, all your mother, Idris, requests is, +that you will not see this upstart during the interval of one month.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare not comply,” said Idris, “it would pain him too much. +I have no right to play with his feelings, to accept his proffered love, and +then sting him with neglect.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is going too far,” her mother answered, with quivering lips, +and eyes again instinct by anger. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, Madam,” said Adrian, “unless my sister consent never to +see him again, it is surely an useless torment to separate them for a +month.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” replied the ex-queen, with bitter scorn, “his +love, and her love, and both their childish flutterings, are to be put in fit +comparison with my years of hope and anxiety, with the duties of the offspring +of kings, with the high and dignified conduct which one of her descent ought to +pursue. But it is unworthy of me to argue and complain. Perhaps you will have +the goodness to promise me not to marry during that interval?” +</p> + +<p> +This was asked only half ironically; and Idris wondered why her mother should +extort from her a solemn vow not to do, what she had never dreamed of +doing—but the promise was required and given. +</p> + +<p> +All went on cheerfully now; we met as usual, and talked without dread of our +future plans. The Countess was so gentle, and even beyond her wont, amiable +with her children, that they began to entertain hopes of her ultimate consent. +She was too unlike them, too utterly alien to their tastes, for them to find +delight in her society, or in the prospect of its continuance, but it gave them +pleasure to see her conciliating and kind. Once even, Adrian ventured to +propose her receiving me. She refused with a smile, reminding him that for the +present his sister had promised to be patient. +</p> + +<p> +One day, after the lapse of nearly a month, Adrian received a letter from a +friend in London, requesting his immediate presence for the furtherance of some +important object. Guileless himself, Adrian feared no deceit. I rode with him +as far as Staines: he was in high spirits; and, since I could not see Idris +during his absence, he promised a speedy return. His gaiety, which was extreme, +had the strange effect of awakening in me contrary feelings; a presentiment of +evil hung over me; I loitered on my return; I counted the hours that must +elapse before I saw Idris again. Wherefore should this be? What evil might not +happen in the mean time? Might not her mother take advantage of Adrian’s +absence to urge her beyond her sufferance, perhaps to entrap her? I resolved, +let what would befall, to see and converse with her the following day. This +determination soothed me. To-morrow, loveliest and best, hope and joy of my +life, to-morrow I will see thee—Fool, to dream of a moment’s delay! +</p> + +<p> +I went to rest. At past midnight I was awaked by a violent knocking. It was now +deep winter; it had snowed, and was still snowing; the wind whistled in the +leafless trees, despoiling them of the white flakes as they fell; its drear +moaning, and the continued knocking, mingled wildly with my dreams— at +length I was wide awake; hastily dressing myself, I hurried to discover the +cause of this disturbance, and to open my door to the unexpected visitor. Pale +as the snow that showered about her, with clasped hands, Idris stood before me. +“Save me!” she exclaimed, and would have sunk to the ground had I +not supported her. In a moment however she revived, and, with energy, almost +with violence, entreated me to saddle horses, to take her away, away to +London—to her brother—at least to save her. I had no +horses—she wrung her hands. “What can I do?” she cried, +“I am lost—we are both for ever lost! But come—come with me, +Lionel; here I must not stay,—we can get a chaise at the nearest +post-house; yet perhaps we have time! come, O come with me to save and protect +me!” +</p> + +<p> +When I heard her piteous demands, while with disordered dress, dishevelled +hair, and aghast looks, she wrung her hands—the idea shot across me is +she also mad?—“Sweet one,” and I folded her to my heart, +“better repose than wander further;—rest—my beloved, I will +make a fire—you are chill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rest!” she cried, “repose! you rave, Lionel! If you delay we +are lost; come, I pray you, unless you would cast me off for ever.” +</p> + +<p> +That Idris, the princely born, nursling of wealth and luxury, should have come +through the tempestuous winter-night from her regal abode, and standing at my +lowly door, conjure me to fly with her through darkness and storm—was +surely a dream—again her plaintive tones, the sight of her loveliness +assured me that it was no vision. Looking timidly around, as if she feared to +be overheard, she whispered: “I have discovered—to-morrow +—that is, to-day—already the to-morrow is come—before dawn, +foreigners, Austrians, my mother’s hirelings, are to carry me off to +Germany, to prison, to marriage—to anything, except you and my brother +—take me away, or soon they will be here!” +</p> + +<p> +I was frightened by her vehemence, and imagined some mistake in her incoherent +tale; but I no longer hesitated to obey her. She had come by herself from the +Castle, three long miles, at midnight, through the heavy snow; we must reach +Englefield Green, a mile and a half further, before we could obtain a chaise. +She told me, that she had kept up her strength and courage till her arrival at +my cottage, and then both failed. Now she could hardly walk. Supporting her as +I did, still she lagged: and at the distance of half a mile, after many +stoppages, shivering fits, and half faintings, she slipt from my supporting arm +on the snow, and with a torrent of tears averred that she must be taken, for +that she could not proceed. I lifted her up in my arms; her light form rested +on my breast.—I felt no burthen, except the internal one of contrary and +contending emotions. Brimming delight now invested me. Again her chill limbs +touched me as a torpedo; and I shuddered in sympathy with her pain and fright. +Her head lay on my shoulder, her breath waved my hair, her heart beat near +mine, transport made me tremble, blinded me, annihilated me—till a +suppressed groan, bursting from her lips, the chattering of her teeth, which +she strove vainly to subdue, and all the signs of suffering she evinced, +recalled me to the necessity of speed and succour. At last I said to her, +“There is Englefield Green; there the inn. But, if you are seen thus +strangely circumstanced, dear Idris, even now your enemies may learn your +flight too soon: were it not better that I hired the chaise alone? I will put +you in safety meanwhile, and return to you immediately.” +</p> + +<p> +She answered that I was right, and might do with her as I pleased. I observed +the door of a small out-house a-jar. I pushed it open; and, with some hay +strewed about, I formed a couch for her, placing her exhausted frame on it, and +covering her with my cloak. I feared to leave her, she looked so wan and +faint—but in a moment she re-acquired animation, and, with that, fear; +and again she implored me not to delay. To call up the people of the inn, and +obtain a conveyance and horses, even though I harnessed them myself, was the +work of many minutes; minutes, each freighted with the weight of ages. I caused +the chaise to advance a little, waited till the people of the inn had retired, +and then made the post-boy draw up the carriage to the spot where Idris, +impatient, and now somewhat recovered, stood waiting for me. I lifted her into +the chaise; I assured her that with our four horses we should arrive in London +before five o’clock, the hour when she would be sought and missed. I +besought her to calm herself; a kindly shower of tears relieved her, and by +degrees she related her tale of fear and peril. +</p> + +<p> +That same night after Adrian’s departure, her mother had warmly +expostulated with her on the subject of her attachment to me. Every motive, +every threat, every angry taunt was urged in vain. She seemed to consider that +through me she had lost Raymond; I was the evil influence of her life; I was +even accused of encreasing and confirming the mad and base apostacy of Adrian +from all views of advancement and grandeur; and now this miserable mountaineer +was to steal her daughter. Never, Idris related, did the angry lady deign to +recur to gentleness and persuasion; if she had, the task of resistance would +have been exquisitely painful. As it was, the sweet girl’s generous +nature was roused to defend, and ally herself with, my despised cause. Her +mother ended with a look of contempt and covert triumph, which for a moment +awakened the suspicions of Idris. When they parted for the night, the Countess +said, “To-morrow I trust your tone will be changed: be composed; I have +agitated you; go to rest; and I will send you a medicine I always take when +unduly restless—it will give you a quiet night.” +</p> + +<p> +By the time that she had with uneasy thoughts laid her fair cheek upon her +pillow, her mother’s servant brought a draught; a suspicion again crossed +her at this novel proceeding, sufficiently alarming to determine her not to +take the potion; but dislike of contention, and a wish to discover whether +there was any just foundation for her conjectures, made her, she said, almost +instinctively, and in contradiction to her usual frankness, pretend to swallow +the medicine. Then, agitated as she had been by her mother’s violence, +and now by unaccustomed fears, she lay unable to sleep, starting at every +sound. Soon her door opened softly, and on her springing up, she heard a +whisper, “Not asleep yet,” and the door again closed. With a +beating heart she expected another visit, and when after an interval her +chamber was again invaded, having first assured herself that the intruders were +her mother and an attendant, she composed herself to feigned sleep. A step +approached her bed, she dared not move, she strove to calm her palpitations, +which became more violent, when she heard her mother say mutteringly, +“Pretty simpleton, little do you think that your game is already at an +end for ever.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment the poor girl fancied that her mother believed that she had drank +poison: she was on the point of springing up; when the Countess, already at a +distance from the bed, spoke in a low voice to her companion, and again Idris +listened: “Hasten,” said she, “there is no time to +lose— it is long past eleven; they will be here at five; take merely the +clothes necessary for her journey, and her jewel-casket.” The servant +obeyed; few words were spoken on either side; but those were caught at with +avidity by the intended victim. She heard the name of her own maid +mentioned;—“No, no,” replied her mother, “she does not +go with us; Lady Idris must forget England, and all belonging to it.” And +again she heard, “She will not wake till late to-morrow, and we shall +then be at sea.”——“All is ready,” at length the +woman announced. The Countess again came to her daughter’s bedside: +“In Austria at least,” she said, “you will obey. In Austria, +where obedience can be enforced, and no choice left but between an honourable +prison and a fitting marriage.” +</p> + +<p> +Both then withdrew; though, as she went, the Countess said, “Softly; all +sleep; though all have not been prepared for sleep, like her. I would not have +any one suspect, or she might be roused to resistance, and perhaps escape. Come +with me to my room; we will remain there till the hour agreed upon.” They +went. Idris, panic-struck, but animated and strengthened even by her excessive +fear, dressed herself hurriedly, and going down a flight of back-stairs, +avoiding the vicinity of her mother’s apartment, she contrived to escape +from the castle by a low window, and came through snow, wind, and obscurity to +my cottage; nor lost her courage, until she arrived, and, depositing her fate +in my hands, gave herself up to the desperation and weariness that overwhelmed +her. +</p> + +<p> +I comforted her as well as I might. Joy and exultation, were mine, to possess, +and to save her. Yet not to excite fresh agitation in her, “<i>per non +turbar quel bel viso sereno</i>,” I curbed my delight. I strove to quiet +the eager dancing of my heart; I turned from her my eyes, beaming with too much +tenderness, and proudly, to dark night, and the inclement atmosphere, murmured +the expressions of my transport. We reached London, methought, all too soon; +and yet I could not regret our speedy arrival, when I witnessed the extasy with +which my beloved girl found herself in her brother’s arms, safe from +every evil, under his unblamed protection. +</p> + +<p> +Adrian wrote a brief note to his mother, informing her that Idris was under his +care and guardianship. Several days elapsed, and at last an answer came, dated +from Cologne. “It was useless,” the haughty and disappointed lady +wrote, “for the Earl of Windsor and his sister to address again the +injured parent, whose only expectation of tranquillity must be derived from +oblivion of their existence. Her desires had been blasted, her schemes +overthrown. She did not complain; in her brother’s court she would find, +not compensation for their disobedience (filial unkindness admitted of none), +but such a state of things and mode of life, as might best reconcile her to her +fate. Under such circumstances, she positively declined any communication with +them.” +</p> + +<p> +Such were the strange and incredible events, that finally brought about my +union with the sister of my best friend, with my adored Idris. With simplicity +and courage she set aside the prejudices and opposition which were obstacles to +my happiness, nor scrupled to give her hand, where she had given her heart. To +be worthy of her, to raise myself to her height through the exertion of talents +and virtue, to repay her love with devoted, unwearied tenderness, were the only +thanks I could offer for the matchless gift. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<p> +And now let the reader, passing over some short period of time, be introduced +to our happy circle. Adrian, Idris and I, were established in Windsor Castle; +Lord Raymond and my sister, inhabited a house which the former had built on the +borders of the Great Park, near Perdita’s cottage, as was still named the +low-roofed abode, where we two, poor even in hope, had each received the +assurance of our felicity. We had our separate occupations and our common +amusements. Sometimes we passed whole days under the leafy covert of the forest +with our books and music. This occurred during those rare days in this country, +when the sun mounts his etherial throne in unclouded majesty, and the windless +atmosphere is as a bath of pellucid and grateful water, wrapping the senses in +tranquillity. When the clouds veiled the sky, and the wind scattered them there +and here, rending their woof, and strewing its fragments through the aerial +plains—then we rode out, and sought new spots of beauty and repose. When +the frequent rains shut us within doors, evening recreation followed morning +study, ushered in by music and song. Idris had a natural musical talent; and +her voice, which had been carefully cultivated, was full and sweet. Raymond and +I made a part of the concert, and Adrian and Perdita were devout listeners. +Then we were as gay as summer insects, playful as children; we ever met one +another with smiles, and read content and joy in each other’s +countenances. Our prime festivals were held in Perdita’s cottage; nor +were we ever weary of talking of the past or dreaming of the future. Jealousy +and disquiet were unknown among us; nor did a fear or hope of change ever +disturb our tranquillity. Others said, We might be happy—we said—We +are. +</p> + +<p> +When any separation took place between us, it generally so happened, that Idris +and Perdita would ramble away together, and we remained to discuss the affairs +of nations, and the philosophy of life. The very difference of our dispositions +gave zest to these conversations. Adrian had the superiority in learning and +eloquence; but Raymond possessed a quick penetration, and a practical knowledge +of life, which usually displayed itself in opposition to Adrian, and thus kept +up the ball of discussion. At other times we made excursions of many +days’ duration, and crossed the country to visit any spot noted for +beauty or historical association. Sometimes we went up to London, and entered +into the amusements of the busy throng; sometimes our retreat was invaded by +visitors from among them. This change made us only the more sensible to the +delights of the intimate intercourse of our own circle, the tranquillity of our +divine forest, and our happy evenings in the halls of our beloved Castle. +</p> + +<p> +The disposition of Idris was peculiarly frank, soft, and affectionate. Her +temper was unalterably sweet; and although firm and resolute on any point that +touched her heart, she was yielding to those she loved. The nature of Perdita +was less perfect; but tenderness and happiness improved her temper, and +softened her natural reserve. Her understanding was clear and comprehensive, +her imagination vivid; she was sincere, generous, and reasonable. Adrian, the +matchless brother of my soul, the sensitive and excellent Adrian, loving all, +and beloved by all, yet seemed destined not to find the half of himself, which +was to complete his happiness. He often left us, and wandered by himself in the +woods, or sailed in his little skiff, his books his only companions. He was +often the gayest of our party, at the same time that he was the only one +visited by fits of despondency; his slender frame seemed overcharged with the +weight of life, and his soul appeared rather to inhabit his body than unite +with it. I was hardly more devoted to my Idris than to her brother, and she +loved him as her teacher, her friend, the benefactor who had secured to her the +fulfilment of her dearest wishes. Raymond, the ambitious, restless Raymond, +reposed midway on the great high-road of life, and was content to give up all +his schemes of sovereignty and fame, to make one of us, the flowers of the +field. His kingdom was the heart of Perdita, his subjects her thoughts; by her +he was loved, respected as a superior being, obeyed, waited on. No office, no +devotion, no watching was irksome to her, as it regarded him. She would sit +apart from us and watch him; she would weep for joy to think that he was hers. +She erected a temple for him in the depth of her being, and each faculty was a +priestess vowed to his service. Sometimes she might be wayward and capricious; +but her repentance was bitter, her return entire, and even this inequality of +temper suited him who was not formed by nature to float idly down the stream of +life. +</p> + +<p> +During the first year of their marriage, Perdita presented Raymond with a +lovely girl. It was curious to trace in this miniature model the very traits of +its father. The same half-disdainful lips and smile of triumph, the same +intelligent eyes, the same brow and chestnut hair; her very hands and taper +fingers resembled his. How very dear she was to Perdita! In progress of time, I +also became a father, and our little darlings, our playthings and delights, +called forth a thousand new and delicious feelings. +</p> + +<p> +Years passed thus,—even years. Each month brought forth its successor, +each year one like to that gone by; truly, our lives were a living comment on +that beautiful sentiment of Plutarch, that “our souls have a natural +inclination to love, being born as much to love, as to feel, to reason, to +understand and remember.” We talked of change and active pursuits, but +still remained at Windsor, incapable of violating the charm that attached us to +our secluded life. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Pareamo aver qui tutto il ben raccolto<br/> +Che fra mortali in più parte si rimembra. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Now also that our children gave us occupation, we found excuses for our +idleness, in the idea of bringing them up to a more splendid career. At length +our tranquillity was disturbed, and the course of events, which for five years +had flowed on in hushing tranquillity, was broken by breakers and obstacles, +that woke us from our pleasant dream. +</p> + +<p> +A new Lord Protector of England was to be chosen; and, at Raymond’s +request, we removed to London, to witness, and even take a part in the +election. If Raymond had been united to Idris, this post had been his +stepping-stone to higher dignity; and his desire for power and fame had been +crowned with fullest measure. He had exchanged a sceptre for a lute, a kingdom +for Perdita. +</p> + +<p> +Did he think of this as we journeyed up to town? I watched him, but could make +but little of him. He was particularly gay, playing with his child, and turning +to sport every word that was uttered. Perhaps he did this because he saw a +cloud upon Perdita’s brow. She tried to rouse herself, but her eyes every +now and then filled with tears, and she looked wistfully on Raymond and her +girl, as if fearful that some evil would betide them. And so she felt. A +presentiment of ill hung over her. She leaned from the window looking on the +forest, and the turrets of the Castle, and as these became hid by intervening +objects, she passionately exclaimed—“Scenes of happiness! scenes +sacred to devoted love, when shall I see you again! and when I see ye, shall I +be still the beloved and joyous Perdita, or shall I, heart-broken and lost, +wander among your groves, the ghost of what I am!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, silly one,” cried Raymond, “what is your little head +pondering upon, that of a sudden you have become so sublimely dismal? Cheer up, +or I shall make you over to Idris, and call Adrian into the carriage, who, I +see by his gesture, sympathizes with my good spirits.” +</p> + +<p> +Adrian was on horseback; he rode up to the carriage, and his gaiety, in +addition to that of Raymond, dispelled my sister’s melancholy. We entered +London in the evening, and went to our several abodes near Hyde Park. +</p> + +<p> +The following morning Lord Raymond visited me early. “I come to +you,” he said, “only half assured that you will assist me in my +project, but resolved to go through with it, whether you concur with me or not. +Promise me secrecy however; for if you will not contribute to my success, at +least you must not baffle me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I promise. And now—-” +</p> + +<p> +“And now, my dear fellow, for what are we come to London? To be present +at the election of a Protector, and to give our yea or nay for his shuffling +Grace of——? or for that noisy Ryland? Do you believe, Verney, that +I brought you to town for that? No, we will have a Protector of our own. We +will set up a candidate, and ensure his success. We will nominate Adrian, and +do our best to bestow on him the power to which he is entitled by his birth, +and which he merits through his virtues. +</p> + +<p> +“Do not answer; I know all your objections, and will reply to them in +order. First, Whether he will or will not consent to become a great man? Leave +the task of persuasion on that point to me; I do not ask you to assist me +there. Secondly, Whether he ought to exchange his employment of plucking +blackberries, and nursing wounded partridges in the forest, for the command of +a nation? My dear Lionel, we are married men, and find employment sufficient in +amusing our wives, and dancing our children. But Adrian is alone, wifeless, +childless, unoccupied. I have long observed him. He pines for want of some +interest in life. His heart, exhausted by his early sufferings, reposes like a +new-healed limb, and shrinks from all excitement. But his understanding, his +charity, his virtues, want a field for exercise and display; and we will +procure it for him. Besides, is it not a shame, that the genius of Adrian +should fade from the earth like a flower in an untrod mountain-path, fruitless? +Do you think Nature composed his surpassing machine for no purpose? Believe me, +he was destined to be the author of infinite good to his native England. Has +she not bestowed on him every gift in prodigality?—birth, wealth, talent, +goodness? Does not every one love and admire him? and does he not delight +singly in such efforts as manifest his love to all? Come, I see that you are +already persuaded, and will second me when I propose him to-night in +parliament.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have got up all your arguments in excellent order,” I replied; +“and, if Adrian consent, they are unanswerable. One only condition I +would make, —that you do nothing without his concurrence.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe you are in the right,” said Raymond; “although I +had thought at first to arrange the affair differently. Be it so. I will go +instantly to Adrian; and, if he inclines to consent, you will not destroy my +labour by persuading him to return, and turn squirrel again in Windsor Forest. +Idris, you will not act the traitor towards me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Trust me,” replied she, “I will preserve a strict +neutrality.” +</p> + +<p> +“For my part,” said I, “I am too well convinced of the worth +of our friend, and the rich harvest of benefits that all England would reap +from his Protectorship, to deprive my countrymen of such a blessing, if he +consent to bestow it on them.” +</p> + +<p> +In the evening Adrian visited us.—“Do you cabal also against +me,” said he, laughing; “and will you make common cause with +Raymond, in dragging a poor visionary from the clouds to surround him with the +fire-works and blasts of earthly grandeur, instead of heavenly rays and airs? I +thought you knew me better.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do know you better,” I replied “than to think that you +would be happy in such a situation; but the good you would do to others may be +an inducement, since the time is probably arrived when you can put your +theories into practice, and you may bring about such reformation and change, as +will conduce to that perfect system of government which you delight to +portray.” +</p> + +<p> +“You speak of an almost-forgotten dream,” said Adrian, his +countenance slightly clouding as he spoke; “the visions of my boyhood +have long since faded in the light of reality; I know now that I am not a man +fitted to govern nations; sufficient for me, if I keep in wholesome rule the +little kingdom of my own mortality. +</p> + +<p> +“But do not you see, Lionel, the drift of our noble friend; a drift, +perhaps, unknown to himself, but apparent to me. Lord Raymond was never born to +be a drone in the hive, and to find content in our pastoral life. He thinks, +that he ought to be satisfied; he imagines, that his present situation +precludes the possibility of aggrandisement; he does not therefore, even in his +own heart, plan change for himself. But do you not see, that, under the idea of +exalting me, he is chalking out a new path for himself; a path of action from +which he has long wandered? +</p> + +<p> +“Let us assist him. He, the noble, the warlike, the great in every +quality that can adorn the mind and person of man; he is fitted to be the +Protector of England. If <i>I</i>—that is, if <i>we</i> propose him, he +will assuredly be elected, and will find, in the functions of that high office, +scope for the towering powers of his mind. Even Perdita will rejoice. Perdita, +in whom ambition was a covered fire until she married Raymond, which event was +for a time the fulfilment of her hopes; Perdita will rejoice in the glory and +advancement of her lord—and, coyly and prettily, not be discontented with +her share. In the mean time, we, the wise of the land, will return to our +Castle, and, Cincinnatus-like, take to our usual labours, until our friend +shall require our presence and assistance here.” +</p> + +<p> +The more Adrian reasoned upon this scheme, the more feasible it appeared. His +own determination never to enter into public life was insurmountable, and the +delicacy of his health was a sufficient argument against it. The next step was +to induce Raymond to confess his secret wishes for dignity and fame. He entered +while we were speaking. The way in which Adrian had received his project for +setting him up as a candidate for the Protectorship, and his replies, had +already awakened in his mind, the view of the subject which we were now +discussing. His countenance and manner betrayed irresolution and anxiety; but +the anxiety arose from a fear that we should not prosecute, or not succeed in +our idea; and his irresolution, from a doubt whether we should risk a defeat. A +few words from us decided him, and hope and joy sparkled in his eyes; the idea +of embarking in a career, so congenial to his early habits and cherished +wishes, made him as before energetic and bold. We discussed his chances, the +merits of the other candidates, and the dispositions of the voters. +</p> + +<p> +After all we miscalculated. Raymond had lost much of his popularity, and was +deserted by his peculiar partizans. Absence from the busy stage had caused him +to be forgotten by the people; his former parliamentary supporters were +principally composed of royalists, who had been willing to make an idol of him +when he appeared as the heir of the Earldom of Windsor; but who were +indifferent to him, when he came forward with no other attributes and +distinctions than they conceived to be common to many among themselves. Still +he had many friends, admirers of his transcendent talents; his presence in the +house, his eloquence, address and imposing beauty, were calculated to produce +an electric effect. Adrian also, notwithstanding his recluse habits and +theories, so adverse to the spirit of party, had many friends, and they were +easily induced to vote for a candidate of his selection. +</p> + +<p> +The Duke of——, and Mr. Ryland, Lord Raymond’s old antagonist, +were the other candidates. The Duke was supported by all the aristocrats of the +republic, who considered him their proper representative. Ryland was the +popular candidate; when Lord Raymond was first added to the list, his chance of +success appeared small. We retired from the debate which had followed on his +nomination: we, his nominators, mortified; he dispirited to excess. Perdita +reproached us bitterly. Her expectations had been strongly excited; she had +urged nothing against our project, on the contrary, she was evidently pleased +by it; but its evident ill success changed the current of her ideas. She felt, +that, once awakened, Raymond would never return unrepining to Windsor. His +habits were unhinged; his restless mind roused from its sleep, ambition must +now be his companion through life; and if he did not succeed in his present +attempt, she foresaw that unhappiness and cureless discontent would follow. +Perhaps her own disappointment added a sting to her thoughts and words; she did +not spare us, and our own reflections added to our disquietude. +</p> + +<p> +It was necessary to follow up our nomination, and to persuade Raymond to +present himself to the electors on the following evening. For a long time he +was obstinate. He would embark in a balloon; he would sail for a distant +quarter of the world, where his name and humiliation were unknown. But this was +useless; his attempt was registered; his purpose published to the world; his +shame could never be erased from the memories of men. It was as well to fail at +last after a struggle, as to fly now at the beginning of his enterprise. +</p> + +<p> +From the moment that he adopted this idea, he was changed. His depression and +anxiety fled; he became all life and activity. The smile of triumph shone on +his countenance; determined to pursue his object to the uttermost, his manner +and expression seem ominous of the accomplishment of his wishes. Not so +Perdita. She was frightened by his gaiety, for she dreaded a greater revulsion +at the end. If his appearance even inspired us with hope, it only rendered the +state of her mind more painful. She feared to lose sight of him; yet she +dreaded to remark any change in the temper of his mind. She listened eagerly to +him, yet tantalized herself by giving to his words a meaning foreign to their +true interpretation, and adverse to her hopes. She dared not be present at the +contest; yet she remained at home a prey to double solicitude. She wept over +her little girl; she looked, she spoke, as if she dreaded the occurrence of +some frightful calamity. She was half mad from the effects of uncontrollable +agitation. +</p> + +<p> +Lord Raymond presented himself to the house with fearless confidence and +insinuating address. After the Duke of——and Mr. Ryland had finished +their speeches, he commenced. Assuredly he had not conned his lesson; and at +first he hesitated, pausing in his ideas, and in the choice of his expressions. +By degrees he warmed; his words flowed with ease, his language was full of +vigour, and his voice of persuasion. He reverted to his past life, his +successes in Greece, his favour at home. Why should he lose this, now that +added years, prudence, and the pledge which his marriage gave to his country, +ought to encrease, rather than diminish his claims to confidence? He spoke of +the state of England; the necessary measures to be taken to ensure its +security, and confirm its prosperity. He drew a glowing picture of its present +situation. As he spoke, every sound was hushed, every thought suspended by +intense attention. His graceful elocution enchained the senses of his hearers. +In some degree also he was fitted to reconcile all parties. His birth pleased +the aristocracy; his being the candidate recommended by Adrian, a man +intimately allied to the popular party, caused a number, who had no great +reliance either on the Duke or Mr. Ryland, to range on his side. +</p> + +<p> +The contest was keen and doubtful. Neither Adrian nor myself would have been so +anxious, if our own success had depended on our exertions; but we had egged our +friend on to the enterprise, and it became us to ensure his triumph. Idris, who +entertained the highest opinion of his abilities, was warmly interested in the +event: and my poor sister, who dared not hope, and to whom fear was misery, was +plunged into a fever of disquietude. +</p> + +<p> +Day after day passed while we discussed our projects for the evening, and each +night was occupied by debates which offered no conclusion. At last the crisis +came: the night when parliament, which had so long delayed its choice, must +decide: as the hour of twelve passed, and the new day began, it was by virtue +of the constitution dissolved, its power extinct. +</p> + +<p> +We assembled at Raymond’s house, we and our partizans. At half past five +o’clock we proceeded to the House. Idris endeavoured to calm Perdita; but +the poor girl’s agitation deprived her of all power of self-command. She +walked up and down the room,—gazed wildly when any one entered, fancying +that they might be the announcers of her doom. I must do justice to my sweet +sister: it was not for herself that she was thus agonized. She alone knew the +weight which Raymond attached to his success. Even to us he assumed gaiety and +hope, and assumed them so well, that we did not divine the secret workings of +his mind. Sometimes a nervous trembling, a sharp dissonance of voice, and +momentary fits of absence revealed to Perdita the violence he did himself; but +we, intent on our plans, observed only his ready laugh, his joke intruded on +all occasions, the flow of his spirits which seemed incapable of ebb. Besides, +Perdita was with him in his retirement; she saw the moodiness that succeeded to +this forced hilarity; she marked his disturbed sleep, his painful +irritability—once she had seen his tears—hers had scarce ceased to +flow, since she had beheld the big drops which disappointed pride had caused to +gather in his eye, but which pride was unable to dispel. What wonder then, that +her feelings were wrought to this pitch! I thus accounted to myself for her +agitation; but this was not all, and the sequel revealed another excuse. +</p> + +<p> +One moment we seized before our departure, to take leave of our beloved girls. +I had small hope of success, and entreated Idris to watch over my sister. As I +approached the latter, she seized my hand, and drew me into another apartment; +she threw herself into my arms, and wept and sobbed bitterly and long. I tried +to soothe her; I bade her hope; I asked what tremendous consequences would +ensue even on our failure. “My brother,” she cried, +“protector of my childhood, dear, most dear Lionel, my fate hangs by a +thread. I have you all about me now—you, the companion of my infancy; +Adrian, as dear to me as if bound by the ties of blood; Idris, the sister of my +heart, and her lovely offspring. This, O this may be the last time that you +will surround me thus!” +</p> + +<p> +Abruptly she stopped, and then cried: “What have I said?—foolish +false girl that I am!” She looked wildly on me, and then suddenly calming +herself, apologized for what she called her unmeaning words, saying that she +must indeed be insane, for, while Raymond lived, she must be happy; and then, +though she still wept, she suffered me tranquilly to depart. Raymond only took +her hand when he went, and looked on her expressively; she answered by a look +of intelligence and assent. +</p> + +<p> +Poor girl! what she then suffered! I could never entirely forgive Raymond for +the trials he imposed on her, occasioned as they were by a selfish feeling on +his part. He had schemed, if he failed in his present attempt, without taking +leave of any of us, to embark for Greece, and never again to revisit England. +Perdita acceded to his wishes; for his contentment was the chief object of her +life, the crown of her enjoyment; but to leave us all, her companions, the +beloved partners of her happiest years, and in the interim to conceal this +frightful determination, was a task that almost conquered her strength of mind. +She had been employed in arranging for their departure; she had promised +Raymond during this decisive evening, to take advantage of our absence, to go +one stage of the journey, and he, after his defeat was ascertained, would slip +away from us, and join her. +</p> + +<p> +Although, when I was informed of this scheme, I was bitterly offended by the +small attention which Raymond paid to my sister’s feelings, I was led by +reflection to consider, that he acted under the force of such strong +excitement, as to take from him the consciousness, and, consequently, the guilt +of a fault. If he had permitted us to witness his agitation, he would have been +more under the guidance of reason; but his struggles for the shew of composure, +acted with such violence on his nerves, as to destroy his power of +self-command. I am convinced that, at the worst, he would have returned from +the seashore to take leave of us, and to make us the partners of his council. +But the task imposed on Perdita was not the less painful. He had extorted from +her a vow of secrecy; and her part of the drama, since it was to be performed +alone, was the most agonizing that could be devised. But to return to my +narrative. +</p> + +<p> +The debates had hitherto been long and loud; they had often been protracted +merely for the sake of delay. But now each seemed fearful lest the fatal moment +should pass, while the choice was yet undecided. Unwonted silence reigned in +the house, the members spoke in whispers, and the ordinary business was +transacted with celerity and quietness. During the first stage of the election, +the Duke of——had been thrown out; the question therefore lay +between Lord Raymond and Mr. Ryland. The latter had felt secure of victory, +until the appearance of Raymond; and, since his name had been inserted as a +candidate, he had canvassed with eagerness. He had appeared each evening, +impatience and anger marked in his looks, scowling on us from the opposite side +of St. Stephen’s, as if his mere frown would cast eclipse on our hopes. +</p> + +<p> +Every thing in the English constitution had been regulated for the better +preservation of peace. On the last day, two candidates only were allowed to +remain; and to obviate, if possible, the last struggle between these, a bribe +was offered to him who should voluntarily resign his pretensions; a place of +great emolument and honour was given him, and his success facilitated at a +future election. Strange to say however, no instance had yet occurred, where +either candidate had had recourse to this expedient; in consequence the law had +become obsolete, nor had been referred to by any of us in our discussions. To +our extreme surprise, when it was moved that we should resolve ourselves into a +committee for the election of the Lord Protector, the member who had nominated +Ryland, rose and informed us that this candidate had resigned his pretensions. +His information was at first received with silence; a confused murmur +succeeded; and, when the chairman declared Lord Raymond duly chosen, it +amounted to a shout of applause and victory. It seemed as if, far from any +dread of defeat even if Mr. Ryland had not resigned, every voice would have +been united in favour of our candidate. In fact, now that the idea of contest +was dismissed, all hearts returned to their former respect and admiration of +our accomplished friend. Each felt, that England had never seen a Protector so +capable of fulfilling the arduous duties of that high office. One voice made of +many voices, resounded through the chamber; it syllabled the name of Raymond. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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 +visitor, who said that he perfectly understood, and would work at it at home. +At length Raymond suffered him to depart. +</p> + +<p> +The next day he returned. The design had been re-drawn; but many defects still +remained, and several of the instructions given had been misunderstood. +“Come,” said Raymond, “I yielded to you yesterday, now comply +with my request—take the pencil.” +</p> + +<p> +The Greek took it, but he handled it in no artist-like way; at length he said: +“I must confess to you, my Lord, that I did not make this drawing. It is +impossible for you to see the real designer; your instructions must pass +through me. Condescend therefore to have patience with my ignorance, and to +explain your wishes to me; in time I am certain that you will be +satisfied.” +</p> + +<p> +Raymond questioned vainly; the mysterious Greek would say no more. Would an +architect be permitted to see the artist? This also was refused. Raymond +repeated his instructions, and the visitor retired. Our friend resolved however +not to be foiled in his wish. He suspected, that unaccustomed poverty was the +cause of the mystery, and that the artist was unwilling to be seen in the garb +and abode of want. Raymond was only the more excited by this consideration to +discover him; impelled by the interest he took in obscure talent, he therefore +ordered a person skilled in such matters, to follow the Greek the next time he +came, and observe the house in which he should enter. His emissary obeyed, and +brought the desired intelligence. He had traced the man to one of the most +penurious streets in the metropolis. Raymond did not wonder, that, thus +situated, the artist had shrunk from notice, but he did not for this alter his +resolve. +</p> + +<p> +On the same evening, he went alone to the house named to him. Poverty, dirt, +and squalid misery characterized its appearance. Alas! thought Raymond, I have +much to do before England becomes a Paradise. He knocked; the door was opened +by a string from above—the broken, wretched staircase was immediately +before him, but no person appeared; he knocked again, vainly—and then, +impatient of further delay, he ascended the dark, creaking stairs. His main +wish, more particularly now that he witnessed the abject dwelling of the +artist, was to relieve one, possessed of talent, but depressed by want. He +pictured to himself a youth, whose eyes sparkled with genius, whose person was +attenuated by famine. He half feared to displease him; but he trusted that his +generous kindness would be administered so delicately, as not to excite +repulse. What human heart is shut to kindness? and though poverty, in its +excess, might render the sufferer unapt to submit to the supposed degradation +of a benefit, the zeal of the benefactor must at last relax him into +thankfulness. These thoughts encouraged Raymond, as he stood at the door of the +highest room of the house. After trying vainly to enter the other apartments, +he perceived just within the threshold of this one, a pair of small Turkish +slippers; the door was ajar, but all was silent within. It was probable that +the inmate was absent, but secure that he had found the right person, our +adventurous Protector was tempted to enter, to leave a purse on the table, and +silently depart. In pursuance of this idea, he pushed open the door +gently—but the room was inhabited. +</p> + +<p> +Raymond had never visited the dwellings of want, and the scene that now +presented itself struck him to the heart. The floor was sunk in many places; +the walls ragged and bare—the ceiling weather-stained—a tattered +bed stood in the corner; there were but two chairs in the room, and a rough +broken table, on which was a light in a tin candlestick;—yet in the midst +of such drear and heart sickening poverty, there was an air of order and +cleanliness that surprised him. The thought was fleeting; for his attention was +instantly drawn towards the inhabitant of this wretched abode. It was a female. +She sat at the table; one small hand shaded her eyes from the candle; the other +held a pencil; her looks were fixed on a drawing before her, which Raymond +recognized as the design presented to him. Her whole appearance awakened his +deepest interest. Her dark hair was braided and twined in thick knots like the +head-dress of a Grecian statue; her garb was mean, but her attitude might have +been selected as a model of grace. Raymond had a confused remembrance that he +had seen such a form before; he walked across the room; she did not raise her +eyes, merely asking in Romaic, who is there? “A friend,” replied +Raymond in the same dialect. She looked up wondering, and he saw that it was +Evadne Zaimi. Evadne, once the idol of Adrian’s affections; and who, for +the sake of her present visitor, had disdained the noble youth, and then, +neglected by him she loved, with crushed hopes and a stinging sense of misery, +had returned to her native Greece. What revolution of fortune could have +brought her to England, and housed her thus? +</p> + +<p> +Raymond recognized her; and his manner changed from polite beneficence to the +warmest protestations of kindness and sympathy. The sight of her, in her +present situation, passed like an arrow into his soul. He sat by her, he took +her hand, and said a thousand things which breathed the deepest spirit of +compassion and affection. Evadne did not answer; her large dark eyes were cast +down, at length a tear glimmered on the lashes. “Thus,” she cried, +“kindness can do, what no want, no misery ever effected; I weep.” +She shed indeed many tears; her head sunk unconsciously on the shoulder of +Raymond; he held her hand: he kissed her sunken tear-stained cheek. He told +her, that her sufferings were now over: no one possessed the art of consoling +like Raymond; he did not reason or declaim, but his look shone with sympathy; +he brought pleasant images before the sufferer; his caresses excited no +distrust, for they arose purely from the feeling which leads a mother to kiss +her wounded child; a desire to demonstrate in every possible way the truth of +his feelings, and the keenness of his wish to pour balm into the lacerated mind +of the unfortunate. As Evadne regained her composure, his manner became even +gay; he sported with the idea of her poverty. Something told him that it was +not its real evils that lay heavily at her heart, but the debasement and +disgrace attendant on it; as he talked, he divested it of these; sometimes +speaking of her fortitude with energetic praise; then, alluding to her past +state, he called her his Princess in disguise. He made her warm offers of +service; she was too much occupied by more engrossing thoughts, either to +accept or reject them; at length he left her, making a promise to repeat his +visit the next day. He returned home, full of mingled feelings, of pain excited +by Evadne’s wretchedness, and pleasure at the prospect of relieving it. +Some motive for which he did not account, even to himself, prevented him from +relating his adventure to Perdita. +</p> + +<p> +The next day he threw such disguise over his person as a cloak afforded, and +revisited Evadne. As he went, he bought a basket of costly fruits, such as were +natives of her own country, and throwing over these various beautiful flowers, +bore it himself to the miserable garret of his friend. “Behold,” +cried he, as he entered, “what bird’s food I have brought for my +sparrow on the house-top.” +</p> + +<p> +Evadne now related the tale of her misfortunes. Her father, though of high +rank, had in the end dissipated his fortune, and even destroyed his reputation +and influence through a course of dissolute indulgence. His health was impaired +beyond hope of cure; and it became his earnest wish, before he died, to +preserve his daughter from the poverty which would be the portion of her orphan +state. He therefore accepted for her, and persuaded her to accede to, a +proposal of marriage, from a wealthy Greek merchant settled at Constantinople. +She quitted her native Greece; her father died; by degrees she was cut off from +all the companions and ties of her youth. +</p> + +<p> +The war, which about a year before the present time had broken out between +Greece and Turkey, brought about many reverses of fortune. Her husband became +bankrupt, and then in a tumult and threatened massacre on the part of the +Turks, they were obliged to fly at midnight, and reached in an open boat an +English vessel under sail, which brought them immediately to this island. The +few jewels they had saved, supported them awhile. The whole strength of +Evadne’s mind was exerted to support the failing spirits of her husband. +Loss of property, hopelessness as to his future prospects, the inoccupation to +which poverty condemned him, combined to reduce him to a state bordering on +insanity. Five months after their arrival in England, he committed suicide. +</p> + +<p> +“You will ask me,” continued Evadne, “what I have done since; +why I have not applied for succour to the rich Greeks resident here; why I have +not returned to my native country? My answer to these questions must needs +appear to you unsatisfactory, yet they have sufficed to lead me on, day after +day, enduring every wretchedness, rather than by such means to seek relief. +Shall the daughter of the noble, though prodigal Zaimi, appear a beggar before +her compeers or inferiors—superiors she had none. Shall I bow my head +before them, and with servile gesture sell my nobility for life? Had I a child, +or any tie to bind me to existence, I might descend to this—but, as it +is—the world has been to me a harsh step-mother; fain would I leave the +abode she seems to grudge, and in the grave forget my pride, my struggles, my +despair. The time will soon come; grief and famine have already sapped the +foundations of my being; a very short time, and I shall have passed away; +unstained by the crime of self-destruction, unstung by the memory of +degradation, my spirit will throw aside the miserable coil, and find such +recompense as fortitude and resignation may deserve. This may seem madness to +you, yet you also have pride and resolution; do not then wonder that my pride +is tameless, my resolution unalterable.” +</p> + +<p> +Having thus finished her tale, and given such an account as she deemed fit, of +the motives of her abstaining from all endeavour to obtain aid from her +countrymen, Evadne paused; yet she seemed to have more to say, to which she was +unable to give words. In the mean time Raymond was eloquent. His desire of +restoring his lovely friend to her rank in society, and to her lost prosperity, +animated him, and he poured forth with energy, all his wishes and intentions on +that subject. But he was checked; Evadne exacted a promise, that he should +conceal from all her friends her existence in England. “The relatives of +the Earl of Windsor,” said she haughtily, “doubtless think that I +injured him; perhaps the Earl himself would be the first to acquit me, but +probably I do not deserve acquittal. I acted then, as I ever must, from +impulse. This abode of penury may at least prove the disinterestedness of my +conduct. No matter: I do not wish to plead my cause before any of them, not +even before your Lordship, had you not first discovered me. The tenor of my +actions will prove that I had rather die, than be a mark for scorn—behold +the proud Evadne in her tatters! look on the beggar-princess! There is aspic +venom in the thought—promise me that my secret shall not be violated by +you.” +</p> + +<p> +Raymond promised; but then a new discussion ensued. Evadne required another +engagement on his part, that he would not without her concurrence enter into +any project for her benefit, nor himself offer relief. “Do not degrade me +in my own eyes,” she said; “poverty has long been my nurse; +hard-visaged she is, but honest. If dishonour, or what I conceive to be +dishonour, come near me, I am lost.” Raymond adduced 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +<i>They</i>, <i>their Excellencies</i>, met her eyes in each line, mingling an +evil potion that poisoned her very blood. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<p> +In the mean time what did Perdita? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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; +that which is the parent of the imagination and the nurse of poetry; that which +bestows benevolent intelligence on the visible mechanism of the world, and +makes earth a temple with heaven for its cope. Such happiness, goodness, and +religion inhabited the mind of Perdita. +</p> + +<p> +During the five years we had spent together, a knot of happy human beings at +Windsor Castle, her blissful lot had been the frequent theme of my +sister’s conversation. From early habit, and natural affection, she +selected me in preference to Adrian or Idris, to be the partner in her +overflowings of delight; perhaps, though apparently much unlike, some secret +point of resemblance, the offspring of consanguinity, induced this preference. +Often at sunset, I have walked with her, in the sober, enshadowed forest paths, +and listened with joyful sympathy. Security gave dignity to her passion; the +certainty of a full return, left her with no wish unfulfilled. The birth of her +daughter, embryo copy of her Raymond, filled up the measure of her content, and +produced a sacred and indissoluble tie between them. Sometimes she felt proud +that he had preferred her to the hopes of a crown. Sometimes she remembered +that she had suffered keen anguish, when he hesitated in his choice. But this +memory of past discontent only served to enhance her present joy. What had been +hardly won, was now, entirely possessed, doubly dear. She would look at him at +a distance with the same rapture, (O, far more exuberant rapture!) that one +might feel, who after the perils of a tempest, should find himself in the +desired port; she would hasten towards him, to feel more certain in his arms, +the reality of her bliss. This warmth of affection, added to the depth of her +understanding, and the brilliancy of her imagination, made her beyond words +dear to Raymond. +</p> + +<p> +If a feeling of dissatisfaction ever crossed her, it arose from the idea that +he was not perfectly happy. Desire of renown, and presumptuous ambition, had +characterized his youth. The one he had acquired in Greece; the other he had +sacrificed to love. His intellect found sufficient field for exercise in his +domestic circle, whose members, all adorned by refinement and literature, were +many of them, like himself, distinguished by genius. Yet active life was the +genuine soil for his virtues; and he sometimes suffered tedium from the +monotonous succession of events in our retirement. Pride made him recoil from +complaint; and gratitude and affection to Perdita, generally acted as an opiate +to all desire, save that of meriting her love. We all observed the visitation +of these feelings, and none regretted them so much as Perdita. Her life +consecrated to him, was a slight sacrifice to reward his choice, but was not +that sufficient—Did he need any gratification that she was unable to +bestow? This was the only cloud in the azure of her happiness. +</p> + +<p> +His passage to power had been full of pain to both. He however attained his +wish; he filled the situation for which nature seemed to have moulded him. His +activity was fed in wholesome measure, without either exhaustion or satiety; +his taste and genius found worthy expression in each of the modes human beings +have invented to encage and manifest the spirit of beauty; the goodness of his +heart made him never weary of conducing to the well-being of his +fellow-creatures; his magnificent spirit, and aspirations for the respect and +love of mankind, now received fruition; true, his exaltation was temporary; +perhaps it were better that it should be so. Habit would not dull his sense of +the enjoyment of power; nor struggles, disappointment and defeat await the end +of that which would expire at its maturity. He determined to extract and +condense all of glory, power, and achievement, which might have resulted from a +long reign, into the three years of his Protectorate. +</p> + +<p> +Raymond was eminently social. All that he now enjoyed would have been devoid of +pleasure to him, had it been unparticipated. But in Perdita he possessed all +that his heart could desire. Her love gave birth to sympathy; her intelligence +made her understand him at a word; her powers of intellect enabled her to +assist and guide him. He felt her worth. During the early years of their union, +the inequality of her temper, and yet unsubdued self-will which tarnished her +character, had been a slight drawback to the fulness of his sentiment. Now that +unchanged serenity, and gentle compliance were added to her other +qualifications, his respect equalled his love. Years added to the strictness of +their union. They did not now guess at, and totter on the pathway, divining the +mode to please, hoping, yet fearing the continuance of bliss. Five years gave a +sober certainty to their emotions, though it did not rob them of their etherial +nature. It had given them a child; but it had not detracted from the personal +attractions of my sister. Timidity, which in her had almost amounted to +awkwardness, was exchanged for a graceful decision of manner; frankness, +instead of reserve, characterized her physiognomy; and her voice was attuned to +thrilling softness. She was now three and twenty, in the pride of womanhood, +fulfilling the precious duties of wife and mother, possessed of all her heart +had ever coveted. Raymond was ten years older; to his previous beauty, noble +mien, and commanding aspect, he now added gentlest benevolence, winning +tenderness, graceful and unwearied attention to the wishes of another. +</p> + +<p> +The first secret that had existed between them was the visits of Raymond to +Evadne. He had been struck by the fortitude and beauty of the ill-fated Greek; +and, when her constant tenderness towards him unfolded itself, he asked with +astonishment, by what act of his he had merited this passionate and unrequited +love. She was for a while the sole object of his reveries; and Perdita became +aware that his thoughts and time were bestowed on a subject unparticipated by +her. My sister was by nature destitute of the common feelings of anxious, +petulant jealousy. The treasure which she possessed in the affections of +Raymond, was more necessary to her being, than the life-blood that animated her +veins—more truly than Othello she might say, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + To be once in doubt,<br/> +Is—once to be resolved. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +On the present occasion she did not suspect any alienation of affection; but +she conjectured that some circumstance connected with his high place, had +occasioned this mystery. She was startled and pained. She began to count the +long days, and months, and years which must elapse, before he would be restored +to a private station, and unreservedly to her. She was not content that, even +for a time, he should practice concealment with her. She often repined; but her +trust in the singleness of his affection was undisturbed; and, when they were +together, unchecked by fear, she opened her heart to the fullest delight. +</p> + +<p> +Time went on. Raymond, stopping mid-way in his wild career, paused suddenly to +think of consequences. Two results presented themselves in the view he took of +the future. That his intercourse with Evadne should continue a secret to, or +that finally it should be discovered by Perdita. The destitute condition, and +highly wrought feelings of his friend prevented him from adverting to the +possibility of exiling himself from her. In the first event he had bidden an +eternal farewell to open-hearted converse, and entire sympathy with the +companion of his life. The veil must be thicker than that invented by Turkish +jealousy; the wall higher than the unscaleable tower of Vathek, which should +conceal from her the workings of his heart, and hide from her view the secret +of his actions. This idea was intolerably painful to him. Frankness and social +feelings were the essence of Raymond’s nature; without them his qualities +became common-place; without these to spread glory over his intercourse with +Perdita, his vaunted exchange of a throne for her love, was as weak and empty +as the rainbow hues which vanish when the sun is down. But there was no remedy. +Genius, devotion, and courage; the adornments of his mind, and the energies of +his soul, all exerted to their uttermost stretch, could not roll back one +hair’s breadth the wheel of time’s chariot; that which had been was +written with the adamantine pen of reality, on the everlasting volume of the +past; nor could agony and tears suffice to wash out one iota from the act +fulfilled. +</p> + +<p> +But this was the best side of the question. What, if circumstance should lead +Perdita to suspect, and suspecting to be resolved? The fibres of his frame +became relaxed, and cold dew stood on his forehead, at this idea. Many men may +scoff at his dread; but he read the future; and the peace of Perdita was too +dear to him, her speechless agony too certain, and too fearful, not to unman +him. His course was speedily decided upon. If the worst befell; if she learnt +the truth, he would neither stand her reproaches, or the anguish of her altered +looks. He would forsake her, England, his friends, the scenes of his youth, the +hopes of coming time, he would seek another country, and in other scenes begin +life again. Having resolved on this, he became calmer. He endeavoured to guide +with prudence the steeds of destiny through the devious road which he had +chosen, and bent all his efforts the better to conceal what he could not alter. +</p> + +<p> +The perfect confidence that subsisted between Perdita and him, rendered every +communication common between them. They opened each other’s letters, even +as, until now, the inmost fold of the heart of each was disclosed to the other. +A letter came unawares, Perdita read it. Had it contained confirmation, she +must have been annihilated. As it was, trembling, cold, and pale, she sought +Raymond. He was alone, examining some petitions lately presented. She entered +silently, sat on a sofa opposite to him, and gazed on him with a look of such +despair, that wildest shrieks and dire moans would have been tame exhibitions +of misery, compared to the living incarnation of the thing itself exhibited by +her. +</p> + +<p> +At first he did not take his eyes from the papers; when he raised them, he was +struck by the wretchedness manifest on her altered cheek; for a moment he +forgot his own acts and fears, and asked with +consternation—“Dearest girl, what is the matter; what has +happened?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” she replied at first; “and yet not so,” she +continued, hurrying on in her speech; “you have secrets, Raymond; where +have you been lately, whom have you seen, what do you conceal from +me?—why am I banished from your confidence? Yet this is not it—I do +not intend to entrap you with questions—one will suffice—am I +completely a wretch?” +</p> + +<p> +With trembling hand she gave him the paper, and sat white and motionless +looking at him while he read it. He recognised the hand-writing of Evadne, and +the colour mounted in his cheeks. With lightning-speed he conceived the +contents of the letter; all was now cast on one die; falsehood and artifice +were trifles in comparison with the impending ruin. He would either entirely +dispel Perdita’s suspicions, or quit her for ever. “My dear +girl,” he said, “I have been to blame; but you must pardon me. I +was in the wrong to commence a system of concealment; but I did it for the sake +of sparing you pain; and each day has rendered it more difficult for me to +alter my plan. Besides, I was instigated by delicacy towards the unhappy writer +of these few lines.” +</p> + +<p> +Perdita gasped: “Well,” she cried, “well, go on!” +</p> + +<p> +“That is all—this paper tells all. I am placed in the most +difficult circumstances. I have done my best, though perhaps I have done wrong. +My love for you is inviolate.” +</p> + +<p> +Perdita shook her head doubtingly: “It cannot be,” she cried, +“I know that it is not. You would deceive me, but I will not be deceived. +I have lost you, myself, my life!” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you not believe me?” said Raymond haughtily. +</p> + +<p> +“To believe you,” she exclaimed, “I would give up all, and +expire with joy, so that in death I could feel that you were true—but +that cannot be!” +</p> + +<p> +“Perdita,” continued Raymond, “you do not see the precipice +on which you stand. You may believe that I did not enter on my present line of +conduct without reluctance and pain. I knew that it was possible that your +suspicions might be excited; but I trusted that my simple word would cause them +to disappear. I built my hope on your confidence. Do you think that I will be +questioned, and my replies disdainfully set aside? Do you think that I will be +suspected, perhaps watched, cross-questioned, and disbelieved? I am not yet +fallen so low; my honour is not yet so tarnished. You have loved me; I adored +you. But all human sentiments come to an end. Let our affection +expire—but let it not be exchanged for distrust and recrimination. +Heretofore we have been friends—lovers—let us not become enemies, +mutual spies. I cannot live the object of suspicion—you cannot believe +me—let us part!” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly so,” cried Perdita, “I knew that it would come to +this! Are we not already parted? Does not a stream, boundless as ocean, deep as +vacuum, yawn between us?” +</p> + +<p> +Raymond rose, his voice was broken, his features convulsed, his manner calm as +the earthquake-cradling atmosphere, he replied: “I am rejoiced that you +take my decision so philosophically. Doubtless you will play the part of the +injured wife to admiration. Sometimes you may be stung with the feeling that +you have wronged me, but the condolence of your relatives, the pity of the +world, the complacency which the consciousness of your own immaculate innocence +will bestow, will be excellent balm;—me you will never see more!” +</p> + +<p> +Raymond moved towards the door. He forgot that each word he spoke was false. He +personated his assumption of innocence even to self-deception. Have not actors +wept, as they pourtrayed imagined passion? A more intense feeling of the +reality of fiction possessed Raymond. He spoke with pride; he felt injured. +Perdita looked up; she saw his angry glance; his hand was on the lock of the +door. She started up, she threw herself on his neck, she gasped and sobbed; he +took her hand, and leading her to the sofa, sat down near her. Her head fell on +his shoulder, she trembled, alternate changes of fire and ice ran through her +limbs: observing her emotion he spoke with softened accents: +</p> + +<p> +“The blow is given. I will not part from you in anger;—I owe you +too much. I owe you six years of unalloyed happiness. But they are passed. I +will not live the mark of suspicion, the object of jealousy. I love you too +well. In an eternal separation only can either of us hope for dignity and +propriety of action. We shall not then be degraded from our true characters. +Faith and devotion have hitherto been the essence of our +intercourse;—these lost, let us not cling to the seedless husk of life, +the unkernelled shell. You have your child, your brother, Idris, +Adrian”— +</p> + +<p> +“And you,” cried Perdita, “the writer of that letter.” +</p> + +<p> +Uncontrollable indignation flashed from the eyes of Raymond. He knew that this +accusation at least was false. “Entertain this belief,” he cried, +“hug it to your heart—make it a pillow to your head, an opiate for +your eyes —I am content. But, by the God that made me, hell is not more +false than the word you have spoken!” +</p> + +<p> +Perdita was struck by the impassioned seriousness of his asseverations. She +replied with earnestness, “I do not refuse to believe you, Raymond; on +the contrary I promise to put implicit faith in your simple word. Only assure +me that your love and faith towards me have never been violated; and suspicion, +and doubt, and jealousy will at once be dispersed. We shall continue as we have +ever done, one heart, one hope, one life.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have already assured you of my fidelity,” said Raymond with +disdainful coldness, “triple assertions will avail nothing where one is +despised. I will say no more; for I can add nothing to what I have already +said, to what you before contemptuously set aside. This contention is unworthy +of both of us; and I confess that I am weary of replying to charges at once +unfounded and unkind.” +</p> + +<p> +Perdita tried to read his countenance, which he angrily averted. There was so +much of truth and nature in his resentment, that her doubts were dispelled. Her +countenance, which for years had not expressed a feeling unallied to affection, +became again radiant and satisfied. She found it however no easy task to soften +and reconcile Raymond. At first he refused to stay to hear her. But she would +not be put off; secure of his unaltered love, she was willing to undertake any +labour, use any entreaty, to dispel his anger. She obtained an hearing, he sat +in haughty silence, but he listened. She first assured him of her boundless +confidence; of this he must be conscious, since but for that she would not seek +to detain him. She enumerated their years of happiness; she brought before him +past scenes of intimacy and happiness; she pictured their future life, she +mentioned their child—tears unbidden now filled her eyes. She tried to +disperse them, but they refused to be checked—her utterance was choaked. +She had not wept before. Raymond could not resist these signs of distress: he +felt perhaps somewhat ashamed of the part he acted of the injured man, he who +was in truth the injurer. And then he devoutly loved Perdita; the bend of her +head, her glossy ringlets, the turn of her form were to him subjects of deep +tenderness and admiration; as she spoke, her melodious tones entered his soul; +he soon softened towards her, comforting and caressing her, and endeavouring to +cheat himself into the belief that he had never wronged her. +</p> + +<p> +Raymond staggered forth from this scene, as a man might do, who had been just +put to the torture, and looked forward to when it would be again inflicted. He +had sinned against his own honour, by affirming, swearing to, a direct +falsehood; true this he had palmed on a woman, and it might therefore be deemed +less base—by others—not by him;—for whom had he +deceived?—his own trusting, devoted, affectionate Perdita, whose generous +belief galled him doubly, when he remembered the parade of innocence with which +it had been exacted. The mind of Raymond was not so rough cast, nor had been so +rudely handled, in the circumstance of life, as to make him proof to these +considerations—on the contrary, he was all nerve; his spirit was as a +pure fire, which fades and shrinks from every contagion of foul atmosphere: but +now the contagion had become incorporated with its essence, and the change was +the more painful. Truth and falsehood, love and hate lost their eternal +boundaries, heaven rushed in to mingle with hell; while his sensitive mind, +turned to a field for such battle, was stung to madness. He heartily despised +himself, he was angry with Perdita, and the idea of Evadne was attended by all +that was hideous and cruel. His passions, always his masters, acquired fresh +strength, from the long sleep in which love had cradled them, the clinging +weight of destiny bent him down; he was goaded, tortured, fiercely impatient of +that worst of miseries, the sense of remorse. This troubled state yielded by +degrees, to sullen animosity, and depression of spirits. His dependants, even +his equals, if in his present post he had any, were startled to find anger, +derision, and bitterness in one, before distinguished for suavity and +benevolence of manner. He transacted public business with distaste, and +hastened from it to the solitude which was at once his bane and relief. He +mounted a fiery horse, that which had borne him forward to victory in Greece; +he fatigued himself with deadening exercise, losing the pangs of a troubled +mind in animal sensation. +</p> + +<p> +He slowly recovered himself; yet, at last, as one might from the effects of +poison, he lifted his head from above the vapours of fever and passion into the +still atmosphere of calm reflection. He meditated on what was best to be done. +He was first struck by the space of time that had elapsed, since madness, +rather than any reasonable impulse, had regulated his actions. A month had gone +by, and during that time he had not seen Evadne. Her power, which was linked to +few of the enduring emotions of his heart, had greatly decayed. He was no +longer her slave—no longer her lover: he would never see her more, and by +the completeness of his return, deserve the confidence of Perdita. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, as he thus determined, fancy conjured up the miserable abode of the Greek +girl. An abode, which from noble and lofty principle, she had refused to +exchange for one of greater luxury. He thought of the splendour of her +situation and appearance when he first knew her; he thought of her life at +Constantinople, attended by every circumstance of oriental magnificence; of her +present penury, her daily task of industry, her lorn state, her faded, +famine-struck cheek. Compassion swelled his breast; he would see her once +again; he would devise some plan for restoring her to society, and the +enjoyment of her rank; their separation would then follow, as a matter of +course. +</p> + +<p> +Again he thought, how during this long month, he had avoided Perdita, flying +from her as from the stings of his own conscience. But he was awake now; all +this should be remedied; and future devotion erase the memory of this only blot +on the serenity of their life. He became cheerful, as he thought of this, and +soberly and resolutely marked out the line of conduct he would adopt. He +remembered that he had promised Perdita to be present this very evening (the +19th of October, anniversary of his election as Protector) at a festival given +in his honour. Good augury should this festival be of the happiness of future +years. First, he would look in on Evadne; he would not stay; but he owed her +some account, some compensation for his long and unannounced absence; and then +to Perdita, to the forgotten world, to the duties of society, the splendour of +rank, the enjoyment of power. +</p> + +<p> +After the scene sketched in the preceding pages, Perdita had contemplated an +entire change in the manners and conduct of Raymond. She expected freedom of +communication, and a return to those habits of affectionate intercourse which +had formed the delight of her life. But Raymond did not join her in any of her +avocations. He transacted the business of the day apart from her; he went out, +she knew not whither. The pain inflicted by this disappointment was tormenting +and keen. She looked on it as a deceitful dream, and tried to throw off the +consciousness of it; but like the shirt of Nessus, it clung to her very flesh, +and ate with sharp agony into her vital principle. She possessed that (though +such an assertion may appear a paradox) which belongs to few, a capacity of +happiness. Her delicate organization and creative imagination rendered her +peculiarly susceptible of pleasurable emotion. The overflowing warmth of her +heart, by making love a plant of deep root and stately growth, had attuned her +whole soul to the reception of happiness, when she found in Raymond all that +could adorn love and satisfy her imagination. But if the sentiment on which the +fabric of her existence was founded, became common place through participation, +the endless succession of attentions and graceful action snapt by transfer, his +universe of love wrested from her, happiness must depart, and then be exchanged +for its opposite. The same peculiarities of character rendered her sorrows +agonies; her fancy magnified them, her sensibility made her for ever open to +their renewed impression; love envenomed the heart-piercing sting. There was +neither submission, patience, nor self-abandonment in her grief; she fought +with it, struggled beneath it, and rendered every pang more sharp by +resistance. Again and again the idea recurred, that he loved another. She did +him justice; she believed that he felt a tender affection for her; but give a +paltry prize to him who in some life-pending lottery has calculated on the +possession of tens of thousands, and it will disappoint him more than a blank. +The affection and amity of a Raymond might be inestimable; but, beyond that +affection, embosomed deeper than friendship, was the indivisible treasure of +love. Take the sum in its completeness, and no arithmetic can calculate its +price; take from it the smallest portion, give it but the name of parts, +separate it into degrees and sections, and like the magician’s coin, the +valueless gold of the mine, is turned to vilest substance. There is a meaning +in the eye of love; a cadence in its voice, an irradiation in its smile, the +talisman of whose enchantments one only can possess; its spirit is elemental, +its essence single, its divinity an unit. The very heart and soul of Raymond +and Perdita had mingled, even as two mountain brooks that join in their +descent, and murmuring and sparkling flow over shining pebbles, beside starry +flowers; but let one desert its primal course, or be dammed up by choaking +obstruction, and the other shrinks in its altered banks. Perdita was sensible +of the failing of the tide that fed her life. Unable to support the slow +withering of her hopes, she suddenly formed a plan, resolving to terminate at +once the period of misery, and to bring to an happy conclusion the late +disastrous events. +</p> + +<p> +The anniversary was at hand of the exaltation of Raymond to the office of +Protector; and it was customary to celebrate this day by a splendid festival. A +variety of feelings urged Perdita to shed double magnificence over the scene; +yet, as she arrayed herself for the evening gala, she wondered herself at the +pains she took, to render sumptuous the celebration of an event which appeared +to her the beginning of her sufferings. Woe befall the day, she thought, woe, +tears, and mourning betide the hour, that gave Raymond another hope than love, +another wish than my devotion; and thrice joyful the moment when he shall be +restored to me! God knows, I put my trust in his vows, and believe his asserted +faith—but for that, I would not seek what I am now resolved to attain. +Shall two years more be thus passed, each day adding to our alienation, each +act being another stone piled on the barrier which separates us? No, my +Raymond, my only beloved, sole possession of Perdita! This night, this splendid +assembly, these sumptuous apartments, and this adornment of your tearful girl, +are all united to celebrate your abdication. Once for me, you relinquished the +prospect of a crown. That was in days of early love, when I could only hold out +the hope, not the assurance of happiness. Now you have the experience of all +that I can give, the heart’s devotion, taintless love, and unhesitating +subjection to you. You must choose between these and your protectorate. This, +proud noble, is your last night! Perdita has bestowed on it all of magnificent +and dazzling that your heart best loves—but, from these gorgeous rooms, +from this princely attendance, from power and elevation, you must return with +to-morrow’s sun to our rural abode; for I would not buy an immortality of +joy, by the endurance of one more week sister to the last. +</p> + +<p> +Brooding over this plan, resolved when the hour should come, to propose, and +insist upon its accomplishment, secure of his consent, the heart of Perdita was +lightened, or rather exalted. Her cheek was flushed by the expectation of +struggle; her eyes sparkled with the hope of triumph. Having cast her fate upon +a die, and feeling secure of winning, she, whom I have named as bearing the +stamp of queen of nations on her noble brow, now rose superior to humanity, and +seemed in calm power, to arrest with her finger, the wheel of destiny. She had +never before looked so supremely lovely. +</p> + +<p> +We, the Arcadian shepherds of the tale, had intended to be present at this +festivity, but Perdita wrote to entreat us not to come, or to absent ourselves +from Windsor; for she (though she did not reveal her scheme to us) resolved the +next morning to return with Raymond to our dear circle, there to renew a course +of life in which she had found entire felicity. Late in the evening she entered +the apartments appropriated to the festival. Raymond had quitted the palace the +night before; he had promised to grace the assembly, but he had not yet +returned. Still she felt sure that he would come at last; and the wider the +breach might appear at this crisis, the more secure she was of closing it for +ever. +</p> + +<p> +It was as I said, the nineteenth of October; the autumn was far advanced and +dreary. The wind howled; the half bare trees were despoiled of the remainder of +their summer ornament; the state of the air which induced the decay of +vegetation, was hostile to cheerfulness or hope. Raymond had been exalted by +the determination he had made; but with the declining day his spirits declined. +First he was to visit Evadne, and then to hasten to the palace of the +Protectorate. As he walked through the wretched streets in the neighbourhood of +the luckless Greek’s abode, his heart smote him for the whole course of +his conduct towards her. First, his having entered into any engagement that +should permit her to remain in such a state of degradation; and then, after a +short wild dream, having left her to drear solitude, anxious conjecture, and +bitter, still—disappointed expectation. What had she done the while, how +supported his absence and neglect? Light grew dim in these close streets, and +when the well known door was opened, the staircase was shrouded in perfect +night. He groped his way up, he entered the garret, he found Evadne stretched +speechless, almost lifeless on her wretched bed. He called for the people of +the house, but could learn nothing from them, except that they knew nothing. +Her story was plain to him, plain and distinct as the remorse and horror that +darted their fangs into him. When she found herself forsaken by him, she lost +the heart to pursue her usual avocations; pride forbade every application to +him; famine was welcomed as the kind porter to the gates of death, within whose +opening folds she should now, without sin, quickly repose. No creature came +near her, as her strength failed. +</p> + +<p> +If she died, where could there be found on record a murderer, whose cruel act +might compare with his? What fiend more wanton in his mischief, what damned +soul more worthy of perdition! But he was not reserved for this agony of +self-reproach. He sent for medical assistance; the hours passed, spun by +suspense into ages; the darkness of the long autumnal night yielded to day, +before her life was secure. He had her then removed to a more commodious +dwelling, and hovered about her, again and again to assure himself that she was +safe. +</p> + +<p> +In the midst of his greatest suspense and fear as to the event, he remembered +the festival given in his honour, by Perdita; in his honour then, when misery +and death were affixing indelible disgrace to his name, honour to him whose +crimes deserved a scaffold; this was the worst mockery. Still Perdita would +expect him; he wrote a few incoherent words on a scrap of paper, testifying +that he was well, and bade the woman of the house take it to the palace, and +deliver it into the hands of the wife of the Lord Protector. The woman, who did +not know him, contemptuously asked, how he thought she should gain admittance, +particularly on a festal night, to that lady’s presence? Raymond gave her +his ring to ensure the respect of the menials. Thus, while Perdita was +entertaining her guests, and anxiously awaiting the arrival of her lord, his +ring was brought her; and she was told that a poor woman had a note to deliver +to her from its wearer. +</p> + +<p> +The vanity of the old gossip was raised by her commission, which, after all, +she did not understand, since she had no suspicion, even now that +Evadne’s visitor was Lord Raymond. Perdita dreaded a fall from his horse, +or some similar accident—till the woman’s answers woke other fears. +From a feeling of cunning blindly exercised, the officious, if not malignant +messenger, did not speak of Evadne’s illness; but she garrulously gave an +account of Raymond’s frequent visits, adding to her narration such +circumstances, as, while they convinced Perdita of its truth, exaggerated the +unkindness and perfidy of Raymond. Worst of all, his absence now from the +festival, his message wholly unaccounted for, except by the disgraceful hints +of the woman, appeared the deadliest insult. Again she looked at the ring, it +was a small ruby, almost heart-shaped, which she had herself given him. She +looked at the hand-writing, which she could not mistake, and repeated to +herself the words—“Do not, I charge you, I entreat you, permit your +guests to wonder at my absence:” the while the old crone going on with +her talk, filled her ear with a strange medley of truth and falsehood. At +length Perdita dismissed her. +</p> + +<p> +The poor girl returned to the assembly, where her presence had not been missed. +She glided into a recess somewhat obscured, and leaning against an ornamental +column there placed, tried to recover herself. Her faculties were palsied. She +gazed on some flowers that stood near in a carved vase: that morning she had +arranged them, they were rare and lovely plants; even now all aghast as she +was, she observed their brilliant colours and starry +shapes.—“Divine infoliations of the spirit of beauty,” she +exclaimed, “Ye droop not, neither do ye mourn; the despair that clasps my +heart, has not spread contagion over you!—Why am I not a partner of your +insensibility, a sharer in your calm!” +</p> + +<p> +She paused. “To my task,” she continued mentally, “my guests +must not perceive the reality, either as it regards him or me. I obey; they +shall not, though I die the moment they are gone. They shall behold the +antipodes of what is real—for I will appear to live—while I +am—dead.” It required all her self-command, to suppress the gush of +tears self-pity caused at this idea. After many struggles, she succeeded, and +turned to join the company. +</p> + +<p> +All her efforts were now directed to the dissembling her internal conflict. She +had to play the part of a courteous hostess; to attend to all; to shine the +focus of enjoyment and grace. She had to do this, while in deep woe she sighed +for loneliness, and would gladly have exchanged her crowded rooms for dark +forest depths, or a drear, night-enshadowed heath. But she became gay. She +could not keep in the medium, nor be, as was usual with her, placidly content. +Every one remarked her exhilaration of spirits; as all actions appear graceful +in the eye of rank, her guests surrounded her applaudingly, although there was +a sharpness in her laugh, and an abruptness in her sallies, which might have +betrayed her secret to an attentive observer. She went on, feeling that, if she +had paused for a moment, the checked waters of misery would have deluged her +soul, that her wrecked hopes would raise their wailing voices, and that those +who now echoed her mirth, and provoked her repartees, would have shrunk in fear +from her convulsive despair. Her only consolation during the violence which she +did herself, was to watch the motions of an illuminated clock, and internally +count the moments which must elapse before she could be alone. +</p> + +<p> +At length the rooms began to thin. Mocking her own desires, she rallied her +guests on their early departure. One by one they left her—at length she +pressed the hand of her last visitor. “How cold and damp your hand +is,” said her friend; “you are over fatigued, pray hasten to +rest.” Perdita smiled faintly—her guest left her; the carriage +rolling down the street assured the final departure. Then, as if pursued by an +enemy, as if wings had been at her feet, she flew to her own apartment, she +dismissed her attendants, she locked the doors, she threw herself wildly on the +floor, she bit her lips even to blood to suppress her shrieks, and lay long a +prey to the vulture of despair, striving not to think, while multitudinous +ideas made a home of her heart; and ideas, horrid as furies, cruel as vipers, +and poured in with such swift succession, that they seemed to jostle and wound +each other, while they worked her up to madness. +</p> + +<p> +At length she rose, more composed, not less miserable. She stood before a large +mirror—she gazed on her reflected image; her light and graceful dress, +the jewels that studded her hair, and encircled her beauteous arms and neck, +her small feet shod in satin, her profuse and glossy tresses, all were to her +clouded brow and woe-begone countenance like a gorgeous frame to a dark +tempest-pourtraying picture. “Vase am I,” she thought, “vase +brimful of despair’s direst essence. Farewell, Perdita! farewell, poor +girl! never again will you see yourself thus; luxury and wealth are no longer +yours; in the excess of your poverty you may envy the homeless beggar; most +truly am I without a home! I live on a barren desart, which, wide and +interminable, brings forth neither fruit or flower; in the midst is a solitary +rock, to which thou, Perdita, art chained, and thou seest the dreary level +stretch far away.” +</p> + +<p> +She threw open her window, which looked on the palace-garden. Light and +darkness were struggling together, and the orient was streaked by roseate and +golden rays. One star only trembled in the depth of the kindling atmosphere. +The morning air blowing freshly over the dewy plants, rushed into the heated +room. “All things go on,” thought Perdita, “all things +proceed, decay, and perish! When noontide has passed, and the weary day has +driven her team to their western stalls, the fires of heaven rise from the +East, moving in their accustomed path, they ascend and descend the skiey hill. +When their course is fulfilled, the dial begins to cast westward an uncertain +shadow; the eye-lids of day are opened, and birds and flowers, the startled +vegetation, and fresh breeze awaken; the sun at length appears, and in majestic +procession climbs the capitol of heaven. All proceeds, changes and dies, except +the sense of misery in my bursting heart. +</p> + +<p> +“Ay, all proceeds and changes: what wonder then, that love has journied +on to its setting, and that the lord of my life has changed? We call the +supernal lights fixed, yet they wander about yonder plain, and if I look again +where I looked an hour ago, the face of the eternal heavens is altered. The +silly moon and inconstant planets vary nightly their erratic dance; the sun +itself, sovereign of the sky, ever and anon deserts his throne, and leaves his +dominion to night and winter. Nature grows old, and shakes in her decaying +limbs,—creation has become bankrupt! What wonder then, that eclipse and +death have led to destruction the light of thy life, O Perdita!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<p> +Thus sad and disarranged were the thoughts of my poor sister, when she became +assured of the infidelity of Raymond. All her virtues and all her defects +tended to make the blow incurable. Her affection for me, her brother, for +Adrian and Idris, was subject as it were to the reigning passion of her heart; +even her maternal tenderness borrowed half its force from the delight she had +in tracing Raymond’s features and expression in the infant’s +countenance. She had been reserved and even stern in childhood; but love had +softened the asperities of her character, and her union with Raymond had caused +her talents and affections to unfold themselves; the one betrayed, and the +other lost, she in some degree returned to her ancient disposition. The +concentrated pride of her nature, forgotten during her blissful dream, awoke, +and with its adder’s sting pierced her heart; her humility of spirit +augmented the power of the venom; she had been exalted in her own estimation, +while distinguished by his love: of what worth was she, now that he thrust her +from this preferment? She had been proud of having won and preserved +him—but another had won him from her, and her exultation was as cold as a +water quenched ember. +</p> + +<p> +We, in our retirement, remained long in ignorance of her misfortune. Soon after +the festival she had sent for her child, and then she seemed to have forgotten +us. Adrian observed a change during a visit that he afterward paid them; but he +could not tell its extent, or divine the cause. They still appeared in public +together, and lived under the same roof. Raymond was as usual courteous, though +there was, on occasions, an unbidden haughtiness, or painful abruptness in his +manners, which startled his gentle friend; his brow was not clouded but disdain +sat on his lips, and his voice was harsh. Perdita was all kindness and +attention to her lord; but she was silent, and beyond words sad. She had grown +thin and pale; and her eyes often filled with tears. Sometimes she looked at +Raymond, as if to say—That it should be so! At others her countenance +expressed—I will still do all I can to make you happy. But Adrian read +with uncertain aim the charactery of her face, and might mistake.—Clara +was always with her, and she seemed most at ease, when, in an obscure corner, +she could sit holding her child’s hand, silent and lonely. Still Adrian +was unable to guess the truth; he entreated them to visit us at Windsor, and +they promised to come during the following month. +</p> + +<p> +It was May before they arrived: the season had decked the forest trees with +leaves, and its paths with a thousand flowers. We had notice of their intention +the day before; and, early in the morning, Perdita arrived with her daughter. +Raymond would follow soon, she said; he had been detained by business. +According to Adrian’s account, I had expected to find her sad; but, on +the contrary, she appeared in the highest spirits: true, she had grown thin, +her eyes were somewhat hollow, and her cheeks sunk, though tinged by a bright +glow. She was delighted to see us; caressed our children, praised their growth +and improvement; Clara also was pleased to meet again her young friend Alfred; +all kinds of childish games were entered into, in which Perdita joined. She +communicated her gaiety to us, and as we amused ourselves on the Castle +Terrace, it appeared that a happier, less care-worn party could not have been +assembled. “This is better, Mamma,” said Clara, “than being +in that dismal London, where you often cry, and never laugh as you do +now.”—“Silence, little foolish thing,” replied her +mother, “and remember any one that mentions London is sent to Coventry +for an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +Soon after, Raymond arrived. He did not join as usual in the playful spirit of +the rest; but, entering into conversation with Adrian and myself, by degrees we +seceded from our companions, and Idris and Perdita only remained with the +children. Raymond talked of his new buildings; of his plan for an establishment +for the better education of the poor; as usual Adrian and he entered into +argument, and the time slipped away unperceived. +</p> + +<p> +We assembled again towards evening, and Perdita insisted on our having recourse +to music. She wanted, she said, to give us a specimen of her new +accomplishment; for since she had been in London, she had applied herself to +music, and sang, without much power, but with a great deal of sweetness. We +were not permitted by her to select any but light-hearted melodies; and all the +Operas of Mozart were called into service, that we might choose the most +exhilarating of his airs. Among the other transcendant attributes of +Mozart’s music, it possesses more than any other that of appearing to +come from the heart; you enter into the passions expressed by him, and are +transported with grief, joy, anger, or confusion, as he, our soul’s +master, chooses to inspire. For some time, the spirit of hilarity was kept up; +but, at length, Perdita receded from the piano, for Raymond had joined in the +trio of “<i>Taci ingiusto core</i>,” in Don Giovanni, whose arch +entreaty was softened by him into tenderness, and thrilled her heart with +memories of the changed past; it was the same voice, the same tone, the +self-same sounds and words, which often before she had received, as the homage +of love to her—no longer was it that; and this concord of sound with its +dissonance of expression penetrated her with regret and despair. Soon after +Idris, who was at the harp, turned to that passionate and sorrowful air in +Figaro, “<i>Porgi, amor, qualche ristoro</i>,” in which the +deserted Countess laments the change of the faithless Almaviva. The soul of +tender sorrow is breathed forth in this strain; and the sweet voice of Idris, +sustained by the mournful chords of her instrument, added to the expression of +the words. During the pathetic appeal with which it concludes, a stifled sob +attracted our attention to Perdita, the cessation of the music recalled her to +herself, she hastened out of the hall—I followed her. At first, she +seemed to wish to shun me; and then, yielding to my earnest questioning, she +threw herself on my neck, and wept aloud:—“Once more,” she +cried, “once more on your friendly breast, my beloved brother, can the +lost Perdita pour forth her sorrows. I had imposed a law of silence on myself; +and for months I have kept it. I do wrong in weeping now, and greater wrong in +giving words to my grief. I will not speak! Be it enough for you to know that I +am miserable—be it enough for you to know, that the painted veil of life +is rent, that I sit for ever shrouded in darkness and gloom, that grief is my +sister, everlasting lamentation my mate!” +</p> + +<p> +I endeavoured to console her; I did not question her! but I caressed her, +assured her of my deepest affection and my intense interest in the changes of +her fortune:—“Dear words,” she cried, “expressions of +love come upon my ear, like the remembered sounds of forgotten music, that had +been dear to me. They are vain, I know; how very vain in their attempt to +soothe or comfort me. Dearest Lionel, you cannot guess what I have suffered +during these long months. I have read of mourners in ancient days, who clothed +themselves in sackcloth, scattered dust upon their heads, ate their bread +mingled with ashes, and took up their abode on the bleak mountain tops, +reproaching heaven and earth aloud with their misfortunes. Why this is the very +luxury of sorrow! thus one might go on from day to day contriving new +extravagances, revelling in the paraphernalia of woe, wedded to all the +appurtenances of despair. Alas! I must for ever conceal the wretchedness that +consumes me. I must weave a veil of dazzling falsehood to hide my grief from +vulgar eyes, smoothe my brow, and paint my lips in deceitful smiles—even +in solitude I dare not think how lost I am, lest I become insane and +rave.” +</p> + +<p> +The tears and agitation of my poor sister had rendered her unfit to return to +the circle we had left—so I persuaded her to let me drive her through the +park; and, during the ride, I induced her to confide the tale of her +unhappiness to me, fancying that talking of it would lighten the burthen, and +certain that, if there were a remedy, it should be found and secured to her. +</p> + +<p> +Several weeks had elapsed since the festival of the anniversary, and she had +been unable to calm her mind, or to subdue her thoughts to any regular train. +Sometimes she reproached herself for taking too bitterly to heart, that which +many would esteem an imaginary evil; but this was no subject for reason; and, +ignorant as she was of the motives and true conduct of Raymond, things assumed +for her even a worse appearance, than the reality warranted. He was seldom at +the palace; never, but when he was assured that his public duties would prevent +his remaining alone with Perdita. They seldom addressed each other, shunning +explanation, each fearing any communication the other might make. Suddenly, +however, the manners of Raymond changed; he appeared to desire to find +opportunities of bringing about a return to kindness and intimacy with my +sister. The tide of love towards her appeared to flow again; he could never +forget, how once he had been devoted to her, making her the shrine and +storehouse wherein to place every thought and every sentiment. Shame seemed to +hold him back; yet he evidently wished to establish a renewal of confidence and +affection. From the moment Perdita had sufficiently recovered herself to form +any plan of action, she had laid one down, which now she prepared to follow. +She received these tokens of returning love with gentleness; she did not shun +his company; but she endeavoured to place a barrier in the way of familiar +intercourse or painful discussion, which mingled pride and shame prevented +Raymond from surmounting. He began at last to shew signs of angry impatience, +and Perdita became aware that the system she had adopted could not continue; +she must explain herself to him; she could not summon courage to +speak—she wrote thus:— +</p> + +<p> +“Read this letter with patience, I entreat you. It will contain no +reproaches. Reproach is indeed an idle word: for what should I reproach you? +</p> + +<p> +“Allow me in some degree to explain my feeling; without that, we shall +both grope in the dark, mistaking one another; erring from the path which may +conduct, one of us at least, to a more eligible mode of life than that led by +either during the last few weeks. +</p> + +<p> +“I loved you—I love you—neither anger nor pride dictates +these lines; but a feeling beyond, deeper, and more unalterable than either. My +affections are wounded; it is impossible to heal them:—cease then the +vain endeavour, if indeed that way your endeavours tend. Forgiveness! Return! +Idle words are these! I forgive the pain I endure; but the trodden path cannot +be retraced. +</p> + +<p> +“Common affection might have been satisfied with common usages. I +believed that you read my heart, and knew its devotion, its unalienable +fidelity towards you. I never loved any but you. You came the embodied image of +my fondest dreams. The praise of men, power and high aspirations attended your +career. Love for you invested the world for me in enchanted light; it was no +longer the earth I trod—the earth, common mother, yielding only trite and +stale repetition of objects and circumstances old and worn out. I lived in a +temple glorified by intensest sense of devotion and rapture; I walked, a +consecrated being, contemplating only your power, your excellence; +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +For O, you stood beside me, like my youth,<br/> +Transformed for me the real to a dream,<br/> +Cloathing the palpable and familiar<br/> +With golden exhalations of the dawn. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +‘The bloom has vanished from my life’—there is no morning to +this all investing night; no rising to the set-sun of love. In those days the +rest of the world was nothing to me: all other men—I never considered nor +felt what they were; nor did I look on you as one of them. Separated from them; +exalted in my heart; sole possessor of my affections; single object of my +hopes, the best half of myself. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Raymond, were we not happy? Did the sun shine on any, who could +enjoy its light with purer and more intense bliss? It was not—it is not a +common infidelity at which I repine. It is the disunion of an whole which may +not have parts; it is the carelessness with which you have shaken off the +mantle of election with which to me you were invested, and have become one +among the many. Dream not to alter this. Is not love a divinity, because it is +immortal? Did not I appear sanctified, even to myself, because this love had +for its temple my heart? I have gazed on you as you slept, melted even to +tears, as the idea filled my mind, that all I possessed lay cradled in those +idolized, but mortal lineaments before me. Yet, even then, I have checked +thick-coming fears with one thought; I would not fear death, for the emotions +that linked us must be immortal. +</p> + +<p> +“And now I do not fear death. I should be well pleased to close my eyes, +never more to open them again. And yet I fear it; even as I fear all things; +for in any state of being linked by the chain of memory with this, happiness +would not return—even in Paradise, I must feel that your love was less +enduring than the mortal beatings of my fragile heart, every pulse of which +knells audibly, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + The funeral note<br/> +Of love, deep buried, without resurrection. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +No—no—me miserable; for love extinct there is no resurrection! +</p> + +<p> +“Yet I love you. Yet, and for ever, would I contribute all I possess to +your welfare. On account of a tattling world; for the sake of my—of our +child, I would remain by you, Raymond, share your fortunes, partake your +counsel. Shall it be thus? We are no longer lovers; nor can I call myself a +friend to any; since, lost as I am, I have no thought to spare from my own +wretched, engrossing self. But it will please me to see you each day! to listen +to the public voice praising you; to keep up your paternal love for our girl; +to hear your voice; to know that I am near you, though you are no longer mine. +</p> + +<p> +“If you wish to break the chains that bind us, say the word, and it shall +be done—I will take all the blame on myself, of harshness or unkindness, +in the world’s eye. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet, as I have said, I should be best pleased, at least for the present, +to live under the same roof with you. When the fever of my young life is spent; +when placid age shall tame the vulture that devours me, friendship may come, +love and hope being dead. May this be true? Can my soul, inextricably linked to +this perishable frame, become lethargic and cold, even as this sensitive +mechanism shall lose its youthful elasticity? Then, with lack-lustre eyes, grey +hairs, and wrinkled brow, though now the words sound hollow and meaningless, +then, tottering on the grave’s extreme edge, I may be—your +affectionate and true friend, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“P<small>ERDITA</small>.” +</p> + +<p> +Raymond’s answer was brief. What indeed could he reply to her complaints, +to her griefs which she jealously paled round, keeping out all thought of +remedy. “Notwithstanding your bitter letter,” he wrote, “for +bitter I must call it, you are the chief person in my estimation, and it is +your happiness that I would principally consult. Do that which seems best to +you: and if you can receive gratification from one mode of life in preference +to another, do not let me be any obstacle. I foresee that the plan which you +mark out in your letter will not endure long; but you are mistress of yourself, +and it is my sincere wish to contribute as far as you will permit me to your +happiness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Raymond has prophesied well,” said Perdita, “alas, that it +should be so! our present mode of life cannot continue long, yet I will not be +the first to propose alteration. He beholds in me one whom he has injured even +unto death; and I derive no hope from his kindness; no change can possibly be +brought about even by his best intentions. As well might Cleopatra have worn as +an ornament the vinegar which contained her dissolved pearl, as I be content +with the love that Raymond can now offer me.” +</p> + +<p> +I own that I did not see her misfortune with the same eyes as Perdita. At all +events methought that the wound could be healed; and, if they remained +together, it would be so. I endeavoured therefore to sooth and soften her mind; +and it was not until after many endeavours that I gave up the task as +impracticable. Perdita listened to me impatiently, and answered with some +asperity:—“Do you think that any of your arguments are new to me? +or that my own burning wishes and intense anguish have not suggested them all a +thousand times, with far more eagerness and subtlety than you can put into +them? Lionel, you cannot understand what woman’s love is. In days of +happiness I have often repeated to myself, with a grateful heart and exulting +spirit, all that Raymond sacrificed for me. I was a poor, uneducated, +unbefriended, mountain girl, raised from nothingness by him. All that I +possessed of the luxuries of life came from him. He gave me an illustrious name +and noble station; the world’s respect reflected from his own glory: all +this joined to his own undying love, inspired me with sensations towards him, +akin to those with which we regard the Giver of life. I gave him love only. I +devoted myself to him: imperfect creature that I was, I took myself to task, +that I might become worthy of him. I watched over my hasty temper, subdued my +burning impatience of character, schooled my self-engrossing thoughts, +educating myself to the best perfection I might attain, that the fruit of my +exertions might be his happiness. I took no merit to myself for this. He +deserved it all—all labour, all devotion, all sacrifice; I would have +toiled up a scaleless Alp, to pluck a flower that would please him. I was ready +to quit you all, my beloved and gifted companions, and to live only with him, +for him. I could not do otherwise, even if I had wished; for if we are said to +have two souls, he was my better soul, to which the other was a perpetual +slave. One only return did he owe me, even fidelity. I earned that; I deserved +it. Because I was mountain bred, unallied to the noble and wealthy, shall he +think to repay me by an empty name and station? Let him take them back; without +his love they are nothing to me. Their only merit in my eyes was that they were +his.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus passionately Perdita ran on. When I adverted to the question of their +entire separation, she replied: “Be it so! One day the period will +arrive; I know it, and feel it. But in this I am a coward. This imperfect +companionship, and our masquerade of union, are strangely dear to me. It is +painful, I allow, destructive, impracticable. It keeps up a perpetual fever in +my veins; it frets my immedicable wound; it is instinct with poison. Yet I must +cling to it; perhaps it will kill me soon, and thus perform a thankful +office.” +</p> + +<p> +In the mean time, Raymond had remained with Adrian and Idris. He was naturally +frank; the continued absence of Perdita and myself became remarkable; and +Raymond soon found relief from the constraint of months, by an unreserved +confidence with his two friends. He related to them the situation in which he +had found Evadne. At first, from delicacy to Adrian he concealed her name; but +it was divulged in the course of his narrative, and her former lover heard with +the most acute agitation the history of her sufferings. Idris had shared +Perdita’s ill opinion of the Greek; but Raymond’s account softened +and interested her. Evadne’s constancy, fortitude, even her ill-fated and +ill-regulated love, were matter of admiration and pity; especially when, from +the detail of the events of the nineteenth of October, it was apparent that she +preferred suffering and death to any in her eyes degrading application for the +pity and assistance of her lover. Her subsequent conduct did not diminish this +interest. At first, relieved from famine and the grave, watched over by Raymond +with the tenderest assiduity, with that feeling of repose peculiar to +convalescence, Evadne gave herself up to rapturous gratitude and love. But +reflection returned with health. She questioned him with regard to the motives +which had occasioned his critical absence. She framed her enquiries with Greek +subtlety; she formed her conclusions with the decision and firmness peculiar to +her disposition. She could not divine, that the breach which she had occasioned +between Raymond and Perdita was already irreparable: but she knew, that under +the present system it would be widened each day, and that its result must be to +destroy her lover’s happiness, and to implant the fangs of remorse in his +heart. From the moment that she perceived the right line of conduct, she +resolved to adopt it, and to part from Raymond for ever. Conflicting passions, +long-cherished love, and self-inflicted disappointment, made her regard death +alone as sufficient refuge for her woe. But the same feelings and opinions +which had before restrained her, acted with redoubled force; for she knew that +the reflection that he had occasioned her death, would pursue Raymond through +life, poisoning every enjoyment, clouding every prospect. Besides, though the +violence of her anguish made life hateful, it had not yet produced that +monotonous, lethargic sense of changeless misery which for the most part +produces suicide. Her energy of character induced her still to combat with the +ills of life; even those attendant on hopeless love presented themselves, +rather in the shape of an adversary to be overcome, than of a victor to whom +she must submit. Besides, she had memories of past tenderness to cherish, +smiles, words, and even tears, to con over, which, though remembered in +desertion and sorrow, were to be preferred to the forgetfulness of the grave. +It was impossible to guess at the whole of her plan. Her letter to Raymond gave +no clue for discovery; it assured him, that she was in no danger of wanting the +means of life; she promised in it to preserve herself, and some future day +perhaps to present herself to him in a station not unworthy of her. She then +bade him, with the eloquence of despair and of unalterable love, a last +farewell. +</p> + +<p> +All these circumstances were now related to Adrian and Idris. Raymond then +lamented the cureless evil of his situation with Perdita. He declared, +notwithstanding her harshness, he even called it coldness, that he loved her. +He had been ready once with the humility of a penitent, and the duty of a +vassal, to surrender himself to her; giving up his very soul to her tutelage, +to become her pupil, her slave, her bondsman. She had rejected these advances; +and the time for such exuberant submission, which must be founded on love and +nourished by it, was now passed. Still all his wishes and endeavours were +directed towards her peace, and his chief discomfort arose from the perception +that he exerted himself in vain. If she were to continue inflexible in the line +of conduct she now pursued, they must part. The combinations and occurrences of +this senseless mode of intercourse were maddening to him. Yet he would not +propose the separation. He was haunted by the fear of causing the death of one +or other of the beings implicated in these events; and he could not persuade +himself to undertake to direct the course of events, lest, ignorant of the land +he traversed, he should lead those attached to the car into irremediable ruin. +</p> + +<p> +After a discussion on this subject, which lasted for several hours, he took +leave of his friends, and returned to town, unwilling to meet Perdita before +us, conscious, as we all must be, of the thoughts uppermost in the minds of +both. Perdita prepared to follow him with her child. Idris endeavoured to +persuade her to remain. My poor sister looked at the counsellor with affright. +She knew that Raymond had conversed with her; had he instigated this +request?—was this to be the prelude to their eternal separation?—I +have said, that the defects of her character awoke and acquired vigour from her +unnatural position. She regarded with suspicion the invitation of Idris; she +embraced me, as if she were about to be deprived of my affection also: calling +me her more than brother, her only friend, her last hope, she pathetically +conjured me not to cease to love her; and with encreased anxiety she departed +for London, the scene and cause of all her misery. +</p> + +<p> +The scenes that followed, convinced her that she had not yet fathomed the +obscure gulph into which she had plunged. Her unhappiness assumed every day a +new shape; every day some unexpected event seemed to close, while in fact it +led onward, the train of calamities which now befell her. +</p> + +<p> +The selected passion of the soul of Raymond was ambition. Readiness of talent, +a capacity of entering into, and leading the dispositions of men; earnest +desire of distinction were the awakeners and nurses of his ambition. But other +ingredients mingled with these, and prevented him from becoming the +calculating, determined character, which alone forms a successful hero. He was +obstinate, but not firm; benevolent in his first movements; harsh and reckless +when provoked. Above all, he was remorseless and unyielding in the pursuit of +any object of desire, however lawless. Love of pleasure, and the softer +sensibilities of our nature, made a prominent part of his character, conquering +the conqueror; holding him in at the moment of acquisition; sweeping away +ambition’s web; making him forget the toil of weeks, for the sake of one +moment’s indulgence of the new and actual object of his wishes. Obeying +these impulses, he had become the husband of Perdita: egged on by them, he +found himself the lover of Evadne. He had now lost both. He had neither the +ennobling self-gratulation, which constancy inspires, to console him, nor the +voluptuous sense of abandonment to a forbidden, but intoxicating passion. His +heart was exhausted by the recent events; his enjoyment of life was destroyed +by the resentment of Perdita, and the flight of Evadne; and the inflexibility +of the former, set the last seal upon the annihilation of his hopes. As long as +their disunion remained a secret, he cherished an expectation of re-awakening +past tenderness in her bosom; now that we were all made acquainted with these +occurrences, and that Perdita, by declaring her resolves to others, in a manner +pledged herself to their accomplishment, he gave up the idea of re-union as +futile, and sought only, since he was unable to influence her to change, to +reconcile himself to the present state of things. He made a vow against love +and its train of struggles, disappointment and remorse, and sought in mere +sensual enjoyment, a remedy for the injurious inroads of passion. +</p> + +<p> +Debasement of character is the certain follower of such pursuits. Yet this +consequence would not have been immediately remarkable, if Raymond had +continued to apply himself to the execution of his plans for the public +benefit, and the fulfilling his duties as Protector. But, extreme in all +things, given up to immediate impressions, he entered with ardour into this new +pursuit of pleasure, and followed up the incongruous intimacies occasioned by +it without reflection or foresight. The council-chamber was deserted; the +crowds which attended on him as agents to his various projects were neglected. +Festivity, and even libertinism, became the order of the day. +</p> + +<p> +Perdita beheld with affright the encreasing disorder. For a moment she thought +that she could stem the torrent, and that Raymond could be induced to hear +reason from her.—Vain hope! The moment of her influence was passed. He +listened with haughtiness, replied disdainfully; and, if in truth, she +succeeded in awakening his conscience, the sole effect was that he sought an +opiate for the pang in oblivious riot. With the energy natural to her, Perdita +then endeavoured to supply his place. Their still apparent union permitted her +to do much; but no woman could, in the end, present a remedy to the encreasing +negligence of the Protector; who, as if seized with a paroxysm of insanity, +trampled on all ceremony, all order, all duty, and gave himself up to license. +</p> + +<p> +Reports of these strange proceedings reached us, and we were undecided what +method to adopt to restore our friend to himself and his country, when Perdita +suddenly appeared among us. She detailed the progress of the mournful change, +and entreated Adrian and myself to go up to London, and endeavour to remedy the +encreasing evil:—“Tell him,” she cried, “tell Lord +Raymond, that my presence shall no longer annoy him. That he need not plunge +into this destructive dissipation for the sake of disgusting me, and causing me +to fly. This purpose is now accomplished; he will never see me more. But let +me, it is my last entreaty, let me in the praises of his countrymen and the +prosperity of England, find the choice of my youth justified.” +</p> + +<p> +During our ride up to town, Adrian and I discussed and argued upon +Raymond’s conduct, and his falling off from the hopes of permanent +excellence on his part, which he had before given us cause to entertain. My +friend and I had both been educated in one school, or rather I was his pupil in +the opinion, that steady adherence to principle was the only road to honour; a +ceaseless observance of the laws of general utility, the only conscientious aim +of human ambition. But though we both entertained these ideas, we differed in +their application. Resentment added also a sting to my censure; and I +reprobated Raymond’s conduct in severe terms. Adrian was more benign, +more considerate. He admitted that the principles that I laid down were the +best; but he denied that they were the only ones. Quoting the text, <i>there +are many mansions in my father’s house</i>, he insisted that the modes of +becoming good or great, varied as much as the dispositions of men, of whom it +might be said, as of the leaves of the forest, there were no two alike. +</p> + +<p> +We arrived in London at about eleven at night. We conjectured, notwithstanding +what we had heard, that we should find Raymond in St. Stephen’s: thither +we sped. The chamber was full—but there was no Protector; and there was +an austere discontent manifest on the countenances of the leaders, and a +whispering and busy tattle among the underlings, not less ominous. We hastened +to the palace of the Protectorate. We found Raymond in his dining room with six +others: the bottle was being pushed about merrily, and had made considerable +inroads on the understanding of one or two. He who sat near Raymond was telling +a story, which convulsed the rest with laughter. +</p> + +<p> +Raymond sat among them, though while he entered into the spirit of the hour, +his natural dignity never forsook him. He was gay, playful, +fascinating—but never did he overstep the modesty of nature, or the +respect due to himself, in his wildest sallies. Yet I own, that considering the +task which Raymond had taken on himself as Protector of England, and the cares +to which it became him to attend, I was exceedingly provoked to observe the +worthless fellows on whom his time was wasted, and the jovial if not drunken +spirit which seemed on the point of robbing him of his better self. I stood +watching the scene, while Adrian flitted like a shadow in among them, and, by a +word and look of sobriety, endeavoured to restore order in the assembly. +Raymond expressed himself delighted to see him, declaring that he should make +one in the festivity of the night. +</p> + +<p> +This action of Adrian provoked me. I was indignant that he should sit at the +same table with the companions of Raymond—men of abandoned characters, or +rather without any, the refuse of high-bred luxury, the disgrace of their +country. “Let me entreat Adrian,” I cried, “not to comply: +rather join with me in endeavouring to withdraw Lord Raymond from this scene, +and restore him to other society.” +</p> + +<p> +“My good fellow,” said Raymond, “this is neither the time nor +place for the delivery of a moral lecture: take my word for it that my +amusements and society are not so bad as you imagine. We are neither hypocrites +or fools —for the rest, ‘Dost thou think because thou art virtuous, +there shall be no more cakes and ale?’” +</p> + +<p> +I turned angrily away: “Verney,” said Adrian, “you are very +cynical: sit down; or if you will not, perhaps, as you are not a frequent +visitor, Lord Raymond will humour you, and accompany us, as we had previously +agreed upon, to parliament.” +</p> + +<p> +Raymond looked keenly at him; he could read benignity only in his gentle +lineaments; he turned to me, observing with scorn my moody and stern demeanour. +“Come,” said Adrian, “I have promised for you, enable me to +keep my engagement. Come with us.”—Raymond made an uneasy movement, +and laconically replied—“I won’t!” +</p> + +<p> +The party in the mean time had broken up. They looked at the pictures, strolled +into the other apartments, talked of billiards, and one by one vanished. +Raymond strode angrily up and down the room. I stood ready to receive and reply +to his reproaches. Adrian leaned against the wall. “This is infinitely +ridiculous,” he cried, “if you were school-boys, you could not +conduct yourselves more unreasonably.” +</p> + +<p> +“You do not understand,” said Raymond. “This is only part of +a system:—a scheme of tyranny to which I will never submit. Because I am +Protector of England, am I to be the only slave in its empire? My privacy +invaded, my actions censured, my friends insulted? But I will get rid of the +whole together.—Be you witnesses,” and he took the star, insignia +of office, from his breast, and threw it on the table. “I renounce my +office, I abdicate my power—assume it who will!”—- +</p> + +<p> +“Let him assume it,” exclaimed Adrian, “who can pronounce +himself, or whom the world will pronounce to be your superior. There does not +exist the man in England with adequate presumption. Know yourself, Raymond, and +your indignation will cease; your complacency return. A few months ago, +whenever we prayed for the prosperity of our country, or our own, we at the +same time prayed for the life and welfare of the Protector, as indissolubly +linked to it. Your hours were devoted to our benefit, your ambition was to +obtain our commendation. You decorated our towns with edifices, you bestowed on +us useful establishments, you gifted the soil with abundant fertility. The +powerful and unjust cowered at the steps of your judgment-seat, and the poor +and oppressed arose like morn-awakened flowers under the sunshine of your +protection. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you wonder that we are all aghast and mourn, when this appears +changed? But, come, this splenetic fit is already passed; resume your +functions; your partizans will hail you; your enemies be silenced; our love, +honour, and duty will again be manifested towards you. Master yourself, +Raymond, and the world is subject to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“All this would be very good sense, if addressed to another,” +replied Raymond, moodily, “con the lesson yourself, and you, the first +peer of the land, may become its sovereign. You the good, the wise, the just, +may rule all hearts. But I perceive, too soon for my own happiness, too late +for England’s good, that I undertook a task to which I am unequal. I +cannot rule myself. My passions are my masters; my smallest impulse my tyrant. +Do you think that I renounced the Protectorate (and I have renounced it) in a +fit of spleen? By the God that lives, I swear never to take up that bauble +again; never again to burthen myself with the weight of care and misery, of +which that is the visible sign. +</p> + +<p> +“Once I desired to be a king. It was in the hey-day of youth, in the +pride of boyish folly. I knew myself when I renounced it. I renounced it to +gain —no matter what—for that also I have lost. For many months I +have submitted to this mock majesty—this solemn jest. I am its dupe no +longer. I will be free. +</p> + +<p> +“I have lost that which adorned and dignified my life; that which linked +me to other men. Again I am a solitary man; and I will become again, as in my +early years, a wanderer, a soldier of fortune. My friends, for Verney, I feel +that you are my friend, do not endeavour to shake my resolve. Perdita, wedded +to an imagination, careless of what is behind the veil, whose charactery is in +truth faulty and vile, Perdita has renounced me. With her it was pretty enough +to play a sovereign’s part; and, as in the recesses of your beloved +forest we acted masques, and imagined ourselves Arcadian shepherds, to please +the fancy of the moment—so was I content, more for Perdita’s sake +than my own, to take on me the character of one of the great ones of the earth; +to lead her behind the scenes of grandeur, to vary her life with a short act of +magnificence and power. This was to be the colour; love and confidence the +substance of our existence. But we must live, and not act our lives; pursuing +the shadow, I lost the reality—now I renounce both. +</p> + +<p> +“Adrian, I am about to return to Greece, to become again a soldier, +perhaps a conqueror. Will you accompany me? You will behold new scenes; see a +new people; witness the mighty struggle there going forward between +civilization and barbarism; behold, and perhaps direct the efforts of a young +and vigorous population, for liberty and order. Come with me. I have expected +you. I waited for this moment; all is prepared;—will you accompany +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will,” replied Adrian. “Immediately?” +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow if you will.” +</p> + +<p> +“Reflect!” I cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Wherefore?” asked Raymond—“My dear fellow, I have done +nothing else than reflect on this step the live-long summer; and be assured +that Adrian has condensed an age of reflection into this little moment. Do not +talk of reflection; from this moment I abjure it; this is my only happy moment +during a long interval of time. I must go, Lionel—the Gods will it; and I +must. Do not endeavour to deprive me of my companion, the out-cast’s +friend. +</p> + +<p> +“One word more concerning unkind, unjust Perdita. For a time, I thought +that, by watching a complying moment, fostering the still warm ashes, I might +relume in her the flame of love. It is more cold within her, than a fire left +by gypsies in winter-time, the spent embers crowned by a pyramid of snow. Then, +in endeavouring to do violence to my own disposition, I made all worse than +before. Still I think, that time, and even absence, may restore her to me. +Remember, that I love her still, that my dearest hope is that she will again be +mine. I know, though she does not, how false the veil is which she has spread +over the reality—do not endeavour to rend this deceptive covering, but by +degrees withdraw it. Present her with a mirror, in which she may know herself; +and, when she is an adept in that necessary but difficult science, she will +wonder at her present mistake, and hasten to restore to me, what is by right +mine, her forgiveness, her kind thoughts, her love.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<p> +After these events, it was long before we were able to attain any degree of +composure. A moral tempest had wrecked our richly freighted vessel, and we, +remnants of the diminished crew, were aghast at the losses and changes which we +had undergone. Idris passionately loved her brother, and could ill brook an +absence whose duration was uncertain; his society was dear and necessary to +me—I had followed up my chosen literary occupations with delight under +his tutorship and assistance; his mild philosophy, unerring reason, and +enthusiastic friendship were the best ingredient, the exalted spirit of our +circle; even the children bitterly regretted the loss of their kind playfellow. +Deeper grief oppressed Perdita. In spite of resentment, by day and night she +figured to herself the toils and dangers of the wanderers. Raymond absent, +struggling with difficulties, lost to the power and rank of the Protectorate, +exposed to the perils of war, became an object of anxious interest; not that +she felt any inclination to recall him, if recall must imply a return to their +former union. Such return she felt to be impossible; and while she believed it +to be thus, and with anguish regretted that so it should be, she continued +angry and impatient with him, who occasioned her misery. These perplexities and +regrets caused her to bathe her pillow with nightly tears, and to reduce her in +person and in mind to the shadow of what she had been. She sought solitude, and +avoided us when in gaiety and unrestrained affection we met in a family circle. +Lonely musings, interminable wanderings, and solemn music were her only +pastimes. She neglected even her child; shutting her heart against all +tenderness, she grew reserved towards me, her first and fast friend. +</p> + +<p> +I could not see her thus lost, without exerting myself to remedy the evil +—remediless I knew, if I could not in the end bring her to reconcile +herself to Raymond. Before he went I used every argument, every persuasion to +induce her to stop his journey. She answered the one with a gush of +tears—telling me that to be persuaded—life and the goods of life +were a cheap exchange. It was not will that she wanted, but the capacity; again +and again she declared, it were as easy to enchain the sea, to put reins on the +wind’s viewless courses, as for her to take truth for falsehood, deceit +for honesty, heartless communion for sincere, confiding love. She answered my +reasonings more briefly, declaring with disdain, that the reason was hers; and, +until I could persuade her that the past could be unacted, that maturity could +go back to the cradle, and that all that was could become as though it had +never been, it was useless to assure her that no real change had taken place in +her fate. And thus with stern pride she suffered him to go, though her very +heart-strings cracked at the fulfilling of the act, which rent from her all +that made life valuable. +</p> + +<p> +To change the scene for her, and even for ourselves, all unhinged by the cloud +that had come over us, I persuaded my two remaining companions that it were +better that we should absent ourselves for a time from Windsor. We visited the +north of England, my native Ulswater, and lingered in scenes dear from a +thousand associations. We lengthened our tour into Scotland, that we might see +Loch Katrine and Loch Lomond; thence we crossed to Ireland, and passed several +weeks in the neighbourhood of Killarney. The change of scene operated to a +great degree as I expected; after a year’s absence, Perdita returned in +gentler and more docile mood to Windsor. The first sight of this place for a +time unhinged her. Here every spot was distinct with associations now grown +bitter. The forest glades, the ferny dells, and lawny uplands, the cultivated +and cheerful country spread around the silver pathway of ancient Thames, all +earth, air, and wave, took up one choral voice, inspired by memory, instinct +with plaintive regret. +</p> + +<p> +But my essay towards bringing her to a saner view of her own situation, did not +end here. Perdita was still to a great degree uneducated. When first she left +her peasant life, and resided with the elegant and cultivated Evadne, the only +accomplishment she brought to any perfection was that of painting, for which +she had a taste almost amounting to genius. This had occupied her in her lonely +cottage, when she quitted her Greek friend’s protection. Her pallet and +easel were now thrown aside; did she try to paint, thronging recollections made +her hand tremble, her eyes fill with tears. With this occupation she gave up +almost every other; and her mind preyed upon itself almost to madness. +</p> + +<p> +For my own part, since Adrian had first withdrawn me from my selvatic +wilderness to his own paradise of order and beauty, I had been wedded to +literature. I felt convinced that however it might have been in former times, +in the present stage of the world, no man’s faculties could be developed, +no man’s moral principle be enlarged and liberal, without an extensive +acquaintance with books. To me they stood in the place of an active career, of +ambition, and those palpable excitements necessary to the multitude. The +collation of philosophical opinions, the study of historical facts, the +acquirement of languages, were at once my recreation, and the serious aim of my +life. I turned author myself. My productions however were sufficiently +unpretending; they were confined to the biography of favourite historical +characters, especially those whom I believed to have been traduced, or about +whom clung obscurity and doubt. +</p> + +<p> +As my authorship increased, I acquired new sympathies and pleasures. I found +another and a valuable link to enchain me to my fellow-creatures; my point of +sight was extended, and the inclinations and capacities of all human beings +became deeply interesting to me. Kings have been called the fathers of their +people. Suddenly I became as it were the father of all mankind. Posterity +became my heirs. My thoughts were gems to enrich the treasure house of +man’s intellectual possessions; each sentiment was a precious gift I +bestowed on them. Let not these aspirations be attributed to vanity. They were +not expressed in words, nor even reduced to form in my own mind; but they +filled my soul, exalting my thoughts, raising a glow of enthusiasm, and led me +out of the obscure path in which I before walked, into the bright +noon-enlightened highway of mankind, making me, citizen of the world, a +candidate for immortal honors, an eager aspirant to the praise and sympathy of +my fellow men. +</p> + +<p> +No one certainly ever enjoyed the pleasures of composition more intensely than +I. If I left the woods, the solemn music of the waving branches, and the +majestic temple of nature, I sought the vast halls of the Castle, and looked +over wide, fertile England, spread beneath our regal mount, and listened the +while to inspiring strains of music. At such times solemn harmonies or +spirit-stirring airs gave wings to my lagging thoughts, permitting them, +methought, to penetrate the last veil of nature and her God, and to display the +highest beauty in visible expression to the understandings of men. As the music +went on, my ideas seemed to quit their mortal dwelling house; they shook their +pinions and began a flight, sailing on the placid current of thought, filling +the creation with new glory, and rousing sublime imagery that else had slept +voiceless. Then I would hasten to my desk, weave the new-found web of mind in +firm texture and brilliant colours, leaving the fashioning of the material to a +calmer moment. +</p> + +<p> +But this account, which might as properly belong to a former period of my life +as to the present moment, leads me far afield. It was the pleasure I took in +literature, the discipline of mind I found arise from it, that made me eager to +lead Perdita to the same pursuits. I began with light hand and gentle +allurement; first exciting her curiosity, and then satisfying it in such a way +as might occasion her, at the same time that she half forgot her sorrows in +occupation, to find in the hours that succeeded a reaction of benevolence and +toleration. +</p> + +<p> +Intellectual activity, though not directed towards books, had always been my +sister’s characteristic. It had been displayed early in life, leading her +out to solitary musing among her native mountains, causing her to form +innumerous combinations from common objects, giving strength to her +perceptions, and swiftness to their arrangement. Love had come, as the rod of +the master-prophet, to swallow up every minor propensity. Love had doubled all +her excellencies, and placed a diadem on her genius. Was she to cease to love? +Take the colours and odour from the rose, change the sweet nutriment of +mother’s milk to gall and poison; as easily might you wean Perdita from +love. She grieved for the loss of Raymond with an anguish, that exiled all +smile from her lips, and trenched sad lines on her brow of beauty. But each day +seemed to change the nature of her suffering, and every succeeding hour forced +her to alter (if so I may style it) the fashion of her soul’s mourning +garb. For a time music was able to satisfy the cravings of her mental hunger, +and her melancholy thoughts renewed themselves in each change of key, and +varied with every alteration in the strain. My schooling first impelled her +towards books; and, if music had been the food of sorrow, the productions of +the wise became its medicine. The acquisition of unknown languages was too +tedious an occupation, for one who referred every expression to the universe +within, and read not, as many do, for the mere sake of filling up time; but who +was still questioning herself and her author, moulding every idea in a thousand +ways, ardently desirous for the discovery of truth in every sentence. She +sought to improve her understanding; mechanically her heart and dispositions +became soft and gentle under this benign discipline. After awhile she +discovered, that amidst all her newly acquired knowledge, her own character, +which formerly she fancied that she thoroughly understood, became the first in +rank among the terrae incognitae, the pathless wilds of a country that had no +chart. Erringly and strangely she began the task of self-examination with +self-condemnation. And then again she became aware of her own excellencies, and +began to balance with juster scales the shades of good and evil. I, who longed +beyond words, to restore her to the happiness it was still in her power to +enjoy, watched with anxiety the result of these internal proceedings. +</p> + +<p> +But man is a strange animal. We cannot calculate on his forces like that of an +engine; and, though an impulse draw with a forty-horse power at what appears +willing to yield to one, yet in contempt of calculation the movement is not +effected. Neither grief, philosophy, nor love could make Perdita think with +mildness of the dereliction of Raymond. She now took pleasure in my society; +towards Idris she felt and displayed a full and affectionate sense of her +worth—she restored to her child in abundant measure her tenderness and +care. But I could discover, amidst all her repinings, deep resentment towards +Raymond, and an unfading sense of injury, that plucked from me my hope, when I +appeared nearest to its fulfilment. Among other painful restrictions, she has +occasioned it to become a law among us, never to mention Raymond’s name +before her. She refused to read any communications from Greece, desiring me +only to mention when any arrived, and whether the wanderers were well. It was +curious that even little Clara observed this law towards her mother. This +lovely child was nearly eight years of age. Formerly she had been a +light-hearted infant, fanciful, but gay and childish. After the departure of +her father, thought became impressed on her young brow. Children, unadepts in +language, seldom find words to express their thoughts, nor could we tell in +what manner the late events had impressed themselves on her mind. But certainly +she had made deep observations while she noted in silence the changes that +passed around her. She never mentioned her father to Perdita, she appeared half +afraid when she spoke of him to me, and though I tried to draw her out on the +subject, and to dispel the gloom that hung about her ideas concerning him, I +could not succeed. Yet each foreign post-day she watched for the arrival of +letters—knew the post mark, and watched me as I read. I found her often +poring over the article of Greek intelligence in the newspaper. +</p> + +<p> +There is no more painful sight than that of untimely care in children, and it +was particularly observable in one whose disposition had heretofore been +mirthful. Yet there was so much sweetness and docility about Clara, that your +admiration was excited; and if the moods of mind are calculated to paint the +cheek with beauty, and endow motions with grace, surely her contemplations must +have been celestial; since every lineament was moulded into loveliness, and her +motions were more harmonious than the elegant boundings of the fawns of her +native forest. I sometimes expostulated with Perdita on the subject of her +reserve; but she rejected my counsels, while her daughter’s sensibility +excited in her a tenderness still more passionate. +</p> + +<p> +After the lapse of more than a year, Adrian returned from Greece. +</p> + +<p> +When our exiles had first arrived, a truce was in existence between the Turks +and Greeks; a truce that was as sleep to the mortal frame, signal of renewed +activity on waking. With the numerous soldiers of Asia, with all of warlike +stores, ships, and military engines, that wealth and power could command, the +Turks at once resolved to crush an enemy, which creeping on by degrees, had +from their stronghold in the Morea, acquired Thrace and Macedonia, and had led +their armies even to the gates of Constantinople, while their extensive +commercial relations gave every European nation an interest in their success. +Greece prepared for a vigorous resistance; it rose to a man; and the women, +sacrificing their costly ornaments, accoutred their sons for the war, and bade +them conquer or die with the spirit of the Spartan mother. The talents and +courage of Raymond were highly esteemed among the Greeks. Born at Athens, that +city claimed him for her own, and by giving him the command of her peculiar +division in the army, the commander-in-chief only possessed superior power. He +was numbered among her citizens, his name was added to the list of Grecian +heroes. His judgment, activity, and consummate bravery, justified their choice. +The Earl of Windsor became a volunteer under his friend. +</p> + +<p> +“It is well,” said Adrian, “to prate of war in these pleasant +shades, and with much ill-spent oil make a show of joy, because many thousand +of our fellow-creatures leave with pain this sweet air and natal earth. I shall +not be suspected of being averse to the Greek cause; I know and feel its +necessity; it is beyond every other a good cause. I have defended it with my +sword, and was willing that my spirit should be breathed out in its defence; +freedom is of more worth than life, and the Greeks do well to defend their +privilege unto death. But let us not deceive ourselves. The Turks are men; each +fibre, each limb is as feeling as our own, and every spasm, be it mental or +bodily, is as truly felt in a Turk’s heart or brain, as in a +Greek’s. The last action at which I was present was the taking of +——. The Turks resisted to the last, the garrison perished on the +ramparts, and we entered by assault. Every breathing creature within the walls +was massacred. Think you, amidst the shrieks of violated innocence and helpless +infancy, I did not feel in every nerve the cry of a fellow being? They were men +and women, the sufferers, before they were Mahometans, and when they rise +turbanless from the grave, in what except their good or evil actions will they +be the better or worse than we? Two soldiers contended for a girl, whose rich +dress and extreme beauty excited the brutal appetites of these wretches, who, +perhaps good men among their families, were changed by the fury of the moment +into incarnated evils. An old man, with a silver beard, decrepid and bald, he +might be her grandfather, interposed to save her; the battle axe of one of them +clove his skull. I rushed to her defence, but rage made them blind and deaf; +they did not distinguish my Christian garb or heed my words—words were +blunt weapons then, for while war cried “havoc,” and murder gave +fit echo, how could I— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Turn back the tide of ills, relieving wrong<br/> +With mild accost of soothing eloquence? +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +One of the fellows, enraged at my interference, struck me with his bayonet in +the side, and I fell senseless. +</p> + +<p> +“This wound will probably shorten my life, having shattered a frame, weak +of itself. But I am content to die. I have learnt in Greece that one man, more +or less, is of small import, while human bodies remain to fill up the thinned +ranks of the soldiery; and that the identity of an individual may be +overlooked, so that the muster roll contain its full numbers. All this has a +different effect upon Raymond. He is able to contemplate the ideal of war, +while I am sensible only to its realities. He is a soldier, a general. He can +influence the blood-thirsty war-dogs, while I resist their propensities vainly. +The cause is simple. Burke has said that, ‘in all bodies those who would +lead, must also, in a considerable degree, follow.’ —I cannot +follow; for I do not sympathize in their dreams of massacre and glory—to +follow and to lead in such a career, is the natural bent of Raymond’s +mind. He is always successful, and bids fair, at the same time that he acquires +high name and station for himself, to secure liberty, probably extended empire, +to the Greeks.” +</p> + +<p> +Perdita’s mind was not softened by this account. He, she thought, can be +great and happy without me. Would that I also had a career! Would that I could +freight some untried bark with all my hopes, energies, and desires, and launch +it forth into the ocean of life—bound for some attainable point, with +ambition or pleasure at the helm! But adverse winds detain me on shore; like +Ulysses, I sit at the water’s edge and weep. But my nerveless hands can +neither fell the trees, nor smooth the planks. Under the influence of these +melancholy thoughts, she became more than ever in love with sorrow. Yet +Adrian’s presence did some good; he at once broke through the law of +silence observed concerning Raymond. At first she started from the unaccustomed +sound; soon she got used to it and to love it, and she listened with avidity to +the account of his achievements. Clara got rid also of her restraint; Adrian +and she had been old playfellows; and now, as they walked or rode together, he +yielded to her earnest entreaty, and repeated, for the hundredth time, some +tale of her father’s bravery, munificence, or justice. +</p> + +<p> +Each vessel in the mean time brought exhilarating tidings from Greece. The +presence of a friend in its armies and councils made us enter into the details +with enthusiasm; and a short letter now and then from Raymond told us how he +was engrossed by the interests of his adopted country. The Greeks were strongly +attached to their commercial pursuits, and would have been satisfied with their +present acquisitions, had not the Turks roused them by invasion. The patriots +were victorious; a spirit of conquest was instilled; and already they looked on +Constantinople as their own. Raymond rose perpetually in their estimation; but +one man held a superior command to him in their armies. He was conspicuous for +his conduct and choice of position in a battle fought in the plains of Thrace, +on the banks of the Hebrus, which was to decide the fate of Islam. The +Mahometans were defeated, and driven entirely from the country west of this +river. The battle was sanguinary, the loss of the Turks apparently irreparable; +the Greeks, in losing one man, forgot the nameless crowd strewed upon the +bloody field, and they ceased to value themselves on a victory, which cost +them— Raymond. +</p> + +<p> +At the battle of Makri he had led the charge of cavalry, and pursued the +fugitives even to the banks of the Hebrus. His favourite horse was found +grazing by the margin of the tranquil river. It became a question whether he +had fallen among the unrecognized; but no broken ornament or stained trapping +betrayed his fate. It was suspected that the Turks, finding themselves +possessed of so illustrious a captive, resolved to satisfy their cruelty rather +than their avarice, and fearful of the interference of England, had come to the +determination of concealing for ever the cold-blooded murder of the soldier +they most hated and feared in the squadrons of their enemy. +</p> + +<p> +Raymond was not forgotten in England. His abdication of the Protectorate had +caused an unexampled sensation; and, when his magnificent and manly system was +contrasted with the narrow views of succeeding politicians, the period of his +elevation was referred to with sorrow. The perpetual recurrence of his name, +joined to most honourable testimonials, in the Greek gazettes, kept up the +interest he had excited. He seemed the favourite child of fortune, and his +untimely loss eclipsed the world, and shewed forth the remnant of mankind with +diminished lustre. They clung with eagerness to the hope held out that he might +yet be alive. Their minister at Constantinople was urged to make the necessary +perquisitions, and should his existence be ascertained, to demand his release. +It was to be hoped that their efforts would succeed, and that though now a +prisoner, the sport of cruelty and the mark of hate, he would be rescued from +danger and restored to the happiness, power, and honour which he deserved. +</p> + +<p> +The effect of this intelligence upon my sister was striking. She never for a +moment credited the story of his death; she resolved instantly to go to Greece. +Reasoning and persuasion were thrown away upon her; she would endure no +hindrance, no delay. It may be advanced for a truth, that, if argument or +entreaty can turn any one from a desperate purpose, whose motive and end +depends on the strength of the affections only, then it is right so to turn +them, since their docility shews, that neither the motive nor the end were of +sufficient force to bear them through the obstacles attendant on their +undertaking. If, on the contrary, they are proof against expostulation, this +very steadiness is an omen of success; and it becomes the duty of those who +love them, to assist in smoothing the obstructions in their path. Such +sentiments actuated our little circle. Finding Perdita immoveable, we consulted +as to the best means of furthering her purpose. She could not go alone to a +country where she had no friends, where she might arrive only to hear the +dreadful news, which must overwhelm her with grief and remorse. Adrian, whose +health had always been weak, now suffered considerable aggravation of suffering +from the effects of his wound. Idris could not endure to leave him in this +state; nor was it right either to quit or take with us a young family for a +journey of this description. I resolved at length to accompany Perdita. The +separation from my Idris was painful—but necessity reconciled us to it in +some degree: necessity and the hope of saving Raymond, and restoring him again +to happiness and Perdita. No delay was to ensue. Two days after we came to our +determination, we set out for Portsmouth, and embarked. The season was May, the +weather stormless; we were promised a prosperous voyage. Cherishing the most +fervent hopes, embarked on the waste ocean, we saw with delight the receding +shore of Britain, and on the wings of desire outspeeded our well filled sails +towards the South. The light curling waves bore us onward, and old ocean smiled +at the freight of love and hope committed to his charge; it stroked gently its +tempestuous plains, and the path was smoothed for us. Day and night the wind +right aft, gave steady impulse to our keel—nor did rough gale, or +treacherous sand, or destructive rock interpose an obstacle between my sister +and the land which was to restore her to her first beloved, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Her dear heart’s confessor—a heart within that heart. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol02"></a>VOL. II.</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<p> +During this voyage, when on calm evenings we conversed on deck, watching the +glancing of the waves and the changeful appearances of the sky, I discovered +the total revolution that the disasters of Raymond had wrought in the mind of +my sister. Were they the same waters of love, which, lately cold and cutting as +ice, repelling as that, now loosened from their frozen chains, flowed through +the regions of her soul in gushing and grateful exuberance? She did not believe +that he was dead, but she knew that he was in danger, and the hope of assisting +in his liberation, and the idea of soothing by tenderness the ills that he +might have undergone, elevated and harmonized the late jarring element of her +being. I was not so sanguine as she as to the result of our voyage. She was not +sanguine, but secure; and the expectation of seeing the lover she had banished, +the husband, friend, heart’s companion from whom she had long been +alienated, wrapt her senses in delight, her mind in placidity. It was beginning +life again; it was leaving barren sands for an abode of fertile beauty; it was +a harbour after a tempest, an opiate after sleepless nights, a happy waking +from a terrible dream. +</p> + +<p> +Little Clara accompanied us; the poor child did not well understand what was +going forward. She heard that we were bound for Greece, that she would see her +father, and now, for the first time, she prattled of him to her mother. +</p> + +<p> +On landing at Athens we found difficulties encrease upon us: nor could the +storied earth or balmy atmosphere inspire us with enthusiasm or pleasure, while +the fate of Raymond was in jeopardy. No man had ever excited so strong an +interest in the public mind; this was apparent even among the phlegmatic +English, from whom he had long been absent. The Athenians had expected their +hero to return in triumph; the women had taught their children to lisp his name +joined to thanksgiving; his manly beauty, his courage, his devotion to their +cause, made him appear in their eyes almost as one of the ancient deities of +the soil descended from their native Olympus to defend them. When they spoke of +his probable death and certain captivity, tears streamed from their eyes; even +as the women of Syria sorrowed for Adonis, did the wives and mothers of Greece +lament our English Raymond—Athens was a city of mourning. +</p> + +<p> +All these shews of despair struck Perdita with affright. With that sanguine but +confused expectation, which desire engendered while she was at a distance from +reality, she had formed an image in her mind of instantaneous change, when she +should set her foot on Grecian shores. She fancied that Raymond would already +be free, and that her tender attentions would come to entirely obliterate even +the memory of his mischance. But his fate was still uncertain; she began to +fear the worst, and to feel that her soul’s hope was cast on a chance +that might prove a blank. The wife and lovely child of Lord Raymond became +objects of intense interest in Athens. The gates of their abode were besieged, +audible prayers were breathed for his restoration; all these circumstances +added to the dismay and fears of Perdita. +</p> + +<p> +My exertions were unremitted: after a time I left Athens, and joined the army +stationed at Kishan in Thrace. Bribery, threats, and intrigue, soon discovered +the secret that Raymond was alive, a prisoner, suffering the most rigorous +confinement and wanton cruelties. We put in movement every impulse of policy +and money to redeem him from their hands. +</p> + +<p> +The impatience of my sister’s disposition now returned on her, awakened +by repentance, sharpened by remorse. The very beauty of the Grecian climate, +during the season of spring, added torture to her sensations. The unexampled +loveliness of the flower-clad earth—the genial sunshine and grateful +shade—the melody of the birds—the majesty of the woods— the +splendour of the marble ruins—the clear effulgence of the stars by +night—the combination of all that was exciting and voluptuous in this +transcending land, by inspiring a quicker spirit of life and an added +sensitiveness to every articulation of her frame, only gave edge to the +poignancy of her grief. Each long hour was counted, and “<i>He +suffers</i>” was the burthen of all her thoughts. She abstained from +food; she lay on the bare earth, and, by such mimickry of his enforced +torments, endeavoured to hold communion with his distant pain. I remembered in +one of her harshest moments a quotation of mine had roused her to anger and +disdain. “Perdita,” I had said, “some day you will discover +that you have done wrong in again casting Raymond on the thorns of life. When +disappointment has sullied his beauty, when a soldier’s hardships have +bent his manly form, and loneliness made even triumph bitter to him, then you +will repent; and regret for the irreparable change +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“will move<br/> + In hearts all rocky now, the late remorse of +love.”<a href="#fn1" name="fnref1"><sup>[1]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p> +The stinging “remorse of love” now pierced her heart. She accused +herself of his journey to Greece—his dangers—his imprisonment. She +pictured to herself the anguish of his solitude; she remembered with what eager +delight he had in former days made her the partner of his joyful hopes— +with what grateful affection he received her sympathy in his cares. She called +to mind how often he had declared that solitude was to him the greatest of all +evils, and how death itself was to him more full of fear and pain when he +pictured to himself a lonely grave. “My best girl,” he had said, +“relieves me from these phantasies. United to her, cherished in her dear +heart, never again shall I know the misery of finding myself alone. Even if I +die before you, my Perdita, treasure up my ashes till yours may mingle with +mine. It is a foolish sentiment for one who is not a materialist, yet, +methinks, even in that dark cell, I may feel that my inanimate dust mingles +with yours, and thus have a companion in decay.” In her resentful mood, +these expressions had been remembered with acrimony and disdain; they visited +her in her softened hour, taking sleep from her eyes, all hope of rest from her +uneasy mind. +</p> + +<p> +Two months passed thus, when at last we obtained a promise of Raymond’s +release. Confinement and hardship had undermined his health; the Turks feared +an accomplishment of the threats of the English government, if he died under +their hands; they looked upon his recovery as impossible; they delivered him up +as a dying man, willingly making over to us the rites of burial. +</p> + +<p> +He came by sea from Constantinople to Athens. The wind, favourable to him, blew +so strongly in shore, that we were unable, as we had at first intended, to meet +him on his watery road. The watchtower of Athens was besieged by inquirers, +each sail eagerly looked out for; till on the first of May the gallant frigate +bore in sight, freighted with treasure more invaluable than the wealth which, +piloted from Mexico, the vexed Pacific swallowed, or that was conveyed over its +tranquil bosom to enrich the crown of Spain. At early dawn the vessel was +discovered bearing in shore; it was conjectured that it would cast anchor about +five miles from land. The news spread through Athens, and the whole city poured +out at the gate of the Piraeus, down the roads, through the vineyards, the +olive woods and plantations of fig-trees, towards the harbour. The noisy joy of +the populace, the gaudy colours of their dress, the tumult of carriages and +horses, the march of soldiers intermixed, the waving of banners and sound of +martial music added to the high excitement of the scene; while round us reposed +in solemn majesty the relics of antient time. To our right the Acropolis rose +high, spectatress of a thousand changes, of ancient glory, Turkish slavery, and +the restoration of dear-bought liberty; tombs and cenotaphs were strewed thick +around, adorned by ever renewing vegetation; the mighty dead hovered over their +monuments, and beheld in our enthusiasm and congregated numbers a renewal of +the scenes in which they had been the actors. Perdita and Clara rode in a close +carriage; I attended them on horseback. At length we arrived at the harbour; it +was agitated by the outward swell of the sea; the beach, as far could be +discerned, was covered by a moving multitude, which, urged by those behind +toward the sea, again rushed back as the heavy waves with sullen roar burst +close to them. I applied my glass, and could discern that the frigate had +already cast anchor, fearful of the danger of approaching nearer to a lee +shore: a boat was lowered; with a pang I saw that Raymond was unable to descend +the vessel’s side; he was let down in a chair, and lay wrapt in cloaks at +the bottom of the boat. +</p> + +<p> +I dismounted, and called to some sailors who were rowing about the harbour to +pull up, and take me into their skiff; Perdita at the same moment alighted from +her carriage—she seized my arm—“Take me with you,” she +cried; she was trembling and pale; Clara clung to her—“You must +not,” I said, “the sea is rough—he will soon be here—do +you not see his boat?” The little bark to which I had beckoned had now +pulled up; before I could stop her, Perdita, assisted by the sailors was in +it—Clara followed her mother—a loud shout echoed from the crowd as +we pulled out of the inner harbour; while my sister at the prow, had caught +hold of one of the men who was using a glass, asking a thousand questions, +careless of the spray that broke over her, deaf, sightless to all, except the +little speck that, just visible on the top of the waves, evidently neared. We +approached with all the speed six rowers could give; the orderly and +picturesque dress of the soldiers on the beach, the sounds of exulting music, +the stirring breeze and waving flags, the unchecked exclamations of the eager +crowd, whose dark looks and foreign garb were purely eastern; the sight of +temple-crowned rock, the white marble of the buildings glittering in the sun, +and standing in bright relief against the dark ridge of lofty mountains beyond; +the near roar of the sea, the splash of oars, and dash of spray, all steeped my +soul in a delirium, unfelt, unimagined in the common course of common life. +Trembling, I was unable to continue to look through the glass with which I had +watched the motion of the crew, when the frigate’s boat had first been +launched. We rapidly drew near, so that at length the number and forms of those +within could be discerned; its dark sides grew big, and the splash of its oars +became audible: I could distinguish the languid form of my friend, as he half +raised himself at our approach. +</p> + +<p> +Perdita’s questions had ceased; she leaned on my arm, panting with +emotions too acute for tears—our men pulled alongside the other boat. As +a last effort, my sister mustered her strength, her firmness; she stepped from +one boat to the other, and then with a shriek she sprang towards Raymond, knelt +at his side, and glueing her lips to the hand she seized, her face shrouded by +her long hair, gave herself up to tears. +</p> + +<p> +Raymond had somewhat raised himself at our approach, but it was with difficulty +that he exerted himself even thus much. With sunken cheek and hollow eyes, pale +and gaunt, how could I recognize the beloved of Perdita? I continued awe-struck +and mute—he looked smilingly on the poor girl; the smile was his. A day +of sun-shine falling on a dark valley, displays its before hidden +characteristics; and now this smile, the same with which he first spoke love to +Perdita, with which he had welcomed the protectorate, playing on his altered +countenance, made me in my heart’s core feel that this was Raymond. +</p> + +<p> +He stretched out to me his other hand; I discerned the trace of manacles on his +bared wrist. I heard my sister’s sobs, and thought, happy are women who +can weep, and in a passionate caress disburthen the oppression of their +feelings; shame and habitual restraint hold back a man. I would have given +worlds to have acted as in days of boyhood, have strained him to my breast, +pressed his hand to my lips, and wept over him; my swelling heart choked me; +the natural current would not be checked; the big rebellious tears gathered in +my eyes; I turned aside, and they dropped in the sea—they came fast and +faster;—yet I could hardly be ashamed, for I saw that the rough sailors +were not unmoved, and Raymond’s eyes alone were dry from among our crew. +He lay in that blessed calm which convalescence always induces, enjoying in +secure tranquillity his liberty and re-union with her whom he adored. Perdita +at length subdued her burst of passion, and rose, —she looked round for +Clara; the child frightened, not recognizing her father, and neglected by us, +had crept to the other end of the boat; she came at her mother’s call. +Perdita presented her to Raymond; her first words were: “Beloved, embrace +our child!” +</p> + +<p> +“Come hither, sweet one,” said her father, “do you not know +me?” she knew his voice, and cast herself in his arms with half bashful +but uncontrollable emotion. +</p> + +<p> +Perceiving the weakness of Raymond, I was afraid of ill consequences from the +pressure of the crowd on his landing. But they were awed as I had been, at the +change of his appearance. The music died away, the shouts abruptly ended; the +soldiers had cleared a space in which a carriage was drawn up. He was placed in +it; Perdita and Clara entered with him, and his escort closed round it; a +hollow murmur, akin to the roaring of the near waves, went through the +multitude; they fell back as the carriage advanced, and fearful of injuring him +they had come to welcome, by loud testimonies of joy, they satisfied themselves +with bending in a low salaam as the carriage passed; it went slowly along the +road of the Piraeus; passed by antique temple and heroic tomb, beneath the +craggy rock of the citadel. The sound of the waves was left behind; that of the +multitude continued at intervals, supressed and hoarse; and though, in the +city, the houses, churches, and public buildings were decorated with tapestry +and banners—though the soldiery lined the streets, and the inhabitants in +thousands were assembled to give him hail, the same solemn silence prevailed, +the soldiery presented arms, the banners vailed, many a white hand waved a +streamer, and vainly sought to discern the hero in the vehicle, which, closed +and encompassed by the city guards, drew him to the palace allotted for his +abode. +</p> + +<p> +Raymond was weak and exhausted, yet the interest he perceived to be excited on +his account, filled him with proud pleasure. He was nearly killed with +kindness. It is true, the populace retained themselves; but there arose a +perpetual hum and bustle from the throng round the palace, which added to the +noise of fireworks, the frequent explosion of arms, the tramp to and fro of +horsemen and carriages, to which effervescence he was the focus, retarded his +recovery. So we retired awhile to Eleusis, and here rest and tender care added +each day to the strength of our invalid. The zealous attention of Perdita +claimed the first rank in the causes which induced his rapid recovery; but the +second was surely the delight he felt in the affection and good will of the +Greeks. We are said to love much those whom we greatly benefit. Raymond had +fought and conquered for the Athenians; he had suffered, on their account, +peril, imprisonment, and hardship; their gratitude affected him deeply, and he +inly vowed to unite his fate for ever to that of a people so enthusiastically +devoted to him. +</p> + +<p> +Social feeling and sympathy constituted a marked feature in my disposition. In +early youth, the living drama acted around me, drew me heart and soul into its +vortex. I was now conscious of a change. I loved, I hoped, I enjoyed; but there +was something besides this. I was inquisitive as to the internal principles of +action of those around me: anxious to read their thoughts justly, and for ever +occupied in divining their inmost mind. All events, at the same time that they +deeply interested me, arranged themselves in pictures before me. I gave the +right place to every personage in the groupe, the just balance to every +sentiment. This undercurrent of thought, often soothed me amidst distress, and +even agony. It gave ideality to that, from which, taken in naked truth, the +soul would have revolted: it bestowed pictorial colours on misery and disease, +and not unfrequently relieved me from despair in deplorable changes. This +faculty, or instinct, was now rouzed. I watched the re-awakened devotion of my +sister; Clara’s timid, but concentrated admiration of her father, and +Raymond’s appetite for renown, and sensitiveness to the demonstrations of +affection of the Athenians. Attentively perusing this animated volume, I was +the less surprised at the tale I read on the new-turned page. +</p> + +<p> +The Turkish army were at this time besieging Rodosto; and the Greeks, hastening +their preparations, and sending each day reinforcements, were on the eve of +forcing the enemy to battle. Each people looked on the coming struggle as that +which would be to a great degree decisive; as, in case of victory, the next +step would be the siege of Constantinople by the Greeks. Raymond, being +somewhat recovered, prepared to re-assume his command in the army. +</p> + +<p> +Perdita did not oppose herself to his determination. She only stipulated to be +permitted to accompany him. She had set down no rule of conduct for herself; +but for her life she could not have opposed his slightest wish, or do other +than acquiesce cheerfully in all his projects. One word, in truth, had alarmed +her more than battles or sieges, during which she trusted Raymond’s high +command would exempt him from danger. That word, as yet it was not more to her, +was PLAGUE. This enemy to the human race had begun early in June to raise its +serpent-head on the shores of the Nile; parts of Asia, not usually subject to +this evil, were infected. It was in Constantinople; but as each year that city +experienced a like visitation, small attention was paid to those accounts which +declared more people to have died there already, than usually made up the +accustomed prey of the whole of the hotter months. However it might be, neither +plague nor war could prevent Perdita from following her lord, or induce her to +utter one objection to the plans which he proposed. To be near him, to be loved +by him, to feel him again her own, was the limit of her desires. The object of +her life was to do him pleasure: it had been so before, but with a difference. +In past times, without thought or foresight she had made him happy, being so +herself, and in any question of choice, consulted her own wishes, as being one +with his. Now she sedulously put herself out of the question, sacrificing even +her anxiety for his health and welfare to her resolve not to oppose any of his +desires. Love of the Greek people, appetite for glory, and hatred of the +barbarian government under which he had suffered even to the approach of death, +stimulated him. He wished to repay the kindness of the Athenians, to keep alive +the splendid associations connected with his name, and to eradicate from Europe +a power which, while every other nation advanced in civilization, stood still, +a monument of antique barbarism. Having effected the reunion of Raymond and +Perdita, I was eager to return to England; but his earnest request, added to +awakening curiosity, and an indefinable anxiety to behold the catastrophe, now +apparently at hand, in the long drawn history of Grecian and Turkish warfare, +induced me to consent to prolong until the autumn, the period of my residence +in Greece. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as the health of Raymond was sufficiently re-established, he prepared +to join the Grecian camp, near Kishan, a town of some importance, situated to +the east of the Hebrus; in which Perdita and Clara were to remain until the +event of the expected battle. We quitted Athens on the 2nd of June. Raymond had +recovered from the gaunt and pallid looks of fever. If I no longer saw the +fresh glow of youth on his matured countenance, if care had besieged his brow, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“And dug deep trenches in his beauty’s +field,”<a href="#fn2" name="fnref2"><sup>[2]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +if his hair, slightly mingled with grey, and his look, considerate even in its +eagerness, gave signs of added years and past sufferings, yet there was +something irresistibly affecting in the sight of one, lately snatched from the +grave, renewing his career, untamed by sickness or disaster. The Athenians saw +in him, not as heretofore, the heroic boy or desperate man, who was ready to +die for them; but the prudent commander, who for their sakes was careful of his +life, and could make his own warrior-propensities second to the scheme of +conduct policy might point out. +</p> + +<p> +All Athens accompanied us for several miles. When he had landed a month ago, +the noisy populace had been hushed by sorrow and fear; but this was a festival +day to all. The air resounded with their shouts; their picturesque costume, and +the gay colours of which it was composed, flaunted in the sunshine; their eager +gestures and rapid utterance accorded with their wild appearance. Raymond was +the theme of every tongue, the hope of each wife, mother or betrothed bride, +whose husband, child, or lover, making a part of the Greek army, were to be +conducted to victory by him. +</p> + +<p> +Notwithstanding the hazardous object of our journey, it was full of romantic +interest, as we passed through the vallies, and over the hills, of this divine +country. Raymond was inspirited by the intense sensations of recovered health; +he felt that in being general of the Athenians, he filled a post worthy of his +ambition; and, in his hope of the conquest of Constantinople, he counted on an +event which would be as a landmark in the waste of ages, an exploit unequalled +in the annals of man; when a city of grand historic association, the beauty of +whose site was the wonder of the world, which for many hundred years had been +the strong hold of the Moslems, should be rescued from slavery and barbarism, +and restored to a people illustrious for genius, civilization, and a spirit of +liberty. Perdita rested on his restored society, on his love, his hopes and +fame, even as a Sybarite on a luxurious couch; every thought was transport, +each emotion bathed as it were in a congenial and balmy element. +</p> + +<p> +We arrived at Kishan on the 7th of July. The weather during our journey had +been serene. Each day, before dawn, we left our night’s encampment, and +watched the shadows as they retreated from hill and valley, and the golden +splendour of the sun’s approach. The accompanying soldiers received, with +national vivacity, enthusiastic pleasure from the sight of beautiful nature. +The uprising of the star of day was hailed by triumphant strains, while the +birds, heard by snatches, filled up the intervals of the music. At noon, we +pitched our tents in some shady valley, or embowering wood among the mountains, +while a stream prattling over pebbles induced grateful sleep. Our evening +march, more calm, was yet more delightful than the morning restlessness of +spirit. If the band played, involuntarily they chose airs of moderated passion; +the farewell of love, or lament at absence, was followed and closed by some +solemn hymn, which harmonized with the tranquil loveliness of evening, and +elevated the soul to grand and religious thought. Often all sounds were +suspended, that we might listen to the nightingale, while the fire-flies danced +in bright measure, and the soft cooing of the aziolo spoke of fair weather to +the travellers. Did we pass a valley? Soft shades encompassed us, and rocks +tinged with beauteous hues. If we traversed a mountain, Greece, a living map, +was spread beneath, her renowned pinnacles cleaving the ether; her rivers +threading in silver line the fertile land. Afraid almost to breathe, we English +travellers surveyed with extasy this splendid landscape, so different from the +sober hues and melancholy graces of our native scenery. When we quitted +Macedonia, the fertile but low plains of Thrace afforded fewer beauties; yet +our journey continued to be interesting. An advanced guard gave information of +our approach, and the country people were quickly in motion to do honour to +Lord Raymond. The villages were decorated by triumphal arches of greenery by +day, and lamps by night; tapestry waved from the windows, the ground was +strewed with flowers, and the name of Raymond, joined to that of Greece, was +echoed in the <i>Evive</i> of the peasant crowd. +</p> + +<p> +When we arrived at Kishan, we learnt, that on hearing of the advance of Lord +Raymond and his detachment, the Turkish army had retreated from Rodosto; but +meeting with a reinforcement, they had re-trod their steps. In the meantime, +Argyropylo, the Greek commander-in-chief, had advanced, so as to be between the +Turks and Rodosto; a battle, it was said, was inevitable. Perdita and her child +were to remain at Kishan. Raymond asked me, if I would not continue with them. +“Now by the fells of Cumberland,” I cried, “by all of the +vagabond and poacher that appertains to me, I will stand at your side, draw my +sword in the Greek cause, and be hailed as a victor along with you!” +</p> + +<p> +All the plain, from Kishan to Rodosto, a distance of sixteen leagues, was alive +with troops, or with the camp-followers, all in motion at the approach of a +battle. The small garrisons were drawn from the various towns and fortresses, +and went to swell the main army. We met baggage waggons, and many females of +high and low rank returning to Fairy or Kishan, there to wait the issue of the +expected day. When we arrived at Rodosto, we found that the field had been +taken, and the scheme of the battle arranged. The sound of firing, early on the +following morning, informed us that advanced posts of the armies were engaged. +Regiment after regiment advanced, their colours flying and bands playing. They +planted the cannon on the tumuli, sole elevations in this level country, and +formed themselves into column and hollow square; while the pioneers threw up +small mounds for their protection. +</p> + +<p> +These then were the preparations for a battle, nay, the battle itself; far +different from any thing the imagination had pictured. We read of centre and +wing in Greek and Roman history; we fancy a spot, plain as a table, and +soldiers small as chessmen; and drawn forth, so that the most ignorant of the +game can discover science and order in the disposition of the forces. When I +came to the reality, and saw regiments file off to the left far out of sight, +fields intervening between the battalions, but a few troops sufficiently near +me to observe their motions, I gave up all idea of understanding, even of +seeing a battle, but attaching myself to Raymond attended with intense interest +to his actions. He shewed himself collected, gallant and imperial; his commands +were prompt, his intuition of the events of the day to me miraculous. In the +mean time the cannon roared; the music lifted up its enlivening voice at +intervals; and we on the highest of the mounds I mentioned, too far off to +observe the fallen sheaves which death gathered into his storehouse, beheld the +regiments, now lost in smoke, now banners and staves peering above the cloud, +while shout and clamour drowned every sound. +</p> + +<p> +Early in the day, Argyropylo was wounded dangerously, and Raymond assumed the +command of the whole army. He made few remarks, till, on observing through his +glass the sequel of an order he had given, his face, clouded for awhile with +doubt, became radiant. “The day is ours,” he cried, “the +Turks fly from the bayonet.” And then swiftly he dispatched his +aides-de-camp to command the horse to fall on the routed enemy. The defeat +became total; the cannon ceased to roar; the infantry rallied, and horse +pursued the flying Turks along the dreary plain; the staff of Raymond was +dispersed in various directions, to make observations, and bear commands. Even +I was dispatched to a distant part of the field. +</p> + +<p> +The ground on which the battle was fought, was a level plain—so level, +that from the tumuli you saw the waving line of mountains on the wide-stretched +horizon; yet the intervening space was unvaried by the least irregularity, save +such undulations as resembled the waves of the sea. The whole of this part of +Thrace had been so long a scene of contest, that it had remained uncultivated, +and presented a dreary, barren appearance. The order I had received, was to +make an observation of the direction which a detachment of the enemy might have +taken, from a northern tumulus; the whole Turkish army, followed by the Greek, +had poured eastward; none but the dead remained in the direction of my side. +From the top of the mound, I looked far round—all was silent and +deserted. +</p> + +<p> +The last beams of the nearly sunken sun shot up from behind the far summit of +Mount Athos; the sea of Marmora still glittered beneath its rays, while the +Asiatic coast beyond was half hid in a haze of low cloud. Many a casque, and +bayonet, and sword, fallen from unnerved arms, reflected the departing ray; +they lay scattered far and near. From the east, a band of ravens, old +inhabitants of the Turkish cemeteries, came sailing along towards their +harvest; the sun disappeared. This hour, melancholy yet sweet, has always +seemed to me the time when we are most naturally led to commune with higher +powers; our mortal sternness departs, and gentle complacency invests the soul. +But now, in the midst of the dying and the dead, how could a thought of heaven +or a sensation of tranquillity possess one of the murderers? During the busy +day, my mind had yielded itself a willing slave to the state of things +presented to it by its fellow-beings; historical association, hatred of the +foe, and military enthusiasm had held dominion over me. Now, I looked on the +evening star, as softly and calmly it hung pendulous in the orange hues of +sunset. I turned to the corse-strewn earth; and felt ashamed of my species. So +perhaps were the placid skies; for they quickly veiled themselves in mist, and +in this change assisted the swift disappearance of twilight usual in the south; +heavy masses of cloud floated up from the south east, and red and turbid +lightning shot from their dark edges; the rushing wind disturbed the garments +of the dead, and was chilled as it passed over their icy forms. Darkness +gathered round; the objects about me became indistinct, I descended from my +station, and with difficulty guided my horse, so as to avoid the slain. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly I heard a piercing shriek; a form seemed to rise from the earth; it +flew swiftly towards me, sinking to the ground again as it drew near. All this +passed so suddenly, that I with difficulty reined in my horse, so that it +should not trample on the prostrate being. The dress of this person was that of +a soldier, but the bared neck and arms, and the continued shrieks discovered a +female thus disguised. I dismounted to her aid, while she, with heavy groans, +and her hand placed on her side, resisted my attempt to lead her on. In the +hurry of the moment I forgot that I was in Greece, and in my native accents +endeavoured to soothe the sufferer. With wild and terrific exclamations did the +lost, dying Evadne (for it was she) recognize the language of her lover; pain +and fever from her wound had deranged her intellects, while her piteous cries +and feeble efforts to escape, penetrated me with compassion. In wild delirium +she called upon the name of Raymond; she exclaimed that I was keeping him from +her, while the Turks with fearful instruments of torture were about to take his +life. Then again she sadly lamented her hard fate; that a woman, with a +woman’s heart and sensibility, should be driven by hopeless love and +vacant hopes to take up the trade of arms, and suffer beyond the endurance of +man privation, labour, and pain—the while her dry, hot hand pressed mine, +and her brow and lips burned with consuming fire. +</p> + +<p> +As her strength grew less, I lifted her from the ground; her emaciated form +hung over my arm, her sunken cheek rested on my breast; in a sepulchral voice +she murmured:—“This is the end of love!—Yet not the +end!”— and frenzy lent her strength as she cast her arm up to +heaven: “there is the end! there we meet again. Many living deaths have I +borne for thee, O Raymond, and now I expire, thy victim!—By my death I +purchase thee— lo! the instruments of war, fire, the plague are my +servitors. I dared, I conquered them all, till now! I have sold myself to +death, with the sole condition that thou shouldst follow me—Fire, and +war, and plague, unite for thy destruction—O my Raymond, there is no +safety for thee!” +</p> + +<p> +With an heavy heart I listened to the changes of her delirium; I made her a bed +of cloaks; her violence decreased and a clammy dew stood on her brow as the +paleness of death succeeded to the crimson of fever, I placed her on the +cloaks. She continued to rave of her speedy meeting with her beloved in the +grave, of his death nigh at hand; sometimes she solemnly declared that he was +summoned; sometimes she bewailed his hard destiny. Her voice grew feebler, her +speech interrupted; a few convulsive movements, and her muscles relaxed, the +limbs fell, no more to be sustained, one deep sigh, and life was gone. +</p> + +<p> +I bore her from the near neighbourhood of the dead; wrapt in cloaks, I placed +her beneath a tree. Once more I looked on her altered face; the last time I saw +her she was eighteen; beautiful as poet’s vision, splendid as a Sultana +of the East—Twelve years had past; twelve years of change, sorrow and +hardship; her brilliant complexion had become worn and dark, her limbs had lost +the roundness of youth and womanhood; her eyes had sunk deep, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Crushed and o’erworn,<br/> +The hours had drained her blood, and filled her brow<br/> +With lines and wrinkles. +</p> + +<p> +With shuddering horror I veiled this monument of human passion and human +misery; I heaped over her all of flags and heavy accoutrements I could find, to +guard her from birds and beasts of prey, until I could bestow on her a fitting +grave. Sadly and slowly I stemmed my course from among the heaps of slain, and, +guided by the twinkling lights of the town, at length reached Rodosto. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn1"></a> <a href="#fnref1">[1]</a> +Lord Byron’s Fourth Canto of Childe Harolde. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn2"></a> <a href="#fnref2">[2]</a> +Shakspeare’s Sonnets. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p> +On my arrival, I found that an order had already gone forth for the army to +proceed immediately towards Constantinople; and the troops which had suffered +least in the battle were already on their way. The town was full of tumult. The +wound, and consequent inability of Argyropylo, caused Raymond to be the first +in command. He rode through the town, visiting the wounded, and giving such +orders as were necessary for the siege he meditated. Early in the morning the +whole army was in motion. In the hurry I could hardly find an opportunity to +bestow the last offices on Evadne. Attended only by my servant, I dug a deep +grave for her at the foot of the tree, and without disturbing her warrior +shroud, I placed her in it, heaping stones upon the grave. The dazzling sun and +glare of daylight, deprived the scene of solemnity; from Evadne’s low +tomb, I joined Raymond and his staff, now on their way to the Golden City. +</p> + +<p> +Constantinople was invested, trenches dug, and advances made. The whole Greek +fleet blockaded it by sea; on land from the river Kyat Kbanah, near the Sweet +Waters, to the Tower of Marmora, on the shores of the Propontis, along the +whole line of the ancient walls, the trenches of the siege were drawn. We +already possessed Pera; the Golden Horn itself, the city, bastioned by the sea, +and the ivy-mantled walls of the Greek emperors was all of Europe that the +Mahometans could call theirs. Our army looked on her as certain prey. They +counted the garrison; it was impossible that it should be relieved; each sally +was a victory; for, even when the Turks were triumphant, the loss of men they +sustained was an irreparable injury. I rode one morning with Raymond to the +lofty mound, not far from the Top Kapou, (Cannon-gate), on which Mahmoud +planted his standard, and first saw the city. Still the same lofty domes and +minarets towered above the verdurous walls, where Constantine had died, and the +Turk had entered the city. The plain around was interspersed with cemeteries, +Turk, Greek, and Armenian, with their growth of cypress trees; and other woods +of more cheerful aspect, diversified the scene. Among them the Greek army was +encamped, and their squadrons moved to and fro—now in regular march, now +in swift career. +</p> + +<p> +Raymond’s eyes were fixed on the city. “I have counted the hours of +her life,” said he; “one month, and she falls. Remain with me till +then; wait till you see the cross on St. Sophia; and then return to your +peaceful glades.” +</p> + +<p> +“You then,” I asked, “still remain in Greece?” +</p> + +<p> +“Assuredly,” replied Raymond. “Yet Lionel, when I say this, +believe me I look back with regret to our tranquil life at Windsor. I am but +half a soldier; I love the renown, but not the trade of war. Before the battle +of Rodosto I was full of hope and spirit; to conquer there, and afterwards to +take Constantinople, was the hope, the bourne, the fulfilment of my ambition. +This enthusiasm is now spent, I know not why; I seem to myself to be entering a +darksome gulph; the ardent spirit of the army is irksome to me, the rapture of +triumph null.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, and was lost in thought. His serious mien recalled, by some +association, the half-forgotten Evadne to my mind, and I seized this +opportunity to make enquiries from him concerning her strange lot. I asked him, +if he had ever seen among the troops any one resembling her; if since he had +returned to Greece he had heard of her? +</p> + +<p> +He started at her name,—he looked uneasily on me. “Even so,” +he cried, “I knew you would speak of her. Long, long I had forgotten her. +Since our encampment here, she daily, hourly visits my thoughts. When I am +addressed, her name is the sound I expect: in every communication, I imagine +that she will form a part. At length you have broken the spell; tell me what +you know of her.” +</p> + +<p> +I related my meeting with her; the story of her death was told and re-told. +With painful earnestness he questioned me concerning her prophecies with regard +to him. I treated them as the ravings of a maniac. “No, no,” he +said, “do not deceive yourself,—me you cannot. She has said nothing +but what I knew before—though this is confirmation. Fire, the sword, and +plague! They may all be found in yonder city; on my head alone may they +fall!” +</p> + +<p> +From this day Raymond’s melancholy increased. He secluded himself as much +as the duties of his station permitted. When in company, sadness would in spite +of every effort steal over his features, and he sat absent and mute among the +busy crowd that thronged about him. Perdita rejoined him, and before her he +forced himself to appear cheerful, for she, even as a mirror, changed as he +changed, and if he were silent and anxious, she solicitously inquired +concerning, and endeavoured to remove the cause of his seriousness. She resided +at the palace of Sweet Waters, a summer seraglio of the Sultan; the beauty of +the surrounding scenery, undefiled by war, and the freshness of the river, made +this spot doubly delightful. Raymond felt no relief, received no pleasure from +any show of heaven or earth. He often left Perdita, to wander in the grounds +alone; or in a light shallop he floated idly on the pure waters, musing deeply. +Sometimes I joined him; at such times his countenance was invariably solemn, +his air dejected. He seemed relieved on seeing me, and would talk with some +degree of interest on the affairs of the day. There was evidently something +behind all this; yet, when he appeared about to speak of that which was nearest +his heart, he would abruptly turn away, and with a sigh endeavour to deliver +the painful idea to the winds. +</p> + +<p> +It had often occurred, that, when, as I said, Raymond quitted Perdita’s +drawing-room, Clara came up to me, and gently drawing me aside, said, +“Papa is gone; shall we go to him? I dare say he will be glad to see +you.” And, as accident permitted, I complied with or refused her request. +One evening a numerous assembly of Greek chieftains were gathered together in +the palace. The intriguing Palli, the accomplished Karazza, the warlike +Ypsilanti, were among the principal. They talked of the events of the day; the +skirmish at noon; the diminished numbers of the Infidels; their defeat and +flight: they contemplated, after a short interval of time, the capture of the +Golden City. They endeavoured to picture forth what would then happen, and +spoke in lofty terms of the prosperity of Greece, when Constantinople should +become its capital. The conversation then reverted to Asiatic intelligence, and +the ravages the plague made in its chief cities; conjectures were hazarded as +to the progress that disease might have made in the besieged city. +</p> + +<p> +Raymond had joined in the former part of the discussion. In lively terms he +demonstrated the extremities to which Constantinople was reduced; the wasted +and haggard, though ferocious appearance of the troops; famine and pestilence +was at work for them, he observed, and the infidels would soon be obliged to +take refuge in their only hope—submission. Suddenly in the midst of his +harangue he broke off, as if stung by some painful thought; he rose uneasily, +and I perceived him at length quit the hall, and through the long corridor seek +the open air. He did not return; and soon Clara crept round to me, making the +accustomed invitation. I consented to her request, and taking her little hand, +followed Raymond. We found him just about to embark in his boat, and he readily +agreed to receive us as companions. After the heats of the day, the cooling +land-breeze ruffled the river, and filled our little sail. The city looked dark +to the south, while numerous lights along the near shores, and the beautiful +aspect of the banks reposing in placid night, the waters keenly reflecting the +heavenly lights, gave to this beauteous river a dower of loveliness that might +have characterized a retreat in Paradise. Our single boatman attended to the +sail; Raymond steered; Clara sat at his feet, clasping his knees with her arms, +and laying her head on them. Raymond began the conversation somewhat abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“This, my friend, is probably the last time we shall have an opportunity +of conversing freely; my plans are now in full operation, and my time will +become more and more occupied. Besides, I wish at once to tell you my wishes +and expectations, and then never again to revert to so painful a subject. +First, I must thank you, Lionel, for having remained here at my request. Vanity +first prompted me to ask you: vanity, I call it; yet even in this I see the +hand of fate—your presence will soon be necessary; you will become the +last resource of Perdita, her protector and consoler. You will take her back to +Windsor.”— +</p> + +<p> +“Not without you,” I said. “You do not mean to separate +again?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not deceive yourself,” replied Raymond, “the separation +at hand is one over which I have no control; most near at hand is it; the days +are already counted. May I trust you? For many days I have longed to disclose +the mysterious presentiments that weigh on me, although I fear that you will +ridicule them. Yet do not, my gentle friend; for, all childish and unwise as +they are, they have become a part of me, and I dare not expect to shake them +off. +</p> + +<p> +“Yet how can I expect you to sympathize with me? You are of this world; I +am not. You hold forth your hand; it is even as a part of yourself; and you do +not yet divide the feeling of identity from the mortal form that shapes forth +Lionel. How then can you understand me? Earth is to me a tomb, the firmament a +vault, shrouding mere corruption. Time is no more, for I have stepped within +the threshold of eternity; each man I meet appears a corse, which will soon be +deserted of its animating spark, on the eve of decay and corruption. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Cada piedra un piramide levanta,<br/> +y cada flor costruye un monumento,<br/> +cada edificio es un sepulcro altivo,<br/> +cada soldado un esqueleto vivo.”<a href="#fn3" name="fnref3"><sup>[3]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +His accent was mournful,—he sighed deeply. “A few months +ago,” he continued, “I was thought to be dying; but life was strong +within me. My affections were human; hope and love were the day-stars of my +life. Now— they dream that the brows of the conqueror of the infidel +faith are about to be encircled by triumphant laurel; they talk of honourable +reward, of title, power, and wealth—all I ask of Greece is a grave. Let +them raise a mound above my lifeless body, which may stand even when the dome +of St. Sophia has fallen. +</p> + +<p> +“Wherefore do I feel thus? At Rodosto I was full of hope; but when first +I saw Constantinople, that feeling, with every other joyful one, departed. The +last words of Evadne were the seal upon the warrant of my death. Yet I do not +pretend to account for my mood by any particular event. All I can say is, that +it is so. The plague I am told is in Constantinople, perhaps I have imbibed its +effluvia—perhaps disease is the real cause of my prognostications. It +matters little why or wherefore I am affected, no power can avert the stroke, +and the shadow of Fate’s uplifted hand already darkens me. +</p> + +<p> +“To you, Lionel, I entrust your sister and her child. Never mention to +her the fatal name of Evadne. She would doubly sorrow over the strange link +that enchains me to her, making my spirit obey her dying voice, following her, +as it is about to do, to the unknown country.” +</p> + +<p> +I listened to him with wonder; but that his sad demeanour and solemn utterance +assured me of the truth and intensity of his feelings, I should with light +derision have attempted to dissipate his fears. Whatever I was about to reply, +was interrupted by the powerful emotions of Clara. Raymond had spoken, +thoughtless of her presence, and she, poor child, heard with terror and faith +the prophecy of his death. Her father was moved by her violent grief; he took +her in his arms and soothed her, but his very soothings were solemn and +fearful. “Weep not, sweet child,” said he, “the coming death +of one you have hardly known. I may die, but in death I can never forget or +desert my own Clara. In after sorrow or joy, believe that you father’s +spirit is near, to save or sympathize with you. Be proud of me, and cherish +your infant remembrance of me. Thus, sweetest, I shall not appear to die. One +thing you must promise,—not to speak to any one but your uncle, of the +conversation you have just overheard. When I am gone, you will console your +mother, and tell her that death was only bitter because it divided me from her; +that my last thoughts will be spent on her. But while I live, promise not to +betray me; promise, my child.” +</p> + +<p> +With faltering accents Clara promised, while she still clung to her father in a +transport of sorrow. Soon we returned to shore, and I endeavoured to obviate +the impression made on the child’s mind, by treating Raymond’s +fears lightly. We heard no more of them; for, as he had said, the siege, now +drawing to a conclusion, became paramount in interest, engaging all his time +and attention. +</p> + +<p> +The empire of the Mahometans in Europe was at its close. The Greek fleet +blockading every port of Stamboul, prevented the arrival of succour from Asia; +all egress on the side towards land had become impracticable, except to such +desperate sallies, as reduced the numbers of the enemy without making any +impression on our lines. The garrison was now so much diminished, that it was +evident that the city could easily have been carried by storm; but both +humanity and policy dictated a slower mode of proceeding. We could hardly doubt +that, if pursued to the utmost, its palaces, its temples and store of wealth +would be destroyed in the fury of contending triumph and defeat. Already the +defenceless citizens had suffered through the barbarity of the Janisaries; and, +in time of storm, tumult and massacre, beauty, infancy and decrepitude, would +have alike been sacrificed to the brutal ferocity of the soldiers. Famine and +blockade were certain means of conquest; and on these we founded our hopes of +victory. +</p> + +<p> +Each day the soldiers of the garrison assaulted our advanced posts, and impeded +the accomplishment of our works. Fire-boats were launched from the various +ports, while our troops sometimes recoiled from the devoted courage of men who +did not seek to live, but to sell their lives dearly. These contests were +aggravated by the season: they took place during summer, when the southern +Asiatic wind came laden with intolerable heat, when the streams were dried up +in their shallow beds, and the vast basin of the sea appeared to glow under the +unmitigated rays of the solsticial sun. Nor did night refresh the earth. Dew +was denied; herbage and flowers there were none; the very trees drooped; and +summer assumed the blighted appearance of winter, as it went forth in silence +and flame to abridge the means of sustenance to man. In vain did the eye strive +to find the wreck of some northern cloud in the stainless empyrean, which might +bring hope of change and moisture to the oppressive and windless atmosphere. +All was serene, burning, annihilating. We the besiegers were in the comparison +little affected by these evils. The woods around afforded us shade,—the +river secured to us a constant supply of water; nay, detachments were employed +in furnishing the army with ice, which had been laid up on Haemus, and Athos, +and the mountains of Macedonia, while cooling fruits and wholesome food +renovated the strength of the labourers, and made us bear with less impatience +the weight of the unrefreshing air. But in the city things wore a different +face. The sun’s rays were refracted from the pavement and +buildings—the stoppage of the public fountains—the bad quality of +the food, and scarcity even of that, produced a state of suffering, which was +aggravated by the scourge of disease; while the garrison arrogated every +superfluity to themselves, adding by waste and riot to the necessary evils of +the time. Still they would not capitulate. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly the system of warfare was changed. We experienced no more assaults; +and by night and day we continued our labours unimpeded. Stranger still, when +the troops advanced near the city, the walls were vacant, and no cannon was +pointed against the intruders. When these circumstances were reported to +Raymond, he caused minute observations to be made as to what was doing within +the walls, and when his scouts returned, reporting only the continued silence +and desolation of the city, he commanded the army to be drawn out before the +gates. No one appeared on the walls; the very portals, though locked and +barred, seemed unguarded; above, the many domes and glittering crescents +pierced heaven; while the old walls, survivors of ages, with ivy-crowned tower +and weed-tangled buttress, stood as rocks in an uninhabited waste. From within +the city neither shout nor cry, nor aught except the casual howling of a dog, +broke the noon-day stillness. Even our soldiers were awed to silence; the music +paused; the clang of arms was hushed. Each man asked his fellow in whispers, +the meaning of this sudden peace; while Raymond from an height endeavoured, by +means of glasses, to discover and observe the stratagem of the enemy. No form +could be discerned on the terraces of the houses; in the higher parts of the +town no moving shadow bespoke the presence of any living being: the very trees +waved not, and mocked the stability of architecture with like immovability. +</p> + +<p> +The tramp of horses, distinctly heard in the silence, was at length discerned. +It was a troop sent by Karazza, the Admiral; they bore dispatches to the Lord +General. The contents of these papers were important. The night before, the +watch, on board one of the smaller vessels anchored near the seraglio wall, was +roused by a slight splashing as of muffled oars; the alarm was given: twelve +small boats, each containing three Janizaries, were descried endeavouring to +make their way through the fleet to the opposite shore of Scutari. When they +found themselves discovered they discharged their muskets, and some came to the +front to cover the others, whose crews, exerting all their strength, +endeavoured to escape with their light barks from among the dark hulls that +environed them. They were in the end all sunk, and, with the exception of two +or three prisoners, the crews drowned. Little could be got from the survivors; +but their cautious answers caused it to be surmised that several expeditions +had preceded this last, and that several Turks of rank and importance had been +conveyed to Asia. The men disdainfully repelled the idea of having deserted the +defence of their city; and one, the youngest among them, in answer to the taunt +of a sailor, exclaimed, “Take it, Christian dogs! take the palaces, the +gardens, the mosques, the abode of our fathers—take plague with them; +pestilence is the enemy we fly; if she be your friend, hug her to your bosoms. +The curse of Allah is on Stamboul, share ye her fate.” +</p> + +<p> +Such was the account sent by Karazza to Raymond: but a tale full of monstrous +exaggerations, though founded on this, was spread by the accompanying troop +among our soldiers. A murmur arose, the city was the prey of pestilence; +already had a mighty power subjugated the inhabitants; Death had become lord of +Constantinople. +</p> + +<p> +I have heard a picture described, wherein all the inhabitants of earth were +drawn out in fear to stand the encounter of Death. The feeble and decrepid +fled; the warriors retreated, though they threatened even in flight. Wolves and +lions, and various monsters of the desert roared against him; while the grim +Unreality hovered shaking his spectral dart, a solitary but invincible +assailant. Even so was it with the army of Greece. I am convinced, that had the +myriad troops of Asia come from over the Propontis, and stood defenders of the +Golden City, each and every Greek would have marched against the overwhelming +numbers, and have devoted himself with patriotic fury for his country. But here +no hedge of bayonets opposed itself, no death-dealing artillery, no formidable +array of brave soldiers—the unguarded walls afforded easy +entrance—the vacant palaces luxurious dwellings; but above the dome of +St. Sophia the superstitious Greek saw Pestilence, and shrunk in trepidation +from her influence. +</p> + +<p> +Raymond was actuated by far other feelings. He descended the hill with a face +beaming with triumph, and pointing with his sword to the gates, commanded his +troops to—down with those barricades—the only obstacles now to +completest victory. The soldiers answered his cheerful words with aghast and +awe-struck looks; instinctively they drew back, and Raymond rode in the front +of the lines:—“By my sword I swear,” he cried, “that no +ambush or stratagem endangers you. The enemy is already vanquished; the +pleasant places, the noble dwellings and spoil of the city are already yours; +force the gate; enter and possess the seats of your ancestors, your own +inheritance!” +</p> + +<p> +An universal shudder and fearful whispering passed through the lines; not a +soldier moved. “Cowards!” exclaimed their general, exasperated, +“give me an hatchet! I alone will enter! I will plant your standard; and +when you see it wave from yon highest minaret, you may gain courage, and rally +round it!” +</p> + +<p> +One of the officers now came forward: “General,” he said, “we +neither fear the courage, nor arms, the open attack, nor secret ambush of the +Moslems. We are ready to expose our breasts, exposed ten thousand times before, +to the balls and scymetars of the infidels, and to fall gloriously for Greece. +But we will not die in heaps, like dogs poisoned in summer-time, by the +pestilential air of that city—we dare not go against the plague!” +</p> + +<p> +A multitude of men are feeble and inert, without a voice, a leader; give them +that, and they regain the strength belonging to their numbers. Shouts from a +thousand voices now rent the air—the cry of applause became universal. +Raymond saw the danger; he was willing to save his troops from the crime of +disobedience; for he knew, that contention once begun between the commander and +his army, each act and word added to the weakness of the former, and bestowed +power on the latter. He gave orders for the retreat to be sounded, and the +regiments repaired in good order to the camp. +</p> + +<p> +I hastened to carry the intelligence of these strange proceedings to Perdita; +and we were soon joined by Raymond. He looked gloomy and perturbed. My sister +was struck by my narrative: “How beyond the imagination of man,” +she exclaimed, “are the decrees of heaven, wondrous and +inexplicable!” +</p> + +<p> +“Foolish girl,” cried Raymond angrily, “are you like my +valiant soldiers, panic-struck? What is there inexplicable, pray, tell me, in +so very natural an occurrence? Does not the plague rage each year in Stamboul? +What wonder, that this year, when as we are told, its virulence is unexampled +in Asia, that it should have occasioned double havoc in that city? What wonder +then, in time of siege, want, extreme heat, and drought, that it should make +unaccustomed ravages? Less wonder far is it, that the garrison, despairing of +being able to hold out longer, should take advantage of the negligence of our +fleet to escape at once from siege and capture. It is not pestilence —by +the God that lives! it is not either plague or impending danger that makes us, +like birds in harvest-time, terrified by a scarecrow, abstain from the ready +prey—it is base superstition—And thus the aim of the valiant is +made the shuttlecock of fools; the worthy ambition of the high-souled, the +plaything of these tamed hares! But yet Stamboul shall be ours! By my past +labours, by torture and imprisonment suffered for them, by my victories, by my +sword, I swear—by my hopes of fame, by my former deserts now awaiting +their reward, I deeply vow, with these hands to plant the cross on yonder +mosque!” +</p> + +<p> +“Dearest Raymond!” interrupted Perdita, in a supplicating accent. +</p> + +<p> +He had been walking to and fro in the marble hall of the seraglio; his very +lips were pale with rage, while, quivering, they shaped his angry words— +his eyes shot fire—his gestures seemed restrained by their very +vehemence. “Perdita,” he continued, impatiently, “I know what +you would say; I know that you love me, that you are good and gentle; but this +is no woman’s work—nor can a female heart guess at the hurricane +which tears me!” +</p> + +<p> +He seemed half afraid of his own violence, and suddenly quitted the hall: a +look from Perdita shewed me her distress, and I followed him. He was pacing the +garden: his passions were in a state of inconceivable turbulence. “Am I +for ever,” he cried, “to be the sport of fortune! Must man, the +heaven-climber, be for ever the victim of the crawling reptiles of his species! +Were I as you, Lionel, looking forward to many years of life, to a succession +of love-enlightened days, to refined enjoyments and fresh-springing hopes, I +might yield, and breaking my General’s staff, seek repose in the glades +of Windsor. But I am about to die!—nay, interrupt me not—soon I +shall die. From the many-peopled earth, from the sympathies of man, from the +loved resorts of my youth, from the kindness of my friends, from the affection +of my only beloved Perdita, I am about to be removed. Such is the will of fate! +Such the decree of the High Ruler from whom there is no appeal: to whom I +submit. But to lose all—to lose with life and love, glory also! It shall +not be! +</p> + +<p> +“I, and in a few brief years, all you,—this panic-struck army, and +all the population of fair Greece, will no longer be. But other generations +will arise, and ever and for ever will continue, to be made happier by our +present acts, to be glorified by our valour. The prayer of my youth was to be +one among those who render the pages of earth’s history splendid; who +exalt the race of man, and make this little globe a dwelling of the mighty. +Alas, for Raymond! the prayer of his youth is wasted—the hopes of his +manhood are null! +</p> + +<p> +“From my dungeon in yonder city I cried, soon I will be thy lord! When +Evadne pronounced my death, I thought that the title of Victor of +Constantinople would be written on my tomb, and I subdued all mortal fear. I +stand before its vanquished walls, and dare not call myself a conqueror. So +shall it not be! Did not Alexander leap from the walls of the city of the +Oxydracae, to shew his coward troops the way to victory, encountering alone the +swords of its defenders? Even so will I brave the plague—and though no +man follow, I will plant the Grecian standard on the height of St. +Sophia.” +</p> + +<p> +Reason came unavailing to such high-wrought feelings. In vain I shewed him, +that when winter came, the cold would dissipate the pestilential air, and +restore courage to the Greeks. “Talk not of other season than +this!” he cried. “I have lived my last winter, and the date of this +year, 2092, will be carved upon my tomb. Already do I see,” he continued, +looking up mournfully, “the bourne and precipitate edge of my existence, +over which I plunge into the gloomy mystery of the life to come. I am prepared, +so that I leave behind a trail of light so radiant, that my worst enemies +cannot cloud it. I owe this to Greece, to you, to my surviving Perdita, and to +myself, the victim of ambition.” +</p> + +<p> +We were interrupted by an attendant, who announced, that the staff of Raymond +was assembled in the council-chamber. He requested me in the meantime to ride +through the camp, and to observe and report to him the dispositions of the +soldiers; he then left me. I had been excited to the utmost by the proceedings +of the day, and now more than ever by the passionate language of Raymond. Alas! +for human reason! He accused the Greeks of superstition: what name did he give +to the faith he lent to the predictions of Evadne? I passed from the palace of +Sweet Waters to the plain on which the encampment lay, and found its +inhabitants in commotion. The arrival of several with fresh stories of marvels, +from the fleet; the exaggerations bestowed on what was already known; tales of +old prophecies, of fearful histories of whole regions which had been laid waste +during the present year by pestilence, alarmed and occupied the troops. +Discipline was lost; the army disbanded itself. Each individual, before a part +of a great whole moving only in unison with others, now became resolved into +the unit nature had made him, and thought of himself only. They stole off at +first by ones and twos, then in larger companies, until, unimpeded by the +officers, whole battalions sought the road that led to Macedonia. +</p> + +<p> +About midnight I returned to the palace and sought Raymond; he was alone, and +apparently composed; such composure, at least, was his as is inspired by a +resolve to adhere to a certain line of conduct. He heard my account of the +self-dissolution of the army with calmness, and then said, “You know, +Verney, my fixed determination not to quit this place, until in the light of +day Stamboul is confessedly ours. If the men I have about me shrink from +following me, others, more courageous, are to be found. Go you before break of +day, bear these dispatches to Karazza, add to them your own entreaties that he +send me his marines and naval force; if I can get but one regiment to second +me, the rest would follow of course. Let him send me this regiment. I shall +expect your return by to-morrow noon.” +</p> + +<p> +Methought this was but a poor expedient; but I assured him of my obedience and +zeal. I quitted him to take a few hours rest. With the breaking of morning I +was accoutred for my ride. I lingered awhile, desirous of taking leave of +Perdita, and from my window observed the approach of the sun. The golden +splendour arose, and weary nature awoke to suffer yet another day of heat and +thirsty decay. No flowers lifted up their dew-laden cups to meet the dawn; the +dry grass had withered on the plains; the burning fields of air were vacant of +birds; the cicale alone, children of the sun, began their shrill and deafening +song among the cypresses and olives. I saw Raymond’s coal-black charger +brought to the palace gate; a small company of officers arrived soon after; +care and fear was painted on each cheek, and in each eye, unrefreshed by sleep. +I found Raymond and Perdita together. He was watching the rising sun, while +with one arm he encircled his beloved’s waist; she looked on him, the sun +of her life, with earnest gaze of mingled anxiety and tenderness. Raymond +started angrily when he saw me. “Here still?” he cried. “Is +this your promised zeal?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me,” I said, “but even as you speak, I am +gone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, pardon me,” he replied; “I have no right to command or +reproach; but my life hangs on your departure and speedy return. +Farewell!” +</p> + +<p> +His voice had recovered its bland tone, but a dark cloud still hung on his +features. I would have delayed; I wished to recommend watchfulness to Perdita, +but his presence restrained me. I had no pretence for my hesitation; and on his +repeating his farewell, I clasped his outstretched hand; it was cold and +clammy. “Take care of yourself, my dear Lord,” I said. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” said Perdita, “that task shall be mine. Return +speedily, Lionel.” With an air of absence he was playing with her auburn +locks, while she leaned on him; twice I turned back, only to look again on this +matchless pair. At last, with slow and heavy steps, I had paced out of the +hall, and sprung upon my horse. At that moment Clara flew towards me; clasping +my knee she cried, “Make haste back, uncle! Dear uncle, I have such +fearful dreams; I dare not tell my mother. Do not be long away!” I +assured her of my impatience to return, and then, with a small escort rode +along the plain towards the tower of Marmora. +</p> + +<p> +I fulfilled my commission; I saw Karazza. He was somewhat surprised; he would +see, he said, what could be done; but it required time; and Raymond had ordered +me to return by noon. It was impossible to effect any thing in so short a time. +I must stay till the next day; or come back, after having reported the present +state of things to the general. My choice was easily made. A restlessness, a +fear of what was about to betide, a doubt as to Raymond’s purposes, urged +me to return without delay to his quarters. Quitting the Seven Towers, I rode +eastward towards the Sweet Waters. I took a circuitous path, principally for +the sake of going to the top of the mount before mentioned, which commanded a +view of the city. I had my glass with me. The city basked under the noon-day +sun, and the venerable walls formed its picturesque boundary. Immediately +before me was the Top Kapou, the gate near which Mahomet had made the breach by +which he entered the city. Trees gigantic and aged grew near; before the gate I +discerned a crowd of moving human figures—with intense curiosity I lifted +my glass to my eye. I saw Lord Raymond on his charger; a small company of +officers had gathered about him; and behind was a promiscuous concourse of +soldiers and subalterns, their discipline lost, their arms thrown aside; no +music sounded, no banners streamed. The only flag among them was one which +Raymond carried; he pointed with it to the gate of the city. The circle round +him fell back. With angry gestures he leapt from his horse, and seizing a +hatchet that hung from his saddle-bow, went with the apparent intention of +battering down the opposing gate. A few men came to aid him; their numbers +increased; under their united blows the obstacle was vanquished, gate, +portcullis, and fence were demolished; and the wide sun-lit way, leading to the +heart of the city, now lay open before them. The men shrank back; they seemed +afraid of what they had already done, and stood as if they expected some Mighty +Phantom to stalk in offended majesty from the opening. Raymond sprung lightly +on his horse, grasped the standard, and with words which I could not hear (but +his gestures, being their fit accompaniment, were marked by passionate energy,) +he seemed to adjure their assistance and companionship; even as he spoke, the +crowd receded from him. Indignation now transported him; his words I guessed +were fraught with disdain—then turning from his coward followers, he +addressed himself to enter the city alone. His very horse seemed to back from +the fatal entrance; his dog, his faithful dog, lay moaning and supplicating in +his path—in a moment more, he had plunged the rowels into the sides of +the stung animal, who bounded forward, and he, the gateway passed, was +galloping up the broad and desart street. +</p> + +<p> +Until this moment my soul had been in my eyes only. I had gazed with wonder, +mixed with fear and enthusiasm. The latter feeling now predominated. I forgot +the distance between us: “I will go with thee, Raymond!” I cried; +but, my eye removed from the glass, I could scarce discern the pigmy forms of +the crowd, which about a mile from me surrounded the gate; the form of Raymond +was lost. Stung with impatience, I urged my horse with force of spur and +loosened reins down the acclivity, that, before danger could arrive, I might be +at the side of my noble, godlike friend. A number of buildings and trees +intervened, when I had reached the plain, hiding the city from my view. But at +that moment a crash was heard. Thunderlike it reverberated through the sky, +while the air was darkened. A moment more and the old walls again met my sight, +while over them hovered a murky cloud; fragments of buildings whirled above, +half seen in smoke, while flames burst out beneath, and continued explosions +filled the air with terrific thunders. Flying from the mass of falling ruin +which leapt over the high walls, and shook the ivy towers, a crowd of soldiers +made for the road by which I came; I was surrounded, hemmed in by them, unable +to get forward. My impatience rose to its utmost; I stretched out my hands to +the men; I conjured them to turn back and save their General, the conqueror of +Stamboul, the liberator of Greece; tears, aye tears, in warm flow gushed from +my eyes—I would not believe in his destruction; yet every mass that +darkened the air seemed to bear with it a portion of the martyred Raymond. +Horrible sights were shaped to me in the turbid cloud that hovered over the +city; and my only relief was derived from the struggles I made to approach the +gate. Yet when I effected my purpose, all I could discern within the precincts +of the massive walls was a city of fire: the open way through which Raymond had +ridden was enveloped in smoke and flame. After an interval the explosions +ceased, but the flames still shot up from various quarters; the dome of St. +Sophia had disappeared. Strange to say (the result perhaps of the concussion of +air occasioned by the blowing up of the city) huge, white thunder clouds lifted +themselves up from the southern horizon, and gathered over-head; they were the +first blots on the blue expanse that I had seen for months, and amidst this +havoc and despair they inspired pleasure. The vault above became obscured, +lightning flashed from the heavy masses, followed instantaneously by crashing +thunder; then the big rain fell. The flames of the city bent beneath it; and +the smoke and dust arising from the ruins was dissipated. +</p> + +<p> +I no sooner perceived an abatement of the flames than, hurried on by an +irresistible impulse, I endeavoured to penetrate the town. I could only do this +on foot, as the mass of ruin was impracticable for a horse. I had never entered +the city before, and its ways were unknown to me. The streets were blocked up, +the ruins smoking; I climbed up one heap, only to view others in succession; +and nothing told me where the centre of the town might be, or towards what +point Raymond might have directed his course. The rain ceased; the clouds sunk +behind the horizon; it was now evening, and the sun descended swiftly the +western sky. I scrambled on, until I came to a street, whose wooden houses, +half-burnt, had been cooled by the rain, and were fortunately uninjured by the +gunpowder. Up this I hurried—until now I had not seen a vestige of man. +Yet none of the defaced human forms which I distinguished, could be Raymond; so +I turned my eyes away, while my heart sickened within me. I came to an open +space—a mountain of ruin in the midst, announced that some large mosque +had occupied the space—and here, scattered about, I saw various articles +of luxury and wealth, singed, destroyed—but shewing what they had been in +their ruin—jewels, strings of pearls, embroidered robes, rich furs, +glittering tapestries, and oriental ornaments, seemed to have been collected +here in a pile destined for destruction; but the rain had stopped the havoc +midway. +</p> + +<p> +Hours passed, while in this scene of ruin I sought for Raymond. Insurmountable +heaps sometimes opposed themselves; the still burning fires scorched me. The +sun set; the atmosphere grew dim—and the evening star no longer shone +companionless. The glare of flames attested the progress of destruction, while, +during mingled light and obscurity, the piles around me took gigantic +proportions and weird shapes. For a moment I could yield to the creative power +of the imagination, and for a moment was soothed by the sublime fictions it +presented to me. The beatings of my human heart drew me back to blank reality. +Where, in this wilderness of death, art thou, O Raymond—ornament of +England, deliverer of Greece, “hero of unwritten story,” where in +this burning chaos are thy dear relics strewed? I called aloud for +him—through the darkness of night, over the scorching ruins of fallen +Constantinople, his name was heard; no voice replied—echo even was mute. +</p> + +<p> +I was overcome by weariness; the solitude depressed my spirits. The sultry air +impregnated with dust, the heat and smoke of burning palaces, palsied my limbs. +Hunger suddenly came acutely upon me. The excitement which had hitherto +sustained me was lost; as a building, whose props are loosened, and whose +foundations rock, totters and falls, so when enthusiasm and hope deserted me, +did my strength fail. I sat on the sole remaining step of an edifice, which +even in its downfall, was huge and magnificent; a few broken walls, not +dislodged by gunpowder, stood in fantastic groupes, and a flame glimmered at +intervals on the summit of the pile. For a time hunger and sleep contended, +till the constellations reeled before my eyes and then were lost. I strove to +rise, but my heavy lids closed, my limbs over-wearied, claimed repose—I +rested my head on the stone, I yielded to the grateful sensation of utter +forgetfulness; and in that scene of desolation, on that night of +despair—I slept. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn3"></a> <a href="#fnref3">[3]</a> +Calderon de la Barca. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<p> +The stars still shone brightly when I awoke, and Taurus high in the southern +heaven shewed that it was midnight. I awoke from disturbed dreams. Methought I +had been invited to Timon’s last feast; I came with keen appetite, the +covers were removed, the hot water sent up its unsatisfying steams, while I +fled before the anger of the host, who assumed the form of Raymond; while to my +diseased fancy, the vessels hurled by him after me, were surcharged with fetid +vapour, and my friend’s shape, altered by a thousand distortions, +expanded into a gigantic phantom, bearing on its brow the sign of pestilence. +The growing shadow rose and rose, filling, and then seeming to endeavour to +burst beyond, the adamantine vault that bent over, sustaining and enclosing the +world. The night-mare became torture; with a strong effort I threw off sleep, +and recalled reason to her wonted functions. My first thought was Perdita; to +her I must return; her I must support, drawing such food from despair as might +best sustain her wounded heart; recalling her from the wild excesses of grief, +by the austere laws of duty, and the soft tenderness of regret. +</p> + +<p> +The position of the stars was my only guide. I turned from the awful ruin of +the Golden City, and, after great exertion, succeeded in extricating myself +from its enclosure. I met a company of soldiers outside the walls; I borrowed a +horse from one of them, and hastened to my sister. The appearance of the plain +was changed during this short interval; the encampment was broken up; the +relics of the disbanded army met in small companies here and there; each face +was clouded; every gesture spoke astonishment and dismay. +</p> + +<p> +With an heavy heart I entered the palace, and stood fearful to advance, to +speak, to look. In the midst of the hall was Perdita; she sat on the marble +pavement, her head fallen on her bosom, her hair dishevelled, her fingers +twined busily one within the other; she was pale as marble, and every feature +was contracted by agony. She perceived me, and looked up enquiringly; her half +glance of hope was misery; the words died before I could articulate them; I +felt a ghastly smile wrinkle my lips. She understood my gesture; again her head +fell; again her fingers worked restlessly. At last I recovered speech, but my +voice terrified her; the hapless girl had understood my look, and for worlds +she would not that the tale of her heavy misery should have been shaped out and +confirmed by hard, irrevocable words. Nay, she seemed to wish to distract my +thoughts from the subject: she rose from the floor: “Hush!” she +said, whisperingly; “after much weeping, Clara sleeps; we must not +disturb her.” She seated herself then on the same ottoman where I had +left her in the morning resting on the beating heart of her Raymond; I dared +not approach her, but sat at a distant corner, watching her starting and +nervous gestures. At length, in an abrupt manner she asked, “Where is +he?” +</p> + +<p> +“O, fear not,” she continued, “fear not that I should +entertain hope! Yet tell me, have you found him? To have him once more in my +arms, to see him, however changed, is all I desire. Though Constantinople be +heaped above him as a tomb, yet I must find him—then cover us with the +city’s weight, with a mountain piled above—I care not, so that one +grave hold Raymond and his Perdita.” Then weeping, she clung to me: +“Take me to him,” she cried, “unkind Lionel, why do you keep +me here? Of myself I cannot find him —but you know where he +lies—lead me thither.” +</p> + +<p> +At first these agonizing plaints filled me with intolerable compassion. But +soon I endeavoured to extract patience for her from the ideas she suggested. I +related my adventures of the night, my endeavours to find our lost one, and my +disappointment. Turning her thoughts this way, I gave them an object which +rescued them from insanity. With apparent calmness she discussed with me the +probable spot where he might be found, and planned the means we should use for +that purpose. Then hearing of my fatigue and abstinence, she herself brought me +food. I seized the favourable moment, and endeavoured to awaken in her +something beyond the killing torpor of grief. As I spoke, my subject carried me +away; deep admiration; grief, the offspring of truest affection, the +overflowing of a heart bursting with sympathy for all that had been great and +sublime in the career of my friend, inspired me as I poured forth the praises +of Raymond. +</p> + +<p> +“Alas, for us,” I cried, “who have lost this latest honour of +the world! Beloved Raymond! He is gone to the nations of the dead; he has +become one of those, who render the dark abode of the obscure grave illustrious +by dwelling there. He has journied on the road that leads to it, and joined the +mighty of soul who went before him. When the world was in its infancy death +must have been terrible, and man left his friends and kindred to dwell, a +solitary stranger, in an unknown country. But now, he who dies finds many +companions gone before to prepare for his reception. The great of past ages +people it, the exalted hero of our own days is counted among its inhabitants, +while life becomes doubly ‘the desart and the solitude.’ +</p> + +<p> +“What a noble creature was Raymond, the first among the men of our time. +By the grandeur of his conceptions, the graceful daring of his actions, by his +wit and beauty, he won and ruled the minds of all. Of one only fault he might +have been accused; but his death has cancelled that. I have heard him called +inconstant of purpose—when he deserted, for the sake of love, the hope of +sovereignty, and when he abdicated the protectorship of England, men blamed his +infirmity of purpose. Now his death has crowned his life, and to the end of +time it will be remembered, that he devoted himself, a willing victim, to the +glory of Greece. Such was his choice: he expected to die. He foresaw that he +should leave this cheerful earth, the lightsome sky, and thy love, Perdita; yet +he neither hesitated or turned back, going right onward to his mark of fame. +While the earth lasts, his actions will be recorded with praise. Grecian +maidens will in devotion strew flowers on his tomb, and make the air around it +resonant with patriotic hymns, in which his name will find high record.” +</p> + +<p> +I saw the features of Perdita soften; the sternness of grief yielded to +tenderness—I continued:—“Thus to honour him, is the sacred +duty of his survivors. To make his name even as an holy spot of ground, +enclosing it from all hostile attacks by our praise, shedding on it the +blossoms of love and regret, guarding it from decay, and bequeathing it +untainted to posterity. Such is the duty of his friends. A dearer one belongs +to you, Perdita, mother of his child. Do you remember in her infancy, with what +transport you beheld Clara, recognizing in her the united being of yourself and +Raymond; joying to view in this living temple a manifestation of your eternal +loves. Even such is she still. You say that you have lost Raymond. O, +no!—yet he lives with you and in you there. From him she sprung, flesh of +his flesh, bone of his bone—and not, as heretofore, are you content to +trace in her downy cheek and delicate limbs, an affinity to Raymond, but in her +enthusiastic affections, in the sweet qualities of her mind, you may still find +him living, the good, the great, the beloved. Be it your care to foster this +similarity—be it your care to render her worthy of him, so that, when she +glory in her origin, she take not shame for what she is.” +</p> + +<p> +I could perceive that, when I recalled my sister’s thoughts to her duties +in life, she did not listen with the same patience as before. She appeared to +suspect a plan of consolation on my part, from which she, cherishing her +new-born grief, revolted. “You talk of the future,” she said, +“while the present is all to me. Let me find the earthly dwelling of my +beloved; let us rescue that from common dust, so that in times to come men may +point to the sacred tomb, and name it his—then to other thoughts, and a +new course of life, or what else fate, in her cruel tyranny, may have marked +out for me.” +</p> + +<p> +After a short repose I prepared to leave her, that I might endeavour to +accomplish her wish. In the mean time we were joined by Clara, whose pallid +cheek and scared look shewed the deep impression grief had made on her young +mind. She seemed to be full of something to which she could not give words; +but, seizing an opportunity afforded by Perdita’s absence, she preferred +to me an earnest prayer, that I would take her within view of the gate at which +her father had entered Constantinople. She promised to commit no extravagance, +to be docile, and immediately to return. I could not refuse; for Clara was not +an ordinary child; her sensibility and intelligence seemed already to have +endowed her with the rights of womanhood. With her therefore, before me on my +horse, attended only by the servant who was to re-conduct her, we rode to the +Top Kapou. We found a party of soldiers gathered round it. They were listening. +“They are human cries,” said one: “More like the howling of a +dog,” replied another; and again they bent to catch the sound of regular +distant moans, which issued from the precincts of the ruined city. “That, +Clara,” I said, “is the gate, that the street which yestermorn your +father rode up.” Whatever Clara’s intention had been in asking to +be brought hither, it was balked by the presence of the soldiers. With earnest +gaze she looked on the labyrinth of smoking piles which had been a city, and +then expressed her readiness to return home. At this moment a melancholy howl +struck on our ears; it was repeated; “Hark!” cried Clara, “he +is there; that is Florio, my father’s dog.” It seemed to me +impossible that she could recognise the sound, but she persisted in her +assertion till she gained credit with the crowd about. At least it would be a +benevolent action to rescue the sufferer, whether human or brute, from the +desolation of the town; so, sending Clara back to her home, I again entered +Constantinople. Encouraged by the impunity attendant on my former visit, +several soldiers who had made a part of Raymond’s body guard, who had +loved him, and sincerely mourned his loss, accompanied me. +</p> + +<p> +It is impossible to conjecture the strange enchainment of events which restored +the lifeless form of my friend to our hands. In that part of the town where the +fire had most raged the night before, and which now lay quenched, black and +cold, the dying dog of Raymond crouched beside the mutilated form of its lord. +At such a time sorrow has no voice; affliction, tamed by its very vehemence, +is mute. The poor animal recognised me, licked my hand, crept close to its +lord, and died. He had been evidently thrown from his horse by some falling +ruin, which had crushed his head, and defaced his whole person. I bent over the +body, and took in my hand the edge of his cloak, less altered in appearance +than the human frame it clothed. I pressed it to my lips, while the rough +soldiers gathered around, mourning over this worthiest prey of death, as if +regret and endless lamentation could re-illumine the extinguished spark, or +call to its shattered prison-house of flesh the liberated spirit. Yesterday +those limbs were worth an universe; they then enshrined a transcendant power, +whose intents, words, and actions were worthy to be recorded in letters of +gold; now the superstition of affection alone could give value to the shattered +mechanism, which, incapable and clod-like, no more resembled Raymond, than the +fallen rain is like the former mansion of cloud in which it climbed the highest +skies, and gilded by the sun, attracted all eyes, and satiated the sense by its +excess of beauty. +</p> + +<p> +Such as he had now become, such as was his terrene vesture, defaced and +spoiled, we wrapt it in our cloaks, and lifting the burthen in our arms, bore +it from this city of the dead. The question arose as to where we should deposit +him. In our road to the palace, we passed through the Greek cemetery; here on a +tablet of black marble I caused him to be laid; the cypresses waved high above, +their death-like gloom accorded with his state of nothingness. We cut branches +of the funereal trees and placed them over him, and on these again his sword. I +left a guard to protect this treasure of dust; and ordered perpetual torches to +be burned around. +</p> + +<p> +When I returned to Perdita, I found that she had already been informed of the +success of my undertaking. He, her beloved, the sole and eternal object of her +passionate tenderness, was restored her. Such was the maniac language of her +enthusiasm. What though those limbs moved not, and those lips could no more +frame modulated accents of wisdom and love! What though like a weed flung from +the fruitless sea, he lay the prey of corruption— still that was the form +she had caressed, those the lips that meeting hers, had drank the spirit of +love from the commingling breath; that was the earthly mechanism of dissoluble +clay she had called her own. True, she looked forward to another life; true, +the burning spirit of love seemed to her unextinguishable throughout eternity. +Yet at this time, with human fondness, she clung to all that her human senses +permitted her to see and feel to be a part of Raymond. +</p> + +<p> +Pale as marble, clear and beaming as that, she heard my tale, and enquired +concerning the spot where he had been deposited. Her features had lost the +distortion of grief; her eyes were brightened, her very person seemed dilated; +while the excessive whiteness and even transparency of her skin, and something +hollow in her voice, bore witness that not tranquillity, but excess of +excitement, occasioned the treacherous calm that settled on her countenance. I +asked her where he should be buried. She replied, “At Athens; even at the +Athens which he loved. Without the town, on the acclivity of Hymettus, there is +a rocky recess which he pointed out to me as the spot where he would wish to +repose.” +</p> + +<p> +My own desire certainly was that he should not be removed from the spot where +he now lay. But her wish was of course to be complied with; and I entreated her +to prepare without delay for our departure. +</p> + +<p> +Behold now the melancholy train cross the flats of Thrace, and wind through the +defiles, and over the mountains of Macedonia, coast the clear waves of the +Peneus, cross the Larissean plain, pass the straits of Thermopylae, and +ascending in succession Œrta and Parnassus, descend to the fertile plain of +Athens. Women bear with resignation these long drawn ills, but to a man’s +impatient spirit, the slow motion of our cavalcade, the melancholy repose we +took at noon, the perpetual presence of the pall, gorgeous though it was, that +wrapt the rifled casket which had contained Raymond, the monotonous recurrence +of day and night, unvaried by hope or change, all the circumstances of our +march were intolerable. Perdita, shut up in herself, spoke little. Her carriage +was closed; and, when we rested, she sat leaning her pale cheek on her white +cold hand, with eyes fixed on the ground, indulging thoughts which refused +communication or sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +We descended from Parnassus, emerging from its many folds, and passed through +Livadia on our road to Attica. Perdita would not enter Athens; but reposing at +Marathon on the night of our arrival, conducted me on the following day, to the +spot selected by her as the treasure house of Raymond’s dear remains. It +was in a recess near the head of the ravine to the south of Hymettus. The +chasm, deep, black, and hoary, swept from the summit to the base; in the +fissures of the rock myrtle underwood grew and wild thyme, the food of many +nations of bees; enormous crags protruded into the cleft, some beetling over, +others rising perpendicularly from it. At the foot of this sublime chasm, a +fertile laughing valley reached from sea to sea, and beyond was spread the blue +Aegean, sprinkled with islands, the light waves glancing beneath the sun. Close +to the spot on which we stood, was a solitary rock, high and conical, which, +divided on every side from the mountain, seemed a nature-hewn pyramid; with +little labour this block was reduced to a perfect shape; the narrow cell was +scooped out beneath in which Raymond was placed, and a short inscription, +carved in the living stone, recorded the name of its tenant, the cause and aera +of his death. +</p> + +<p> +Every thing was accomplished with speed under my directions. I agreed to leave +the finishing and guardianship of the tomb to the head of the religious +establishment at Athens, and by the end of October prepared for my return to +England. I mentioned this to Perdita. It was painful to appear to drag her from +the last scene that spoke of her lost one; but to linger here was vain, and my +very soul was sick with its yearning to rejoin my Idris and her babes. In +reply, my sister requested me to accompany her the following evening to the +tomb of Raymond. Some days had passed since I had visited the spot. The path to +it had been enlarged, and steps hewn in the rock led us less circuitously than +before, to the spot itself; the platform on which the pyramid stood was +enlarged, and looking towards the south, in a recess overshadowed by the +straggling branches of a wild fig-tree, I saw foundations dug, and props and +rafters fixed, evidently the commencement of a cottage; standing on its +unfinished threshold, the tomb was at our right-hand, the whole ravine, and +plain, and azure sea immediately before us; the dark rocks received a glow from +the descending sun, which glanced along the cultivated valley, and dyed in +purple and orange the placid waves; we sat on a rocky elevation, and I gazed +with rapture on the beauteous panorama of living and changeful colours, which +varied and enhanced the graces of earth and ocean. +</p> + +<p> +“Did I not do right,” said Perdita, “in having my loved one +conveyed hither? Hereafter this will be the cynosure of Greece. In such a spot +death loses half its terrors, and even the inanimate dust appears to partake of +the spirit of beauty which hallows this region. Lionel, he sleeps there; that +is the grave of Raymond, he whom in my youth I first loved; whom my heart +accompanied in days of separation and anger; to whom I am now joined for ever. +Never—mark me—never will I leave this spot. Methinks his spirit +remains here as well as that dust, which, uncommunicable though it be, is more +precious in its nothingness than aught else widowed earth clasps to her +sorrowing bosom. The myrtle bushes, the thyme, the little cyclamen, which peep +from the fissures of the rock, all the produce of the place, bear affinity to +him; the light that invests the hills participates in his essence, and sky and +mountains, sea and valley, are imbued by the presence of his spirit. I will +live and die here! +</p> + +<p> +“Go you to England, Lionel; return to sweet Idris and dearest Adrian; +return, and let my orphan girl be as a child of your own in your house. Look on +me as dead; and truly if death be a mere change of state, I am dead. This is +another world, from that which late I inhabited, from that which is now your +home. Here I hold communion only with the has been, and to come. Go you to +England, and leave me where alone I can consent to drag out the miserable days +which I must still live.” +</p> + +<p> +A shower of tears terminated her sad harangue. I had expected some extravagant +proposition, and remained silent awhile, collecting my thoughts that I might +the better combat her fanciful scheme. “You cherish dreary thoughts, my +dear Perdita,” I said, “nor do I wonder that for a time your better +reason should be influenced by passionate grief and a disturbed imagination. +Even I am in love with this last home of Raymond’s; nevertheless we must +quit it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I expected this,” cried Perdita; “I supposed that you would +treat me as a mad, foolish girl. But do not deceive yourself; this cottage is +built by my order; and here I shall remain, until the hour arrives when I may +share his happier dwelling.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dearest girl!” +</p> + +<p> +“And what is there so strange in my design? I might have deceived you; I +might have talked of remaining here only a few months; in your anxiety to reach +Windsor you would have left me, and without reproach or contention, I might +have pursued my plan. But I disdained the artifice; or rather in my +wretchedness it was my only consolation to pour out my heart to you, my +brother, my only friend. You will not dispute with me? You know how wilful your +poor, misery-stricken sister is. Take my girl with you; wean her from sights +and thoughts of sorrow; let infantine hilarity revisit her heart, and animate +her eyes; so could it never be, were she near me; it is far better for all of +you that you should never see me again. For myself, I will not voluntarily seek +death, that is, I will not, while I can command myself; and I can here. But +drag me from this country; and my power of self control vanishes, nor can I +answer for the violence my agony of grief may lead me to commit.” +</p> + +<p> +“You clothe your meaning, Perdita,” I replied, “in powerful +words, yet that meaning is selfish and unworthy of you. You have often agreed +with me that there is but one solution to the intricate riddle of life; to +improve ourselves, and contribute to the happiness of others: and now, in the +very prime of life, you desert your principles, and shut yourself up in useless +solitude. Will you think of Raymond less at Windsor, the scene of your early +happiness? Will you commune less with his departed spirit, while you watch over +and cultivate the rare excellence of his child? You have been sadly visited; +nor do I wonder that a feeling akin to insanity should drive you to bitter and +unreasonable imaginings. But a home of love awaits you in your native England. +My tenderness and affection must soothe you; the society of Raymond’s +friends will be of more solace than these dreary speculations. We will all make +it our first care, our dearest task, to contribute to your happiness.” +</p> + +<p> +Perdita shook her head; “If it could be so,” she replied, “I +were much in the wrong to disdain your offers. But it is not a matter of +choice; I can live here only. I am a part of this scene; each and all its +properties are a part of me. This is no sudden fancy; I live by it. The +knowledge that I am here, rises with me in the morning, and enables me to +endure the light; it is mingled with my food, which else were poison; it walks, +it sleeps with me, for ever it accompanies me. Here I may even cease to repine, +and may add my tardy consent to the decree which has taken him from me. He +would rather have died such a death, which will be recorded in history to +endless time, than have lived to old age unknown, unhonoured. Nor can I desire +better, than, having been the chosen and beloved of his heart, here, in +youth’s prime, before added years can tarnish the best feelings of my +nature, to watch his tomb, and speedily rejoin him in his blessed repose. +</p> + +<p> +“So much, my dearest Lionel, I have said, wishing to persuade you that I +do right. If you are unconvinced, I can add nothing further by way of argument, +and I can only declare my fixed resolve. I stay here; force only can remove me. +Be it so; drag me away—I return; confine me, imprison me, still I escape, +and come here. Or would my brother rather devote the heart-broken Perdita to +the straw and chains of a maniac, than suffer her to rest in peace beneath the +shadow of His society, in this my own selected and beloved +recess?”— +</p> + +<p> +All this appeared to me, I own, methodized madness. I imagined, that it was my +imperative duty to take her from scenes that thus forcibly reminded her of her +loss. Nor did I doubt, that in the tranquillity of our family circle at +Windsor, she would recover some degree of composure, and in the end, of +happiness. My affection for Clara also led me to oppose these fond dreams of +cherished grief; her sensibility had already been too much excited; her infant +heedlessness too soon exchanged for deep and anxious thought. The strange and +romantic scheme of her mother, might confirm and perpetuate the painful view of +life, which had intruded itself thus early on her contemplation. +</p> + +<p> +On returning home, the captain of the steam packet with whom I had agreed to +sail, came to tell me, that accidental circumstances hastened his departure, +and that, if I went with him, I must come on board at five on the following +morning. I hastily gave my consent to this arrangement, and as hastily formed a +plan through which Perdita should be forced to become my companion. I believe +that most people in my situation would have acted in the same manner. Yet this +consideration does not, or rather did not in after time, diminish the +reproaches of my conscience. At the moment, I felt convinced that I was acting +for the best, and that all I did was right and even necessary. +</p> + +<p> +I sat with Perdita and soothed her, by my seeming assent to her wild scheme. +She received my concurrence with pleasure, and a thousand times over thanked +her deceiving, deceitful brother. As night came on, her spirits, enlivened by +my unexpected concession, regained an almost forgotten vivacity. I pretended to +be alarmed by the feverish glow in her cheek; I entreated her to take a +composing draught; I poured out the medicine, which she took docilely from me. +I watched her as she drank it. Falsehood and artifice are in themselves so +hateful, that, though I still thought I did right, a feeling of shame and guilt +came painfully upon me. I left her, and soon heard that she slept soundly under +the influence of the opiate I had administered. She was carried thus +unconscious on board; the anchor weighed, and the wind being favourable, we +stood far out to sea; with all the canvas spread, and the power of the engine +to assist, we scudded swiftly and steadily through the chafed element. +</p> + +<p> +It was late in the day before Perdita awoke, and a longer time elapsed before +recovering from the torpor occasioned by the laudanum, she perceived her change +of situation. She started wildly from her couch, and flew to the cabin window. +The blue and troubled sea sped past the vessel, and was spread shoreless +around: the sky was covered by a rack, which in its swift motion shewed how +speedily she was borne away. The creaking of the masts, the clang of the +wheels, the tramp above, all persuaded her that she was already far from the +shores of Greece.—“Where are we?” she cried, “where are +we going?”— +</p> + +<p> +The attendant whom I had stationed to watch her, replied, “to +England.”— +</p> + +<p> +“And my brother?”— +</p> + +<p> +“Is on deck, Madam.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unkind! unkind!” exclaimed the poor victim, as with a deep sigh +she looked on the waste of waters. Then without further remark, she threw +herself on her couch, and closing her eyes remained motionless; so that but for +the deep sighs that burst from her, it would have seemed that she slept. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as I heard that she had spoken, I sent Clara to her, that the sight of +the lovely innocent might inspire gentle and affectionate thoughts. But neither +the presence of her child, nor a subsequent visit from me, could rouse my +sister. She looked on Clara with a countenance of woful meaning, but she did +not speak. When I appeared, she turned away, and in reply to my enquiries, only +said, “You know not what you have done!”—I trusted that this +sullenness betokened merely the struggle between disappointment and natural +affection, and that in a few days she would be reconciled to her fate. +</p> + +<p> +When night came on, she begged that Clara might sleep in a separate cabin. Her +servant, however, remained with her. About midnight she spoke to the latter, +saying that she had had a bad dream, and bade her go to her daughter, and bring +word whether she rested quietly. The woman obeyed. +</p> + +<p> +The breeze, that had flagged since sunset, now rose again. I was on deck, +enjoying our swift progress. The quiet was disturbed only by the rush of waters +as they divided before the steady keel, the murmur of the moveless and full +sails, the wind whistling in the shrouds, and the regular motion of the engine. +The sea was gently agitated, now shewing a white crest, and now resuming an +uniform hue; the clouds had disappeared; and dark ether clipt the broad ocean, +in which the constellations vainly sought their accustomed mirror. Our rate +could not have been less than eight knots. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly I heard a splash in the sea. The sailors on watch rushed to the side +of the vessel, with the cry—some one gone overboard. “It is not +from deck,” said the man at the helm, “something has been thrown +from the aft cabin.” A call for the boat to be lowered was echoed from +the deck. I rushed into my sister’s cabin; it was empty. +</p> + +<p> +With sails abaft, the engine stopt, the vessel remained unwillingly stationary, +until, after an hour’s search, my poor Perdita was brought on board. But +no care could re-animate her, no medicine cause her dear eyes to open, and the +blood to flow again from her pulseless heart. One clenched hand contained a +slip of paper, on which was written, “To Athens.” To ensure her +removal thither, and prevent the irrecoverable loss of her body in the wide +sea, she had had the precaution to fasten a long shawl round her waist, and +again to the staunchions of the cabin window. She had drifted somewhat under +the keel of the vessel, and her being out of sight occasioned the delay in +finding her. And thus the ill-starred girl died a victim to my senseless +rashness. Thus, in early day, she left us for the company of the dead, and +preferred to share the rocky grave of Raymond, before the animated scene this +cheerful earth afforded, and the society of loving friends. Thus in her +twenty-ninth year she died; having enjoyed some few years of the happiness of +paradise, and sustaining a reverse to which her impatient spirit and +affectionate disposition were unable to submit. As I marked the placid +expression that had settled on her countenance in death, I felt, in spite of +the pangs of remorse, in spite of heart-rending regret, that it was better to +die so, than to drag on long, miserable years of repining and inconsolable +grief. Stress of weather drove us up the Adriatic Gulph; and, our vessel being +hardly fitted to weather a storm, we took refuge in the port of Ancona. Here I +met Georgio Palli, the vice-admiral of the Greek fleet, a former friend and +warm partizan of Raymond. I committed the remains of my lost Perdita to his +care, for the purpose of having them transported to Hymettus, and placed in the +cell her Raymond already occupied beneath the pyramid. This was all +accomplished even as I wished. She reposed beside her beloved, and the tomb +above was inscribed with the united names of Raymond and Perdita. +</p> + +<p> +I then came to a resolution of pursuing our journey to England overland. My own +heart was racked by regrets and remorse. The apprehension, that Raymond had +departed for ever, that his name, blended eternally with the past, must be +erased from every anticipation of the future, had come slowly upon me. I had +always admired his talents; his noble aspirations; his grand conceptions of the +glory and majesty of his ambition: his utter want of mean passions; his +fortitude and daring. In Greece I had learnt to love him; his very waywardness, +and self-abandonment to the impulses of superstition, attached me to him +doubly; it might be weakness, but it was the antipodes of all that was +grovelling and selfish. To these pangs were added the loss of Perdita, lost +through my own accursed self-will and conceit. This dear one, my sole relation; +whose progress I had marked from tender childhood through the varied path of +life, and seen her throughout conspicuous for integrity, devotion, and true +affection; for all that constitutes the peculiar graces of the female +character, and beheld her at last the victim of too much loving, too constant +an attachment to the perishable and lost, she, in her pride of beauty and life, +had thrown aside the pleasant perception of the apparent world for the +unreality of the grave, and had left poor Clara quite an orphan. I concealed +from this beloved child that her mother’s death was voluntary, and tried +every means to awaken cheerfulness in her sorrow-stricken spirit. +</p> + +<p> +One of my first acts for the recovery even of my own composure, was to bid +farewell to the sea. Its hateful splash renewed again and again to my sense the +death of my sister; its roar was a dirge; in every dark hull that was tossed on +its inconstant bosom, I imaged a bier, that would convey to death all who +trusted to its treacherous smiles. Farewell to the sea! Come, my Clara, sit +beside me in this aerial bark; quickly and gently it cleaves the azure serene, +and with soft undulation glides upon the current of the air; or, if storm shake +its fragile mechanism, the green earth is below; we can descend, and take +shelter on the stable continent. Here aloft, the companions of the swift-winged +birds, we skim through the unresisting element, fleetly and fearlessly. The +light boat heaves not, nor is opposed by death-bearing waves; the ether opens +before the prow, and the shadow of the globe that upholds it, shelters us from +the noon-day sun. Beneath are the plains of Italy, or the vast undulations of +the wave-like Apennines: fertility reposes in their many folds, and woods crown +the summits. The free and happy peasant, unshackled by the Austrian, bears the +double harvest to the garner; and the refined citizens rear without dread the +long blighted tree of knowledge in this garden of the world. We were lifted +above the Alpine peaks, and from their deep and brawling ravines entered the +plain of fair France, and after an airy journey of six days, we landed at +Dieppe, furled the feathered wings, and closed the silken globe of our little +pinnace. A heavy rain made this mode of travelling now incommodious; so we +embarked in a steam-packet, and after a short passage landed at Portsmouth. +</p> + +<p> +A strange story was rife here. A few days before, a tempest-struck vessel had +appeared off the town: the hull was parched-looking and cracked, the sails +rent, and bent in a careless, unseamanlike manner, the shrouds tangled and +broken. She drifted towards the harbour, and was stranded on the sands at the +entrance. In the morning the custom-house officers, together with a crowd of +idlers, visited her. One only of the crew appeared to have arrived with her. He +had got to shore, and had walked a few paces towards the town, and then, +vanquished by malady and approaching death, had fallen on the inhospitable +beach. He was found stiff, his hands clenched, and pressed against his breast. +His skin, nearly black, his matted hair and bristly beard, were signs of a long +protracted misery. It was whispered that he had died of the plague. No one +ventured on board the vessel, and strange sights were averred to be seen at +night, walking the deck, and hanging on the masts and shrouds. She soon went to +pieces; I was shewn where she had been, and saw her disjoined timbers tossed on +the waves. The body of the man who had landed, had been buried deep in the +sands; and none could tell more, than that the vessel was American built, and +that several months before the Fortunatas had sailed from Philadelphia, of +which no tidings were afterwards received. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p> +I returned to my family estate in the autumn of the year 2092. My heart had +long been with them; and I felt sick with the hope and delight of seeing them +again. The district which contained them appeared the abode of every kindly +spirit. Happiness, love and peace, walked the forest paths, and tempered the +atmosphere. After all the agitation and sorrow I had endured in Greece, I +sought Windsor, as the storm-driven bird does the nest in which it may fold its +wings in tranquillity. +</p> + +<p> +How unwise had the wanderers been, who had deserted its shelter, entangled +themselves in the web of society, and entered on what men of the world call +“life,”—that labyrinth of evil, that scheme of mutual +torture. To live, according to this sense of the word, we must not only observe +and learn, we must also feel; we must not be mere spectators of action, we must +act; we must not describe, but be subjects of description. Deep sorrow must +have been the inmate of our bosoms; fraud must have lain in wait for us; the +artful must have deceived us; sickening doubt and false hope must have +chequered our days; hilarity and joy, that lap the soul in ecstasy, must at +times have possessed us. Who that knows what “life” is, would pine +for this feverish species of existence? I have lived. I have spent days and +nights of festivity; I have joined in ambitious hopes, and exulted in victory: +now,—shut the door on the world, and build high the wall that is to +separate me from the troubled scene enacted within its precincts. Let us live +for each other and for happiness; let us seek peace in our dear home, near the +inland murmur of streams, and the gracious waving of trees, the beauteous +vesture of earth, and sublime pageantry of the skies. Let us leave +“life,” that we may live. +</p> + +<p> +Idris was well content with this resolve of mine. Her native sprightliness +needed no undue excitement, and her placid heart reposed contented on my love, +the well-being of her children, and the beauty of surrounding nature. Her pride +and blameless ambition was to create smiles in all around her, and to shed +repose on the fragile existence of her brother. In spite of her tender nursing, +the health of Adrian perceptibly declined. Walking, riding, the common +occupations of life, overcame him: he felt no pain, but seemed to tremble for +ever on the verge of annihilation. Yet, as he had lived on for months nearly in +the same state, he did not inspire us with any immediate fear; and, though he +talked of death as an event most familiar to his thoughts, he did not cease to +exert himself to render others happy, or to cultivate his own astonishing +powers of mind. Winter passed away; and spring, led by the months, awakened +life in all nature. The forest was dressed in green; the young calves frisked +on the new-sprung grass; the wind-winged shadows of light clouds sped over the +green cornfields; the hermit cuckoo repeated his monotonous all-hail to the +season; the nightingale, bird of love and minion of the evening star, filled +the woods with song; while Venus lingered in the warm sunset, and the young +green of the trees lay in gentle relief along the clear horizon. +</p> + +<p> +Delight awoke in every heart, delight and exultation; for there was peace +through all the world; the temple of Universal Janus was shut, and man died not +that year by the hand of man. +</p> + +<p> +“Let this last but twelve months,” said Adrian; “and earth +will become a Paradise. The energies of man were before directed to the +destruction of his species: they now aim at its liberation and preservation. +Man cannot repose, and his restless aspirations will now bring forth good +instead of evil. The favoured countries of the south will throw off the iron +yoke of servitude; poverty will quit us, and with that, sickness. What may not +the forces, never before united, of liberty and peace achieve in this dwelling +of man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dreaming, for ever dreaming, Windsor!” said Ryland, the old +adversary of Raymond, and candidate for the Protectorate at the ensuing +election. “Be assured that earth is not, nor ever can be heaven, while +the seeds of hell are natives of her soil. When the seasons have become equal, +when the air breeds no disorders, when its surface is no longer liable to +blights and droughts, then sickness will cease; when men’s passions are +dead, poverty will depart. When love is no longer akin to hate, then +brotherhood will exist: we are very far from that state at present.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so far as you may suppose,” observed a little old astronomer, +by name Merrival, “the poles precede slowly, but securely; in an hundred +thousand years—” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall all be underground,” said Ryland. +</p> + +<p> +“The pole of the earth will coincide with the pole of the +ecliptic,” continued the astronomer, “an universal spring will be +produced, and earth become a paradise.” +</p> + +<p> +“And we shall of course enjoy the benefit of the change,” said +Ryland, contemptuously. +</p> + +<p> +“We have strange news here,” I observed. I had the newspaper in my +hand, and, as usual, had turned to the intelligence from Greece. “It +seems that the total destruction of Constantinople, and the supposition that +winter had purified the air of the fallen city, gave the Greeks courage to +visit its site, and begin to rebuild it. But they tell us that the curse of God +is on the place, for every one who has ventured within the walls has been +tainted by the plague; that this disease has spread in Thrace and Macedonia; +and now, fearing the virulence of infection during the coming heats, a cordon +has been drawn on the frontiers of Thessaly, and a strict quarantine +exacted.” This intelligence brought us back from the prospect of +paradise, held out after the lapse of an hundred thousand years, to the pain +and misery at present existent upon earth. We talked of the ravages made last +year by pestilence in every quarter of the world; and of the dreadful +consequences of a second visitation. We discussed the best means of preventing +infection, and of preserving health and activity in a large city thus +afflicted—London, for instance. Merrival did not join in this +conversation; drawing near Idris, he proceeded to assure her that the joyful +prospect of an earthly paradise after an hundred thousand years, was clouded to +him by the knowledge that in a certain period of time after, an earthly hell or +purgatory, would occur, when the ecliptic and equator would be at right +angles.<a href="#fn4" name="fnref4"><sup>[4]</sup></a> Our party at length +broke up; “We are all dreaming this morning,” said Ryland, +“it is as wise to discuss the probability of a visitation of the plague +in our well-governed metropolis, as to calculate the centuries which must +escape before we can grow pine-apples here in the open air.” +</p> + +<p> +But, though it seemed absurd to calculate upon the arrival of the plague in +London, I could not reflect without extreme pain on the desolation this evil +would cause in Greece. The English for the most part talked of Thrace and +Macedonia, as they would of a lunar territory, which, unknown to them, +presented no distinct idea or interest to the minds. I had trod the soil. The +faces of many of the inhabitants were familiar to me; in the towns, plains, +hills, and defiles of these countries, I had enjoyed unspeakable delight, as I +journied through them the year before. Some romantic village, some cottage, or +elegant abode there situated, inhabited by the lovely and the good, rose before +my mental sight, and the question haunted me, is the plague there +also?—That same invincible monster, which hovered over and devoured +Constantinople—that fiend more cruel than tempest, less tame than fire, +is, alas, unchained in that beautiful country—these reflections would not +allow me to rest. +</p> + +<p> +The political state of England became agitated as the time drew near when the +new Protector was to be elected. This event excited the more interest, since it +was the current report, that if the popular candidate (Ryland) should be +chosen, the question of the abolition of hereditary rank, and other feudal +relics, would come under the consideration of parliament. Not a word had been +spoken during the present session on any of these topics. Every thing would +depend upon the choice of a Protector, and the elections of the ensuing year. +Yet this very silence was awful, shewing the deep weight attributed to the +question; the fear of either party to hazard an ill-timed attack, and the +expectation of a furious contention when it should begin. +</p> + +<p> +But although St. Stephen’s did not echo with the voice which filled each +heart, the newspapers teemed with nothing else; and in private companies the +conversation however remotely begun, soon verged towards this central point, +while voices were lowered and chairs drawn closer. The nobles did not hesitate +to express their fear; the other party endeavoured to treat the matter lightly. +“Shame on the country,” said Ryland, “to lay so much stress +upon words and frippery; it is a question of nothing; of the new painting of +carriage-pannels and the embroidery of footmen’s coats.” +</p> + +<p> +Yet could England indeed doff her lordly trappings, and be content with the +democratic style of America? Were the pride of ancestry, the patrician spirit, +the gentle courtesies and refined pursuits, splendid attributes of rank, to be +erased among us? We were told that this would not be the case; that we were by +nature a poetical people, a nation easily duped by words, ready to array clouds +in splendour, and bestow honour on the dust. This spirit we could never lose; +and it was to diffuse this concentrated spirit of birth, that the new law was +to be brought forward. We were assured that, when the name and title of +Englishman was the sole patent of nobility, we should all be noble; that when +no man born under English sway, felt another his superior in rank, courtesy and +refinement would become the birth-right of all our countrymen. Let not England +be so far disgraced, as to have it imagined that it can be without nobles, +nature’s true nobility, who bear their patent in their mien, who are from +their cradle elevated above the rest of their species, because they are better +than the rest. Among a race of independent, and generous, and well educated +men, in a country where the imagination is empress of men’s minds, there +needs be no fear that we should want a perpetual succession of the high-born +and lordly. That party, however, could hardly yet be considered a minority in +the kingdom, who extolled the ornament of the column, “the Corinthian +capital of polished society;” they appealed to prejudices without number, +to old attachments and young hopes; to the expectation of thousands who might +one day become peers; they set up as a scarecrow, the spectre of all that was +sordid, mechanic and base in the commercial republics. +</p> + +<p> +The plague had come to Athens. Hundreds of English residents returned to their +own country. Raymond’s beloved Athenians, the free, the noble people of +the divinest town in Greece, fell like ripe corn before the merciless sickle of +the adversary. Its pleasant places were deserted; its temples and palaces were +converted into tombs; its energies, bent before towards the highest objects of +human ambition, were now forced to converge to one point, the guarding against +the innumerous arrows of the plague. +</p> + +<p> +At any other time this disaster would have excited extreme compassion among us; +but it was now passed over, while each mind was engaged by the coming +controversy. It was not so with me; and the question of rank and right dwindled +to insignificance in my eyes, when I pictured the scene of suffering Athens. I +heard of the death of only sons; of wives and husbands most devoted; of the +rending of ties twisted with the heart’s fibres, of friend losing friend, +and young mothers mourning for their first born; and these moving incidents +were grouped and painted in my mind by the knowledge of the persons, by my +esteem and affection for the sufferers. It was the admirers, friends, fellow +soldiers of Raymond, families that had welcomed Perdita to Greece, and lamented +with her the loss of her lord, that were swept away, and went to dwell with +them in the undistinguishing tomb. +</p> + +<p> +The plague at Athens had been preceded and caused by the contagion from the +East; and the scene of havoc and death continued to be acted there, on a scale +of fearful magnitude. A hope that the visitation of the present year would +prove the last, kept up the spirits of the merchants connected with these +countries; but the inhabitants were driven to despair, or to a resignation +which, arising from fanaticism, assumed the same dark hue. America had also +received the taint; and, were it yellow fever or plague, the epidemic was +gifted with a virulence before unfelt. The devastation was not confined to the +towns, but spread throughout the country; the hunter died in the woods, the +peasant in the corn-fields, and the fisher on his native waters. +</p> + +<p> +A strange story was brought to us from the East, to which little credit would +have been given, had not the fact been attested by a multitude of witnesses, in +various parts of the world. On the twenty-first of June, it was said that an +hour before noon, a black sun arose: an orb, the size of that luminary, but +dark, defined, whose beams were shadows, ascended from the west; in about an +hour it had reached the meridian, and eclipsed the bright parent of day. Night +fell upon every country, night, sudden, rayless, entire. The stars came out, +shedding their ineffectual glimmerings on the light-widowed earth. But soon the +dim orb passed from over the sun, and lingered down the eastern heaven. As it +descended, its dusky rays crossed the brilliant ones of the sun, and deadened +or distorted them. The shadows of things assumed strange and ghastly shapes. +The wild animals in the woods took fright at the unknown shapes figured on the +ground. They fled they knew not whither; and the citizens were filled with +greater dread, at the convulsion which “shook lions into civil +streets;”—birds, strong-winged eagles, suddenly blinded, fell in +the market-places, while owls and bats shewed themselves welcoming the early +night. Gradually the object of fear sank beneath the horizon, and to the last +shot up shadowy beams into the otherwise radiant air. Such was the tale sent us +from Asia, from the eastern extremity of Europe, and from Africa as far west as +the Golden Coast. Whether this story were true or not, the effects were +certain. Through Asia, from the banks of the Nile to the shores of the Caspian, +from the Hellespont even to the sea of Oman, a sudden panic was driven. The men +filled the mosques; the women, veiled, hastened to the tombs, and carried +offerings to the dead, thus to preserve the living. The plague was forgotten, +in this new fear which the black sun had spread; and, though the dead +multiplied, and the streets of Ispahan, of Pekin, and of Delhi were strewed +with pestilence-struck corpses, men passed on, gazing on the ominous sky, +regardless of the death beneath their feet. The christians sought their +churches,—christian maidens, even at the feast of roses, clad in white, +with shining veils, sought, in long procession, the places consecrated to their +religion, filling the air with their hymns; while, ever and anon, from the lips +of some poor mourner in the crowd, a voice of wailing burst, and the rest +looked up, fancying they could discern the sweeping wings of angels, who passed +over the earth, lamenting the disasters about to fall on man. +</p> + +<p> +In the sunny clime of Persia, in the crowded cities of China, amidst the +aromatic groves of Cashmere, and along the southern shores of the +Mediterranean, such scenes had place. Even in Greece the tale of the sun of +darkness encreased the fears and despair of the dying multitude. We, in our +cloudy isle, were far removed from danger, and the only circumstance that +brought these disasters at all home to us, was the daily arrival of vessels +from the east, crowded with emigrants, mostly English; for the Moslems, though +the fear of death was spread keenly among them, still clung together; that, if +they were to die (and if they were, death would as readily meet them on the +homeless sea, or in far England, as in Persia,)— if they were to die, +their bones might rest in earth made sacred by the relics of true believers. +Mecca had never before been so crowded with pilgrims; yet the Arabs neglected +to pillage the caravans, but, humble and weaponless, they joined the +procession, praying Mahomet to avert plague from their tents and deserts. +</p> + +<p> +I cannot describe the rapturous delight with which I turned from political +brawls at home, and the physical evils of distant countries, to my own dear +home, to the selected abode of goodness and love; to peace, and the interchange +of every sacred sympathy. Had I never quitted Windsor, these emotions would not +have been so intense; but I had in Greece been the prey of fear and deplorable +change; in Greece, after a period of anxiety and sorrow, I had seen depart two, +whose very names were the symbol of greatness and virtue. But such miseries +could never intrude upon the domestic circle left to me, while, secluded in our +beloved forest, we passed our lives in tranquillity. Some small change indeed +the progress of years brought here; and time, as it is wont, stamped the traces +of mortality on our pleasures and expectations. Idris, the most affectionate +wife, sister and friend, was a tender and loving mother. The feeling was not +with her as with many, a pastime; it was a passion. We had had three children; +one, the second in age, died while I was in Greece. This had dashed the +triumphant and rapturous emotions of maternity with grief and fear. Before this +event, the little beings, sprung from herself, the young heirs of her transient +life, seemed to have a sure lease of existence; now she dreaded that the +pitiless destroyer might snatch her remaining darlings, as it had snatched +their brother. The least illness caused throes of terror; she was miserable if +she were at all absent from them; her treasure of happiness she had garnered in +their fragile being, and kept forever on the watch, lest the insidious thief +should as before steal these valued gems. She had fortunately small cause for +fear. Alfred, now nine years old, was an upright, manly little fellow, with +radiant brow, soft eyes, and gentle, though independent disposition. Our +youngest was yet in infancy; but his downy cheek was sprinkled with the roses +of health, and his unwearied vivacity filled our halls with innocent laughter. +</p> + +<p> +Clara had passed the age which, from its mute ignorance, was the source of the +fears of Idris. Clara was dear to her, to all. There was so much intelligence +combined with innocence, sensibility with forbearance, and seriousness with +perfect good-humour, a beauty so transcendant, united to such endearing +simplicity, that she hung like a pearl in the shrine of our possessions, a +treasure of wonder and excellence. +</p> + +<p> +At the beginning of winter our Alfred, now nine years of age, first went to +school at Eton. This appeared to him the primary step towards manhood, and he +was proportionably pleased. Community of study and amusement developed the best +parts of his character, his steady perseverance, generosity, and well-governed +firmness. What deep and sacred emotions are excited in a father’s bosom, +when he first becomes convinced that his love for his child is not a mere +instinct, but worthily bestowed, and that others, less akin, participate his +approbation! It was supreme happiness to Idris and myself, to find that the +frankness which Alfred’s open brow indicated, the intelligence of his +eyes, the tempered sensibility of his tones, were not delusions, but +indications of talents and virtues, which would “grow with his growth, +and strengthen with his strength.” At this period, the termination of an +animal’s love for its offspring,—the true affection of the human +parent commences. We no longer look on this dearest part of ourselves, as a +tender plant which we must cherish, or a plaything for an idle hour. We build +now on his intellectual faculties, we establish our hopes on his moral +propensities. His weakness still imparts anxiety to this feeling, his ignorance +prevents entire intimacy; but we begin to respect the future man, and to +endeavour to secure his esteem, even as if he were our equal. What can a parent +have more at heart than the good opinion of his child? In all our transactions +with him our honour must be inviolate, the integrity of our relations +untainted: fate and circumstance may, when he arrives at maturity, separate us +for ever—but, as his aegis in danger, his consolation in hardship, let +the ardent youth for ever bear with him through the rough path of life, love +and honour for his parents. +</p> + +<p> +We had lived so long in the vicinity of Eton, that its population of young +folks was well known to us. Many of them had been Alfred’s playmates, +before they became his school-fellows. We now watched this youthful +congregation with redoubled interest. We marked the difference of character +among the boys, and endeavoured to read the future man in the stripling. There +is nothing more lovely, to which the heart more yearns than a free-spirited +boy, gentle, brave, and generous. Several of the Etonians had these +characteristics; all were distinguished by a sense of honour, and spirit of +enterprize; in some, as they verged towards manhood, this degenerated into +presumption; but the younger ones, lads a little older than our own, were +conspicuous for their gallant and sweet dispositions. +</p> + +<p> +Here were the future governors of England; the men, who, when our ardour was +cold, and our projects completed or destroyed for ever, when, our drama acted, +we doffed the garb of the hour, and assumed the uniform of age, or of more +equalizing death; here were the beings who were to carry on the vast machine of +society; here were the lovers, husbands, fathers; here the landlord, the +politician, the soldier; some fancied that they were even now ready to appear +on the stage, eager to make one among the dramatis personae of active life. It +was not long since I was like one of these beardless aspirants; when my boy +shall have obtained the place I now hold, I shall have tottered into a +grey-headed, wrinkled old man. Strange system! riddle of the Sphynx, most +awe-striking! that thus man remains, while we the individuals pass away. Such +is, to borrow the words of an eloquent and philosophic writer, “the mode +of existence decreed to a permanent body composed of transitory parts; wherein, +by the disposition of a stupendous wisdom, moulding together the great +mysterious incorporation of the human race, the whole, at one time, is never +old, or middle-aged, or young, but, in a condition of unchangeable constancy, +moves on through the varied tenour of perpetual decay, fall, renovation, and +progression.”<a href="#fn5" name="fnref5"><sup>[5]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p> +Willingly do I give place to thee, dear Alfred! advance, offspring of tender +love, child of our hopes; advance a soldier on the road to which I have been +the pioneer! I will make way for thee. I have already put off the carelessness +of childhood, the unlined brow, and springy gait of early years, that they may +adorn thee. Advance; and I will despoil myself still further for thy advantage. +Time shall rob me of the graces of maturity, shall take the fire from my eyes, +and agility from my limbs, shall steal the better part of life, eager +expectation and passionate love, and shower them in double portion on thy dear +head. Advance! avail thyself of the gift, thou and thy comrades; and in the +drama you are about to act, do not disgrace those who taught you to enter on +the stage, and to pronounce becomingly the parts assigned to you! May your +progress be uninterrupted and secure; born during the spring-tide of the hopes +of man, may you lead up the summer to which no winter may succeed! +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn4"></a> <a href="#fnref4">[4]</a> +See an ingenious Essay, entitled, “The Mythological Astronomy of the +Ancients Demonstrated,” by Mackey, a shoemaker, of Norwich printed in +1822. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn5"></a> <a href="#fnref5">[5]</a> +Burke’s Reflections on the French Revolution. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p> +Some disorder had surely crept into the course of the elements, destroying +their benignant influence. The wind, prince of air, raged through his kingdom, +lashing the sea into fury, and subduing the rebel earth into some sort of +obedience. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +The God sends down his angry plagues from high,<br/> +Famine and pestilence in heaps they die.<br/> +Again in vengeance of his wrath he falls<br/> +On their great hosts, and breaks their tottering walls;<br/> +Arrests their navies on the ocean’s plain,<br/> +And whelms their strength with mountains of the main.<a href="#fn6" name="fnref6"><sup>[6]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p> +Their deadly power shook the flourishing countries of the south, and during +winter, even, we, in our northern retreat, began to quake under their ill +effects. +</p> + +<p> +That fable is unjust, which gives the superiority to the sun over the wind. Who +has not seen the lightsome earth, the balmy atmosphere, and basking nature +become dark, cold and ungenial, when the sleeping wind has awoke in the east? +Or, when the dun clouds thickly veil the sky, while exhaustless stores of rain +are poured down, until, the dank earth refusing to imbibe the superabundant +moisture, it lies in pools on the surface; when the torch of day seems like a +meteor, to be quenched; who has not seen the cloud-stirring north arise, the +streaked blue appear, and soon an opening made in the vapours in the eye of the +wind, through which the bright azure shines? The clouds become thin; an arch is +formed for ever rising upwards, till, the universal cope being unveiled, the +sun pours forth its rays, re-animated and fed by the breeze. +</p> + +<p> +Then mighty art thou, O wind, to be throned above all other vicegerents of +nature’s power; whether thou comest destroying from the east, or pregnant +with elementary life from the west; thee the clouds obey; the sun is +subservient to thee; the shoreless ocean is thy slave! Thou sweepest over the +earth, and oaks, the growth of centuries, submit to thy viewless axe; the +snow-drift is scattered on the pinnacles of the Alps, the avalanche thunders +down their vallies. Thou holdest the keys of the frost, and canst first chain +and then set free the streams; under thy gentle governance the buds and leaves +are born, they flourish nursed by thee. +</p> + +<p> +Why dost thou howl thus, O wind? By day and by night for four long months thy +roarings have not ceased—the shores of the sea are strewn with wrecks, +its keel-welcoming surface has become impassable, the earth has shed her beauty +in obedience to thy command; the frail balloon dares no longer sail on the +agitated air; thy ministers, the clouds, deluge the land with rain; rivers +forsake their banks; the wild torrent tears up the mountain path; plain and +wood, and verdant dell are despoiled of their loveliness; our very cities are +wasted by thee. Alas, what will become of us? It seems as if the giant waves of +ocean, and vast arms of the sea, were about to wrench the deep-rooted island +from its centre; and cast it, a ruin and a wreck, upon the fields of the +Atlantic. +</p> + +<p> +What are we, the inhabitants of this globe, least among the many that people +infinite space? Our minds embrace infinity; the visible mechanism of our being +is subject to merest accident. Day by day we are forced to believe this. He +whom a scratch has disorganized, he who disappears from apparent life under the +influence of the hostile agency at work around us, had the same powers as +I—I also am subject to the same laws. In the face of all this we call +ourselves lords of the creation, wielders of the elements, masters of life and +death, and we allege in excuse of this arrogance, that though the individual is +destroyed, man continues for ever. +</p> + +<p> +Thus, losing our identity, that of which we are chiefly conscious, we glory in +the continuity of our species, and learn to regard death without terror. But +when any whole nation becomes the victim of the destructive powers of exterior +agents, then indeed man shrinks into insignificance, he feels his tenure of +life insecure, his inheritance on earth cut off. +</p> + +<p> +I remember, after having witnessed the destructive effects of a fire, I could +not even behold a small one in a stove, without a sensation of fear. The +mounting flames had curled round the building, as it fell, and was destroyed. +They insinuated themselves into the substances about them, and the impediments +to their progress yielded at their touch. Could we take integral parts of this +power, and not be subject to its operation? Could we domesticate a cub of this +wild beast, and not fear its growth and maturity? +</p> + +<p> +Thus we began to feel, with regard to many-visaged death let loose on the +chosen districts of our fair habitation, and above all, with regard to the +plague. We feared the coming summer. Nations, bordering on the already infected +countries, began to enter upon serious plans for the better keeping out of the +enemy. We, a commercial people, were obliged to bring such schemes under +consideration; and the question of contagion became matter of earnest +disquisition. +</p> + +<p> +That the plague was not what is commonly called contagious, like the scarlet +fever, or extinct small-pox, was proved. It was called an epidemic. But the +grand question was still unsettled of how this epidemic was generated and +increased. If infection depended upon the air, the air was subject to +infection. As for instance, a typhus fever has been brought by ships to one +sea-port town; yet the very people who brought it there, were incapable of +communicating it in a town more fortunately situated. But how are we to judge +of airs, and pronounce—in such a city plague will die unproductive; in +such another, nature has provided for it a plentiful harvest? In the same way, +individuals may escape ninety-nine times, and receive the death-blow at the +hundredth; because bodies are sometimes in a state to reject the infection of +malady, and at others, thirsty to imbibe it. These reflections made our +legislators pause, before they could decide on the laws to be put in force. The +evil was so wide-spreading, so violent and immedicable, that no care, no +prevention could be judged superfluous, which even added a chance to our +escape. +</p> + +<p> +These were questions of prudence; there was no immediate necessity for an +earnest caution. England was still secure. France, Germany, Italy and Spain, +were interposed, walls yet without a breach, between us and the plague. Our +vessels truly were the sport of winds and waves, even as Gulliver was the toy +of the Brobdignagians; but we on our stable abode could not be hurt in life or +limb by these eruptions of nature. We could not fear—we did not. Yet a +feeling of awe, a breathless sentiment of wonder, a painful sense of the +degradation of humanity, was introduced into every heart. Nature, our mother, +and our friend, had turned on us a brow of menace. She shewed us plainly, that, +though she permitted us to assign her laws and subdue her apparent powers, yet, +if she put forth but a finger, we must quake. She could take our globe, fringed +with mountains, girded by the atmosphere, containing the condition of our +being, and all that man’s mind could invent or his force achieve; she +could take the ball in her hand, and cast it into space, where life would be +drunk up, and man and all his efforts for ever annihilated. +</p> + +<p> +These speculations were rife among us; yet not the less we proceeded in our +daily occupations, and our plans, whose accomplishment demanded the lapse of +many years. No voice was heard telling us to hold! When foreign distresses came +to be felt by us through the channels of commerce, we set ourselves to apply +remedies. Subscriptions were made for the emigrants, and merchants bankrupt by +the failure of trade. The English spirit awoke to its full activity, and, as it +had ever done, set itself to resist the evil, and to stand in the breach which +diseased nature had suffered chaos and death to make in the bounds and banks +which had hitherto kept them out. +</p> + +<p> +At the commencement of summer, we began to feel, that the mischief which had +taken place in distant countries was greater than we had at first suspected. +Quito was destroyed by an earthquake. Mexico laid waste by the united effects +of storm, pestilence and famine. Crowds of emigrants inundated the west of +Europe; and our island had become the refuge of thousands. In the mean time +Ryland had been chosen Protector. He had sought this office with eagerness, +under the idea of turning his whole forces to the suppression of the privileged +orders of our community. His measures were thwarted, and his schemes +interrupted by this new state of things. Many of the foreigners were utterly +destitute; and their increasing numbers at length forbade a recourse to the +usual modes of relief. Trade was stopped by the failure of the interchange of +cargoes usual between us, and America, India, Egypt and Greece. A sudden break +was made in the routine of our lives. In vain our Protector and his partizans +sought to conceal this truth; in vain, day after day, he appointed a period for +the discussion of the new laws concerning hereditary rank and privilege; in +vain he endeavoured to represent the evil as partial and temporary. These +disasters came home to so many bosoms, and, through the various channels of +commerce, were carried so entirely into every class and division of the +community, that of necessity they became the first question in the state, the +chief subjects to which we must turn our attention. +</p> + +<p> +Can it be true, each asked the other with wonder and dismay, that whole +countries are laid waste, whole nations annihilated, by these disorders in +nature? The vast cities of America, the fertile plains of Hindostan, the +crowded abodes of the Chinese, are menaced with utter ruin. Where late the busy +multitudes assembled for pleasure or profit, now only the sound of wailing and +misery is heard. The air is empoisoned, and each human being inhales death, +even while in youth and health, their hopes are in the flower. We called to +mind the plague of 1348, when it was calculated that a third of mankind had +been destroyed. As yet western Europe was uninfected; would it always be so? +</p> + +<p> +O, yes, it would—Countrymen, fear not! In the still uncultivated wilds of +America, what wonder that among its other giant destroyers, plague should be +numbered! It is of old a native of the East, sister of the tornado, the +earthquake, and the simoon. Child of the sun, and nursling of the tropics, it +would expire in these climes. It drinks the dark blood of the inhabitant of the +south, but it never feasts on the pale-faced Celt. If perchance some stricken +Asiatic come among us, plague dies with him, uncommunicated and innoxious. Let +us weep for our brethren, though we can never experience their reverse. Let us +lament over and assist the children of the garden of the earth. Late we envied +their abodes, their spicy groves, fertile plains, and abundant loveliness. But +in this mortal life extremes are always matched; the thorn grows with the rose, +the poison tree and the cinnamon mingle their boughs. Persia, with its cloth of +gold, marble halls, and infinite wealth, is now a tomb. The tent of the Arab is +fallen in the sands, and his horse spurns the ground unbridled and unsaddled. +The voice of lamentation fills the valley of Cashmere; its dells and woods, its +cool fountains, and gardens of roses, are polluted by the dead; in Circassia +and Georgia the spirit of beauty weeps over the ruin of its favourite +temple—the form of woman. +</p> + +<p> +Our own distresses, though they were occasioned by the fictitious reciprocity +of commerce, encreased in due proportion. Bankers, merchants, and +manufacturers, whose trade depended on exports and interchange of wealth, +became bankrupt. Such things, when they happen singly, affect only the +immediate parties; but the prosperity of the nation was now shaken by frequent +and extensive losses. Families, bred in opulence and luxury, were reduced to +beggary. The very state of peace in which we gloried was injurious; there were +no means of employing the idle, or of sending any overplus of population out of +the country. Even the source of colonies was dried up, for in New Holland, Van +Diemen’s Land, and the Cape of Good Hope, plague raged. O, for some +medicinal vial to purge unwholesome nature, and bring back the earth to its +accustomed health! +</p> + +<p> +Ryland was a man of strong intellects and quick and sound decision in the usual +course of things, but he stood aghast at the multitude of evils that gathered +round us. Must he tax the landed interest to assist our commercial population? +To do this, he must gain the favour of the chief land-holders, the nobility of +the country; and these were his vowed enemies—he must conciliate them by +abandoning his favourite scheme of equalization; he must confirm them in their +manorial rights; he must sell his cherished plans for the permanent good of his +country, for temporary relief. He must aim no more at the dear object of his +ambition; throwing his arms aside, he must for present ends give up the +ultimate object of his endeavours. He came to Windsor to consult with us. Every +day added to his difficulties; the arrival of fresh vessels with emigrants, the +total cessation of commerce, the starving multitude that thronged around the +palace of the Protectorate, were circumstances not to be tampered with. The +blow was struck; the aristocracy obtained all they wished, and they subscribed +to a twelvemonths’ bill, which levied twenty per cent on all the +rent-rolls of the country. Calm was now restored to the metropolis, and to the +populous cities, before driven to desperation; and we returned to the +consideration of distant calamities, wondering if the future would bring any +alleviation to their excess. It was August; so there could be small hope of +relief during the heats. On the contrary, the disease gained virulence, while +starvation did its accustomed work. Thousands died unlamented; for beside the +yet warm corpse the mourner was stretched, made mute by death. +</p> + +<p> +On the eighteenth of this month news arrived in London that the plague was in +France and Italy. These tidings were at first whispered about town; but no one +dared express aloud the soul-quailing intelligence. When any one met a friend +in the street, he only cried as he hurried on, “You know!”— +while the other, with an ejaculation of fear and horror, would answer,— +“What will become of us?” At length it was mentioned in the +newspapers. The paragraph was inserted in an obscure part: “We regret to +state that there can be no longer a doubt of the plague having been introduced +at Leghorn, Genoa, and Marseilles.” No word of comment followed; each +reader made his own fearful one. We were as a man who hears that his house is +burning, and yet hurries through the streets, borne along by a lurking hope of +a mistake, till he turns the corner, and sees his sheltering roof enveloped in +a flame. Before it had been a rumour; but now in words uneraseable, in definite +and undeniable print, the knowledge went forth. Its obscurity of situation +rendered it the more conspicuous: the diminutive letters grew gigantic to the +bewildered eye of fear: they seemed graven with a pen of iron, impressed by +fire, woven in the clouds, stamped on the very front of the universe. +</p> + +<p> +The English, whether travellers or residents, came pouring in one great +revulsive stream, back on their own country; and with them crowds of Italians +and Spaniards. Our little island was filled even to bursting. At first an +unusual quantity of specie made its appearance with the emigrants; but these +people had no means of receiving back into their hands what they spent among +us. With the advance of summer, and the increase of the distemper, rents were +unpaid, and their remittances failed them. It was impossible to see these +crowds of wretched, perishing creatures, late nurslings of luxury, and not +stretch out a hand to save them. As at the conclusion of the eighteenth +century, the English unlocked their hospitable store, for the relief of those +driven from their homes by political revolution; so now they were not backward +in affording aid to the victims of a more wide-spreading calamity. We had many +foreign friends whom we eagerly sought out, and relieved from dreadful penury. +Our Castle became an asylum for the unhappy. A little population occupied its +halls. The revenue of its possessor, which had always found a mode of +expenditure congenial to his generous nature, was now attended to more +parsimoniously, that it might embrace a wider portion of utility. It was not +however money, except partially, but the necessaries of life, that became +scarce. It was difficult to find an immediate remedy. The usual one of imports +was entirely cut off. In this emergency, to feed the very people to whom we had +given refuge, we were obliged to yield to the plough and the mattock our +pleasure-grounds and parks. Live stock diminished sensibly in the country, from +the effects of the great demand in the market. Even the poor deer, our antlered +proteges, were obliged to fall for the sake of worthier pensioners. The labour +necessary to bring the lands to this sort of culture, employed and fed the +offcasts of the diminished manufactories. +</p> + +<p> +Adrian did not rest only with the exertions he could make with regard to his +own possessions. He addressed himself to the wealthy of the land; he made +proposals in parliament little adapted to please the rich; but his earnest +pleadings and benevolent eloquence were irresistible. To give up their +pleasure-grounds to the agriculturist, to diminish sensibly the number of +horses kept for the purposes of luxury throughout the country, were means +obvious, but unpleasing. Yet, to the honour of the English be it recorded, +that, although natural disinclination made them delay awhile, yet when the +misery of their fellow-creatures became glaring, an enthusiastic generosity +inspired their decrees. The most luxurious were often the first to part with +their indulgencies. As is common in communities, a fashion was set. The +high-born ladies of the country would have deemed themselves disgraced if they +had now enjoyed, what they before called a necessary, the ease of a carriage. +Chairs, as in olden time, and Indian palanquins were introduced for the infirm; +but else it was nothing singular to see females of rank going on foot to places +of fashionable resort. It was more common, for all who possessed landed +property to secede to their estates, attended by whole troops of the indigent, +to cut down their woods to erect temporary dwellings, and to portion out their +parks, parterres and flower-gardens, to necessitous families. Many of these, of +high rank in their own countries, now, with hoe in hand, turned up the soil. It +was found necessary at last to check the spirit of sacrifice, and to remind +those whose generosity proceeded to lavish waste, that, until the present state +of things became permanent, of which there was no likelihood, it was wrong to +carry change so far as to make a reaction difficult. Experience demonstrated +that in a year or two pestilence would cease; it were well that in the mean +time we should not have destroyed our fine breeds of horses, or have utterly +changed the face of the ornamented portion of the country. +</p> + +<p> +It may be imagined that things were in a bad state indeed, before this spirit +of benevolence could have struck such deep roots. The infection had now spread +in the southern provinces of France. But that country had so many resources in +the way of agriculture, that the rush of population from one part of it to +another, and its increase through foreign emigration, was less felt than with +us. The panic struck appeared of more injury, than disease and its natural +concomitants. +</p> + +<p> +Winter was hailed, a general and never-failing physician. The embrowning woods, +and swollen rivers, the evening mists, and morning frosts, were welcomed with +gratitude. The effects of purifying cold were immediately felt; and the lists +of mortality abroad were curtailed each week. Many of our visitors left us: +those whose homes were far in the south, fled delightedly from our northern +winter, and sought their native land, secure of plenty even after their fearful +visitation. We breathed again. What the coming summer would bring, we knew not; +but the present months were our own, and our hopes of a cessation of pestilence +were high. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn6"></a> <a href="#fnref6">[6]</a>Elton’s translation of Hesiod’s Works. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<p> +I have lingered thus long on the extreme bank, the wasting shoal that stretched +into the stream of life, dallying with the shadow of death. Thus long, I have +cradled my heart in retrospection of past happiness, when hope was. Why not for +ever thus? I am not immortal; and the thread of my history might be spun out to +the limits of my existence. But the same sentiment that first led me to +pourtray scenes replete with tender recollections, now bids me hurry on. The +same yearning of this warm, panting heart, that has made me in written words +record my vagabond youth, my serene manhood, and the passions of my soul, makes +me now recoil from further delay. I must complete my work. +</p> + +<p> +Here then I stand, as I said, beside the fleet waters of the flowing years, and +now away! Spread the sail, and strain with oar, hurrying by dark impending +crags, adown steep rapids, even to the sea of desolation I have reached. Yet +one moment, one brief interval before I put from shore— once, once again +let me fancy myself as I was in 2094 in my abode at Windsor, let me close my +eyes, and imagine that the immeasurable boughs of its oaks still shadow me, its +castle walls anear. Let fancy pourtray the joyous scene of the twentieth of +June, such as even now my aching heart recalls it. +</p> + +<p> +Circumstances had called me to London; here I heard talk that symptoms of the +plague had occurred in hospitals of that city. I returned to Windsor; my brow +was clouded, my heart heavy; I entered the Little Park, as was my custom, at +the Frogmore gate, on my way to the Castle. A great part of these grounds had +been given to cultivation, and strips of potatoe-land and corn were scattered +here and there. The rooks cawed loudly in the trees above; mixed with their +hoarse cries I heard a lively strain of music. It was Alfred’s birthday. +The young people, the Etonians, and children of the neighbouring gentry, held a +mock fair, to which all the country people were invited. The park was speckled +by tents, whose flaunting colours and gaudy flags, waving in the sunshine, +added to the gaiety of the scene. On a platform erected beneath the terrace, a +number of the younger part of the assembly were dancing. I leaned against a +tree to observe them. The band played the wild eastern air of Weber introduced +in Abon Hassan; its volatile notes gave wings to the feet of the dancers, while +the lookers-on unconsciously beat time. At first the tripping measure lifted my +spirit with it, and for a moment my eyes gladly followed the mazes of the +dance. The revulsion of thought passed like keen steel to my heart. Ye are all +going to die, I thought; already your tomb is built up around you. Awhile, +because you are gifted with agility and strength, you fancy that you live: but +frail is the “bower of flesh” that encaskets life; dissoluble the +silver cord that binds you to it. The joyous soul, charioted from pleasure to +pleasure by the graceful mechanism of well-formed limbs, will suddenly feel the +axle-tree give way, and spring and wheel dissolve in dust. Not one of you, O! +fated crowd, can escape—not one! not my own ones! not my Idris and her +babes! Horror and misery! Already the gay dance vanished, the green sward was +strewn with corpses, the blue air above became fetid with deathly exhalations. +Shriek, ye clarions! ye loud trumpets, howl! Pile dirge on dirge; rouse the +funereal chords; let the air ring with dire wailing; let wild discord rush on +the wings of the wind! Already I hear it, while guardian angels, attendant on +humanity, their task achieved, hasten away, and their departure is announced by +melancholy strains; faces all unseemly with weeping, forced open my lids; +faster and faster many groups of these woe-begone countenances thronged around, +exhibiting every variety of wretchedness—well known faces mingled with +the distorted creations of fancy. Ashy pale, Raymond and Perdita sat apart, +looking on with sad smiles. Adrian’s countenance flitted across, tainted +by death—Idris, with eyes languidly closed and livid lips, was about to +slide into the wide grave. The confusion grew—their looks of sorrow +changed to mockery; they nodded their heads in time to the music, whose clang +became maddening. +</p> + +<p> +I felt that this was insanity—I sprang forward to throw it off; I rushed +into the midst of the crowd. Idris saw me: with light step she advanced; as I +folded her in my arms, feeling, as I did, that I thus enclosed what was to me a +world, yet frail as the waterdrop which the noon-day sun will drink from the +water lily’s cup; tears filled my eyes, unwont to be thus moistened. The +joyful welcome of my boys, the soft gratulation of Clara, the pressure of +Adrian’s hand, contributed to unman me. I felt that they were near, that +they were safe, yet methought this was all deceit;—the earth reeled, the +firm-enrooted trees moved—dizziness came over me—I sank to the +ground. +</p> + +<p> +My beloved friends were alarmed—nay, they expressed their alarm so +anxiously, that I dared not pronounce the word <i>plague</i>, that hovered on +my lips, lest they should construe my perturbed looks into a symptom, and see +infection in my languor. I had scarcely recovered, and with feigned hilarity +had brought back smiles into my little circle, when we saw Ryland approach. +</p> + +<p> +Ryland had something the appearance of a farmer; of a man whose muscles and +full grown stature had been developed under the influence of vigorous exercise +and exposure to the elements. This was to a great degree the case: for, though +a large landed proprietor, yet, being a projector, and of an ardent and +industrious disposition, he had on his own estate given himself up to +agricultural labours. When he went as ambassador to the Northern States of +America, he, for some time, planned his entire migration; and went so far as to +make several journies far westward on that immense continent, for the purpose +of choosing the site of his new abode. Ambition turned his thoughts from these +designs—ambition, which labouring through various lets and hindrances, +had now led him to the summit of his hopes, in making him Lord Protector of +England. +</p> + +<p> +His countenance was rough but intelligent—his ample brow and quick grey +eyes seemed to look out, over his own plans, and the opposition of his enemies. +His voice was stentorian: his hand stretched out in debate, seemed by its +gigantic and muscular form, to warn his hearers that words were not his only +weapons. Few people had discovered some cowardice and much infirmity of purpose +under this imposing exterior. No man could crush a “butterfly on the +wheel” with better effect; no man better cover a speedy retreat from a +powerful adversary. This had been the secret of his secession at the time of +Lord Raymond’s election. In the unsteady glance of his eye, in his +extreme desire to learn the opinions of all, in the feebleness of his +hand-writing, these qualities might be obscurely traced, but they were not +generally known. He was now our Lord Protector. He had canvassed eagerly for +this post. His protectorate was to be distinguished by every kind of innovation +on the aristocracy. This his selected task was exchanged for the far different +one of encountering the ruin caused by the convulsions of physical nature. He +was incapable of meeting these evils by any comprehensive system; he had +resorted to expedient after expedient, and could never be induced to put a +remedy in force, till it came too late to be of use. +</p> + +<p> +Certainly the Ryland that advanced towards us now, bore small resemblance to +the powerful, ironical, seemingly fearless canvasser for the first rank among +Englishmen. Our native oak, as his partisans called him, was visited truly by a +nipping winter. He scarcely appeared half his usual height; his joints were +unknit, his limbs would not support him; his face was contracted, his eye +wandering; debility of purpose and dastard fear were expressed in every +gesture. +</p> + +<p> +In answer to our eager questions, one word alone fell, as it were +involuntarily, from his convulsed lips: <i>The +Plague</i>.—“Where?”—“Every where—we must +fly—all fly—but whither? No man can tell—there is no refuge +on earth, it comes on us like a thousand packs of wolves—we must all +fly—where shall you go? Where can any of us go?” +</p> + +<p> +These words were syllabled trembling by the iron man. Adrian replied, +“Whither indeed would you fly? We must all remain; and do our best to +help our suffering fellow-creatures.” +</p> + +<p> +“Help!” said Ryland, “there is no help!—great God, who +talks of help! All the world has the plague!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then to avoid it, we must quit the world,” observed Adrian, with a +gentle smile. +</p> + +<p> +Ryland groaned; cold drops stood on his brow. It was useless to oppose his +paroxysm of terror: but we soothed and encouraged him, so that after an +interval he was better able to explain to us the ground of his alarm. It had +come sufficiently home to him. One of his servants, while waiting on him, had +suddenly fallen down dead. The physician declared that he died of the plague. +We endeavoured to calm him—but our own hearts were not calm. I saw the +eye of Idris wander from me to her children, with an anxious appeal to my +judgment. Adrian was absorbed in meditation. For myself, I own that +Ryland’s words rang in my ears; all the world was infected;—in what +uncontaminated seclusion could I save my beloved treasures, until the shadow of +death had passed from over the earth? We sunk into silence: a silence that +drank in the doleful accounts and prognostications of our guest. We had receded +from the crowd; and ascending the steps of the terrace, sought the Castle. Our +change of cheer struck those nearest to us; and, by means of Ryland’s +servants, the report soon spread that he had fled from the plague in London. +The sprightly parties broke up—they assembled in whispering groups. The +spirit of gaiety was eclipsed; the music ceased; the young people left their +occupations and gathered together. The lightness of heart which had dressed +them in masquerade habits, had decorated their tents, and assembled them in +fantastic groups, appeared a sin against, and a provocative to, the awful +destiny that had laid its palsying hand upon hope and life. The merriment of +the hour was an unholy mockery of the sorrows of man. The foreigners whom we +had among us, who had fled from the plague in their own country, now saw their +last asylum invaded; and, fear making them garrulous, they described to eager +listeners the miseries they had beheld in cities visited by the calamity, and +gave fearful accounts of the insidious and irremediable nature of the disease. +</p> + +<p> +We had entered the Castle. Idris stood at a window that over-looked the park; +her maternal eyes sought her own children among the young crowd. An Italian lad +had got an audience about him, and with animated gestures was describing some +scene of horror. Alfred stood immoveable before him, his whole attention +absorbed. Little Evelyn had endeavoured to draw Clara away to play with him; +but the Italian’s tale arrested her, she crept near, her lustrous eyes +fixed on the speaker. Either watching the crowd in the park, or occupied by +painful reflection, we were all silent; Ryland stood by himself in an embrasure +of the window; Adrian paced the hall, revolving some new and overpowering +idea—suddenly he stopped and said: “I have long expected this; +could we in reason expect that this island should be exempt from the universal +visitation? The evil is come home to us, and we must not shrink from our fate. +What are your plans, my Lord Protector, for the benefit of our country?” +</p> + +<p> +“For heaven’s love! Windsor,” cried Ryland, “do not +mock me with that title. Death and disease level all men. I neither pretend to +protect nor govern an hospital—such will England quickly become.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you then intend, now in time of peril, to recede from your +duties?” +</p> + +<p> +“Duties! speak rationally, my Lord!—when I am a plague-spotted +corpse, where will my duties be? Every man for himself! the devil take the +protectorship, say I, if it expose me to danger!” +</p> + +<p> +“Faint-hearted man!” cried Adrian indignantly—“Your +countrymen put their trust in you, and you betray them!” +</p> + +<p> +“I betray them!” said Ryland, “the plague betrays me. +Faint-hearted! It is well, shut up in your castle, out of danger, to boast +yourself out of fear. Take the Protectorship who will; before God I renounce +it!” +</p> + +<p> +“And before God,” replied his opponent, fervently, “do I +receive it! No one will canvass for this honour now—none envy my danger +or labours. Deposit your powers in my hands. Long have I fought with death, and +much” (he stretched out his thin hand) “much have I suffered in the +struggle. It is not by flying, but by facing the enemy, that we can conquer. If +my last combat is now about to be fought, and I am to be worsted—so let +it be!” +</p> + +<p> +“But come, Ryland, recollect yourself! Men have hitherto thought you +magnanimous and wise, will you cast aside these titles? Consider the panic your +departure will occasion. Return to London. I will go with you. Encourage the +people by your presence. I will incur all the danger. Shame! shame! if the +first magistrate of England be foremost to renounce his duties.” +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile among our guests in the park, all thoughts of festivity had faded. As +summer-flies are scattered by rain, so did this congregation, late noisy and +happy, in sadness and melancholy murmurs break up, dwindling away apace. With +the set sun and the deepening twilight the park became nearly empty. Adrian and +Ryland were still in earnest discussion. We had prepared a banquet for our +guests in the lower hall of the castle; and thither Idris and I repaired to +receive and entertain the few that remained. There is nothing more melancholy +than a merry-meeting thus turned to sorrow: the gala dresses—the +decorations, gay as they might otherwise be, receive a solemn and funereal +appearance. If such change be painful from lighter causes, it weighed with +intolerable heaviness from the knowledge that the earth’s desolator had +at last, even as an arch-fiend, lightly over-leaped the boundaries our +precautions raised, and at once enthroned himself in the full and beating heart +of our country. Idris sat at the top of the half-empty hall. Pale and tearful, +she almost forgot her duties as hostess; her eyes were fixed on her children. +Alfred’s serious air shewed that he still revolved the tragic story +related by the Italian boy. Evelyn was the only mirthful creature present: he +sat on Clara’s lap; and, making matter of glee from his own fancies, +laughed aloud. The vaulted roof echoed again his infant tone. The poor mother +who had brooded long over, and suppressed the expression of her anguish, now +burst into tears, and folding her babe in her arms, hurried from the hall. +Clara and Alfred followed. While the rest of the company, in confused murmur, +which grew louder and louder, gave voice to their many fears. +</p> + +<p> +The younger part gathered round me to ask my advice; and those who had friends +in London were anxious beyond the rest, to ascertain the present extent of +disease in the metropolis. I encouraged them with such thoughts of cheer as +presented themselves. I told them exceedingly few deaths had yet been +occasioned by pestilence, and gave them hopes, as we were the last visited, so +the calamity might have lost its most venomous power before it had reached us. +The cleanliness, habits of order, and the manner in which our cities were +built, were all in our favour. As it was an epidemic, its chief force was +derived from pernicious qualities in the air, and it would probably do little +harm where this was naturally salubrious. At first, I had spoken only to those +nearest me; but the whole assembly gathered about me, and I found that I was +listened to by all. “My friends,” I said, “our risk is +common; our precautions and exertions shall be common also. If manly courage +and resistance can save us, we will be saved. We will fight the enemy to the +last. Plague shall not find us a ready prey; we will dispute every inch of +ground; and, by methodical and inflexible laws, pile invincible barriers to the +progress of our foe. Perhaps in no part of the world has she met with so +systematic and determined an opposition. Perhaps no country is naturally so +well protected against our invader; nor has nature anywhere been so well +assisted by the hand of man. We will not despair. We are neither cowards nor +fatalists; but, believing that God has placed the means for our preservation in +our own hands, we will use those means to our utmost. Remember that +cleanliness, sobriety, and even good-humour and benevolence, are our best +medicines.” +</p> + +<p> +There was little I could add to this general exhortation; for the plague, +though in London, was not among us. I dismissed the guests therefore; and they +went thoughtful, more than sad, to await the events in store for them. +</p> + +<p> +I now sought Adrian, anxious to hear the result of his discussion with Ryland. +He had in part prevailed; the Lord Protector consented to return to London for +a few weeks; during which time things should be so arranged, as to occasion +less consternation at his departure. Adrian and Idris were together. The +sadness with which the former had first heard that the plague was in London had +vanished; the energy of his purpose informed his body with strength, the solemn +joy of enthusiasm and self-devotion illuminated his countenance; and the +weakness of his physical nature seemed to pass from him, as the cloud of +humanity did, in the ancient fable, from the divine lover of Semele. He was +endeavouring to encourage his sister, and to bring her to look on his intent in +a less tragic light than she was prepared to do; and with passionate eloquence +he unfolded his designs to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me, at the first word,” he said, “relieve your mind from +all fear on my account. I will not task myself beyond my powers, nor will I +needlessly seek danger. I feel that I know what ought to be done, and as my +presence is necessary for the accomplishment of my plans, I will take especial +care to preserve my life. +</p> + +<p> +“I am now going to undertake an office fitted for me. I cannot intrigue, +or work a tortuous path through the labyrinth of men’s vices and +passions; but I can bring patience, and sympathy, and such aid as art affords, +to the bed of disease; I can raise from earth the miserable orphan, and awaken +to new hopes the shut heart of the mourner. I can enchain the plague in limits, +and set a term to the misery it would occasion; courage, forbearance, and +watchfulness, are the forces I bring towards this great work. +</p> + +<p> +“O, I shall be something now! From my birth I have aspired like the eagle +—but, unlike the eagle, my wings have failed, and my vision has been +blinded. Disappointment and sickness have hitherto held dominion over me; twin +born with me, my <i>would</i>, was for ever enchained by the <i>shall not</i>, +of these my tyrants. A shepherd-boy that tends a silly flock on the mountains, +was more in the scale of society than I. Congratulate me then that I have found +fitting scope for my powers. I have often thought of offering my services to +the pestilence-stricken towns of France and Italy; but fear of paining you, and +expectation of this catastrophe, withheld me. To England and to Englishmen I +dedicate myself. If I can save one of her mighty spirits from the deadly shaft; +if I can ward disease from one of her smiling cottages, I shall not have lived +in vain.” +</p> + +<p> +Strange ambition this! Yet such was Adrian. He appeared given up to +contemplation, averse to excitement, a lowly student, a man of visions— +but afford him worthy theme, and— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Like to the lark at break of day arising,<br/> +From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate.<a href="#fn7" name="fnref7"><sup>[7]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +so did he spring up from listlessness and unproductive thought, to the highest +pitch of virtuous action. +</p> + +<p> +With him went enthusiasm, the high-wrought resolve, the eye that without +blenching could look at death. With us remained sorrow, anxiety, and +unendurable expectation of evil. The man, says Lord Bacon, who hath wife and +children, has given hostages to fortune. Vain was all philosophical +reasoning—vain all fortitude—vain, vain, a reliance on probable +good. I might heap high the scale with logic, courage, and +resignation—but let one fear for Idris and our children enter the +opposite one, and, over-weighed, it kicked the beam. +</p> + +<p> +The plague was in London! Fools that we were not long ago to have foreseen +this. We wept over the ruin of the boundless continents of the east, and the +desolation of the western world; while we fancied that the little channel +between our island and the rest of the earth was to preserve us alive among the +dead. It were no mighty leap methinks from Calais to Dover. The eye easily +discerns the sister land; they were united once; and the little path that runs +between looks in a map but as a trodden footway through high grass. Yet this +small interval was to save us: the sea was to rise a wall of +adamant—without, disease and misery—within, a shelter from evil, a +nook of the garden of paradise—a particle of celestial soil, which no +evil could invade—truly we were wise in our generation, to imagine all +these things! +</p> + +<p> +But we are awake now. The plague is in London; the air of England is tainted, +and her sons and daughters strew the unwholesome earth. And now, the sea, late +our defence, seems our prison bound; hemmed in by its gulphs, we shall die like +the famished inhabitants of a besieged town. Other nations have a fellowship in +death; but we, shut out from all neighbourhood, must bury our own dead, and +little England become a wide, wide tomb. +</p> + +<p> +This feeling of universal misery assumed concentration and shape, when I looked +on my wife and children; and the thought of danger to them possessed my whole +being with fear. How could I save them? I revolved a thousand and a thousand +plans. They should not die—first I would be gathered to nothingness, ere +infection should come anear these idols of my soul. I would walk barefoot +through the world, to find an uninfected spot; I would build my home on some +wave-tossed plank, drifted about on the barren, shoreless ocean. I would betake +me with them to some wild beast’s den, where a tyger’s cubs, which +I would slay, had been reared in health. I would seek the mountain +eagle’s eirie, and live years suspended in some inaccessible recess of a +sea-bounding cliff—no labour too great, no scheme too wild, if it +promised life to them. O! ye heart-strings of mine, could ye be torn asunder, +and my soul not spend itself in tears of blood for sorrow! +</p> + +<p> +Idris, after the first shock, regained a portion of fortitude. She studiously +shut out all prospect of the future, and cradled her heart in present +blessings. She never for a moment lost sight of her children. But while they in +health sported about her, she could cherish contentment and hope. A strange and +wild restlessness came over me—the more intolerable, because I was forced +to conceal it. My fears for Adrian were ceaseless; August had come; and the +symptoms of plague encreased rapidly in London. It was deserted by all who +possessed the power of removing; and he, the brother of my soul, was exposed to +the perils from which all but slaves enchained by circumstance fled. He +remained to combat the fiend—his side unguarded, his toils +unshared—infection might even reach him, and he die unattended and alone. +By day and night these thoughts pursued me. I resolved to visit London, to see +him; to quiet these agonizing throes by the sweet medicine of hope, or the +opiate of despair. +</p> + +<p> +It was not until I arrived at Brentford, that I perceived much change in the +face of the country. The better sort of houses were shut up; the busy trade of +the town palsied; there was an air of anxiety among the few passengers I met, +and they looked wonderingly at my carriage—the first they had seen pass +towards London, since pestilence sat on its high places, and possessed its busy +streets. I met several funerals; they were slenderly attended by mourners, and +were regarded by the spectators as omens of direst import. Some gazed on these +processions with wild eagerness— others fled timidly—some wept +aloud. +</p> + +<p> +Adrian’s chief endeavour, after the immediate succour of the sick, had +been to disguise the symptoms and progress of the plague from the inhabitants +of London. He knew that fear and melancholy forebodings were powerful +assistants to disease; that desponding and brooding care rendered the physical +nature of man peculiarly susceptible of infection. No unseemly sights were +therefore discernible: the shops were in general open, the concourse of +passengers in some degree kept up. But although the appearance of an infected +town was avoided, to me, who had not beheld it since the commencement of the +visitation, London appeared sufficiently changed. There were no carriages, and +grass had sprung high in the streets; the houses had a desolate look; most of +the shutters were closed; and there was a ghast and frightened stare in the +persons I met, very different from the usual business-like demeanour of the +Londoners. My solitary carriage attracted notice, as it rattled along towards +the Protectoral Palace—and the fashionable streets leading to it wore a +still more dreary and deserted appearance. I found Adrian’s anti-chamber +crowded—it was his hour for giving audience. I was unwilling to disturb +his labours, and waited, watching the ingress and egress of the petitioners. +They consisted of people of the middling and lower classes of society, whose +means of subsistence failed with the cessation of trade, and of the busy spirit +of money-making in all its branches, peculiar to our country. There was an air +of anxiety, sometimes of terror in the new-comers, strongly contrasted with the +resigned and even satisfied mien of those who had had audience. I could read +the influence of my friend in their quickened motions and cheerful faces. Two +o’clock struck, after which none were admitted; those who had been +disappointed went sullenly or sorrowfully away, while I entered the +audience-chamber. +</p> + +<p> +I was struck by the improvement that appeared in the health of Adrian. He was +no longer bent to the ground, like an over-nursed flower of spring, that, +shooting up beyond its strength, is weighed down even by its own coronal of +blossoms. His eyes were bright, his countenance composed, an air of +concentrated energy was diffused over his whole person, much unlike its former +languor. He sat at a table with several secretaries, who were arranging +petitions, or registering the notes made during that day’s audience. Two +or three petitioners were still in attendance. I admired his justice and +patience. Those who possessed a power of living out of London, he advised +immediately to quit it, affording them the means of so doing. Others, whose +trade was beneficial to the city, or who possessed no other refuge, he provided +with advice for better avoiding the epidemic; relieving overloaded families, +supplying the gaps made in others by death. Order, comfort, and even health, +rose under his influence, as from the touch of a magician’s wand. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad you are come,” he said to me, when we were at last +alone; “I can only spare a few minutes, and must tell you much in that +time. The plague is now in progress—it is useless closing one’s +eyes to the fact—the deaths encrease each week. What will come I cannot +guess. As yet, thank God, I am equal to the government of the town; and I look +only to the present. Ryland, whom I have so long detained, has stipulated that +I shall suffer him to depart before the end of this month. The deputy appointed +by parliament is dead; another therefore must be named; I have advanced my +claim, and I believe that I shall have no competitor. To-night the question is +to be decided, as there is a call of the house for the purpose. You must +nominate me, Lionel; Ryland, for shame, cannot shew himself; but you, my +friend, will do me this service?” +</p> + +<p> +How lovely is devotion! Here was a youth, royally sprung, bred in luxury, by +nature averse to the usual struggles of a public life, and now, in time of +danger, at a period when to live was the utmost scope of the ambitious, he, the +beloved and heroic Adrian, made, in sweet simplicity, an offer to sacrifice +himself for the public good. The very idea was generous and noble,—but, +beyond this, his unpretending manner, his entire want of the assumption of a +virtue, rendered his act ten times more touching. I would have withstood his +request; but I had seen the good he diffused; I felt that his resolves were not +to be shaken, so, with an heavy heart, I consented to do as he asked. He +grasped my hand affectionately:—“Thank you,” he said, +“you have relieved me from a painful dilemma, and are, as you ever were, +the best of my friends. Farewell—I must now leave you for a few hours. Go +you and converse with Ryland. Although he deserts his post in London, he may be +of the greatest service in the north of England, by receiving and assisting +travellers, and contributing to supply the metropolis with food. Awaken him, I +entreat you, to some sense of duty.” +</p> + +<p> +Adrian left me, as I afterwards learnt, upon his daily task of visiting the +hospitals, and inspecting the crowded parts of London. I found Ryland much +altered, even from what he had been when he visited Windsor. Perpetual fear had +jaundiced his complexion, and shrivelled his whole person. I told him of the +business of the evening, and a smile relaxed the contracted muscles. He desired +to go; each day he expected to be infected by pestilence, each day he was +unable to resist the gentle violence of Adrian’s detention. The moment +Adrian should be legally elected his deputy, he would escape to safety. Under +this impression he listened to all I said; and, elevated almost to joy by the +near prospect of his departure, he entered into a discussion concerning the +plans he should adopt in his own county, forgetting, for the moment, his +cherished resolution of shutting himself up from all communication in the +mansion and grounds of his estate. +</p> + +<p> +In the evening, Adrian and I proceeded to Westminster. As we went he reminded +me of what I was to say and do, yet, strange to say, I entered the chamber +without having once reflected on my purpose. Adrian remained in the +coffee-room, while I, in compliance with his desire, took my seat in St. +Stephen’s. There reigned unusual silence in the chamber. I had not +visited it since Raymond’s protectorate; a period conspicuous for a +numerous attendance of members, for the eloquence of the speakers, and the +warmth of the debate. The benches were very empty, those by custom occupied by +the hereditary members were vacant; the city members were there—the +members for the commercial towns, few landed proprietors, and not many of those +who entered parliament for the sake of a career. The first subject that +occupied the attention of the house was an address from the Lord Protector, +praying them to appoint a deputy during a necessary absence on his part. +</p> + +<p> +A silence prevailed, till one of the members coming to me, whispered that the +Earl of Windsor had sent him word that I was to move his election, in the +absence of the person who had been first chosen for this office. Now for the +first time I saw the full extent of my task, and I was overwhelmed by what I +had brought on myself. Ryland had deserted his post through fear of the plague: +from the same fear Adrian had no competitor. And I, the nearest kinsman of the +Earl of Windsor, was to propose his election. I was to thrust this selected and +matchless friend into the post of danger— impossible! the die was +cast—I would offer myself as candidate. +</p> + +<p> +The few members who were present, had come more for the sake of terminating the +business by securing a legal attendance, than under the idea of a debate. I had +risen mechanically—my knees trembled; irresolution hung on my voice, as I +uttered a few words on the necessity of choosing a person adequate to the +dangerous task in hand. But, when the idea of presenting myself in the room of +my friend intruded, the load of doubt and pain was taken from off me. My words +flowed spontaneously—my utterance was firm and quick. I adverted to what +Adrian had already done—I promised the same vigilance in furthering all +his views. I drew a touching picture of his vacillating health; I boasted of my +own strength. I prayed them to save even from himself this scion of the noblest +family in England. My alliance with him was the pledge of my sincerity, my +union with his sister, my children, his presumptive heirs, were the hostages of +my truth. +</p> + +<p> +This unexpected turn in the debate was quickly communicated to Adrian. He +hurried in, and witnessed the termination of my impassioned harangue. I did not +see him: my soul was in my words,—my eyes could not perceive that which +was; while a vision of Adrian’s form, tainted by pestilence, and sinking +in death, floated before them. He seized my hand, as I concluded— +“Unkind!” he cried, “you have betrayed me!” then, +springing forwards, with the air of one who had a right to command, he claimed +the place of deputy as his own. He had bought it, he said, with danger, and +paid for it with toil. His ambition rested there; and, after an interval +devoted to the interests of his country, was I to step in, and reap the profit? +Let them remember what London had been when he arrived: the panic that +prevailed brought famine, while every moral and legal tie was loosened. He had +restored order—this had been a work which required perseverance, +patience, and energy; and he had neither slept nor waked but for the good of +his country.—Would they dare wrong him thus? Would they wrest his +hard-earned reward from him, to bestow it on one, who, never having mingled in +public life, would come a tyro to the craft, in which he was an adept. He +demanded the place of deputy as his right. Ryland had shewn that he preferred +him. Never before had he, who was born even to the inheritance of the throne of +England, never had he asked favour or honour from those now his equals, but who +might have been his subjects. Would they refuse him? Could they thrust back +from the path of distinction and laudable ambition, the heir of their ancient +kings, and heap another disappointment on a fallen house. +</p> + +<p> +No one had ever before heard Adrian allude to the rights of his ancestors. None +had ever before suspected, that power, or the suffrage of the many, could in +any manner become dear to him. He had begun his speech with vehemence; he ended +with unassuming gentleness, making his appeal with the same humility, as if he +had asked to be the first in wealth, honour, and power among Englishmen, and +not, as was the truth, to be the foremost in the ranks of loathsome toils and +inevitable death. A murmur of approbation rose after his speech. “Oh, do +not listen to him,” I cried, “he speaks false—false to +himself,”—I was interrupted: and, silence being restored, we were +ordered, as was the custom, to retire during the decision of the house. I +fancied that they hesitated, and that there was some hope for me—I was +mistaken—hardly had we quitted the chamber, before Adrian was recalled, +and installed in his office of Lord Deputy to the Protector. +</p> + +<p> +We returned together to the palace. “Why, Lionel,” said Adrian, +“what did you intend? you could not hope to conquer, and yet you gave me +the pain of a triumph over my dearest friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is mockery,” I replied, “you devote +yourself,—you, the adored brother of Idris, the being, of all the world +contains, dearest to our hearts—you devote yourself to an early death. I +would have prevented this; my death would be a small evil—or rather I +should not die; while you cannot hope to escape.” +</p> + +<p> +“As to the likelihood of escaping,” said Adrian, “ten years +hence the cold stars may shine on the graves of all of us; but as to my +peculiar liability to infection, I could easily prove, both logically and +physically, that in the midst of contagion I have a better chance of life than +you. +</p> + +<p> +“This is my post: I was born for this—to rule England in anarchy, +to save her in danger—to devote myself for her. The blood of my +forefathers cries aloud in my veins, and bids me be first among my countrymen. +Or, if this mode of speech offend you, let me say, that my mother, the proud +queen, instilled early into me a love of distinction, and all that, if the +weakness of my physical nature and my peculiar opinions had not prevented such +a design, might have made me long since struggle for the lost inheritance of my +race. But now my mother, or, if you will, my mother’s lessons, awaken +within me. I cannot lead on to battle; I cannot, through intrigue and +faithlessness rear again the throne upon the wreck of English public spirit. +But I can be the first to support and guard my country, now that terrific +disasters and ruin have laid strong hands upon her. +</p> + +<p> +“That country and my beloved sister are all I have. I will protect the +first—the latter I commit to your charge. If I survive, and she be lost, +I were far better dead. Preserve her—for her own sake I know that you +will—if you require any other spur, think that, in preserving her, you +preserve me. Her faultless nature, one sum of perfections, is wrapt up in her +affections—if they were hurt, she would droop like an unwatered floweret, +and the slightest injury they receive is a nipping frost to her. Already she +fears for us. She fears for the children she adores, and for you, the father of +these, her lover, husband, protector; and you must be near her to support and +encourage her. Return to Windsor then, my brother; for such you are by every +tie—fill the double place my absence imposes on you, and let me, in all +my sufferings here, turn my eyes towards that dear seclusion, and +say—There is peace.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn7"></a> <a href="#fnref7">[7]</a> +Shakespeare’s Sonnets. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<p> +I did proceed to Windsor, but not with the intention of remaining there. I went +but to obtain the consent of Idris, and then to return and take my station +beside my unequalled friend; to share his labours, and save him, if so it must +be, at the expence of my life. Yet I dreaded to witness the anguish which my +resolve might excite in Idris. I had vowed to my own heart never to shadow her +countenance even with transient grief, and should I prove recreant at the hour +of greatest need? I had begun my journey with anxious haste; now I desired to +draw it out through the course of days and months. I longed to avoid the +necessity of action; I strove to escape from +thought—vainly—futurity, like a dark image in a phantasmagoria, +came nearer and more near, till it clasped the whole earth in its shadow. +</p> + +<p> +A slight circumstance induced me to alter my usual route, and to return home by +Egham and Bishopgate. I alighted at Perdita’s ancient abode, her cottage; +and, sending forward the carriage, determined to walk across the park to the +castle. This spot, dedicated to sweetest recollections, the deserted house and +neglected garden were well adapted to nurse my melancholy. In our happiest +days, Perdita had adorned her cottage with every aid art might bring, to that +which nature had selected to favour. In the same spirit of exaggeration she +had, on the event of her separation from Raymond, caused it to be entirely +neglected. It was now in ruin: the deer had climbed the broken palings, and +reposed among the flowers; grass grew on the threshold, and the swinging +lattice creaking to the wind, gave signal of utter desertion. The sky was blue +above, and the air impregnated with fragrance by the rare flowers that grew +among the weeds. The trees moved overhead, awakening nature’s favourite +melody—but the melancholy appearance of the choaked paths, and weed-grown +flower-beds, dimmed even this gay summer scene. The time when in proud and +happy security we assembled at this cottage, was gone—soon the present +hours would join those past, and shadows of future ones rose dark and menacing +from the womb of time, their cradle and their bier. For the first time in my +life I envied the sleep of the dead, and thought with pleasure of one’s +bed under the sod, where grief and fear have no power. I passed through the gap +of the broken paling—I felt, while I disdained, the choaking +tears—I rushed into the depths of the forest. O death and change, rulers +of our life, where are ye, that I may grapple with you! What was there in our +tranquillity, that excited your envy—in our happiness, that ye should +destroy it? We were happy, loving, and beloved; the horn of Amalthea contained +no blessing unshowered upon us, but, alas! +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + la fortuna<br/> +deidad barbara importuna,<br/> +oy cadaver y ayer flor,<br/> +no permanece jamas!<a href="#fn8" name="fnref8"><sup>[8]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p> +As I wandered on thus ruminating, a number of country people passed me. They +seemed full of careful thought, and a few words of their conversation that +reached me, induced me to approach and make further enquiries. A party of +people flying from London, as was frequent in those days, had come up the +Thames in a boat. No one at Windsor would afford them shelter; so, going a +little further up, they remained all night in a deserted hut near +Bolter’s lock. They pursued their way the following morning, leaving one +of their company behind them, sick of the plague. This circumstance once spread +abroad, none dared approach within half a mile of the infected neighbourhood, +and the deserted wretch was left to fight with disease and death in solitude, +as he best might. I was urged by compassion to hasten to the hut, for the +purpose of ascertaining his situation, and administering to his wants. +</p> + +<p> +As I advanced I met knots of country-people talking earnestly of this event: +distant as they were from the apprehended contagion, fear was impressed on +every countenance. I passed by a group of these terrorists, in a lane in the +direct road to the hut. One of them stopped me, and, conjecturing that I was +ignorant of the circumstance, told me not to go on, for that an infected person +lay but at a short distance. +</p> + +<p> +“I know it,” I replied, “and I am going to see in what +condition the poor fellow is.” +</p> + +<p> +A murmur of surprise and horror ran through the assembly. I +continued:—“This poor wretch is deserted, dying, succourless; in +these unhappy times, God knows how soon any or all of us may be in like want. I +am going to do, as I would be done by.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you will never be able to return to the Castle—Lady +Idris—his children—” in confused speech were the words that +struck my ear. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you not know, my friends,” I said, “that the Earl +himself, now Lord Protector, visits daily, not only those probably infected by +this disease, but the hospitals and pest houses, going near, and even touching +the sick? yet he was never in better health. You labour under an entire mistake +as to the nature of the plague; but do not fear, I do not ask any of you to +accompany me, nor to believe me, until I return safe and sound from my +patient.” +</p> + +<p> +So I left them, and hurried on. I soon arrived at the hut: the door was ajar. I +entered, and one glance assured me that its former inhabitant was no +more—he lay on a heap of straw, cold and stiff; while a pernicious +effluvia filled the room, and various stains and marks served to shew the +virulence of the disorder. +</p> + +<p> +I had never before beheld one killed by pestilence. While every mind was full +of dismay at its effects, a craving for excitement had led us to peruse De +Foe’s account, and the masterly delineations of the author of Arthur +Mervyn. The pictures drawn in these books were so vivid, that we seemed to have +experienced the results depicted by them. But cold were the sensations excited +by words, burning though they were, and describing the death and misery of +thousands, compared to what I felt in looking on the corpse of this unhappy +stranger. This indeed was the plague. I raised his rigid limbs, I marked the +distortion of his face, and the stony eyes lost to perception. As I was thus +occupied, chill horror congealed my blood, making my flesh quiver and my hair +to stand on end. Half insanely I spoke to the dead. So the plague killed you, I +muttered. How came this? Was the coming painful? You look as if the enemy had +tortured, before he murdered you. And now I leapt up precipitately, and escaped +from the hut, before nature could revoke her laws, and inorganic words be +breathed in answer from the lips of the departed. +</p> + +<p> +On returning through the lane, I saw at a distance the same assemblage of +persons which I had left. They hurried away, as soon as they saw me; my +agitated mien added to their fear of coming near one who had entered within the +verge of contagion. +</p> + +<p> +At a distance from facts one draws conclusions which appear infallible, which +yet when put to the test of reality, vanish like unreal dreams. I had ridiculed +the fears of my countrymen, when they related to others; now that they came +home to myself, I paused. The Rubicon, I felt, was passed; and it behoved me +well to reflect what I should do on this hither side of disease and danger. +According to the vulgar superstition, my dress, my person, the air I breathed, +bore in it mortal danger to myself and others. Should I return to the Castle, +to my wife and children, with this taint upon me? Not surely if I were +infected; but I felt certain that I was not—a few hours would determine +the question—I would spend these in the forest, in reflection on what was +to come, and what my future actions were to be. In the feeling communicated to +me by the sight of one struck by the plague, I forgot the events that had +excited me so strongly in London; new and more painful prospects, by degrees +were cleared of the mist which had hitherto veiled them. The question was no +longer whether I should share Adrian’s toils and danger; but in what +manner I could, in Windsor and the neighbourhood, imitate the prudence and zeal +which, under his government, produced order and plenty in London, and how, now +pestilence had spread more widely, I could secure the health of my own family. +</p> + +<p> +I spread the whole earth out as a map before me. On no one spot of its surface +could I put my finger and say, here is safety. In the south, the disease, +virulent and immedicable, had nearly annihilated the race of man; storm and +inundation, poisonous winds and blights, filled up the measure of suffering. In +the north it was worse—the lesser population gradually declined, and +famine and plague kept watch on the survivors, who, helpless and feeble, were +ready to fall an easy prey into their hands. +</p> + +<p> +I contracted my view to England. The overgrown metropolis, the great heart of +mighty Britain, was pulseless. Commerce had ceased. All resort for ambition or +pleasure was cut off—the streets were grass-grown—the houses +empty—the few, that from necessity remained, seemed already branded with +the taint of inevitable pestilence. In the larger manufacturing towns the same +tragedy was acted on a smaller, yet more disastrous scale. There was no Adrian +to superintend and direct, while whole flocks of the poor were struck and +killed. Yet we were not all to die. No truly, though thinned, the race of man +would continue, and the great plague would, in after years, become matter of +history and wonder. Doubtless this visitation was for extent +unexampled—more need that we should work hard to dispute its progress; +ere this men have gone out in sport, and slain their thousands and tens of +thousands; but now man had become a creature of price; the life of one of them +was of more worth than the so called treasures of kings. Look at his +thought-endued countenance, his graceful limbs, his majestic brow, his wondrous +mechanism—the type and model of this best work of God is not to be cast +aside as a broken vessel—he shall be preserved, and his children and his +children’s children carry down the name and form of man to latest time. +</p> + +<p> +Above all I must guard those entrusted by nature and fate to my especial care. +And surely, if among all my fellow-creatures I were to select those who might +stand forth examples of the greatness and goodness of man, I could choose no +other than those allied to me by the most sacred ties. Some from among the +family of man must survive, and these should be among the survivors; that +should be my task—to accomplish it my own life were a small sacrifice. +There then in that castle—in Windsor Castle, birth-place of Idris and my +babes, should be the haven and retreat for the wrecked bark of human society. +Its forest should be our world—its garden afford us food; within its +walls I would establish the shaken throne of health. I was an outcast and a +vagabond, when Adrian gently threw over me the silver net of love and +civilization, and linked me inextricably to human charities and human +excellence. I was one, who, though an aspirant after good, and an ardent lover +of wisdom, was yet unenrolled in any list of worth, when Idris, the princely +born, who was herself the personification of all that was divine in woman, she +who walked the earth like a poet’s dream, as a carved goddess endued with +sense, or pictured saint stepping from the canvas—she, the most worthy, +chose me, and gave me herself—a priceless gift. +</p> + +<p> +During several hours I continued thus to meditate, till hunger and fatigue +brought me back to the passing hour, then marked by long shadows cast from the +descending sun. I had wandered towards Bracknel, far to the west of Windsor. +The feeling of perfect health which I enjoyed, assured me that I was free from +contagion. I remembered that Idris had been kept in ignorance of my +proceedings. She might have heard of my return from London, and my visit to +Bolter’s Lock, which, connected with my continued absence, might tend +greatly to alarm her. I returned to Windsor by the Long Walk, and passing +through the town towards the Castle, I found it in a state of agitation and +disturbance. +</p> + +<p> +“It is too late to be ambitious,” says Sir Thomas Browne. “We +cannot hope to live so long in our names as some have done in their persons; +one face of Janus holds no proportion to the other.” Upon this text many +fanatics arose, who prophesied that the end of time was come. The spirit of +superstition had birth, from the wreck of our hopes, and antics wild and +dangerous were played on the great theatre, while the remaining particle of +futurity dwindled into a point in the eyes of the prognosticators. +Weak-spirited women died of fear as they listened to their denunciations; men +of robust form and seeming strength fell into idiotcy and madness, racked by +the dread of coming eternity. A man of this kind was now pouring forth his +eloquent despair among the inhabitants of Windsor. The scene of the morning, +and my visit to the dead, which had been spread abroad, had alarmed the +country-people, so they had become fit instruments to be played upon by a +maniac. +</p> + +<p> +The poor wretch had lost his young wife and lovely infant by the plague. He was +a mechanic; and, rendered unable to attend to the occupation which supplied his +necessities, famine was added to his other miseries. He left the chamber which +contained his wife and child—wife and child no more, but “dead +earth upon the earth”—wild with hunger, watching and grief, his +diseased fancy made him believe himself sent by heaven to preach the end of +time to the world. He entered the churches, and foretold to the congregations +their speedy removal to the vaults below. He appeared like the forgotten spirit +of the time in the theatres, and bade the spectators go home and die. He had +been seized and confined; he had escaped and wandered from London among the +neighbouring towns, and, with frantic gestures and thrilling words, he unveiled +to each their hidden fears, and gave voice to the soundless thought they dared +not syllable. He stood under the arcade of the town-hall of Windsor, and from +this elevation harangued a trembling crowd. +</p> + +<p> +“Hear, O ye inhabitants of the earth,” he cried, “hear thou, +all seeing, but most pitiless Heaven! hear thou too, O tempest-tossed heart, +which breathes out these words, yet faints beneath their meaning! Death is +among us! The earth is beautiful and flower-bedecked, but she is our grave! The +clouds of heaven weep for us—the pageantry of the stars is but our +funeral torchlight. Grey headed men, ye hoped for yet a few years in your +long-known abode—but the lease is up, you must remove—children, ye +will never reach maturity, even now the small grave is dug for ye— +mothers, clasp them in your arms, one death embraces you!” +</p> + +<p> +Shuddering, he stretched out his hands, his eyes cast up, seemed bursting from +their sockets, while he appeared to follow shapes, to us invisible, in the +yielding air—“There they are,” he cried, “the dead! +They rise in their shrouds, and pass in silent procession towards the far land +of their doom—their bloodless lips move not—their shadowy limbs are +void of motion, while still they glide onwards. We come,” he exclaimed, +springing forwards, “for what should we wait? Haste, my friends, apparel +yourselves in the court-dress of death. Pestilence will usher you to his +presence. Why thus long? they, the good, the wise, and the beloved, are gone +before. Mothers, kiss you last—husbands, protectors no more, lead on the +partners of your death! Come, O come! while the dear ones are yet in sight, for +soon they will pass away, and we never never shall join them more.” +</p> + +<p> +From such ravings as these, he would suddenly become collected, and with +unexaggerated but terrific words, paint the horrors of the time; describe with +minute detail, the effects of the plague on the human frame, and tell +heart-breaking tales of the snapping of dear affinities—the gasping +horror of despair over the death-bed of the last beloved—so that groans +and even shrieks burst from the crowd. One man in particular stood in front, +his eyes fixt on the prophet, his mouth open, his limbs rigid, while his face +changed to various colours, yellow, blue, and green, through intense fear. The +maniac caught his glance, and turned his eye on him— one has heard of the +gaze of the rattle-snake, which allures the trembling victim till he falls +within his jaws. The maniac became composed; his person rose higher; authority +beamed from his countenance. He looked on the peasant, who began to tremble, +while he still gazed; his knees knocked together; his teeth chattered. He at +last fell down in convulsions. “That man has the plague,” said the +maniac calmly. A shriek burst from the lips of the poor wretch; and then sudden +motionlessness came over him; it was manifest to all that he was dead. +</p> + +<p> +Cries of horror filled the place—every one endeavoured to effect his +escape—in a few minutes the market place was cleared—the corpse lay +on the ground; and the maniac, subdued and exhausted, sat beside it, leaning +his gaunt cheek upon his thin hand. Soon some people, deputed by the +magistrates, came to remove the body; the unfortunate being saw a jailor in +each—he fled precipitately, while I passed onwards to the Castle. +</p> + +<p> +Death, cruel and relentless, had entered these beloved walls. An old servant, +who had nursed Idris in infancy, and who lived with us more on the footing of a +revered relative than a domestic, had gone a few days before to visit a +daughter, married, and settled in the neighbourhood of London. On the night of +her return she sickened of the plague. From the haughty and unbending nature of +the Countess of Windsor, Idris had few tender filial associations with her. +This good woman had stood in the place of a mother, and her very deficiencies +of education and knowledge, by rendering her humble and defenceless, endeared +her to us—she was the especial favourite of the children. I found my poor +girl, there is no exaggeration in the expression, wild with grief and dread. +She hung over the patient in agony, which was not mitigated when her thoughts +wandered towards her babes, for whom she feared infection. My arrival was like +the newly discovered lamp of a lighthouse to sailors, who are weathering some +dangerous point. She deposited her appalling doubts in my hands; she relied on +my judgment, and was comforted by my participation in her sorrow. Soon our poor +nurse expired; and the anguish of suspense was changed to deep regret, which +though at first more painful, yet yielded with greater readiness to my +consolations. Sleep, the sovereign balm, at length steeped her tearful eyes in +forgetfulness. +</p> + +<p> +She slept; and quiet prevailed in the Castle, whose inhabitants were hushed to +repose. I was awake, and during the long hours of dead night, my busy thoughts +worked in my brain, like ten thousand mill-wheels, rapid, acute, untameable. +All slept—all England slept; and from my window, commanding a wide +prospect of the star-illumined country, I saw the land stretched out in placid +rest. I was awake, alive, while the brother of death possessed my race. What, +if the more potent of these fraternal deities should obtain dominion over it? +The silence of midnight, to speak truly, though apparently a paradox, rung in +my ears. The solitude became intolerable—I placed my hand on the beating +heart of Idris, I bent my head to catch the sound of her breath, to assure +myself that she still existed—for a moment I doubted whether I should not +awake her; so effeminate an horror ran through my frame.—Great God! would +it one day be thus? One day all extinct, save myself, should I walk the earth +alone? Were these warning voices, whose inarticulate and oracular sense forced +belief upon me? +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Yet I would not call <i>them</i><br/> +Voices of warning, that announce to us<br/> +Only the inevitable. As the sun,<br/> +Ere it is risen, sometimes paints its image<br/> +In the atmosphere—so often do the spirits<br/> +Of great events stride on before the events,<br/> +And in to-day already walks to-morrow.<a href="#fn9" name="fnref9"><sup>[9]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn8"></a> <a href="#fnref8">[8]</a> +Calderon de la Barca. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn9"></a> <a href="#fnref9">[9]</a> +Coleridge’s Translation of Schiller’s Wallenstein. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<p> +After a long interval, I am again impelled by the restless spirit within me to +continue my narration; but I must alter the mode which I have hitherto adopted. +The details contained in the foregoing pages, apparently trivial, yet each +slightest one weighing like lead in the depressed scale of human afflictions; +this tedious dwelling on the sorrows of others, while my own were only in +apprehension; this slowly laying bare of my soul’s wounds: this journal +of death; this long drawn and tortuous path, leading to the ocean of countless +tears, awakens me again to keen grief. I had used this history as an opiate; +while it described my beloved friends, fresh with life and glowing with hope, +active assistants on the scene, I was soothed; there will be a more melancholy +pleasure in painting the end of all. But the intermediate steps, the climbing +the wall, raised up between what was and is, while I still looked back nor saw +the concealed desert beyond, is a labour past my strength. Time and experience +have placed me on an height from which I can comprehend the past as a whole; +and in this way I must describe it, bringing forward the leading incidents, and +disposing light and shade so as to form a picture in whose very darkness there +will be harmony. +</p> + +<p> +It would be needless to narrate those disastrous occurrences, for which a +parallel might be found in any slighter visitation of our gigantic calamity. +Does the reader wish to hear of the pest-houses, where death is the +comforter—of the mournful passage of the death-cart—of the +insensibility of the worthless, and the anguish of the loving heart—of +harrowing shrieks and silence dire—of the variety of disease, desertion, +famine, despair, and death? There are many books which can feed the appetite +craving for these things; let them turn to the accounts of Boccaccio, De Foe, +and Browne. The vast annihilation that has swallowed all things—the +voiceless solitude of the once busy earth—the lonely state of singleness +which hems me in, has deprived even such details of their stinging reality, and +mellowing the lurid tints of past anguish with poetic hues, I am able to escape +from the mosaic of circumstance, by perceiving and reflecting back the grouping +and combined colouring of the past. +</p> + +<p> +I had returned from London possessed by the idea, with the intimate feeling +that it was my first duty to secure, as well as I was able, the well-being of +my family, and then to return and take my post beside Adrian. The events that +immediately followed on my arrival at Windsor changed this view of things. The +plague was not in London alone, it was every where—it came on us, as +Ryland had said, like a thousand packs of wolves, howling through the winter +night, gaunt and fierce. When once disease was introduced into the rural +districts, its effects appeared more horrible, more exigent, and more difficult +to cure, than in towns. There was a companionship in suffering there, and, the +neighbours keeping constant watch on each other, and inspired by the active +benevolence of Adrian, succour was afforded, and the path of destruction +smoothed. But in the country, among the scattered farm-houses, in lone +cottages, in fields, and barns, tragedies were acted harrowing to the soul, +unseen, unheard, unnoticed. Medical aid was less easily procured, food was more +difficult to obtain, and human beings, unwithheld by shame, for they were +unbeheld of their fellows, ventured on deeds of greater wickedness, or gave way +more readily to their abject fears. +</p> + +<p> +Deeds of heroism also occurred, whose very mention swells the heart and brings +tears into the eyes. Such is human nature, that beauty and deformity are often +closely linked. In reading history we are chiefly struck by the generosity and +self-devotion that follow close on the heels of crime, veiling with supernal +flowers the stain of blood. Such acts were not wanting to adorn the grim train +that waited on the progress of the plague. +</p> + +<p> +The inhabitants of Berkshire and Bucks had been long aware that the plague was +in London, in Liverpool, Bristol, Manchester, York, in short, in all the more +populous towns of England. They were not however the less astonished and +dismayed when it appeared among themselves. They were impatient and angry in +the midst of terror. They would do something to throw off the clinging evil, +and, while in action, they fancied that a remedy was applied. The inhabitants +of the smaller towns left their houses, pitched tents in the fields, wandering +separate from each other careless of hunger or the sky’s inclemency, +while they imagined that they avoided the death-dealing disease. The farmers +and cottagers, on the contrary, struck with the fear of solitude, and madly +desirous of medical assistance, flocked into the towns. +</p> + +<p> +But winter was coming, and with winter, hope. In August, the plague had +appeared in the country of England, and during September it made its ravages. +Towards the end of October it dwindled away, and was in some degree replaced by +a typhus, of hardly less virulence. The autumn was warm and rainy: the infirm +and sickly died off—happier they: many young people flushed with health +and prosperity, made pale by wasting malady, became the inhabitants of the +grave. The crop had failed, the bad corn, and want of foreign wines, added +vigour to disease. Before Christmas half England was under water. The storms of +the last winter were renewed; but the diminished shipping of this year caused +us to feel less the tempests of the sea. The flood and storms did more harm to +continental Europe than to us—giving, as it were, the last blow to the +calamities which destroyed it. In Italy the rivers were unwatched by the +diminished peasantry; and, like wild beasts from their lair when the hunters +and dogs are afar, did Tiber, Arno, and Po, rush upon and destroy the fertility +of the plains. Whole villages were carried away. Rome, and Florence, and Pisa +were overflowed, and their marble palaces, late mirrored in tranquil streams, +had their foundations shaken by their winter-gifted power. In Germany and +Russia the injury was still more momentous. +</p> + +<p> +But frost would come at last, and with it a renewal of our lease of earth. +Frost would blunt the arrows of pestilence, and enchain the furious elements; +and the land would in spring throw off her garment of snow, released from her +menace of destruction. It was not until February that the desired signs of +winter appeared. For three days the snow fell, ice stopped the current of the +rivers, and the birds flew out from crackling branches of the frost-whitened +trees. On the fourth morning all vanished. A south-west wind brought up +rain—the sun came out, and mocking the usual laws of nature, seemed even +at this early season to burn with solsticial force. It was no consolation, that +with the first winds of March the lanes were filled with violets, the fruit +trees covered with blossoms, that the corn sprung up, and the leaves came out, +forced by the unseasonable heat. We feared the balmy air—we feared the +cloudless sky, the flower-covered earth, and delightful woods, for we looked on +the fabric of the universe no longer as our dwelling, but our tomb, and the +fragrant land smelled to the apprehension of fear like a wide church-yard. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Pisando la tierra dura<br/> +de continuo el hombre està<br/> +y cada passo que dà<br/> +es sobre su sepultura.<a href="#fn10" name="fnref10"><sup>[10]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p> +Yet notwithstanding these disadvantages winter was breathing time; and we +exerted ourselves to make the best of it. Plague might not revive with the +summer; but if it did, it should find us prepared. It is a part of man’s +nature to adapt itself through habit even to pain and sorrow. Pestilence had +become a part of our future, our existence; it was to be guarded against, like +the flooding of rivers, the encroachments of ocean, or the inclemency of the +sky. After long suffering and bitter experience, some panacea might be +discovered; as it was, all that received infection died— all however were +not infected; and it became our part to fix deep the foundations, and raise +high the barrier between contagion and the sane; to introduce such order as +would conduce to the well-being of the survivors, and as would preserve hope +and some portion of happiness to those who were spectators of the still renewed +tragedy. Adrian had introduced systematic modes of proceeding in the +metropolis, which, while they were unable to stop the progress of death, yet +prevented other evils, vice and folly, from rendering the awful fate of the +hour still more tremendous. I wished to imitate his example, but men are used +to +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +—move all together, if they move at all,<a href="#fn11" name="fnref11"><sup>[11]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +and I could find no means of leading the inhabitants of scattered towns and +villages, who forgot my words as soon as they heard them not, and veered with +every baffling wind, that might arise from an apparent change of circumstance. +</p> + +<p> +I adopted another plan. Those writers who have imagined a reign of peace and +happiness on earth, have generally described a rural country, where each small +township was directed by the elders and wise men. This was the key of my +design. Each village, however small, usually contains a leader, one among +themselves whom they venerate, whose advice they seek in difficulty, and whose +good opinion they chiefly value. I was immediately drawn to make this +observation by occurrences that presented themselves to my personal experience. +</p> + +<p> +In the village of Little Marlow an old woman ruled the community. She had lived +for some years in an alms-house, and on fine Sundays her threshold was +constantly beset by a crowd, seeking her advice and listening to her +admonitions. She had been a soldier’s wife, and had seen the world; +infirmity, induced by fevers caught in unwholesome quarters, had come on her +before its time, and she seldom moved from her little cot. The plague entered +the village; and, while fright and grief deprived the inhabitants of the little +wisdom they possessed, old Martha stepped forward and said— “Before +now I have been in a town where there was the plague.”—“And +you escaped?”—“No, but I recovered.”—After this +Martha was seated more firmly than ever on the regal seat, elevated by +reverence and love. She entered the cottages of the sick; she relieved their +wants with her own hand; she betrayed no fear, and inspired all who saw her +with some portion of her own native courage. She attended the markets—she +insisted upon being supplied with food for those who were too poor to purchase +it. She shewed them how the well-being of each included the prosperity of all. +She would not permit the gardens to be neglected, nor the very flowers in the +cottage lattices to droop from want of care. Hope, she said, was better than a +doctor’s prescription, and every thing that could sustain and enliven the +spirits, of more worth than drugs and mixtures. +</p> + +<p> +It was the sight of Little Marlow, and my conversations with Martha, that led +me to the plan I formed. I had before visited the manor houses and +gentlemen’s seats, and often found the inhabitants actuated by the purest +benevolence, ready to lend their utmost aid for the welfare of their tenants. +But this was not enough. The intimate sympathy generated by similar hopes and +fears, similar experience and pursuits, was wanting here. The poor perceived +that the rich possessed other means of preservation than those which could be +partaken of by themselves, seclusion, and, as far as circumstances permitted, +freedom from care. They could not place reliance on them, but turned with +tenfold dependence to the succour and advice of their equals. I resolved +therefore to go from village to village, seeking out the rustic archon of the +place, and by systematizing their exertions, and enlightening their views, +encrease both their power and their use among their fellow-cottagers. Many +changes also now occurred in these spontaneous regal elections: depositions and +abdications were frequent, while, in the place of the old and prudent, the +ardent youth would step forward, eager for action, regardless of danger. Often +too, the voice to which all listened was suddenly silenced, the helping hand +cold, the sympathetic eye closed, and the villagers feared still more the death +that had selected a choice victim, shivering in dust the heart that had beat +for them, reducing to incommunicable annihilation the mind for ever occupied +with projects for their welfare. +</p> + +<p> +Whoever labours for man must often find ingratitude, watered by vice and folly, +spring from the grain which he has sown. Death, which had in our younger days +walked the earth like “a thief that comes in the night,” now, +rising from his subterranean vault, girt with power, with dark banner floating, +came a conqueror. Many saw, seated above his vice-regal throne, a supreme +Providence, who directed his shafts, and guided his progress, and they bowed +their heads in resignation, or at least in obedience. Others perceived only a +passing casualty; they endeavoured to exchange terror for heedlessness, and +plunged into licentiousness, to avoid the agonizing throes of worst +apprehension. Thus, while the wise, the good, and the prudent were occupied by +the labours of benevolence, the truce of winter produced other effects among +the young, the thoughtless, and the vicious. During the colder months there was +a general rush to London in search of amusement—the ties of public +opinion were loosened; many were rich, heretofore poor—many had lost +father and mother, the guardians of their morals, their mentors and restraints. +It would have been useless to have opposed these impulses by barriers, which +would only have driven those actuated by them to more pernicious indulgencies. +The theatres were open and thronged; dance and midnight festival were +frequented—in many of these decorum was violated, and the evils, which +hitherto adhered to an advanced state of civilization, were doubled. The +student left his books, the artist his study: the occupations of life were +gone, but the amusements remained; enjoyment might be protracted to the verge +of the grave. All factitious colouring disappeared—death rose like night, +and, protected by its murky shadows the blush of modesty, the reserve of pride, +the decorum of prudery were frequently thrown aside as useless veils. This was +not universal. Among better natures, anguish and dread, the fear of eternal +separation, and the awful wonder produced by unprecedented calamity, drew +closer the ties of kindred and friendship. Philosophers opposed their +principles, as barriers to the inundation of profligacy or despair, and the +only ramparts to protect the invaded territory of human life; the religious, +hoping now for their reward, clung fast to their creeds, as the rafts and +planks which over the tempest-vexed sea of suffering, would bear them in safety +to the harbour of the Unknown Continent. The loving heart, obliged to contract +its view, bestowed its overflow of affection in triple portion on the few that +remained. Yet, even among these, the present, as an unalienable possession, +became all of time to which they dared commit the precious freight of their +hopes. +</p> + +<p> +The experience of immemorial time had taught us formerly to count our +enjoyments by years, and extend our prospect of life through a lengthened +period of progression and decay; the long road threaded a vast labyrinth, and +the Valley of the Shadow of Death, in which it terminated, was hid by +intervening objects. But an earthquake had changed the scene—under our +very feet the earth yawned—deep and precipitous the gulph below opened to +receive us, while the hours charioted us towards the chasm. But it was winter +now, and months must elapse before we are hurled from our security. We became +ephemera, to whom the interval between the rising and setting sun was as a long +drawn year of common time. We should never see our children ripen into +maturity, nor behold their downy cheeks roughen, their blithe hearts subdued by +passion or care; but we had them now—they lived, and we lived—what +more could we desire? With such schooling did my poor Idris try to hush +thronging fears, and in some measure succeeded. It was not as in summer-time, +when each hour might bring the dreaded fate—until summer, we felt sure; +and this certainty, short lived as it must be, yet for awhile satisfied her +maternal tenderness. I know not how to express or communicate the sense of +concentrated, intense, though evanescent transport, that imparadized us in the +present hour. Our joys were dearer because we saw their end; they were keener +because we felt, to its fullest extent, their value; they were purer because +their essence was sympathy— as a meteor is brighter than a star, did the +felicity of this winter contain in itself the extracted delights of a long, +long life. +</p> + +<p> +How lovely is spring! As we looked from Windsor Terrace on the sixteen fertile +counties spread beneath, speckled by happy cottages and wealthier towns, all +looked as in former years, heart-cheering and fair. The land was ploughed, the +slender blades of wheat broke through the dark soil, the fruit trees were +covered with buds, the husbandman was abroad in the fields, the milk-maid +tripped home with well-filled pails, the swallows and martins struck the sunny +pools with their long, pointed wings, the new dropped lambs reposed on the +young grass, the tender growth of leaves— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Lifts its sweet head into the air, and feeds<br/> +A silent space with ever sprouting green.<a href="#fn12" name="fnref12"><sup>[12]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Man himself seemed to regenerate, and feel the frost of winter yield to an +elastic and warm renewal of life—reason told us that care and sorrow +would grow with the opening year—but how to believe the ominous voice +breathed up with pestiferous vapours from fear’s dim cavern, while +nature, laughing and scattering from her green lap flowers, and fruits, and +sparkling waters, invited us to join the gay masque of young life she led upon +the scene? +</p> + +<p> +Where was the plague? “Here—every where!” one voice of horror +and dismay exclaimed, when in the pleasant days of a sunny May the Destroyer of +man brooded again over the earth, forcing the spirit to leave its organic +chrysalis, and to enter upon an untried life. With one mighty sweep of its +potent weapon, all caution, all care, all prudence were levelled low: death sat +at the tables of the great, stretched itself on the cottager’s pallet, +seized the dastard who fled, quelled the brave man who resisted: despondency +entered every heart, sorrow dimmed every eye. +</p> + +<p> +Sights of woe now became familiar to me, and were I to tell all of anguish and +pain that I witnessed, of the despairing moans of age, and the more terrible +smiles of infancy in the bosom of horror, my reader, his limbs quivering and +his hair on end, would wonder how I did not, seized with sudden frenzy, dash +myself from some precipice, and so close my eyes for ever on the sad end of the +world. But the powers of love, poetry, and creative fancy will dwell even +beside the sick of the plague, with the squalid, and with the dying. A feeling +of devotion, of duty, of a high and steady purpose, elevated me; a strange joy +filled my heart. In the midst of saddest grief I seemed to tread air, while the +spirit of good shed round me an ambrosial atmosphere, which blunted the sting +of sympathy, and purified the air of sighs. If my wearied soul flagged in its +career, I thought of my loved home, of the casket that contained my treasures, +of the kiss of love and the filial caress, while my eyes were moistened by +purest dew, and my heart was at once softened and refreshed by thrilling +tenderness. +</p> + +<p> +Maternal affection had not rendered Idris selfish; at the beginning of our +calamity she had, with thoughtless enthusiasm, devoted herself to the care of +the sick and helpless. I checked her; and she submitted to my rule. I told her +how the fear of her danger palsied my exertions, how the knowledge of her +safety strung my nerves to endurance. I shewed her the dangers which her +children incurred during her absence; and she at length agreed not to go beyond +the inclosure of the forest. Indeed, within the walls of the Castle we had a +colony of the unhappy, deserted by their relatives, and in themselves helpless, +sufficient to occupy her time and attention, while ceaseless anxiety for my +welfare and the health of her children, however she strove to curb or conceal +it, absorbed all her thoughts, and undermined the vital principle. After +watching over and providing for their safety, her second care was to hide from +me her anguish and tears. Each night I returned to the Castle, and found there +repose and love awaiting me. Often I waited beside the bed of death till +midnight, and through the obscurity of rainy, cloudy nights rode many miles, +sustained by one circumstance only, the safety and sheltered repose of those I +loved. If some scene of tremendous agony shook my frame and fevered my brow, I +would lay my head on the lap of Idris, and the tumultuous pulses subsided into +a temperate flow —her smile could raise me from hopelessness, her embrace +bathe my sorrowing heart in calm peace. Summer advanced, and, crowned with the +sun’s potent rays, plague shot her unerring shafts over the earth. The +nations beneath their influence bowed their heads, and died. The corn that +sprung up in plenty, lay in autumn rotting on the ground, while the melancholy +wretch who had gone out to gather bread for his children, lay stiff and +plague-struck in the furrow. The green woods waved their boughs majestically, +while the dying were spread beneath their shade, answering the solemn melody +with inharmonious cries. The painted birds flitted through the shades; the +careless deer reposed unhurt upon the fern—the oxen and the horses +strayed from their unguarded stables, and grazed among the wheat, for death +fell on man alone. +</p> + +<p> +With summer and mortality grew our fears. My poor love and I looked at each +other, and our babes.—“We will save them, Idris,” I said, +“I will save them. Years hence we shall recount to them our fears, then +passed away with their occasion. Though they only should remain on the earth, +still they shall live, nor shall their cheeks become pale nor their sweet +voices languish.” Our eldest in some degree understood the scenes passing +around, and at times, he with serious looks questioned me concerning the reason +of so vast a desolation. But he was only ten years old; and the hilarity of +youth soon chased unreasonable care from his brow. Evelyn, a laughing cherub, a +gamesome infant, without idea of pain or sorrow, would, shaking back his light +curls from his eyes, make the halls re-echo with his merriment, and in a +thousand artless ways attract our attention to his play. Clara, our lovely +gentle Clara, was our stay, our solace, our delight. She made it her task to +attend the sick, comfort the sorrowing, assist the aged, and partake the sports +and awaken the gaiety of the young. She flitted through the rooms, like a good +spirit, dispatched from the celestial kingdom, to illumine our dark hour with +alien splendour. Gratitude and praise marked where her footsteps had been. Yet, +when she stood in unassuming simplicity before us, playing with our children, +or with girlish assiduity performing little kind offices for Idris, one +wondered in what fair lineament of her pure loveliness, in what soft tone of +her thrilling voice, so much of heroism, sagacity and active goodness resided. +</p> + +<p> +The summer passed tediously, for we trusted that winter would at least check +the disease. That it would vanish altogether was an hope too dear— too +heartfelt, to be expressed. When such a thought was heedlessly uttered, the +hearers, with a gush of tears and passionate sobs, bore witness how deep their +fears were, how small their hopes. For my own part, my exertions for the public +good permitted me to observe more closely than most others, the virulence and +extensive ravages of our sightless enemy. A short month has destroyed a +village, and where in May the first person sickened, in June the paths were +deformed by unburied corpses—the houses tenantless, no smoke arising from +the chimneys; and the housewife’s clock marked only the hour when death +had been triumphant. From such scenes I have sometimes saved a deserted +infant—sometimes led a young and grieving mother from the lifeless image +of her first born, or drawn the sturdy labourer from childish weeping over his +extinct family. +</p> + +<p> +July is gone. August must pass, and by the middle of September we may hope. +Each day was eagerly counted; and the inhabitants of towns, desirous to leap +this dangerous interval, plunged into dissipation, and strove, by riot, and +what they wished to imagine to be pleasure, to banish thought and opiate +despair. None but Adrian could have tamed the motley population of London, +which, like a troop of unbitted steeds rushing to their pastures, had thrown +aside all minor fears, through the operation of the fear paramount. Even Adrian +was obliged in part to yield, that he might be able, if not to guide, at least +to set bounds to the license of the times. The theatres were kept open; every +place of public resort was frequented; though he endeavoured so to modify them, +as might best quiet the agitation of the spectators, and at the same time +prevent a reaction of misery when the excitement was over. Tragedies deep and +dire were the chief favourites. Comedy brought with it too great a contrast to +the inner despair: when such were attempted, it was not unfrequent for a +comedian, in the midst of the laughter occasioned by his disporportioned +buffoonery, to find a word or thought in his part that jarred with his own +sense of wretchedness, and burst from mimic merriment into sobs and tears, +while the spectators, seized with irresistible sympathy, wept, and the +pantomimic revelry was changed to a real exhibition of tragic passion. +</p> + +<p> +It was not in my nature to derive consolation from such scenes; from theatres, +whose buffoon laughter and discordant mirth awakened distempered sympathy, or +where fictitious tears and wailings mocked the heart-felt grief within; from +festival or crowded meeting, where hilarity sprung from the worst feelings of +our nature, or such enthralment of the better ones, as impressed it with garish +and false varnish; from assemblies of mourners in the guise of revellers. Once +however I witnessed a scene of singular interest at one of the theatres, where +nature overpowered art, as an overflowing cataract will tear away the puny +manufacture of a mock cascade, which had before been fed by a small portion of +its waters. +</p> + +<p> +I had come to London to see Adrian. He was not at the palace; and, though the +attendants did not know whither he had gone, they did not expect him till late +at night. It was between six and seven o’clock, a fine summer afternoon, +and I spent my leisure hours in a ramble through the empty streets of London; +now turning to avoid an approaching funeral, now urged by curiosity to observe +the state of a particular spot; my wanderings were instinct with pain, for +silence and desertion characterized every place I visited, and the few beings I +met were so pale and woe-begone, so marked with care and depressed by fear, +that weary of encountering only signs of misery, I began to retread my steps +towards home. +</p> + +<p> +I was now in Holborn, and passed by a public house filled with uproarious +companions, whose songs, laughter, and shouts were more sorrowful than the pale +looks and silence of the mourner. Such an one was near, hovering round this +house. The sorry plight of her dress displayed her poverty, she was ghastly +pale, and continued approaching, first the window and then the door of the +house, as if fearful, yet longing to enter. A sudden burst of song and +merriment seemed to sting her to the heart; she murmured, “Can he have +the heart?” and then mustering her courage, she stepped within the +threshold. The landlady met her in the passage; the poor creature asked, +“Is my husband here? Can I see George?” +</p> + +<p> +“See him,” cried the woman, “yes, if you go to him; last +night he was taken with the plague, and we sent him to the hospital.” +</p> + +<p> +The unfortunate inquirer staggered against a wall, a faint cry escaped her +—“O! were you cruel enough,” she exclaimed, “to send +him there?” +</p> + +<p> +The landlady meanwhile hurried away; but a more compassionate bar-maid gave her +a detailed account, the sum of which was, that her husband had been taken ill, +after a night of riot, and sent by his boon companions with all expedition to +St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. I had watched this scene, for there was a +gentleness about the poor woman that interested me; she now tottered away from +the door, walking as well as she could down Holborn Hill; but her strength soon +failed her; she leaned against a wall, and her head sunk on her bosom, while +her pallid cheek became still more white. I went up to her and offered my +services. She hardly looked up—“You can do me no good,” she +replied; “I must go to the hospital; if I do not die before I get +there.” +</p> + +<p> +There were still a few hackney-coaches accustomed to stand about the streets, +more truly from habit than for use. I put her in one of these, and entered with +her that I might secure her entrance into the hospital. Our way was short, and +she said little; except interrupted ejaculations of reproach that he had left +her, exclamations on the unkindness of some of his friends, and hope that she +would find him alive. There was a simple, natural earnestness about her that +interested me in her fate, especially when she assured me that her husband was +the best of men,—had been so, till want of business during these unhappy +times had thrown him into bad company. “He could not bear to come +home,” she said, “only to see our children die. A man cannot have +the patience a mother has, with her own flesh and blood.” +</p> + +<p> +We were set down at St. Bartholomew’s, and entered the wretched precincts +of the house of disease. The poor creature clung closer to me, as she saw with +what heartless haste they bore the dead from the wards, and took them into a +room, whose half-opened door displayed a number of corpses, horrible to behold +by one unaccustomed to such scenes. We were directed to the ward where her +husband had been first taken, and still was, the nurse said, if alive. My +companion looked eagerly from one bed to the other, till at the end of the ward +she espied, on a wretched bed, a squalid, haggard creature, writhing under the +torture of disease. She rushed towards him, she embraced him, blessing God for +his preservation. +</p> + +<p> +The enthusiasm that inspired her with this strange joy, blinded her to the +horrors about her; but they were intolerably agonizing to me. The ward was +filled with an effluvia that caused my heart to heave with painful qualms. The +dead were carried out, and the sick brought in, with like indifference; some +were screaming with pain, others laughing from the influence of more terrible +delirium; some were attended by weeping, despairing relations, others called +aloud with thrilling tenderness or reproach on the friends who had deserted +them, while the nurses went from bed to bed, incarnate images of despair, +neglect, and death. I gave gold to my luckless companion; I recommended her to +the care of the attendants; I then hastened away; while the tormentor, the +imagination, busied itself in picturing my own loved ones, stretched on such +beds, attended thus. The country afforded no such mass of horrors; solitary +wretches died in the open fields; and I have found a survivor in a vacant +village, contending at once with famine and disease; but the assembly of +pestilence, the banqueting hall of death, was spread only in London. +</p> + +<p> +I rambled on, oppressed, distracted by painful emotions—suddenly I found +myself before Drury Lane Theatre. The play was Macbeth—the first actor of +the age was there to exert his powers to drug with irreflection the auditors; +such a medicine I yearned for, so I entered. The theatre was tolerably well +filled. Shakspeare, whose popularity was established by the approval of four +centuries, had not lost his influence even at this dread period; but was still +“Ut magus,” the wizard to rule our hearts and govern our +imaginations. I came in during the interval between the third and fourth act. I +looked round on the audience; the females were mostly of the lower classes, but +the men were of all ranks, come hither to forget awhile the protracted scenes +of wretchedness, which awaited them at their miserable homes. The curtain drew +up, and the stage presented the scene of the witches’ cave. The wildness +and supernatural machinery of Macbeth, was a pledge that it could contain +little directly connected with our present circumstances. Great pains had been +taken in the scenery to give the semblance of reality to the impossible. The +extreme darkness of the stage, whose only light was received from the fire +under the cauldron, joined to a kind of mist that floated about it, rendered +the unearthly shapes of the witches obscure and shadowy. It was not three +decrepid old hags that bent over their pot throwing in the grim ingredients of +the magic charm, but forms frightful, unreal, and fanciful. The entrance of +Hecate, and the wild music that followed, took us out of this world. The cavern +shape the stage assumed, the beetling rocks, the glare of the fire, the misty +shades that crossed the scene at times, the music in harmony with all +witch-like fancies, permitted the imagination to revel, without fear of +contradiction, or reproof from reason or the heart. The entrance of Macbeth did +not destroy the illusion, for he was actuated by the same feelings that +inspired us, and while the work of magic proceeded we sympathized in his wonder +and his daring, and gave ourselves up with our whole souls to the influence of +scenic delusion. I felt the beneficial result of such excitement, in a renewal +of those pleasing flights of fancy to which I had long been a stranger. The +effect of this scene of incantation communicated a portion of its power to that +which followed. We forgot that Malcolm and Macduff were mere human beings, +acted upon by such simple passions as warmed our own breasts. By slow degrees +however we were drawn to the real interest of the scene. A shudder like the +swift passing of an electric shock ran through the house, when Rosse exclaimed, +in answer to “Stands Scotland where it did?” +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Alas, poor country;<br/> +Almost afraid to know itself! It cannot<br/> +Be called our mother, but our grave: where nothing,<br/> +But who knows nothing, is once seen to smile;<br/> +Where sighs, and groans, and shrieks that rent the air,<br/> +Are made, not marked; where violent sorrow seems<br/> +A modern extasy: the dead man’s knell<br/> +Is there scarce asked, for who; and good men’s lives<br/> +Expire before the flowers in their caps,<br/> +Dying, or ere they sicken. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Each word struck the sense, as our life’s passing bell; we feared to look +at each other, but bent our gaze on the stage, as if our eyes could fall +innocuous on that alone. The person who played the part of Rosse, suddenly +became aware of the dangerous ground he trod. He was an inferior actor, but +truth now made him excellent; as he went on to announce to Macduff the +slaughter of his family, he was afraid to speak, trembling from apprehension of +a burst of grief from the audience, not from his fellow-mime. Each word was +drawn out with difficulty; real anguish painted his features; his eyes were now +lifted in sudden horror, now fixed in dread upon the ground. This shew of +terror encreased ours, we gasped with him, each neck was stretched out, each +face changed with the actor’s changes— at length while Macduff, +who, attending to his part, was unobservant of the high wrought sympathy of the +house, cried with well acted passion: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + All my pretty ones?<br/> +Did you say all?—O hell kite! All?<br/> +What! all my pretty chickens, and their dam,<br/> +At one fell swoop! +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +A pang of tameless grief wrenched every heart, a burst of despair was echoed +from every lip.—I had entered into the universal feeling—I had been +absorbed by the terrors of Rosse—I re-echoed the cry of Macduff, and then +rushed out as from an hell of torture, to find calm in the free air and silent +street. +</p> + +<p> +Free the air was not, or the street silent. Oh, how I longed then for the dear +soothings of maternal Nature, as my wounded heart was still further stung by +the roar of heartless merriment from the public-house, by the sight of the +drunkard reeling home, having lost the memory of what he would find there in +oblivious debauch, and by the more appalling salutations of those melancholy +beings to whom the name of home was a mockery. I ran on at my utmost speed +until I found myself I knew not how, close to Westminster Abbey, and was +attracted by the deep and swelling tone of the organ. I entered with soothing +awe the lighted chancel, and listened to the solemn religious chaunt, which +spoke peace and hope to the unhappy. The notes, freighted with man’s +dearest prayers, re-echoed through the dim aisles, and the bleeding of the +soul’s wounds was staunched by heavenly balm. In spite of the misery I +deprecated, and could not understand; in spite of the cold hearths of wide +London, and the corpse-strewn fields of my native land; in spite of all the +variety of agonizing emotions I had that evening experienced, I thought that in +reply to our melodious adjurations, the Creator looked down in compassion and +promise of relief; the awful peal of the heaven-winged music seemed fitting +voice wherewith to commune with the Supreme; calm was produced by its sound, +and by the sight of many other human creatures offering up prayers and +submission with me. A sentiment approaching happiness followed the total +resignation of one’s being to the guardianship of the world’s +ruler. Alas! with the failing of this solemn strain, the elevated spirit sank +again to earth. Suddenly one of the choristers died—he was lifted from +his desk, the vaults below were hastily opened—he was consigned with a +few muttered prayers to the darksome cavern, abode of thousands who had gone +before—now wide yawning to receive even all who fulfilled the funeral +rites. In vain I would then have turned from this scene, to darkened aisle or +lofty dome, echoing with melodious praise. In the open air alone I found +relief; among nature’s beauteous works, her God reassumed his attribute +of benevolence, and again I could trust that he who built up the mountains, +planted the forests, and poured out the rivers, would erect another state for +lost humanity, where we might awaken again to our affections, our happiness, +and our faith. +</p> + +<p> +Fortunately for me those circumstances were of rare occurrence that obliged me +to visit London, and my duties were confined to the rural district which our +lofty castle overlooked; and here labour stood in the place of pastime, to +occupy such of the country people as were sufficiently exempt from sorrow or +disease. My endeavours were directed towards urging them to their usual +attention to their crops, and to the acting as if pestilence did not exist. The +mower’s scythe was at times heard; yet the joyless haymakers after they +had listlessly turned the grass, forgot to cart it; the shepherd, when he had +sheared his sheep, would let the wool lie to be scattered by the winds, deeming +it useless to provide clothing for another winter. At times however the spirit +of life was awakened by these employments; the sun, the refreshing breeze, the +sweet smell of the hay, the rustling leaves and prattling rivulets brought +repose to the agitated bosom, and bestowed a feeling akin to happiness on the +apprehensive. Nor, strange to say, was the time without its pleasures. Young +couples, who had loved long and hopelessly, suddenly found every impediment +removed, and wealth pour in from the death of relatives. The very danger drew +them closer. The immediate peril urged them to seize the immediate opportunity; +wildly and passionately they sought to know what delights existence afforded, +before they yielded to death, and +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Snatching their pleasures with rough strife<br/> +Thorough the iron gates of life,<a href="#fn13" name="fnref13"><sup>[13]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +they defied the conquering pestilence to destroy what had been, or to erase +even from their death-bed thoughts the sentiment of happiness which had been +theirs. +</p> + +<p> +One instance of this kind came immediately under our notice, where a high-born +girl had in early youth given her heart to one of meaner extraction. He was a +schoolfellow and friend of her brother’s, and usually spent a part of the +holidays at the mansion of the duke her father. They had played together as +children, been the confidants of each other’s little secrets, mutual aids +and consolers in difficulty and sorrow. Love had crept in, noiseless, +terrorless at first, till each felt their life bound up in the other, and at +the same time knew that they must part. Their extreme youth, and the purity of +their attachment, made them yield with less resistance to the tyranny of +circumstances. The father of the fair Juliet separated them; but not until the +young lover had promised to remain absent only till he had rendered himself +worthy of her, and she had vowed to preserve her virgin heart, his treasure, +till he returned to claim and possess it. +</p> + +<p> +Plague came, threatening to destroy at once the aim of the ambitious and the +hopes of love. Long the Duke of L——derided the idea that there +could be danger while he pursued his plans of cautious seclusion; and he so far +succeeded, that it was not till this second summer, that the destroyer, at one +fell stroke, overthrew his precautions, his security, and his life. Poor Juliet +saw one by one, father, mother, brothers, and sisters, sicken and die. Most of +the servants fled on the first appearance of disease, those who remained were +infected mortally; no neighbour or rustic ventured within the verge of +contagion. By a strange fatality Juliet alone escaped, and she to the last +waited on her relatives, and smoothed the pillow of death. The moment at length +came, when the last blow was given to the last of the house: the youthful +survivor of her race sat alone among the dead. There was no living being near +to soothe her, or withdraw her from this hideous company. With the declining +heat of a September night, a whirlwind of storm, thunder, and hail, rattled +round the house, and with ghastly harmony sung the dirge of her family. She sat +upon the ground absorbed in wordless despair, when through the gusty wind and +bickering rain she thought she heard her name called. Whose could that familiar +voice be? Not one of her relations, for they lay glaring on her with stony +eyes. Again her name was syllabled, and she shuddered as she asked herself, am +I becoming mad, or am I dying, that I hear the voices of the departed? A second +thought passed, swift as an arrow, into her brain; she rushed to the window; +and a flash of lightning shewed to her the expected vision, her lover in the +shrubbery beneath; joy lent her strength to descend the stairs, to open the +door, and then she fainted in his supporting arms. +</p> + +<p> +A thousand times she reproached herself, as with a crime, that she should +revive to happiness with him. The natural clinging of the human mind to life +and joy was in its full energy in her young heart; she gave herself impetuously +up to the enchantment: they were married; and in their radiant features I saw +incarnate, for the last time, the spirit of love, of rapturous sympathy, which +once had been the life of the world. +</p> + +<p> +I envied them, but felt how impossible it was to imbibe the same feeling, now +that years had multiplied my ties in the world. Above all, the anxious mother, +my own beloved and drooping Idris, claimed my earnest care; I could not +reproach the anxiety that never for a moment slept in her heart, but I exerted +myself to distract her attention from too keen an observation of the truth of +things, of the near and nearer approaches of disease, misery, and death, of the +wild look of our attendants as intelligence of another and yet another death +reached us; for to the last something new occurred that seemed to transcend in +horror all that had gone before. Wretched beings crawled to die under our +succouring roof; the inhabitants of the Castle decreased daily, while the +survivors huddled together in fear, and, as in a famine-struck boat, the sport +of the wild, interminable waves, each looked in the other’s face, to +guess on whom the death-lot would next fall. All this I endeavoured to veil, so +that it might least impress my Idris; yet, as I have said, my courage survived +even despair: I might be vanquished, but I would not yield. +</p> + +<p> +One day, it was the ninth of September, seemed devoted to every disaster, to +every harrowing incident. Early in the day, I heard of the arrival of the aged +grandmother of one of our servants at the Castle. This old woman had reached +her hundredth year; her skin was shrivelled, her form was bent and lost in +extreme decrepitude; but as still from year to year she continued in existence, +out-living many younger and stronger, she began to feel as if she were to live +for ever. The plague came, and the inhabitants of her village died. Clinging, +with the dastard feeling of the aged, to the remnant of her spent life, she +had, on hearing that the pestilence had come into her neighbourhood, barred her +door, and closed her casement, refusing to communicate with any. She would +wander out at night to get food, and returned home, pleased that she had met no +one, that she was in no danger from the plague. As the earth became more +desolate, her difficulty in acquiring sustenance increased; at first, her son, +who lived near, had humoured her by placing articles of food in her way: at +last he died. But, even though threatened by famine, her fear of the plague was +paramount; and her greatest care was to avoid her fellow creatures. She grew +weaker each day, and each day she had further to go. The night before, she had +reached Datchet; and, prowling about, had found a baker’s shop open and +deserted. Laden with spoil, she hastened to return, and lost her way. The night +was windless, hot, and cloudy; her load became too heavy for her; and one by +one she threw away her loaves, still endeavouring to get along, though her +hobbling fell into lameness, and her weakness at last into inability to move. +</p> + +<p> +She lay down among the tall corn, and fell asleep. Deep in midnight, she was +awaked by a rustling near her; she would have started up, but her stiff joints +refused to obey her will. A low moan close to her ear followed, and the +rustling increased; she heard a smothered voice breathe out, Water, Water! +several times; and then again a sigh heaved from the heart of the sufferer. The +old woman shuddered, she contrived at length to sit upright; but her teeth +chattered, and her knees knocked together—close, very close, lay a +half-naked figure, just discernible in the gloom, and the cry for water and the +stifled moan were again uttered. Her motions at length attracted the attention +of her unknown companion; her hand was seized with a convulsive violence that +made the grasp feel like iron, the fingers like the keen teeth of a +trap.—“At last you are come!” were the words given +forth—but this exertion was the last effort of the dying—the joints +relaxed, the figure fell prostrate, one low moan, the last, marked the moment +of death. Morning broke; and the old woman saw the corpse, marked with the +fatal disease, close to her; her wrist was livid with the hold loosened by +death. She felt struck by the plague; her aged frame was unable to bear her +away with sufficient speed; and now, believing herself infected, she no longer +dreaded the association of others; but, as swiftly as she might, came to her +grand-daughter, at Windsor Castle, there to lament and die. The sight was +horrible; still she clung to life, and lamented her mischance with cries and +hideous groans; while the swift advance of the disease shewed, what proved to +be the fact, that she could not survive many hours. +</p> + +<p> +While I was directing that the necessary care should be taken of her, Clara +came in; she was trembling and pale; and, when I anxiously asked her the cause +of her agitation, she threw herself into my arms weeping and +exclaiming—“Uncle, dearest uncle, do not hate me for ever! I must +tell you, for you must know, that Evelyn, poor little Evelyn”—her +voice was choked by sobs. The fear of so mighty a calamity as the loss of our +adored infant made the current of my blood pause with chilly horror; but the +remembrance of the mother restored my presence of mind. I sought the little bed +of my darling; he was oppressed by fever; but I trusted, I fondly and fearfully +trusted, that there were no symptoms of the plague. He was not three years old, +and his illness appeared only one of those attacks incident to infancy. I +watched him long—his heavy half-closed lids, his burning cheeks and +restless twining of his small fingers—the fever was violent, the torpor +complete—enough, without the greater fear of pestilence, to awaken alarm. +Idris must not see him in this state. Clara, though only twelve years old, was +rendered, through extreme sensibility, so prudent and careful, that I felt +secure in entrusting the charge of him to her, and it was my task to prevent +Idris from observing their absence. I administered the fitting remedies, and +left my sweet niece to watch beside him, and bring me notice of any change she +should observe. +</p> + +<p> +I then went to Idris, contriving in my way, plausible excuses for remaining all +day in the Castle, and endeavouring to disperse the traces of care from my +brow. Fortunately she was not alone. I found Merrival, the astronomer, with +her. He was far too long sighted in his view of humanity to heed the casualties +of the day, and lived in the midst of contagion unconscious of its existence. +This poor man, learned as La Place, guileless and unforeseeing as a child, had +often been on the point of starvation, he, his pale wife and numerous +offspring, while he neither felt hunger, nor observed distress. His +astronomical theories absorbed him; calculations were scrawled with coal on the +bare walls of his garret: a hard-earned guinea, or an article of dress, was +exchanged for a book without remorse; he neither heard his children cry, nor +observed his companion’s emaciated form, and the excess of calamity was +merely to him as the occurrence of a cloudy night, when he would have given his +right hand to observe a celestial phenomenon. His wife was one of those +wondrous beings, to be found only among women, with affections not to be +diminished by misfortune. Her mind was divided between boundless admiration for +her husband, and tender anxiety for her children—she waited on him, +worked for them, and never complained, though care rendered her life one +long-drawn, melancholy dream. +</p> + +<p> +He had introduced himself to Adrian, by a request he made to observe some +planetary motions from his glass. His poverty was easily detected and relieved. +He often thanked us for the books we lent him, and for the use of our +instruments, but never spoke of his altered abode or change of circumstances. +His wife assured us, that he had not observed any difference, except in the +absence of the children from his study, and to her infinite surprise he +complained of this unaccustomed quiet. +</p> + +<p> +He came now to announce to us the completion of his Essay on the Pericyclical +Motions of the Earth’s Axis, and the precession of the equinoctial +points. If an old Roman of the period of the Republic had returned to life, and +talked of the impending election of some laurel-crowned consul, or of the last +battle with Mithridates, his ideas would not have been more alien to the times, +than the conversation of Merrival. Man, no longer with an appetite for +sympathy, clothed his thoughts in visible signs; nor were there any readers +left: while each one, having thrown away his sword with opposing shield alone, +awaited the plague, Merrival talked of the state of mankind six thousand years +hence. He might with equal interest to us, have added a commentary, to describe +the unknown and unimaginable lineaments of the creatures, who would then occupy +the vacated dwelling of mankind. We had not the heart to undeceive the poor old +man; and at the moment I came in, he was reading parts of his book to Idris, +asking what answer could be given to this or that position. +</p> + +<p> +Idris could not refrain from a smile, as she listened; she had already gathered +from him that his family was alive and in health; though not apt to forget the +precipice of time on which she stood, yet I could perceive that she was amused +for a moment, by the contrast between the contracted view we had so long taken +of human life, and the seven league strides with which Merrival paced a coming +eternity. I was glad to see her smile, because it assured me of her total +ignorance of her infant’s danger: but I shuddered to think of the +revulsion that would be occasioned by a discovery of the truth. While Merrival +was talking, Clara softly opened a door behind Idris, and beckoned me to come +with a gesture and look of grief. A mirror betrayed the sign to Idris—she +started up. To suspect evil, to perceive that, Alfred being with us, the danger +must regard her youngest darling, to fly across the long chambers into his +apartment, was the work but of a moment. There she beheld her Evelyn lying +fever-stricken and motionless. I followed her, and strove to inspire more hope +than I could myself entertain; but she shook her head mournfully. Anguish +deprived her of presence of mind; she gave up to me and Clara the +physician’s and nurse’s parts; she sat by the bed, holding one +little burning hand, and, with glazed eyes fixed on her babe, passed the long +day in one unvaried agony. It was not the plague that visited our little boy so +roughly; but she could not listen to my assurances; apprehension deprived her +of judgment and reflection; every slight convulsion of her child’s +features shook her frame —if he moved, she dreaded the instant crisis; if +he remained still, she saw death in his torpor, and the cloud on her brow +darkened. +</p> + +<p> +The poor little thing’s fever encreased towards night. The sensation is +most dreary, to use no stronger term, with which one looks forward to passing +the long hours of night beside a sick bed, especially if the patient be an +infant, who cannot explain its pain, and whose flickering life resembles the +wasting flame of the watch-light, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Whose narrow fire<br/> +Is shaken by the wind, and on whose edge<br/> +Devouring darkness hovers.<a href="#fn14" name="fnref14"><sup>[14]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +With eagerness one turns toward the east, with angry impatience one marks the +unchequered darkness; the crowing of a cock, that sound of glee during +day-time, comes wailing and untuneable—the creaking of rafters, and +slight stir of invisible insect is heard and felt as the signal and type of +desolation. Clara, overcome by weariness, had seated herself at the foot of her +cousin’s bed, and in spite of her efforts slumber weighed down her lids; +twice or thrice she shook it off; but at length she was conquered and slept. +Idris sat at the bedside, holding Evelyn’s hand; we were afraid to speak +to each other; I watched the stars —I hung over my child—I felt his +little pulse—I drew near the mother—again I receded. At the turn of +morning a gentle sigh from the patient attracted me, the burning spot on his +cheek faded—his pulse beat softly and regularly—torpor yielded to +sleep. For a long time I dared not hope; but when his unobstructed breathing +and the moisture that suffused his forehead, were tokens no longer to be +mistaken of the departure of mortal malady, I ventured to whisper the news of +the change to Idris, and at length succeeded in persuading her that I spoke +truth. +</p> + +<p> +But neither this assurance, nor the speedy convalescence of our child could +restore her, even to the portion of peace she before enjoyed. Her fear had been +too deep, too absorbing, too entire, to be changed to security. She felt as if +during her past calm she had dreamed, but was now awake; she was +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + As one<br/> +In some lone watch-tower on the deep, awakened<br/> +From soothing visions of the home he loves,<br/> +Trembling to hear the wrathful billows roar;<a href="#fn15" name="fnref15"><sup>[15]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +as one who has been cradled by a storm, and awakes to find the vessel sinking. +Before, she had been visited by pangs of fear—now, she never enjoyed an +interval of hope. No smile of the heart ever irradiated her fair countenance; +sometimes she forced one, and then gushing tears would flow, and the sea of +grief close above these wrecks of past happiness. Still while I was near her, +she could not be in utter despair— she fully confided herself to +me—she did not seem to fear my death, or revert to its possibility; to my +guardianship she consigned the full freight of her anxieties, reposing on my +love, as a wind-nipped fawn by the side of a doe, as a wounded nestling under +its mother’s wing, as a tiny, shattered boat, quivering still, beneath +some protecting willow-tree. While I, not proudly as in days of joy, yet +tenderly, and with glad consciousness of the comfort I afforded, drew my +trembling girl close to my heart, and tried to ward every painful thought or +rough circumstance from her sensitive nature. +</p> + +<p> +One other incident occurred at the end of this summer. The Countess of Windsor, +Ex-Queen of England, returned from Germany. She had at the beginning of the +season quitted the vacant city of Vienna; and, unable to tame her haughty mind +to anything like submission, she had delayed at Hamburgh, and, when at last she +came to London, many weeks elapsed before she gave Adrian notice of her +arrival. In spite of her coldness and long absence, he welcomed her with +sensibility, displaying such affection as sought to heal the wounds of pride +and sorrow, and was repulsed only by her total apparent want of sympathy. Idris +heard of her mother’s return with pleasure. Her own maternal feelings +were so ardent, that she imagined her parent must now, in this waste world, +have lost pride and harshness, and would receive with delight her filial +attentions. The first check to her duteous demonstrations was a formal +intimation from the fallen majesty of England, that I was in no manner to be +intruded upon her. She consented, she said, to forgive her daughter, and +acknowledge her grandchildren; larger concessions must not be expected. +</p> + +<p> +To me this proceeding appeared (if so light a term may be permitted) extremely +whimsical. Now that the race of man had lost in fact all distinction of rank, +this pride was doubly fatuitous; now that we felt a kindred, fraternal nature +with all who bore the stamp of humanity, this angry reminiscence of times for +ever gone, was worse than foolish. Idris was too much taken up by her own +dreadful fears, to be angry, hardly grieved; for she judged that insensibility +must be the source of this continued rancour. This was not altogether the fact: +but predominant self-will assumed the arms and masque of callous feeling; and +the haughty lady disdained to exhibit any token of the struggle she endured; +while the slave of pride, she fancied that she sacrificed her happiness to +immutable principle. +</p> + +<p> +False was all this—false all but the affections of our nature, and the +links of sympathy with pleasure or pain. There was but one good and one evil in +the world—life and death. The pomp of rank, the assumption of power, the +possessions of wealth vanished like morning mist. One living beggar had become +of more worth than a national peerage of dead lords— alas the +day!—than of dead heroes, patriots, or men of genius. There was much of +degradation in this: for even vice and virtue had lost their +attributes—life—life—the continuation of our animal +mechanism— was the Alpha and Omega of the desires, the prayers, the +prostrate ambition of human race. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn10"></a> <a href="#fnref10">[10]</a> +Calderon de la Barca. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn11"></a> <a href="#fnref11">[11]</a> +[2] Wordsworth. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn12"></a> <a href="#fnref12">[12]</a> +Keats. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn13"></a> <a href="#fnref13">[13]</a> +Andrew Marvell. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn14"></a> <a href="#fnref14">[14]</a> +The Cenci +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn15"></a> <a href="#fnref15">[15]</a> +The Brides’ Tragedy, by T. L. Beddoes, Esq. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<p> +Half England was desolate, when October came, and the equinoctial winds swept +over the earth, chilling the ardours of the unhealthy season. The summer, which +was uncommonly hot, had been protracted into the beginning of this month, when +on the eighteenth a sudden change was brought about from summer temperature to +winter frost. Pestilence then made a pause in her death-dealing career. +Gasping, not daring to name our hopes, yet full even to the brim with intense +expectation, we stood, as a ship-wrecked sailor stands on a barren rock +islanded by the ocean, watching a distant vessel, fancying that now it nears, +and then again that it is bearing from sight. This promise of a renewed lease +of life turned rugged natures to melting tenderness, and by contrast filled the +soft with harsh and unnatural sentiments. When it seemed destined that all were +to die, we were reckless of the how and when—now that the virulence of +the disease was mitigated, and it appeared willing to spare some, each was +eager to be among the elect, and clung to life with dastard tenacity. Instances +of desertion became more frequent; and even murders, which made the hearer sick +with horror, where the fear of contagion had armed those nearest in blood +against each other. But these smaller and separate tragedies were about to +yield to a mightier interest—and, while we were promised calm from +infectious influences, a tempest arose wilder than the winds, a tempest bred by +the passions of man, nourished by his most violent impulses, unexampled and +dire. +</p> + +<p> +A number of people from North America, the relics of that populous continent, +had set sail for the East with mad desire of change, leaving their native +plains for lands not less afflicted than their own. Several hundreds landed in +Ireland, about the first of November, and took possession of such vacant +habitations as they could find; seizing upon the superabundant food, and the +stray cattle. As they exhausted the produce of one spot, they went on to +another. At length they began to interfere with the inhabitants, and strong in +their concentrated numbers, ejected the natives from their dwellings, and +robbed them of their winter store. A few events of this kind roused the fiery +nature of the Irish; and they attacked the invaders. Some were destroyed; the +major part escaped by quick and well ordered movements; and danger made them +careful. Their numbers ably arranged; the very deaths among them concealed; +moving on in good order, and apparently given up to enjoyment, they excited the +envy of the Irish. The Americans permitted a few to join their band, and +presently the recruits outnumbered the strangers—nor did they join with +them, nor imitate the admirable order which, preserved by the Trans-Atlantic +chiefs, rendered them at once secure and formidable. The Irish followed their +track in disorganized multitudes; each day encreasing; each day becoming more +lawless. The Americans were eager to escape from the spirit they had roused, +and, reaching the eastern shores of the island, embarked for England. Their +incursion would hardly have been felt had they come alone; but the Irish, +collected in unnatural numbers, began to feel the inroads of famine, and they +followed in the wake of the Americans for England also. The crossing of the sea +could not arrest their progress. The harbours of the desolate sea-ports of the +west of Ireland were filled with vessels of all sizes, from the man of war to +the small fishers’ boat, which lay sailorless, and rotting on the lazy +deep. The emigrants embarked by hundreds, and unfurling their sails with rude +hands, made strange havoc of buoy and cordage. Those who modestly betook +themselves to the smaller craft, for the most part achieved their watery +journey in safety. Some, in the true spirit of reckless enterprise, went on +board a ship of an hundred and twenty guns; the vast hull drifted with the tide +out of the bay, and after many hours its crew of landsmen contrived to spread a +great part of her enormous canvass—the wind took it, and while a thousand +mistakes of the helmsman made her present her head now to one point, and now to +another, the vast fields of canvass that formed her sails flapped with a sound +like that of a huge cataract; or such as a sea-like forest may give forth when +buffeted by an equinoctial north-wind. The port-holes were open, and with every +sea, which as she lurched, washed her decks, they received whole tons of water. +The difficulties were increased by a fresh breeze which began to blow, +whistling among the shrowds, dashing the sails this way and that, and rending +them with horrid split, and such whir as may have visited the dreams of Milton, +when he imagined the winnowing of the arch-fiend’s van-like wings, which +encreased the uproar of wild chaos. These sounds were mingled with the roaring +of the sea, the splash of the chafed billows round the vessel’s sides, +and the gurgling up of the water in the hold. The crew, many of whom had never +seen the sea before, felt indeed as if heaven and earth came ruining together, +as the vessel dipped her bows in the waves, or rose high upon them. Their yells +were drowned in the clamour of elements, and the thunder rivings of their +unwieldy habitation—they discovered at last that the water gained on +them, and they betook themselves to their pumps; they might as well have +laboured to empty the ocean by bucketfuls. As the sun went down, the gale +encreased; the ship seemed to feel her danger, she was now completely +water-logged, and presented other indications of settling before she went down. +The bay was crowded with vessels, whose crews, for the most part, were +observing the uncouth sportings of this huge unwieldy machine—they saw +her gradually sink; the waters now rising above her lower decks—they +could hardly wink before she had utterly disappeared, nor could the place where +the sea had closed over her be at all discerned. Some few of her crew were +saved, but the greater part clinging to her cordage and masts went down with +her, to rise only when death loosened their hold. +</p> + +<p> +This event caused many of those who were about to sail, to put foot again on +firm land, ready to encounter any evil rather than to rush into the yawning +jaws of the pitiless ocean. But these were few, in comparison to the numbers +who actually crossed. Many went up as high as Belfast to ensure a shorter +passage, and then journeying south through Scotland, they were joined by the +poorer natives of that country, and all poured with one consent into England. +</p> + +<p> +Such incursions struck the English with affright, in all those towns where +there was still sufficient population to feel the change. There was room enough +indeed in our hapless country for twice the number of invaders; but their +lawless spirit instigated them to violence; they took a delight in thrusting +the possessors from their houses; in seizing on some mansion of luxury, where +the noble dwellers secluded themselves in fear of the plague; in forcing these +of either sex to become their servants and purveyors; till, the ruin complete +in one place, they removed their locust visitation to another. When unopposed +they spread their ravages wide; in cases of danger they clustered, and by dint +of numbers overthrew their weak and despairing foes. They came from the east +and the north, and directed their course without apparent motive, but +unanimously towards our unhappy metropolis. +</p> + +<p> +Communication had been to a great degree cut off through the paralyzing effects +of pestilence, so that the van of our invaders had proceeded as far as +Manchester and Derby, before we received notice of their arrival. They swept +the country like a conquering army, burning—laying waste— +murdering. The lower and vagabond English joined with them. Some few of the +Lords Lieutenant who remained, endeavoured to collect the militia—but the +ranks were vacant, panic seized on all, and the opposition that was made only +served to increase the audacity and cruelty of the enemy. They talked of taking +London, conquering England—calling to mind the long detail of injuries +which had for many years been forgotten. Such vaunts displayed their weakness, +rather than their strength—yet still they might do extreme mischief, +which, ending in their destruction, would render them at last objects of +compassion and remorse. +</p> + +<p> +We were now taught how, in the beginning of the world, mankind clothed their +enemies in impossible attributes—and how details proceeding from mouth to +mouth, might, like Virgil’s ever-growing Rumour, reach the heavens with +her brow, and clasp Hesperus and Lucifer with her outstretched hands. Gorgon +and Centaur, dragon and iron-hoofed lion, vast sea-monster and gigantic hydra, +were but types of the strange and appalling accounts brought to London +concerning our invaders. Their landing was long unknown, but having now +advanced within an hundred miles of London, the country people flying before +them arrived in successive troops, each exaggerating the numbers, fury, and +cruelty of the assailants. Tumult filled the before quiet streets—women +and children deserted their homes, escaping they knew not +whither—fathers, husbands, and sons, stood trembling, not for themselves, +but for their loved and defenceless relations. As the country people poured +into London, the citizens fled southwards—they climbed the higher +edifices of the town, fancying that they could discern the smoke and flames the +enemy spread around them. As Windsor lay, to a great degree, in the line of +march from the west, I removed my family to London, assigning the Tower for +their sojourn, and joining Adrian, acted as his Lieutenant in the coming +struggle. +</p> + +<p> +We employed only two days in our preparations, and made good use of them. +Artillery and arms were collected; the remnants of such regiments, as could be +brought through many losses into any show of muster, were put under arms, with +that appearance of military discipline which might encourage our own party, and +seem most formidable to the disorganized multitude of our enemies. Even music +was not wanting: banners floated in the air, and the shrill fife and loud +trumpet breathed forth sounds of encouragement and victory. A practised ear +might trace an undue faltering in the step of the soldiers; but this was not +occasioned so much by fear of the adversary, as by disease, by sorrow, and by +fatal prognostications, which often weighed most potently on the brave, and +quelled the manly heart to abject subjection. +</p> + +<p> +Adrian led the troops. He was full of care. It was small relief to him that our +discipline should gain us success in such a conflict; while plague still +hovered to equalize the conqueror and the conquered, it was not victory that he +desired, but bloodless peace. As we advanced, we were met by bands of +peasantry, whose almost naked condition, whose despair and horror, told at once +the fierce nature of the coming enemy. The senseless spirit of conquest and +thirst of spoil blinded them, while with insane fury they deluged the country +in ruin. The sight of the military restored hope to those who fled, and revenge +took place of fear. They inspired the soldiers with the same sentiment. Languor +was changed to ardour, the slow step converted to a speedy pace, while the +hollow murmur of the multitude, inspired by one feeling, and that deadly, +filled the air, drowning the clang of arms and sound of music. Adrian perceived +the change, and feared that it would be difficult to prevent them from wreaking +their utmost fury on the Irish. He rode through the lines, charging the +officers to restrain the troops, exhorting the soldiers, restoring order, and +quieting in some degree the violent agitation that swelled every bosom. +</p> + +<p> +We first came upon a few stragglers of the Irish at St. Albans. They retreated, +and, joining others of their companions, still fell back, till they reached the +main body. Tidings of an armed and regular opposition recalled them to a sort +of order. They made Buckingham their head-quarters, and scouts were sent out to +ascertain our situation. We remained for the night at Luton. In the morning a +simultaneous movement caused us each to advance. It was early dawn, and the +air, impregnated with freshest odour, seemed in idle mockery to play with our +banners, and bore onwards towards the enemy the music of the bands, the +neighings of the horses, and regular step of the infantry. The first sound of +martial instruments that came upon our undisciplined foe, inspired surprise, +not unmingled with dread. It spoke of other days, of days of concord and order; +it was associated with times when plague was not, and man lived beyond the +shadow of imminent fate. The pause was momentary. Soon we heard their +disorderly clamour, the barbarian shouts, the untimed step of thousands coming +on in disarray. Their troops now came pouring on us from the open country or +narrow lanes; a large extent of unenclosed fields lay between us; we advanced +to the middle of this, and then made a halt: being somewhat on superior ground, +we could discern the space they covered. When their leaders perceived us drawn +out in opposition, they also gave the word to halt, and endeavoured to form +their men into some imitation of military discipline. The first ranks had +muskets; some were mounted, but their arms were such as they had seized during +their advance, their horses those they had taken from the peasantry; there was +no uniformity, and little obedience, but their shouts and wild gestures showed +the untamed spirit that inspired them. Our soldiers received the word, and +advanced to quickest time, but in perfect order: their uniform dresses, the +gleam of their polished arms, their silence, and looks of sullen hate, were +more appalling than the savage clamour of our innumerous foe. Thus coming +nearer and nearer each other, the howls and shouts of the Irish increased; the +English proceeded in obedience to their officers, until they came near enough +to distinguish the faces of their enemies; the sight inspired them with fury: +with one cry, that rent heaven and was re-echoed by the furthest lines, they +rushed on; they disdained the use of the bullet, but with fixed bayonet dashed +among the opposing foe, while the ranks opening at intervals, the matchmen +lighted the cannon, whose deafening roar and blinding smoke filled up the +horror of the scene. I was beside Adrian; a moment before he had again given +the word to halt, and had remained a few yards distant from us in deep +meditation: he was forming swiftly his plan of action, to prevent the effusion +of blood; the noise of cannon, the sudden rush of the troops, and yell of the +foe, startled him: with flashing eyes he exclaimed, “Not one of these +must perish!” and plunging the rowels into his horse’s sides, he +dashed between the conflicting bands. We, his staff, followed him to surround +and protect him; obeying his signal, however, we fell back somewhat. The +soldiery perceiving him, paused in their onset; he did not swerve from the +bullets that passed near him, but rode immediately between the opposing lines. +Silence succeeded to clamour; about fifty men lay on the ground dying or dead. +Adrian raised his sword in act to speak: “By whose command,” he +cried, addressing his own troops, “do you advance? Who ordered your +attack? Fall back; these misguided men shall not be slaughtered, while I am +your general. Sheath your weapons; these are your brothers, commit not +fratricide; soon the plague will not leave one for you to glut your revenge +upon: will you be more pitiless than pestilence? As you honour me—as you +worship God, in whose image those also are created—as your children and +friends are dear to you,—shed not a drop of precious human blood.” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke with outstretched hand and winning voice, and then turning to our +invaders, with a severe brow, he commanded them to lay down their arms: +“Do you think,” he said, “that because we are wasted by +plague, you can overcome us; the plague is also among you, and when ye are +vanquished by famine and disease, the ghosts of those you have murdered will +arise to bid you not hope in death. Lay down your arms, barbarous and cruel +men—men whose hands are stained with the blood of the innocent, whose +souls are weighed down by the orphan’s cry! We shall conquer, for the +right is on our side; already your cheeks are pale—the weapons fall from +your nerveless grasp. Lay down your arms, fellow men! brethren! Pardon, +succour, and brotherly love await your repentance. You are dear to us, because +you wear the frail shape of humanity; each one among you will find a friend and +host among these forces. Shall man be the enemy of man, while plague, the foe +to all, even now is above us, triumphing in our butchery, more cruel than her +own?” +</p> + +<p> +Each army paused. On our side the soldiers grasped their arms firmly, and +looked with stern glances on the foe. These had not thrown down their weapons, +more from fear than the spirit of contest; they looked at each other, each +wishing to follow some example given him,—but they had no leader. Adrian +threw himself from his horse, and approaching one of those just slain: +“He was a man,” he cried, “and he is dead. O quickly bind up +the wounds of the fallen—let not one die; let not one more soul escape +through your merciless gashes, to relate before the throne of God the tale of +fratricide; bind up their wounds—restore them to their friends. Cast away +the hearts of tigers that burn in your breasts; throw down those tools of +cruelty and hate; in this pause of exterminating destiny, let each man be +brother, guardian, and stay to the other. Away with those blood-stained arms, +and hasten some of you to bind up these wounds.” +</p> + +<p> +As he spoke, he knelt on the ground, and raised in his arms a man from whose +side the warm tide of life gushed—the poor wretch gasped—so still +had either host become, that his moans were distinctly heard, and every heart, +late fiercely bent on universal massacre, now beat anxiously in hope and fear +for the fate of this one man. Adrian tore off his military scarf and bound it +round the sufferer—it was too late—the man heaved a deep sigh, his +head fell back, his limbs lost their sustaining power.— “He is +dead!” said Adrian, as the corpse fell from his arms on the ground, and +he bowed his head in sorrow and awe. The fate of the world seemed bound up in +the death of this single man. On either side the bands threw down their arms, +even the veterans wept, and our party held out their hands to their foes, while +a gush of love and deepest amity filled every heart. The two forces mingling, +unarmed and hand in hand, talking only how each might assist the other, the +adversaries conjoined; each repenting, the one side their former cruelties, the +other their late violence, they obeyed the orders of the General to proceed +towards London. +</p> + +<p> +Adrian was obliged to exert his utmost prudence, first to allay the discord, +and then to provide for the multitude of the invaders. They were marched to +various parts of the southern counties, quartered in deserted villages,—a +part were sent back to their own island, while the season of winter so far +revived our energy, that the passes of the country were defended, and any +increase of numbers prohibited. +</p> + +<p> +On this occasion Adrian and Idris met after a separation of nearly a year. +Adrian had been occupied in fulfilling a laborious and painful task. He had +been familiar with every species of human misery, and had for ever found his +powers inadequate, his aid of small avail. Yet the purpose of his soul, his +energy and ardent resolution, prevented any re-action of sorrow. He seemed born +anew, and virtue, more potent than Medean alchemy, endued him with health and +strength. Idris hardly recognized the fragile being, whose form had seemed to +bend even to the summer breeze, in the energetic man, whose very excess of +sensibility rendered him more capable of fulfilling his station of pilot in +storm-tossed England. +</p> + +<p> +It was not thus with Idris. She was uncomplaining; but the very soul of fear +had taken its seat in her heart. She had grown thin and pale, her eyes filled +with involuntary tears, her voice was broken and low. She tried to throw a veil +over the change which she knew her brother must observe in her, but the effort +was ineffectual; and when alone with him, with a burst of irrepressible grief +she gave vent to her apprehensions and sorrow. She described in vivid terms the +ceaseless care that with still renewing hunger ate into her soul; she compared +this gnawing of sleepless expectation of evil, to the vulture that fed on the +heart of Prometheus; under the influence of this eternal excitement, and of the +interminable struggles she endured to combat and conceal it, she felt, she +said, as if all the wheels and springs of the animal machine worked at double +rate, and were fast consuming themselves. Sleep was not sleep, for her waking +thoughts, bridled by some remains of reason, and by the sight of her children +happy and in health, were then transformed to wild dreams, all her terrors were +realized, all her fears received their dread fulfilment. To this state there +was no hope, no alleviation, unless the grave should quickly receive its +destined prey, and she be permitted to die, before she experienced a thousand +living deaths in the loss of those she loved. Fearing to give me pain, she hid +as best she could the excess of her wretchedness, but meeting thus her brother +after a long absence, she could not restrain the expression of her woe, but +with all the vividness of imagination with which misery is always replete, she +poured out the emotions of her heart to her beloved and sympathizing Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +Her present visit to London tended to augment her state of inquietude, by +shewing in its utmost extent the ravages occasioned by pestilence. It hardly +preserved the appearance of an inhabited city; grass sprung up thick in the +streets; the squares were weed-grown, the houses were shut up, while silence +and loneliness characterized the busiest parts of the town. Yet in the midst of +desolation Adrian had preserved order; and each one continued to live according +to law and custom—human institutions thus surviving as it were divine +ones, and while the decree of population was abrogated, property continued +sacred. It was a melancholy reflection; and in spite of the diminution of evil +produced, it struck on the heart as a wretched mockery. All idea of resort for +pleasure, of theatres and festivals had passed away. “Next summer,” +said Adrian as we parted on our return to Windsor, “will decide the fate +of the human race. I shall not pause in my exertions until that time; but, if +plague revives with the coming year, all contest with her must cease, and our +only occupation be the choice of a grave.” +</p> + +<p> +I must not forget one incident that occurred during this visit to London. The +visits of Merrival to Windsor, before frequent, had suddenly ceased. At this +time where but a hair’s line separated the living from the dead, I feared +that our friend had become a victim to the all-embracing evil. On this occasion +I went, dreading the worst, to his dwelling, to see if I could be of any +service to those of his family who might have survived. The house was deserted, +and had been one of those assigned to the invading strangers quartered in +London. I saw his astronomical instruments put to strange uses, his globes +defaced, his papers covered with abstruse calculations destroyed. The +neighbours could tell me little, till I lighted on a poor woman who acted as +nurse in these perilous times. She told me that all the family were dead, +except Merrival himself, who had gone mad— mad, she called it, yet on +questioning her further, it appeared that he was possessed only by the delirium +of excessive grief. This old man, tottering on the edge of the grave, and +prolonging his prospect through millions of calculated years,—this +visionary who had not seen starvation in the wasted forms of his wife and +children, or plague in the horrible sights and sounds that surrounded +him—this astronomer, apparently dead on earth, and living only in the +motion of the spheres—loved his family with unapparent but intense +affection. Through long habit they had become a part of himself; his want of +worldly knowledge, his absence of mind and infant guilelessness, made him +utterly dependent on them. It was not till one of them died that he perceived +their danger; one by one they were carried off by pestilence; and his wife, his +helpmate and supporter, more necessary to him than his own limbs and frame, +which had hardly been taught the lesson of self-preservation, the kind +companion whose voice always spoke peace to him, closed her eyes in death. The +old man felt the system of universal nature which he had so long studied and +adored, slide from under him, and he stood among the dead, and lifted his voice +in curses.—No wonder that the attendant should interpret as phrensy the +harrowing maledictions of the grief-struck old man. +</p> + +<p> +I had commenced my search late in the day, a November day, that closed in early +with pattering rain and melancholy wind. As I turned from the door, I saw +Merrival, or rather the shadow of Merrival, attenuated and wild, pass me, and +sit on the steps of his home. The breeze scattered the grey locks on his +temples, the rain drenched his uncovered head, he sat hiding his face in his +withered hands. I pressed his shoulder to awaken his attention, but he did not +alter his position. “Merrival,” I said, “it is long since we +have seen you—you must return to Windsor with me—Lady Idris desires +to see you, you will not refuse her request—come home with me.” +</p> + +<p> +He replied in a hollow voice, “Why deceive a helpless old man, why talk +hypocritically to one half crazed? Windsor is not my home; my true home I have +found; the home that the Creator has prepared for me.” +</p> + +<p> +His accent of bitter scorn thrilled me—“Do not tempt me to +speak,” he continued, “my words would scare you—in an +universe of cowards I dare think—among the church-yard tombs—among +the victims of His merciless tyranny I dare reproach the Supreme Evil. How can +he punish me? Let him bare his arm and transfix me with lightning—this is +also one of his attributes”—and the old man laughed. +</p> + +<p> +He rose, and I followed him through the rain to a neighbouring church-yard +—he threw himself on the wet earth. “Here they are,” he +cried, “beautiful creatures—breathing, speaking, loving creatures. +She who by day and night cherished the age-worn lover of her youth—they, +parts of my flesh, my children—here they are: call them, scream their +names through the night; they will not answer!” He clung to the little +heaps that marked the graves. “I ask but one thing; I do not fear His +hell, for I have it here; I do not desire His heaven, let me but die and be +laid beside them; let me but, when I lie dead, feel my flesh as it moulders, +mingle with theirs. Promise,” and he raised himself painfully, and seized +my arm, “promise to bury me with them.” +</p> + +<p> +“So God help me and mine as I promise,” I replied, “on one +condition: return with me to Windsor.” +</p> + +<p> +“To Windsor!” he cried with a shriek, “Never!—from this +place I never go —my bones, my flesh, I myself, are already buried here, +and what you see of me is corrupted clay like them. I will lie here, and cling +here, till rain, and hail, and lightning and storm, ruining on me, make me one +in substance with them below.” +</p> + +<p> +In a few words I must conclude this tragedy. I was obliged to leave London, and +Adrian undertook to watch over him; the task was soon fulfilled; age, grief, +and inclement weather, all united to hush his sorrows, and bring repose to his +heart, whose beats were agony. He died embracing the sod, which was piled above +his breast, when he was placed beside the beings whom he regretted with such +wild despair. +</p> + +<p> +I returned to Windsor at the wish of Idris, who seemed to think that there was +greater safety for her children at that spot; and because, once having taken on +me the guardianship of the district, I would not desert it while an inhabitant +survived. I went also to act in conformity with Adrian’s plans, which was +to congregate in masses what remained of the population; for he possessed the +conviction that it was only through the benevolent and social virtues that any +safety was to be hoped for the remnant of mankind. +</p> + +<p> +It was a melancholy thing to return to this spot so dear to us, as the scene of +a happiness rarely before enjoyed, here to mark the extinction of our species, +and trace the deep uneraseable footsteps of disease over the fertile and +cherished soil. The aspect of the country had so far changed, that it had been +impossible to enter on the task of sowing seed, and other autumnal labours. +That season was now gone; and winter had set in with sudden and unusual +severity. Alternate frosts and thaws succeeding to floods, rendered the country +impassable. Heavy falls of snow gave an arctic appearance to the scenery; the +roofs of the houses peeped from the white mass; the lowly cot and stately +mansion, alike deserted, were blocked up, their thresholds uncleared; the +windows were broken by the hail, while the prevalence of a north-east wind +rendered out-door exertions extremely painful. The altered state of society +made these accidents of nature, sources of real misery. The luxury of command +and the attentions of servitude were lost. It is true that the necessaries of +life were assembled in such quantities, as to supply to superfluity the wants +of the diminished population; but still much labour was required to arrange +these, as it were, raw materials; and depressed by sickness, and fearful of the +future, we had not energy to enter boldly and decidedly on any system. +</p> + +<p> +I can speak for myself—want of energy was not my failing. The intense +life that quickened my pulses, and animated my frame, had the effect, not of +drawing me into the mazes of active life, but of exalting my lowliness, and of +bestowing majestic proportions on insignificant objects—I could have +lived the life of a peasant in the same way—my trifling occupations were +swelled into important pursuits; my affections were impetuous and engrossing +passions, and nature with all her changes was invested in divine attributes. +The very spirit of the Greek mythology inhabited my heart; I deified the +uplands, glades, and streams, I +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Had sight of Proteus coming from the sea;<br/> +And heard old Triton blow his wreathed horn.<a href="#fn16" name="fnref16"><sup>[16]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p> +Strange, that while the earth preserved her monotonous course, I dwelt with +ever-renewing wonder on her antique laws, and now that with excentric wheel she +rushed into an untried path, I should feel this spirit fade; I struggled with +despondency and weariness, but like a fog, they choked me. Perhaps, after the +labours and stupendous excitement of the past summer, the calm of winter and +the almost menial toils it brought with it, were by natural re-action doubly +irksome. It was not the grasping passion of the preceding year, which gave life +and individuality to each moment—it was not the aching pangs induced by +the distresses of the times. The utter inutility that had attended all my +exertions took from them their usual effects of exhilaration, and despair +rendered abortive the balm of self applause—I longed to return to my old +occupations, but of what use were they? To read were futile—to write, +vanity indeed. The earth, late wide circus for the display of dignified +exploits, vast theatre for a magnificent drama, now presented a vacant space, +an empty stage—for actor or spectator there was no longer aught to say or +hear. +</p> + +<p> +Our little town of Windsor, in which the survivors from the neighbouring +counties were chiefly assembled, wore a melancholy aspect. Its streets were +blocked up with snow—the few passengers seemed palsied, and frozen by the +ungenial visitation of winter. To escape these evils was the aim and scope of +all our exertions. Families late devoted to exalting and refined pursuits, +rich, blooming, and young, with diminished numbers and care-fraught hearts, +huddled over a fire, grown selfish and grovelling through suffering. Without +the aid of servants, it was necessary to discharge all household duties; hands +unused to such labour must knead the bread, or in the absence of flour, the +statesmen or perfumed courtier must undertake the butcher’s office. Poor +and rich were now equal, or rather the poor were the superior, since they +entered on such tasks with alacrity and experience; while ignorance, +inaptitude, and habits of repose, rendered them fatiguing to the luxurious, +galling to the proud, disgustful to all whose minds, bent on intellectual +improvement, held it their dearest privilege to be exempt from attending to +mere animal wants. +</p> + +<p> +But in every change goodness and affection can find field for exertion and +display. Among some these changes produced a devotion and sacrifice of self at +once graceful and heroic. It was a sight for the lovers of the human race to +enjoy; to behold, as in ancient times, the patriarchal modes in which the +variety of kindred and friendship fulfilled their duteous and kindly offices. +Youths, nobles of the land, performed for the sake of mother or sister, the +services of menials with amiable cheerfulness. They went to the river to break +the ice, and draw water: they assembled on foraging expeditions, or axe in hand +felled the trees for fuel. The females received them on their return with the +simple and affectionate welcome known before only to the lowly cottage—a +clean hearth and bright fire; the supper ready cooked by beloved hands; +gratitude for the provision for to-morrow’s meal: strange enjoyments for +the high-born English, yet they were now their sole, hard earned, and dearly +prized luxuries. +</p> + +<p> +None was more conspicuous for this graceful submission to circumstances, noble +humility, and ingenious fancy to adorn such acts with romantic colouring, than +our own Clara. She saw my despondency, and the aching cares of Idris. Her +perpetual study was to relieve us from labour and to spread ease and even +elegance over our altered mode of life. We still had some attendants spared by +disease, and warmly attached to us. But Clara was jealous of their services; +she would be sole handmaid of Idris, sole minister to the wants of her little +cousins; nothing gave her so much pleasure as our employing her in this way; +she went beyond our desires, earnest, diligent, and unwearied,— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Abra was ready ere we called her name,<br/> +And though we called another, Abra came.<a href="#fn17" name="fnref17"><sup>[17]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p> +It was my task each day to visit the various families assembled in our town, +and when the weather permitted, I was glad to prolong my ride, and to muse in +solitude over every changeful appearance of our destiny, endeavouring to gather +lessons for the future from the experience of the past. The impatience with +which, while in society, the ills that afflicted my species inspired me, were +softened by loneliness, when individual suffering was merged in the general +calamity, strange to say, less afflicting to contemplate. Thus often, pushing +my way with difficulty through the narrow snow-blocked town, I crossed the +bridge and passed through Eton. No youthful congregation of gallant-hearted +boys thronged the portal of the college; sad silence pervaded the busy +school-room and noisy playground. I extended my ride towards Salt Hill, on +every side impeded by the snow. Were those the fertile fields I loved—was +that the interchange of gentle upland and cultivated dale, once covered with +waving corn, diversified by stately trees, watered by the meandering Thames? +One sheet of white covered it, while bitter recollection told me that cold as +the winter-clothed earth, were the hearts of the inhabitants. I met troops of +horses, herds of cattle, flocks of sheep, wandering at will; here throwing down +a hay-rick, and nestling from cold in its heart, which afforded them shelter +and food—there having taken possession of a vacant cottage. Once on a +frosty day, pushed on by restless unsatisfying reflections, I sought a +favourite haunt, a little wood not far distant from Salt Hill. A bubbling +spring prattles over stones on one side, and a plantation of a few elms and +beeches, hardly deserve, and yet continue the name of wood. This spot had for +me peculiar charms. It had been a favourite resort of Adrian; it was secluded; +and he often said that in boyhood, his happiest hours were spent here; having +escaped the stately bondage of his mother, he sat on the rough hewn steps that +led to the spring, now reading a favourite book, now musing, with speculation +beyond his years, on the still unravelled skein of morals or metaphysics. A +melancholy foreboding assured me that I should never see this place more; so +with careful thought, I noted each tree, every winding of the streamlet and +irregularity of the soil, that I might better call up its idea in absence. A +robin red-breast dropt from the frosty branches of the trees, upon the +congealed rivulet; its panting breast and half-closed eyes shewed that it was +dying: a hawk appeared in the air; sudden fear seized the little creature; it +exerted its last strength, throwing itself on its back, raising its talons in +impotent defence against its powerful enemy. I took it up and placed it in my +breast. I fed it with a few crumbs from a biscuit; by degrees it revived; its +warm fluttering heart beat against me; I cannot tell why I detail this trifling +incident—but the scene is still before me; the snow-clad fields seen +through the silvered trunks of the beeches,—the brook, in days of +happiness alive with sparkling waters, now choked by ice—the leafless +trees fantastically dressed in hoar frost—the shapes of summer leaves +imaged by winter’s frozen hand on the hard ground—the dusky sky, +drear cold, and unbroken silence—while close in my bosom, my feathered +nursling lay warm, and safe, speaking its content with a light chirp— +painful reflections thronged, stirring my brain with wild commotion—cold +and death-like as the snowy fields was all earth—misery-stricken the +life-tide of the inhabitants—why should I oppose the cataract of +destruction that swept us away?—why string my nerves and renew my wearied +efforts—ah, why? But that my firm courage and cheerful exertions might +shelter the dear mate, whom I chose in the spring of my life; though the +throbbings of my heart be replete with pain, though my hopes for the future are +chill, still while your dear head, my gentlest love, can repose in peace on +that heart, and while you derive from its fostering care, comfort, and hope, my +struggles shall not cease,—I will not call myself altogether vanquished. +</p> + +<p> +One fine February day, when the sun had reassumed some of its genial power, I +walked in the forest with my family. It was one of those lovely winter-days +which assert the capacity of nature to bestow beauty on barrenness. The +leafless trees spread their fibrous branches against the pure sky; their +intricate and pervious tracery resembled delicate sea-weed; the deer were +turning up the snow in search of the hidden grass; the white was made intensely +dazzling by the sun, and trunks of the trees, rendered more conspicuous by the +loss of preponderating foliage, gathered around like the labyrinthine columns +of a vast temple; it was impossible not to receive pleasure from the sight of +these things. Our children, freed from the bondage of winter, bounded before +us; pursuing the deer, or rousing the pheasants and partridges from their +coverts. Idris leant on my arm; her sadness yielded to the present sense of +pleasure. We met other families on the Long Walk, enjoying like ourselves the +return of the genial season. At once, I seemed to awake; I cast off the +clinging sloth of the past months; earth assumed a new appearance, and my view +of the future was suddenly made clear. I exclaimed, “I have now found out +the secret!” +</p> + +<p> +“What secret?” +</p> + +<p> +In answer to this question, I described our gloomy winter-life, our sordid +cares, our menial labours:—“This northern country,” I said, +“is no place for our diminished race. When mankind were few, it was not +here that they battled with the powerful agents of nature, and were enabled to +cover the globe with offspring. We must seek some natural Paradise, some garden +of the earth, where our simple wants may be easily supplied, and the enjoyment +of a delicious climate compensate for the social pleasures we have lost. If we +survive this coming summer, I will not spend the ensuing winter in England; +neither I nor any of us.” +</p> + +<p> +I spoke without much heed, and the very conclusion of what I said brought with +it other thoughts. Should we, any of us, survive the coming summer? I saw the +brow of Idris clouded; I again felt, that we were enchained to the car of fate, +over whose coursers we had no control. We could no longer say, This we will do, +and this we will leave undone. A mightier power than the human was at hand to +destroy our plans or to achieve the work we avoided. It were madness to +calculate upon another winter. This was our last. The coming summer was the +extreme end of our vista; and, when we arrived there, instead of a continuation +of the long road, a gulph yawned, into which we must of force be precipitated. +The last blessing of humanity was wrested from us; we might no longer hope. Can +the madman, as he clanks his chains, hope? Can the wretch, led to the scaffold, +who when he lays his head on the block, marks the double shadow of himself and +the executioner, whose uplifted arm bears the axe, hope? Can the ship-wrecked +mariner, who spent with swimming, hears close behind the splashing waters +divided by a shark which pursues him through the Atlantic, hope? Such hope as +theirs, we also may entertain! +</p> + +<p> +Old fable tells us, that this gentle spirit sprung from the box of Pandora, +else crammed with evils; but these were unseen and null, while all admired the +inspiriting loveliness of young Hope; each man’s heart became her home; +she was enthroned sovereign of our lives, here and here-after; she was deified +and worshipped, declared incorruptible and everlasting. But like all other +gifts of the Creator to Man, she is mortal; her life has attained its last +hour. We have watched over her; nursed her flickering existence; now she has +fallen at once from youth to decrepitude, from health to immedicinable disease; +even as we spend ourselves in struggles for her recovery, she dies; to all +nations the voice goes forth, Hope is dead! We are but mourners in the funeral +train, and what immortal essence or perishable creation will refuse to make one +in the sad procession that attends to its grave the dead comforter of humanity? +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Does not the sun call in his light? and day<br/> +Like a thin exhalation melt away—<br/> +Both wrapping up their beams in clouds to be<br/> +Themselves close mourners at this obsequie.<a href="#fn18" name="fnref18"><sup>[18]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn16"></a> <a href="#fnref16">[16]</a> +Wordsworth. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn17"></a> <a href="#fnref17">[17]</a> +Prior’s “Solomon.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn18"></a> <a href="#fnref18">[18]</a> +Cleveland’s Poems. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="vol03"></a>VOL. III.</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<p> +Hear you not the rushing sound of the coming tempest? Do you not behold the +clouds open, and destruction lurid and dire pour down on the blasted earth? See +you not the thunderbolt fall, and are deafened by the shout of heaven that +follows its descent? Feel you not the earth quake and open with agonizing +groans, while the air is pregnant with shrieks and wailings,— all +announcing the last days of man? No! none of these things accompanied our fall! +The balmy air of spring, breathed from nature’s ambrosial home, invested +the lovely earth, which wakened as a young mother about to lead forth in pride +her beauteous offspring to meet their sire who had been long absent. The buds +decked the trees, the flowers adorned the land: the dark branches, swollen with +seasonable juices, expanded into leaves, and the variegated foliage of spring, +bending and singing in the breeze, rejoiced in the genial warmth of the +unclouded empyrean: the brooks flowed murmuring, the sea was waveless, and the +promontories that over-hung it were reflected in the placid waters; birds awoke +in the woods, while abundant food for man and beast sprung up from the dark +ground. Where was pain and evil? Not in the calm air or weltering ocean; not in +the woods or fertile fields, nor among the birds that made the woods resonant +with song, nor the animals that in the midst of plenty basked in the sunshine. +Our enemy, like the Calamity of Homer, trod our hearts, and no sound was echoed +from her steps— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +With ills the land is rife, with ills the sea,<br/> +Diseases haunt our frail humanity,<br/> +Through noon, through night, on casual wing they glide,<br/> +Silent,—a voice the power all-wise denied.<a href="#fn19" name="fnref19"><sup>[19]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p> +Once man was a favourite of the Creator, as the royal psalmist sang, “God +had made him a little lower than the angels, and had crowned him with glory and +honour. God made him to have dominion over the works of his hands, and put all +things under his feet.” Once it was so; now is man lord of the creation? +Look at him—ha! I see plague! She has invested his form, is incarnate in +his flesh, has entwined herself with his being, and blinds his heaven-seeking +eyes. Lie down, O man, on the flower-strown earth; give up all claim to your +inheritance, all you can ever possess of it is the small cell which the dead +require. Plague is the companion of spring, of sunshine, and plenty. We no +longer struggle with her. We have forgotten what we did when she was not. Of +old navies used to stem the giant ocean-waves betwixt Indus and the Pole for +slight articles of luxury. Men made perilous journies to possess themselves of +earth’s splendid trifles, gems and gold. Human labour was +wasted—human life set at nought. Now life is all that we covet; that this +automaton of flesh should, with joints and springs in order, perform its +functions, that this dwelling of the soul should be capable of containing its +dweller. Our minds, late spread abroad through countless spheres and endless +combinations of thought, now retrenched themselves behind this wall of flesh, +eager to preserve its well-being only. We were surely sufficiently degraded. +</p> + +<p> +At first the increase of sickness in spring brought increase of toil to such of +us, who, as yet spared to life, bestowed our time and thoughts on our fellow +creatures. We nerved ourselves to the task: “in the midst of despair we +performed the tasks of hope.” We went out with the resolution of +disputing with our foe. We aided the sick, and comforted the sorrowing; turning +from the multitudinous dead to the rare survivors, with an energy of desire +that bore the resemblance of power, we bade them—live. Plague sat +paramount the while, and laughed us to scorn. +</p> + +<p> +Have any of you, my readers, observed the ruins of an anthill immediately after +its destruction? At first it appears entirely deserted of its former +inhabitants; in a little time you see an ant struggling through the upturned +mould; they reappear by twos and threes, running hither and thither in search +of their lost companions. Such were we upon earth, wondering aghast at the +effects of pestilence. Our empty habitations remained, but the dwellers were +gathered to the shades of the tomb. +</p> + +<p> +As the rules of order and pressure of laws were lost, some began with +hesitation and wonder to transgress the accustomed uses of society. Palaces +were deserted, and the poor man dared at length, unreproved, intrude into the +splendid apartments, whose very furniture and decorations were an unknown world +to him. It was found, that, though at first the stop put to all circulation of +property, had reduced those before supported by the factitious wants of society +to sudden and hideous poverty, yet when the boundaries of private possession +were thrown down, the products of human labour at present existing were more, +far more, than the thinned generation could possibly consume. To some among the +poor this was matter of exultation. We were all equal now; magnificent +dwellings, luxurious carpets, and beds of down, were afforded to all. Carriages +and horses, gardens, pictures, statues, and princely libraries, there were +enough of these even to superfluity; and there was nothing to prevent each from +assuming possession of his share. We were all equal now; but near at hand was +an equality still more levelling, a state where beauty and strength, and +wisdom, would be as vain as riches and birth. The grave yawned beneath us all, +and its prospect prevented any of us from enjoying the ease and plenty which in +so awful a manner was presented to us. +</p> + +<p> +Still the bloom did not fade on the cheeks of my babes; and Clara sprung up in +years and growth, unsullied by disease. We had no reason to think the site of +Windsor Castle peculiarly healthy, for many other families had expired beneath +its roof; we lived therefore without any particular precaution; but we lived, +it seemed, in safety. If Idris became thin and pale, it was anxiety that +occasioned the change; an anxiety I could in no way alleviate. She never +complained, but sleep and appetite fled from her, a slow fever preyed on her +veins, her colour was hectic, and she often wept in secret; gloomy +prognostications, care, and agonizing dread, ate up the principle of life +within her. I could not fail to perceive this change. I often wished that I had +permitted her to take her own course, and engage herself in such labours for +the welfare of others as might have distracted her thoughts. But it was too +late now. Besides that, with the nearly extinct race of man, all our toils grew +near a conclusion, she was too weak; consumption, if so it might be called, or +rather the over active life within her, which, as with Adrian, spent the vital +oil in the early morning hours, deprived her limbs of strength. At night, when +she could leave me unperceived, she wandered through the house, or hung over +the couches of her children; and in the day time would sink into a perturbed +sleep, while her murmurs and starts betrayed the unquiet dreams that vexed her. +As this state of wretchedness became more confirmed, and, in spite of her +endeavours at concealment more apparent, I strove, though vainly, to awaken in +her courage and hope. I could not wonder at the vehemence of her care; her very +soul was tenderness; she trusted indeed that she should not outlive me if I +became the prey of the vast calamity, and this thought sometimes relieved her. +We had for many years trod the highway of life hand in hand, and still thus +linked, we might step within the shades of death; but her children, her lovely, +playful, animated children—beings sprung from her own dear +side—portions of her own being—depositories of our loves—even +if we died, it would be comfort to know that they ran man’s accustomed +course. But it would not be so; young and blooming as they were, they would +die, and from the hopes of maturity, from the proud name of attained manhood, +they were cut off for ever. Often with maternal affection she had figured their +merits and talents exerted on life’s wide stage. Alas for these latter +days! The world had grown old, and all its inmates partook of the decrepitude. +Why talk of infancy, manhood, and old age? We all stood equal sharers of the +last throes of time-worn nature. Arrived at the same point of the world’s +age—there was no difference in us; the name of parent and child had lost +their meaning; young boys and girls were level now with men. This was all true; +but it was not less agonizing to take the admonition home. +</p> + +<p> +Where could we turn, and not find a desolation pregnant with the dire lesson of +example? The fields had been left uncultivated, weeds and gaudy flowers sprung +up,—or where a few wheat-fields shewed signs of the living hopes of the +husbandman, the work had been left halfway, the ploughman had died beside the +plough; the horses had deserted the furrow, and no seedsman had approached the +dead; the cattle unattended wandered over the fields and through the lanes; the +tame inhabitants of the poultry yard, baulked of their daily food, had become +wild—young lambs were dropt in flower-gardens, and the cow stalled in the +hall of pleasure. Sickly and few, the country people neither went out to sow +nor reap; but sauntered about the meadows, or lay under the hedges, when the +inclement sky did not drive them to take shelter under the nearest roof. Many +of those who remained, secluded themselves; some had laid up stores which +should prevent the necessity of leaving their homes;—some deserted wife +and child, and imagined that they secured their safety in utter solitude. Such +had been Ryland’s plan, and he was discovered dead and half-devoured by +insects, in a house many miles from any other, with piles of food laid up in +useless superfluity. Others made long journies to unite themselves to those +they loved, and arrived to find them dead. +</p> + +<p> +London did not contain above a thousand inhabitants; and this number was +continually diminishing. Most of them were country people, come up for the sake +of change; the Londoners had sought the country. The busy eastern part of the +town was silent, or at most you saw only where, half from cupidity, half from +curiosity, the warehouses had been more ransacked than pillaged: bales of rich +India goods, shawls of price, jewels, and spices, unpacked, strewed the floors. +In some places the possessor had to the last kept watch on his store, and died +before the barred gates. The massy portals of the churches swung creaking on +their hinges; and some few lay dead on the pavement. The wretched female, +loveless victim of vulgar brutality, had wandered to the toilet of high-born +beauty, and, arraying herself in the garb of splendour, had died before the +mirror which reflected to herself alone her altered appearance. Women whose +delicate feet had seldom touched the earth in their luxury, had fled in fright +and horror from their homes, till, losing themselves in the squalid streets of +the metropolis, they had died on the threshold of poverty. The heart sickened +at the variety of misery presented; and, when I saw a specimen of this gloomy +change, my soul ached with the fear of what might befall my beloved Idris and +my babes. Were they, surviving Adrian and myself, to find themselves +protectorless in the world? As yet the mind alone had suffered—could I +for ever put off the time, when the delicate frame and shrinking nerves of my +child of prosperity, the nursling of rank and wealth, who was my companion, +should be invaded by famine, hardship, and disease? Better die at +once—better plunge a poinard in her bosom, still untouched by drear +adversity, and then again sheathe it in my own! But, no; in times of misery we +must fight against our destinies, and strive not to be overcome by them. I +would not yield, but to the last gasp resolutely defended my dear ones against +sorrow and pain; and if I were vanquished at last, it should not be +ingloriously. I stood in the gap, resisting the enemy—the impalpable, +invisible foe, who had so long besieged us—as yet he had made no breach: +it must be my care that he should not, secretly undermining, burst up within +the very threshold of the temple of love, at whose altar I daily sacrificed. +The hunger of Death was now stung more sharply by the diminution of his food: +or was it that before, the survivors being many, the dead were less eagerly +counted? Now each life was a gem, each human breathing form of far, O! far more +worth than subtlest imagery of sculptured stone; and the daily, nay, hourly +decrease visible in our numbers, visited the heart with sickening misery. This +summer extinguished our hopes, the vessel of society was wrecked, and the +shattered raft, which carried the few survivors over the sea of misery, was +riven and tempest tost. Man existed by twos and threes; man, the individual who +might sleep, and wake, and perform the animal functions; but man, in himself +weak, yet more powerful in congregated numbers than wind or ocean; man, the +queller of the elements, the lord of created nature, the peer of demi-gods, +existed no longer. +</p> + +<p> +Farewell to the patriotic scene, to the love of liberty and well earned meed of +virtuous aspiration!—farewell to crowded senate, vocal with the councils +of the wise, whose laws were keener than the sword blade tempered at +Damascus!—farewell to kingly pomp and warlike pageantry; the crowns are +in the dust, and the wearers are in their graves!—farewell to the desire +of rule, and the hope of victory; to high vaulting ambition, to the appetite +for praise, and the craving for the suffrage of their fellows! The nations are +no longer! No senate sits in council for the dead; no scion of a time honoured +dynasty pants to rule over the inhabitants of a charnel house; the +general’s hand is cold, and the soldier has his untimely grave dug in his +native fields, unhonoured, though in youth. The market-place is empty, the +candidate for popular favour finds none whom he can represent. To chambers of +painted state farewell!—To midnight revelry, and the panting emulation of +beauty, to costly dress and birth-day shew, to title and the gilded coronet, +farewell! +</p> + +<p> +Farewell to the giant powers of man,—to knowledge that could pilot the +deep-drawing bark through the opposing waters of shoreless ocean,—to +science that directed the silken balloon through the pathless air,—to the +power that could put a barrier to mighty waters, and set in motion wheels, and +beams, and vast machinery, that could divide rocks of granite or marble, and +make the mountains plain! +</p> + +<p> +Farewell to the arts,—to eloquence, which is to the human mind as the +winds to the sea, stirring, and then allaying it;—farewell to poetry and +deep philosophy, for man’s imagination is cold, and his enquiring mind +can no longer expatiate on the wonders of life, for “there is no work, +nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom in the grave, whither thou +goest!”—to the graceful building, which in its perfect proportion +transcended the rude forms of nature, the fretted gothic and massy saracenic +pile, to the stupendous arch and glorious dome, the fluted column with its +capital, Corinthian, Ionic, or Doric, the peristyle and fair entablature, whose +harmony of form is to the eye as musical concord to the ear!—farewell to +sculpture, where the pure marble mocks human flesh, and in the plastic +expression of the culled excellencies of the human shape, shines forth the +god!—farewell to painting, the high wrought sentiment and deep knowledge +of the artists’s mind in pictured canvas—to paradisaical scenes, +where trees are ever vernal, and the ambrosial air rests in perpetual +glow:—to the stamped form of tempest, and wildest uproar of universal +nature encaged in the narrow frame, O farewell! Farewell to music, and the +sound of song; to the marriage of instruments, where the concord of soft and +harsh unites in sweet harmony, and gives wings to the panting listeners, +whereby to climb heaven, and learn the hidden pleasures of the +eternals!—Farewell to the well-trod stage; a truer tragedy is enacted on +the world’s ample scene, that puts to shame mimic grief: to high-bred +comedy, and the low buffoon, farewell!—Man may laugh no more. Alas! to +enumerate the adornments of humanity, shews, by what we have lost, how +supremely great man was. It is all over now. He is solitary; like our first +parents expelled from Paradise, he looks back towards the scene he has quitted. +The high walls of the tomb, and the flaming sword of plague, lie between it and +him. Like to our first parents, the whole earth is before him, a wide desart. +Unsupported and weak, let him wander through fields where the unreaped corn +stands in barren plenty, through copses planted by his fathers, through towns +built for his use. Posterity is no more; fame, and ambition, and love, are +words void of meaning; even as the cattle that grazes in the field, do thou, O +deserted one, lie down at evening-tide, unknowing of the past, careless of the +future, for from such fond ignorance alone canst thou hope for ease! +</p> + +<p> +Joy paints with its own colours every act and thought. The happy do not feel +poverty—for delight is as a gold-tissued robe, and crowns them with +priceless gems. Enjoyment plays the cook to their homely fare, and mingles +intoxication with their simple drink. Joy strews the hard couch with roses, and +makes labour ease. +</p> + +<p> +Sorrow doubles the burthen to the bent-down back; plants thorns in the +unyielding pillow; mingles gall with water; adds saltness to their bitter +bread; cloathing them in rags, and strewing ashes on their bare heads. To our +irremediable distress every small and pelting inconvenience came with added +force; we had strung our frames to endure the Atlean weight thrown on us; we +sank beneath the added feather chance threw on us, “the grasshopper was a +burthen.” Many of the survivors had been bred in luxury—their +servants were gone, their powers of command vanished like unreal shadows: the +poor even suffered various privations; and the idea of another winter like the +last, brought affright to our minds. Was it not enough that we must die, but +toil must be added?—must we prepare our funeral repast with labour, and +with unseemly drudgery heap fuel on our deserted hearths —must we with +servile hands fabricate the garments, soon to be our shroud? +</p> + +<p> +Not so! We are presently to die, let us then enjoy to its full relish the +remnant of our lives. Sordid care, avaunt! menial labours, and pains, slight in +themselves, but too gigantic for our exhausted strength, shall make no part of +our ephemeral existences. In the beginning of time, when, as now, man lived by +families, and not by tribes or nations, they were placed in a genial clime, +where earth fed them untilled, and the balmy air enwrapt their reposing limbs +with warmth more pleasant than beds of down. The south is the native place of +the human race; the land of fruits, more grateful to man than the hard-earned +Ceres of the north,—of trees, whose boughs are as a palace-roof, of +couches of roses, and of the thirst-appeasing grape. We need not there fear +cold and hunger. +</p> + +<p> +Look at England! the grass shoots up high in the meadows; but they are dank and +cold, unfit bed for us. Corn we have none, and the crude fruits cannot support +us. We must seek firing in the bowels of the earth, or the unkind atmosphere +will fill us with rheums and aches. The labour of hundreds of thousands alone +could make this inclement nook fit habitation for one man. To the south then, +to the sun!—where nature is kind, where Jove has showered forth the +contents of Amalthea’s horn, and earth is garden. +</p> + +<p> +England, late birth-place of excellence and school of the wise, thy children +are gone, thy glory faded! Thou, England, wert the triumph of man! Small favour +was shewn thee by thy Creator, thou Isle of the North; a ragged canvas +naturally, painted by man with alien colours; but the hues he gave are faded, +never more to be renewed. So we must leave thee, thou marvel of the world; we +must bid farewell to thy clouds, and cold, and scarcity for ever! Thy manly +hearts are still; thy tale of power and liberty at its close! Bereft of man, O +little isle! the ocean waves will buffet thee, and the raven flap his wings +over thee; thy soil will be birth-place of weeds, thy sky will canopy +barrenness. It was not for the rose of Persia thou wert famous, nor the banana +of the east; not for the spicy gales of India, nor the sugar groves of America; +not for thy vines nor thy double harvests, nor for thy vernal airs, nor +solstitial sun—but for thy children, their unwearied industry and lofty +aspiration. They are gone, and thou goest with them the oft trodden path that +leads to oblivion, — +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Farewell, sad Isle, farewell, thy fatal glory<br/> +Is summed, cast up, and cancelled in this story.<a href="#fn20" name="fnref20"><sup>[20]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn19"></a> <a href="#fnref19">[19]</a> +Elton’s translation of Hesiod. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn20"></a> <a href="#fnref20">[20]</a> +Cleveland’s Poems. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<p> +In the autumn of this year 2096, the spirit of emigration crept in among the +few survivors, who, congregating from various parts of England, met in London. +This spirit existed as a breath, a wish, a far off thought, until communicated +to Adrian, who imbibed it with ardour, and instantly engaged himself in plans +for its execution. The fear of immediate death vanished with the heats of +September. Another winter was before us, and we might elect our mode of passing +it to the best advantage. Perhaps in rational philosophy none could be better +chosen than this scheme of migration, which would draw us from the immediate +scene of our woe, and, leading us through pleasant and picturesque countries, +amuse for a time our despair. The idea once broached, all were impatient to put +it in execution. +</p> + +<p> +We were still at Windsor; our renewed hopes medicined the anguish we had +suffered from the late tragedies. The death of many of our inmates had weaned +us from the fond idea, that Windsor Castle was a spot sacred from the plague; +but our lease of life was renewed for some months, and even Idris lifted her +head, as a lily after a storm, when a last sunbeam tinges its silver cup. Just +at this time Adrian came down to us; his eager looks shewed us that he was full +of some scheme. He hastened to take me aside, and disclosed to me with rapidity +his plan of emigration from England. +</p> + +<p> +To leave England for ever! to turn from its polluted fields and groves, and, +placing the sea between us, to quit it, as a sailor quits the rock on which he +has been wrecked, when the saving ship rides by. Such was his plan. +</p> + +<p> +To leave the country of our fathers, made holy by their graves!—We could +not feel even as a voluntary exile of old, who might for pleasure or +convenience forsake his native soil; though thousands of miles might divide +him, England was still a part of him, as he of her. He heard of the passing +events of the day; he knew that, if he returned, and resumed his place in +society, the entrance was still open, and it required but the will, to surround +himself at once with the associations and habits of boyhood. Not so with us, +the remnant. We left none to represent us, none to repeople the desart land, +and the name of England died, when we left her, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +In vagabond pursuit of dreadful safety. +</p> + +<p> +Yet let us go! England is in her shroud,—we may not enchain ourselves to +a corpse. Let us go—the world is our country now, and we will choose for +our residence its most fertile spot. Shall we, in these desart halls, under +this wintry sky, sit with closed eyes and folded hands, expecting death? Let us +rather go out to meet it gallantly: or perhaps—for all this pendulous +orb, this fair gem in the sky’s diadem, is not surely +plague-striken—perhaps, in some secluded nook, amidst eternal spring, and +waving trees, and purling streams, we may find Life. The world is vast, and +England, though her many fields and wide spread woods seem interminable, is but +a small part of her. At the close of a day’s march over high mountains +and through snowy vallies, we may come upon health, and committing our loved +ones to its charge, replant the uprooted tree of humanity, and send to late +posterity the tale of the ante-pestilential race, the heroes and sages of the +lost state of things. +</p> + +<p> +Hope beckons and sorrow urges us, the heart beats high with expectation, and +this eager desire of change must be an omen of success. O come! Farewell to the +dead! farewell to the tombs of those we loved!—farewell to giant London +and the placid Thames, to river and mountain or fair district, birth-place of +the wise and good, to Windsor Forest and its antique castle, farewell! themes +for story alone are they,—we must live elsewhere. +</p> + +<p> +Such were in part the arguments of Adrian, uttered with enthusiasm and +unanswerable rapidity. Something more was in his heart, to which he dared not +give words. He felt that the end of time was come; he knew that one by one we +should dwindle into nothingness. It was not adviseable to wait this sad +consummation in our native country; but travelling would give us our object for +each day, that would distract our thoughts from the swift-approaching end of +things. If we went to Italy, to sacred and eternal Rome, we might with greater +patience submit to the decree, which had laid her mighty towers low. We might +lose our selfish grief in the sublime aspect of its desolation. All this was in +the mind of Adrian; but he thought of my children, and, instead of +communicating to me these resources of despair, he called up the image of +health and life to be found, where we knew not—when we knew not; but if +never to be found, for ever and for ever to be sought. He won me over to his +party, heart and soul. +</p> + +<p> +It devolved on me to disclose our plan to Idris. The images of health and hope +which I presented to her, made her with a smile consent. With a smile she +agreed to leave her country, from which she had never before been absent, and +the spot she had inhabited from infancy; the forest and its mighty trees, the +woodland paths and green recesses, where she had played in childhood, and had +lived so happily through youth; she would leave them without regret, for she +hoped to purchase thus the lives of her children. They were her life; dearer +than a spot consecrated to love, dearer than all else the earth contained. The +boys heard with childish glee of our removal: Clara asked if we were to go to +Athens. “It is possible,” I replied; and her countenance became +radiant with pleasure. There she would behold the tomb of her parents, and the +territory filled with recollections of her father’s glory. In silence, +but without respite, she had brooded over these scenes. It was the recollection +of them that had turned her infant gaiety to seriousness, and had impressed her +with high and restless thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +There were many dear friends whom we must not leave behind, humble though they +were. There was the spirited and obedient steed which Lord Raymond had given +his daughter; there was Alfred’s dog and a pet eagle, whose sight was +dimmed through age. But this catalogue of favourites to be taken with us, could +not be made without grief to think of our heavy losses, and a deep sigh for the +many things we must leave behind. The tears rushed into the eyes of Idris, +while Alfred and Evelyn brought now a favourite rose tree, now a marble vase +beautifully carved, insisting that these must go, and exclaiming on the pity +that we could not take the castle and the forest, the deer and the birds, and +all accustomed and cherished objects along with us. “Fond and foolish +ones,” I said, “we have lost for ever treasures far more precious +than these; and we desert them, to preserve treasures to which in comparison +they are nothing. Let us not for a moment forget our object and our hope; and +they will form a resistless mound to stop the overflowing of our regret for +trifles.” +</p> + +<p> +The children were easily distracted, and again returned to their prospect of +future amusement. Idris had disappeared. She had gone to hide her weakness; +escaping from the castle, she had descended to the little park, and sought +solitude, that she might there indulge her tears; I found her clinging round an +old oak, pressing its rough trunk with her roseate lips, as her tears fell +plenteously, and her sobs and broken exclamations could not be suppressed; with +surpassing grief I beheld this loved one of my heart thus lost in sorrow! I +drew her towards me; and, as she felt my kisses on her eyelids, as she felt my +arms press her, she revived to the knowledge of what remained to her. +“You are very kind not to reproach me,” she said: “I weep, +and a bitter pang of intolerable sorrow tears my heart. And yet I am happy; +mothers lament their children, wives lose their husbands, while you and my +children are left to me. Yes, I am happy, most happy, that I can weep thus for +imaginary sorrows, and that the slight loss of my adored country is not +dwindled and annihilated in mightier misery. Take me where you will; where you +and my children are, there shall be Windsor, and every country will be England +to me. Let these tears flow not for myself, happy and ungrateful as I am, but +for the dead world—for our lost country—for all of love, and life, +and joy, now choked in the dusty chambers of death.” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke quickly, as if to convince herself; she turned her eyes from the +trees and forest-paths she loved; she hid her face in my bosom, and we— +yes, <i>my</i> masculine firmness dissolved—we wept together consolatory +tears, and then calm—nay, almost cheerful, we returned to the castle. +</p> + +<p> +The first cold weather of an English October, made us hasten our preparations. +I persuaded Idris to go up to London, where she might better attend to +necessary arrangements. I did not tell her, that to spare her the pang of +parting from inanimate objects, now the only things left, I had resolved that +we should none of us return to Windsor. For the last time we looked on the wide +extent of country visible from the terrace, and saw the last rays of the sun +tinge the dark masses of wood variegated by autumnal tints; the uncultivated +fields and smokeless cottages lay in shadow below; the Thames wound through the +wide plain, and the venerable pile of Eton college, stood in dark relief, a +prominent object; the cawing of the myriad rooks which inhabited the trees of +the little park, as in column or thick wedge they speeded to their nests, +disturbed the silence of evening. Nature was the same, as when she was the kind +mother of the human race; now, childless and forlorn, her fertility was a +mockery; her loveliness a mask for deformity. Why should the breeze gently stir +the trees, man felt not its refreshment? Why did dark night adorn herself with +stars—man saw them not? Why are there fruits, or flowers, or streams, man +is not here to enjoy them? +</p> + +<p> +Idris stood beside me, her dear hand locked in mine. Her face was radiant with +a smile.—“The sun is alone,” she said, “but we are not. +A strange star, my Lionel, ruled our birth; sadly and with dismay we may look +upon the annihilation of man; but we remain for each other. Did I ever in the +wide world seek other than thee? And since in the wide world thou remainest, +why should I complain? Thou and nature are still true to me. Beneath the shades +of night, and through the day, whose garish light displays our solitude, thou +wilt still be at my side, and even Windsor will not be regretted.” +</p> + +<p> +I had chosen night time for our journey to London, that the change and +desolation of the country might be the less observable. Our only surviving +servant drove us. We past down the steep hill, and entered the dusky avenue of +the Long Walk. At times like these, minute circumstances assume giant and +majestic proportions; the very swinging open of the white gate that admitted us +into the forest, arrested my thoughts as matter of interest; it was an every +day act, never to occur again! The setting crescent of the moon glittered +through the massy trees to our right, and when we entered the park, we scared a +troop of deer, that fled bounding away in the forest shades. Our two boys +quietly slept; once, before our road turned from the view, I looked back on the +castle. Its windows glistened in the moonshine, and its heavy outline lay in a +dark mass against the sky—the trees near us waved a solemn dirge to the +midnight breeze. Idris leaned back in the carriage; her two hands pressed mine, +her countenance was placid, she seemed to lose the sense of what she now left, +in the memory of what she still possessed. +</p> + +<p> +My thoughts were sad and solemn, yet not of unmingled pain. The very excess of +our misery carried a relief with it, giving sublimity and elevation to sorrow. +I felt that I carried with me those I best loved; I was pleased, after a long +separation to rejoin Adrian; never again to part. I felt that I quitted what I +loved, not what loved me. The castle walls, and long familiar trees, did not +hear the parting sound of our carriage-wheels with regret. And, while I felt +Idris to be near, and heard the regular breathing of my children, I could not +be unhappy. Clara was greatly moved; with streaming eyes, suppressing her sobs, +she leaned from the window, watching the last glimpse of her native Windsor. +</p> + +<p> +Adrian welcomed us on our arrival. He was all animation; you could no longer +trace in his look of health, the suffering valetudinarian; from his smile and +sprightly tones you could not guess that he was about to lead forth from their +native country, the numbered remnant of the English nation, into the tenantless +realms of the south, there to die, one by one, till the LAST MAN should remain +in a voiceless, empty world. +</p> + +<p> +Adrian was impatient for our departure, and had advanced far in his +preparations. His wisdom guided all. His care was the soul, to move the +luckless crowd, who relied wholly on him. It was useless to provide many +things, for we should find abundant provision in every town. It was +Adrian’s wish to prevent all labour; to bestow a festive appearance on +this funeral train. Our numbers amounted to not quite two thousand persons. +These were not all assembled in London, but each day witnessed the arrival of +fresh numbers, and those who resided in the neighbouring towns, had received +orders to assemble at one place, on the twentieth of November. Carriages and +horses were provided for all; captains and under officers chosen, and the whole +assemblage wisely organized. All obeyed the Lord Protector of dying England; +all looked up to him. His council was chosen, it consisted of about fifty +persons. Distinction and station were not the qualifications of their election. +We had no station among us, but that which benevolence and prudence gave; no +distinction save between the living and the dead. Although we were anxious to +leave England before the depth of winter, yet we were detained. Small parties +had been dispatched to various parts of England, in search of stragglers; we +would not go, until we had assured ourselves that in all human probability we +did not leave behind a single human being. +</p> + +<p> +On our arrival in London, we found that the aged Countess of Windsor was +residing with her son in the palace of the Protectorate; we repaired to our +accustomed abode near Hyde Park. Idris now for the first time for many years +saw her mother, anxious to assure herself that the childishness of old age did +not mingle with unforgotten pride, to make this high-born dame still so +inveterate against me. Age and care had furrowed her cheeks, and bent her form; +but her eye was still bright, her manners authoritative and unchanged; she +received her daughter coldly, but displayed more feeling as she folded her +grand-children in her arms. It is our nature to wish to continue our systems +and thoughts to posterity through our own offspring. The Countess had failed in +this design with regard to her children; perhaps she hoped to find the next +remove in birth more tractable. Once Idris named me casually—a frown, a +convulsive gesture of anger, shook her mother, and, with voice trembling with +hate, she said—“I am of little worth in this world; the young are +impatient to push the old off the scene; but, Idris, if you do not wish to see +your mother expire at your feet, never again name that person to me; all else I +can bear; and now I am resigned to the destruction of my cherished hopes: but +it is too much to require that I should love the instrument that providence +gifted with murderous properties for my destruction.” +</p> + +<p> +This was a strange speech, now that, on the empty stage, each might play his +part without impediment from the other. But the haughty Ex-Queen thought as +Octavius Cæsar and Mark Antony, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +We could not stall together<br/> +In the whole world. +</p> + +<p> +The period of our departure was fixed for the twenty-fifth of November. The +weather was temperate; soft rains fell at night, and by day the wintry sun +shone out. Our numbers were to move forward in separate parties, and to go by +different routes, all to unite at last at Paris. Adrian and his division, +consisting in all of five hundred persons, were to take the direction of Dover +and Calais. On the twentieth of November, Adrian and I rode for the last time +through the streets of London. They were grass-grown and desert. The open doors +of the empty mansions creaked upon their hinges; rank herbage, and deforming +dirt, had swiftly accumulated on the steps of the houses; the voiceless +steeples of the churches pierced the smokeless air; the churches were open, but +no prayer was offered at the altars; mildew and damp had already defaced their +ornaments; birds, and tame animals, now homeless, had built nests, and made +their lairs in consecrated spots. We passed St. Paul’s. London, which had +extended so far in suburbs in all direction, had been somewhat deserted in the +midst, and much of what had in former days obscured this vast building was +removed. Its ponderous mass, blackened stone, and high dome, made it look, not +like a temple, but a tomb. Methought above the portico was engraved the <i>Hic +jacet</i> of England. We passed on eastwards, engaged in such solemn talk as +the times inspired. No human step was heard, nor human form discerned. Troops +of dogs, deserted of their masters, passed us; and now and then a horse, +unbridled and unsaddled, trotted towards us, and tried to attract the attention +of those which we rode, as if to allure them to seek like liberty. An unwieldy +ox, who had fed in an abandoned granary, suddenly lowed, and shewed his +shapeless form in a narrow door-way; every thing was desert; but nothing was in +ruin. And this medley of undamaged buildings, and luxurious accommodation, in +trim and fresh youth, was contrasted with the lonely silence of the unpeopled +streets. +</p> + +<p> +Night closed in, and it began to rain. We were about to return homewards, when +a voice, a human voice, strange now to hear, attracted our attention. It was a +child singing a merry, lightsome air; there was no other sound. We had +traversed London from Hyde Park even to where we now were in the Minories, and +had met no person, heard no voice nor footstep. The singing was interrupted by +laughing and talking; never was merry ditty so sadly timed, never laughter more +akin to tears. The door of the house from which these sounds proceeded was +open, the upper rooms were illuminated as for a feast. It was a large +magnificent house, in which doubtless some rich merchant had lived. The singing +again commenced, and rang through the high-roofed rooms, while we silently +ascended the stair-case. Lights now appeared to guide us; and a long suite of +splendid rooms illuminated, made us still more wonder. Their only inhabitant, a +little girl, was dancing, waltzing, and singing about them, followed by a large +Newfoundland dog, who boisterously jumping on her, and interrupting her, made +her now scold, now laugh, now throw herself on the carpet to play with him. She +was dressed grotesquely, in glittering robes and shawls fit for a woman; she +appeared about ten years of age. We stood at the door looking on this strange +scene, till the dog perceiving us barked loudly; the child turned and saw us: +her face, losing its gaiety, assumed a sullen expression: she slunk back, +apparently meditating an escape. I came up to her, and held her hand; she did +not resist, but with a stern brow, so strange in childhood, so different from +her former hilarity, she stood still, her eyes fixed on the ground. “What +do you do here?” I said gently; “Who are you?”—she was +silent, but trembled violently.—“My poor child,” asked +Adrian, “are you alone?” There was a winning softness in his voice, +that went to the heart of the little girl; she looked at him, then snatching +her hand from me, threw herself into his arms, clinging round his neck, +ejaculating—“Save me! save me!” while her unnatural +sullenness dissolved in tears. +</p> + +<p> +“I will save you,” he replied, “of what are you afraid? you +need not fear my friend, he will do you no harm. Are you alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Lion is with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And your father and mother?—” +</p> + +<p> +“I never had any; I am a charity girl. Every body is gone, gone for a +great, great many days; but if they come back and find me out, they will beat +me so!” +</p> + +<p> +Her unhappy story was told in these few words: an orphan, taken on pretended +charity, ill-treated and reviled, her oppressors had died: unknowing of what +had passed around her, she found herself alone; she had not dared venture out, +but by the continuance of her solitude her courage revived, her childish +vivacity caused her to play a thousand freaks, and with her brute companion she +passed a long holiday, fearing nothing but the return of the harsh voices and +cruel usage of her protectors. She readily consented to go with Adrian. +</p> + +<p> +In the mean time, while we descanted on alien sorrows, and on a solitude which +struck our eyes and not our hearts, while we imagined all of change and +suffering that had intervened in these once thronged streets, before, +tenantless and abandoned, they became mere kennels for dogs, and stables for +cattle:—while we read the death of the world upon the dark fane, and +hugged ourselves in the remembrance that we possessed that which was all the +world to us—in the meanwhile—- +</p> + +<p> +We had arrived from Windsor early in October, and had now been in London about +six weeks. Day by day, during that time, the health of my Idris declined: her +heart was broken; neither sleep nor appetite, the chosen servants of health, +waited on her wasted form. To watch her children hour by hour, to sit by me, +drinking deep the dear persuasion that I remained to her, was all her pastime. +Her vivacity, so long assumed, her affectionate display of cheerfulness, her +light-hearted tone and springy gait were gone. I could not disguise to myself, +nor could she conceal, her life-consuming sorrow. Still change of scene, and +reviving hopes might restore her; I feared the plague only, and she was +untouched by that. +</p> + +<p> +I had left her this evening, reposing after the fatigues of her preparations. +Clara sat beside her, relating a story to the two boys. The eyes of Idris were +closed: but Clara perceived a sudden change in the appearance of our eldest +darling; his heavy lids veiled his eyes, an unnatural colour burnt in his +cheeks, his breath became short. Clara looked at the mother; she slept, yet +started at the pause the narrator made— Fear of awakening and alarming +her, caused Clara to go on at the eager call of Evelyn, who was unaware of what +was passing. Her eyes turned alternately from Alfred to Idris; with trembling +accents she continued her tale, till she saw the child about to fall: starting +forward she caught him, and her cry roused Idris. She looked on her son. She +saw death stealing across his features; she laid him on a bed, she held drink +to his parched lips. +</p> + +<p> +Yet he might be saved. If I were there, he might be saved; perhaps it was not +the plague. Without a counsellor, what could she do? stay and behold him die! +Why at that moment was I away? “Look to him, Clara,” she exclaimed, +“I will return immediately.” +</p> + +<p> +She inquired among those who, selected as the companions of our journey, had +taken up their residence in our house; she heard from them merely that I had +gone out with Adrian. She entreated them to seek me: she returned to her child, +he was plunged in a frightful state of torpor; again she rushed down stairs; +all was dark, desert, and silent; she lost all self-possession; she ran into +the street; she called on my name. The pattering rain and howling wind alone +replied to her. Wild fear gave wings to her feet; she darted forward to seek +me, she knew not where; but, putting all her thoughts, all her energy, all her +being in speed only, most misdirected speed, she neither felt, nor feared, nor +paused, but ran right on, till her strength suddenly deserted her so suddenly, +that she had not thought to save herself. Her knees failed her, and she fell +heavily on the pavement. She was stunned for a time; but at length rose, and +though sorely hurt, still walked on, shedding a fountain of tears, stumbling at +times, going she knew not whither, only now and then with feeble voice she +called my name, adding with heart-piercing exclamations, that I was cruel and +unkind. Human being there was none to reply; and the inclemency of the night +had driven the wandering animals to the habitations they had usurped. Her thin +dress was drenched with rain; her wet hair clung round her neck; she tottered +through the dark streets; till, striking her foot against an unseen impediment, +she again fell; she could not rise; she hardly strove; but, gathering up her +limbs, she resigned herself to the fury of the elements, and the bitter grief +of her own heart. She breathed an earnest prayer to die speedily, for there was +no relief but death. While hopeless of safety for herself, she ceased to lament +for her dying child, but shed kindly, bitter tears for the grief I should +experience in losing her. While she lay, life almost suspended, she felt a +warm, soft hand on her brow, and a gentle female voice asked her, with +expressions of tender compassion, if she could not rise? That another human +being, sympathetic and kind, should exist near, roused her; half rising, with +clasped hands, and fresh springing tears, she entreated her companion to seek +for me, to bid me hasten to my dying child, to save him, for the love of +heaven, to save him! +</p> + +<p> +The woman raised her; she led her under shelter, she entreated her to return to +her home, whither perhaps I had already returned. Idris easily yielded to her +persuasions, she leaned on the arm of her friend, she endeavoured to walk on, +but irresistible faintness made her pause again and again. +</p> + +<p> +Quickened by the encreasing storm, we had hastened our return, our little +charge was placed before Adrian on his horse. There was an assemblage of +persons under the portico of our house, in whose gestures I instinctively read +some heavy change, some new misfortune. With swift alarm, afraid to ask a +single question, I leapt from my horse; the spectators saw me, knew me, and in +awful silence divided to make way for me. I snatched a light, and rushing up +stairs, and hearing a groan, without reflection I threw open the door of the +first room that presented itself. It was quite dark; but, as I stept within, a +pernicious scent assailed my senses, producing sickening qualms, which made +their way to my very heart, while I felt my leg clasped, and a groan repeated +by the person that held me. I lowered my lamp, and saw a negro half clad, +writhing under the agony of disease, while he held me with a convulsive grasp. +With mixed horror and impatience I strove to disengage myself, and fell on the +sufferer; he wound his naked festering arms round me, his face was close to +mine, and his breath, death-laden, entered my vitals. For a moment I was +overcome, my head was bowed by aching nausea; till, reflection returning, I +sprung up, threw the wretch from me, and darting up the staircase, entered the +chamber usually inhabited by my family. A dim light shewed me Alfred on a +couch; Clara trembling, and paler than whitest snow, had raised him on her arm, +holding a cup of water to his lips. I saw full well that no spark of life +existed in that ruined form, his features were rigid, his eyes glazed, his head +had fallen back. I took him from her, I laid him softly down, kissed his cold +little mouth, and turned to speak in a vain whisper, when loudest sound of +thunderlike cannon could not have reached him in his immaterial abode. +</p> + +<p> +And where was Idris? That she had gone out to seek me, and had not returned, +were fearful tidings, while the rain and driving wind clattered against the +window, and roared round the house. Added to this, the sickening sensation of +disease gained upon me; no time was to be lost, if ever I would see her again. +I mounted my horse and rode out to seek her, fancying that I heard her voice in +every gust, oppressed by fever and aching pain. +</p> + +<p> +I rode in the dark and rain through the labyrinthine streets of unpeopled +London. My child lay dead at home; the seeds of mortal disease had taken root +in my bosom; I went to seek Idris, my adored, now wandering alone, while the +waters were rushing from heaven like a cataract to bathe her dear head in chill +damp, her fair limbs in numbing cold. A female stood on the step of a door, and +called to me as I gallopped past. It was not Idris; so I rode swiftly on, until +a kind of second sight, a reflection back again on my senses of what I had seen +but not marked, made me feel sure that another figure, thin, graceful and tall, +stood clinging to the foremost person who supported her. In a minute I was +beside the suppliant, in a minute I received the sinking Idris in my arms. +Lifting her up, I placed her on the horse; she had not strength to support +herself; so I mounted behind her, and held her close to my bosom, wrapping my +riding-cloak round her, while her companion, whose well known, but changed +countenance, (it was Juliet, daughter of the Duke of L—-) could at this +moment of horror obtain from me no more than a passing glance of compassion. +She took the abandoned rein, and conducted our obedient steed homewards. Dare I +avouch it? That was the last moment of my happiness; but I was happy. Idris +must die, for her heart was broken: I must die, for I had caught the plague; +earth was a scene of desolation; hope was madness; life had married death; they +were one; but, thus supporting my fainting love, thus feeling that I must soon +die, I revelled in the delight of possessing her once more; again and again I +kissed her, and pressed her to my heart. +</p> + +<p> +We arrived at our home. I assisted her to dismount, I carried her up stairs, +and gave her into Clara’s care, that her wet garments might be changed. +Briefly I assured Adrian of her safety, and requested that we might be left to +repose. As the miser, who with trembling caution visits his treasure to count +it again and again, so I numbered each moment, and grudged every one that was +not spent with Idris. I returned swiftly to the chamber where the life of my +life reposed; before I entered the room I paused for a few seconds; for a few +seconds I tried to examine my state; sickness and shuddering ever and anon came +over me; my head was heavy, my chest oppressed, my legs bent under me; but I +threw off resolutely the swift growing symptoms of my disorder, and met Idris +with placid and even joyous looks. She was lying on a couch; carefully +fastening the door to prevent all intrusion; I sat by her, we embraced, and our +lips met in a kiss long drawn and breathless—would that moment had been +my last! +</p> + +<p> +Maternal feeling now awoke in my poor girl’s bosom, and she asked: +“And Alfred?” +</p> + +<p> +“Idris,” I replied, “we are spared to each other, we are +together; do not let any other idea intrude. I am happy; even on this fatal +night, I declare myself happy, beyond all name, all thought—what would +you more, sweet one?” +</p> + +<p> +Idris understood me: she bowed her head on my shoulder and wept. +“Why,” she again asked, “do you tremble, Lionel, what shakes +you thus?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well may I be shaken,” I replied, “happy as I am. Our child +is dead, and the present hour is dark and ominous. Well may I tremble! but, I +am happy, mine own Idris, most happy.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand thee, my kind love,” said Idris, +“thus—pale as thou art with sorrow at our loss; trembling and +aghast, though wouldest assuage my grief by thy dear assurances. I am not +happy,” (and the tears flashed and fell from under her down-cast lids), +“for we are inmates of a miserable prison, and there is no joy for us; +but the true love I bear you will render this and every other loss +endurable.” +</p> + +<p> +“We have been happy together, at least,” I said; “no future +misery can deprive us of the past. We have been true to each other for years, +ever since my sweet princess-love came through the snow to the lowly cottage of +the poverty-striken heir of the ruined Verney. Even now, that eternity is +before us, we take hope only from the presence of each other. Idris, do you +think, that when we die, we shall be divided?” +</p> + +<p> +“Die! when we die! what mean you? What secret lies hid from me in those +dreadful words?” +</p> + +<p> +“Must we not all die, dearest?” I asked with a sad smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Gracious God! are you ill, Lionel, that you speak of death? My only +friend, heart of my heart, speak!” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not think,” replied I, “that we have any of us long to +live; and when the curtain drops on this mortal scene, where, think you, we +shall find ourselves?” Idris was calmed by my unembarrassed tone and +look; she answered:—“You may easily believe that during this long +progress of the plague, I have thought much on death, and asked myself, now +that all mankind is dead to this life, to what other life they may have been +borne. Hour after hour, I have dwelt on these thoughts, and strove to form a +rational conclusion concerning the mystery of a future state. What a +scare-crow, indeed, would death be, if we were merely to cast aside the shadow +in which we now walk, and, stepping forth into the unclouded sunshine of +knowledge and love, revived with the same companions, the same affections, and +reached the fulfilment of our hopes, leaving our fears with our earthly vesture +in the grave. Alas! the same strong feeling which makes me sure that I shall +not wholly die, makes me refuse to believe that I shall live wholly as I do +now. Yet, Lionel, never, never, can I love any but you; through eternity I must +desire your society; and, as I am innocent of harm to others, and as relying +and confident as my mortal nature permits, I trust that the Ruler of the world +will never tear us asunder.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your remarks are like yourself, dear love,” replied I, +“gentle and good; let us cherish such a belief, and dismiss anxiety from +our minds. But, sweet, we are so formed, (and there is no sin, if God made our +nature, to yield to what he ordains), we are so formed, that we must love life, +and cling to it; we must love the living smile, the sympathetic touch, and +thrilling voice, peculiar to our mortal mechanism. Let us not, through security +in hereafter, neglect the present. This present moment, short as it is, is a +part of eternity, and the dearest part, since it is our own unalienably. Thou, +the hope of my futurity, art my present joy. Let me then look on thy dear eyes, +and, reading love in them, drink intoxicating pleasure.” +</p> + +<p> +Timidly, for my vehemence somewhat terrified her, Idris looked on me. My eyes +were bloodshot, starting from my head; every artery beat, methought, audibly, +every muscle throbbed, each single nerve felt. Her look of wild affright told +me, that I could no longer keep my secret:—“So it is, mine own +beloved,” I said, “the last hour of many happy ones is arrived, nor +can we shun any longer the inevitable destiny. I cannot live long—but, +again and again, I say, this moment is ours!” +</p> + +<p> +Paler than marble, with white lips and convulsed features, Idris became aware +of my situation. My arm, as I sat, encircled her waist. She felt the palm burn +with fever, even on the heart it pressed:—“One moment,” she +murmured, scarce audibly, “only one moment.”— +</p> + +<p> +She kneeled, and hiding her face in her hands, uttered a brief, but earnest +prayer, that she might fulfil her duty, and watch over me to the last. While +there was hope, the agony had been unendurable;—all was now concluded; +her feelings became solemn and calm. Even as Epicharis, unperturbed and firm, +submitted to the instruments of torture, did Idris, suppressing every sigh and +sign of grief, enter upon the endurance of torments, of which the rack and the +wheel are but faint and metaphysical symbols. +</p> + +<p> +I was changed; the tight-drawn cord that sounded so harshly was loosened, the +moment that Idris participated in my knowledge of our real situation. The +perturbed and passion-tossed waves of thought subsided, leaving only the heavy +swell that kept right on without any outward manifestation of its disturbance, +till it should break on the remote shore towards which I rapidly +advanced:—“It is true that I am sick,” I said, “and +your society, my Idris is my only medicine; come, and sit beside me.” +</p> + +<p> +She made me lie down on the couch, and, drawing a low ottoman near, sat close +to my pillow, pressing my burning hands in her cold palms. She yielded to my +feverish restlessness, and let me talk, and talked to me, on subjects strange +indeed to beings, who thus looked the last, and heard the last, of what they +loved alone in the world. We talked of times gone by; of the happy period of +our early love; of Raymond, Perdita, and Evadne. We talked of what might arise +on this desert earth, if, two or three being saved, it were slowly +re-peopled.—We talked of what was beyond the tomb; and, man in his human +shape being nearly extinct, we felt with certainty of faith, that other +spirits, other minds, other perceptive beings, sightless to us, must people +with thought and love this beauteous and imperishable universe. +</p> + +<p> +We talked—I know not how long—but, in the morning I awoke from a +painful heavy slumber; the pale cheek of Idris rested on my pillow; the large +orbs of her eyes half raised the lids, and shewed the deep blue lights beneath; +her lips were unclosed, and the slight murmurs they formed told that, even +while asleep, she suffered. “If she were dead,” I thought, +“what difference? now that form is the temple of a residing deity; those +eyes are the windows of her soul; all grace, love, and intelligence are throned +on that lovely bosom—were she dead, where would this mind, the dearer +half of mine, be? For quickly the fair proportion of this edifice would be more +defaced, than are the sand-choked ruins of the desert temples of +Palmyra.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<p> +Idris stirred and awoke; alas! she awoke to misery. She saw the signs of +disease on my countenance, and wondered how she could permit the long night to +pass without her having sought, not cure, that was impossible, but alleviation +to my sufferings. She called Adrian; my couch was quickly surrounded by friends +and assistants, and such medicines as were judged fitting were administered. It +was the peculiar and dreadful distinction of our visitation, that none who had +been attacked by the pestilence had recovered. The first symptom of the disease +was the death-warrant, which in no single instance had been followed by pardon +or reprieve. No gleam of hope therefore cheered my friends. +</p> + +<p> +While fever producing torpor, heavy pains, sitting like lead on my limbs, and +making my breast heave, were upon me; I continued insensible to every thing but +pain, and at last even to that. I awoke on the fourth morning as from a +dreamless sleep. An irritating sense of thirst, and, when I strove to speak or +move, an entire dereliction of power, was all I felt. +</p> + +<p> +For three days and nights Idris had not moved from my side. She administered to +all my wants, and never slept nor rested. She did not hope; and therefore she +neither endeavoured to read the physician’s countenance, nor to watch for +symptoms of recovery. All her thought was to attend on me to the last, and then +to lie down and die beside me. On the third night animation was suspended; to +the eye and touch of all I was dead. With earnest prayer, almost with force, +Adrian tried to draw Idris from me. He exhausted every adjuration, her +child’s welfare and his own. She shook her head, and wiped a stealing +tear from her sunk cheek, but would not yield; she entreated to be allowed to +watch me that one night only, with such affliction and meek earnestness, that +she gained her point, and sat silent and motionless, except when, stung by +intolerable remembrance, she kissed my closed eyes and pallid lips, and pressed +my stiffening hands to her beating heart. +</p> + +<p> +At dead of night, when, though it was mid winter, the cock crowed at three +o’clock, as herald of the morning change, while hanging over me, and +mourning in silent, bitter thought for the loss of all of love towards her that +had been enshrined in my heart; her dishevelled hair hung over her face, and +the long tresses fell on the bed; she saw one ringlet in motion, and the +scattered hair slightly stirred, as by a breath. It is not so, she thought, for +he will never breathe more. Several times the same thing occurred, and she only +marked it by the same reflection; till the whole ringlet waved back, and she +thought she saw my breast heave. Her first emotion was deadly fear, cold dew +stood on her brow; my eyes half opened; and, re-assured, she would have +exclaimed, “He lives!” but the words were choked by a spasm, and +she fell with a groan on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Adrian was in the chamber. After long watching, he had unwillingly fallen into +a sleep. He started up, and beheld his sister senseless on the earth, weltering +in a stream of blood that gushed from her mouth. Encreasing signs of life in me +in some degree explained her state; the surprise, the burst of joy, the +revulsion of every sentiment, had been too much for her frame, worn by long +months of care, late shattered by every species of woe and toil. She was now in +far greater danger than I, the wheels and springs of my life, once again set in +motion, acquired elasticity from their short suspension. For a long time, no +one believed that I should indeed continue to live; during the reign of the +plague upon earth, not one person, attacked by the grim disease, had recovered. +My restoration was looked on as a deception; every moment it was expected that +the evil symptoms would recur with redoubled violence, until confirmed +convalescence, absence of all fever or pain, and encreasing strength, brought +slow conviction that I had recovered from the plague. +</p> + +<p> +The restoration of Idris was more problematical. When I had been attacked by +illness, her cheeks were sunk, her form emaciated; but now, the vessel, which +had broken from the effects of extreme agitation, did not entirely heal, but +was as a channel that drop by drop drew from her the ruddy stream that vivified +her heart. Her hollow eyes and worn countenance had a ghastly appearance; her +cheek-bones, her open fair brow, the projection of the mouth, stood fearfully +prominent; you might tell each bone in the thin anatomy of her frame. Her hand +hung powerless; each joint lay bare, so that the light penetrated through and +through. It was strange that life could exist in what was wasted and worn into +a very type of death. +</p> + +<p> +To take her from these heart-breaking scenes, to lead her to forget the +world’s desolation in the variety of objects presented by travelling, and +to nurse her failing strength in the mild climate towards which we had resolved +to journey, was my last hope for her preservation. The preparations for our +departure, which had been suspended during my illness, were renewed. I did not +revive to doubtful convalescence; health spent her treasures upon me; as the +tree in spring may feel from its wrinkled limbs the fresh green break forth, +and the living sap rise and circulate, so did the renewed vigour of my frame, +the cheerful current of my blood, the new-born elasticity of my limbs, +influence my mind to cheerful endurance and pleasurable thoughts. My body, late +the heavy weight that bound me to the tomb, was exuberant with health; mere +common exercises were insufficient for my reviving strength; methought I could +emulate the speed of the race-horse, discern through the air objects at a +blinding distance, hear the operations of nature in her mute abodes; my senses +had become so refined and susceptible after my recovery from mortal disease. +</p> + +<p> +Hope, among my other blessings, was not denied to me; and I did fondly trust +that my unwearied attentions would restore my adored girl. I was therefore +eager to forward our preparations. According to the plan first laid down, we +were to have quitted London on the twenty-fifth of November; and, in pursuance +of this scheme, two-thirds of our people—<i>the</i> people— all +that remained of England, had gone forward, and had already been some weeks in +Paris. First my illness, and subsequently that of Idris, had detained Adrian +with his division, which consisted of three hundred persons, so that we now +departed on the first of January, 2098. It was my wish to keep Idris as distant +as possible from the hurry and clamour of the crowd, and to hide from her those +appearances that would remind her most forcibly of our real situation. We +separated ourselves to a great degree from Adrian, who was obliged to give his +whole time to public business. The Countess of Windsor travelled with her son. +Clara, Evelyn, and a female who acted as our attendant, were the only persons +with whom we had contact. We occupied a commodious carriage, our servant +officiated as coachman. A party of about twenty persons preceded us at a small +distance. They had it in charge to prepare our halting places and our nightly +abode. They had been selected for this service out of a great number that +offered, on account of the superior sagacity of the man who had been appointed +their leader. +</p> + +<p> +Immediately on our departure, I was delighted to find a change in Idris, which +I fondly hoped prognosticated the happiest results. All the cheerfulness and +gentle gaiety natural to her revived. She was weak, and this alteration was +rather displayed in looks and voice than in acts; but it was permanent and +real. My recovery from the plague and confirmed health instilled into her a +firm belief that I was now secure from this dread enemy. She told me that she +was sure she should recover. That she had a presentiment, that the tide of +calamity which deluged our unhappy race had now turned. That the remnant would +be preserved, and among them the dear objects of her tender affection; and that +in some selected spot we should wear out our lives together in pleasant +society. “Do not let my state of feebleness deceive you,” she said; +“I feel that I am better; there is a quick life within me, and a spirit +of anticipation that assures me, that I shall continue long to make a part of +this world. I shall throw off this degrading weakness of body, which infects +even my mind with debility, and I shall enter again on the performance of my +duties. I was sorry to leave Windsor: but now I am weaned from this local +attachment; I am content to remove to a mild climate, which will complete my +recovery. Trust me, dearest, I shall neither leave you, nor my brother, nor +these dear children; my firm determination to remain with you to the last, and +to continue to contribute to your happiness and welfare, would keep me alive, +even if grim death were nearer at hand than he really is.” +</p> + +<p> +I was only half re-assured by these expressions; I could not believe that the +over-quick flow of her blood was a sign of health, or that her burning cheeks +denoted convalescence. But I had no fears of an immediate catastrophe; nay, I +persuaded myself that she would ultimately recover. And thus cheerfulness +reigned in our little society. Idris conversed with animation on a thousand +topics. Her chief desire was to lead our thoughts from melancholy reflections; +so she drew charming pictures of a tranquil solitude, of a beauteous retreat, +of the simple manners of our little tribe, and of the patriarchal brotherhood +of love, which would survive the ruins of the populous nations which had lately +existed. We shut out from our thoughts the present, and withdrew our eyes from +the dreary landscape we traversed. Winter reigned in all its gloom. The +leafless trees lay without motion against the dun sky; the forms of frost, +mimicking the foliage of summer, strewed the ground; the paths were overgrown; +the unploughed cornfields were patched with grass and weeds; the sheep +congregated at the threshold of the cottage, the horned ox thrust his head from +the window. The wind was bleak, and frequent sleet or snow-storms, added to the +melancholy appearance wintry nature assumed. +</p> + +<p> +We arrived at Rochester, and an accident caused us to be detained there a day. +During that time, a circumstance occurred that changed our plans, and which, +alas! in its result changed the eternal course of events, turning me from the +pleasant new sprung hope I enjoyed, to an obscure and gloomy desert. But I must +give some little explanation before I proceed with the final cause of our +temporary alteration of plan, and refer again to those times when man walked +the earth fearless, before Plague had become Queen of the World. +</p> + +<p> +There resided a family in the neighbourhood of Windsor, of very humble +pretensions, but which had been an object of interest to us on account of one +of the persons of whom it was composed. The family of the Claytons had known +better days; but, after a series of reverses, the father died a bankrupt, and +the mother heartbroken, and a confirmed invalid, retired with her five children +to a little cottage between Eton and Salt Hill. The eldest of these children, +who was thirteen years old, seemed at once from the influence of adversity, to +acquire the sagacity and principle belonging to a more mature age. Her mother +grew worse and worse in health, but Lucy attended on her, and was as a tender +parent to her younger brothers and sisters, and in the meantime shewed herself +so good-humoured, social, and benevolent, that she was beloved as well as +honoured, in her little neighbourhood. +</p> + +<p> +Lucy was besides extremely pretty; so when she grew to be sixteen, it was to be +supposed, notwithstanding her poverty, that she should have admirers. One of +these was the son of a country-curate; he was a generous, frank-hearted youth, +with an ardent love of knowledge, and no mean acquirements. Though Lucy was +untaught, her mother’s conversation and manners gave her a taste for +refinements superior to her present situation. She loved the youth even without +knowing it, except that in any difficulty she naturally turned to him for aid, +and awoke with a lighter heart every Sunday, because she knew that she would be +met and accompanied by him in her evening walk with her sisters. She had +another admirer, one of the head-waiters at the inn at Salt Hill. He also was +not without pretensions to urbane superiority, such as he learnt from +gentlemen’s servants and waiting-maids, who initiating him in all the +slang of high life below stairs, rendered his arrogant temper ten times more +intrusive. Lucy did not disclaim him—she was incapable of that feeling; +but she was sorry when she saw him approach, and quietly resisted all his +endeavours to establish an intimacy. The fellow soon discovered that his rival +was preferred to him; and this changed what was at first a chance admiration +into a passion, whose main springs were envy, and a base desire to deprive his +competitor of the advantage he enjoyed over himself. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Lucy’s sad story was but a common one. Her lover’s father +died; and he was left destitute. He accepted the offer of a gentleman to go to +India with him, feeling secure that he should soon acquire an independence, and +return to claim the hand of his beloved. He became involved in the war carried +on there, was taken prisoner, and years elapsed before tidings of his existence +were received in his native land. In the meantime disastrous poverty came on +Lucy. Her little cottage, which stood looking from its trellice, covered with +woodbine and jessamine, was burnt down; and the whole of their little property +was included in the destruction. Whither betake them? By what exertion of +industry could Lucy procure them another abode? Her mother nearly bed-rid, +could not survive any extreme of famine-struck poverty. At this time her other +admirer stept forward, and renewed his offer of marriage. He had saved money, +and was going to set up a little inn at Datchet. There was nothing alluring to +Lucy in this offer, except the home it secured to her mother; and she felt more +sure of this, since she was struck by the apparent generosity which occasioned +the present offer. She accepted it; thus sacrificing herself for the comfort +and welfare of her parent. +</p> + +<p> +It was some years after her marriage that we became acquainted with her. The +accident of a storm caused us to take refuge in the inn, where we witnessed the +brutal and quarrelsome behaviour of her husband, and her patient endurance. Her +lot was not a fortunate one. Her first lover had returned with the hope of +making her his own, and met her by accident, for the first time, as the +mistress of his country inn, and the wife of another. He withdrew despairingly +to foreign parts; nothing went well with him; at last he enlisted, and came +back again wounded and sick, and yet Lucy was debarred from nursing him. Her +husband’s brutal disposition was aggravated by his yielding to the many +temptations held out by his situation, and the consequent disarrangement of his +affairs. Fortunately she had no children; but her heart was bound up in her +brothers and sisters, and these his avarice and ill temper soon drove from the +house; they were dispersed about the country, earning their livelihood with +toil and care. He even shewed an inclination to get rid of her mother—but +Lucy was firm here—she had sacrificed herself for her; she lived for her +—she would not part with her—if the mother went, she would also go +beg bread for her, die with her, but never desert her. The presence of Lucy was +too necessary in keeping up the order of the house, and in preventing the whole +establishment from going to wreck, for him to permit her to leave him. He +yielded the point; but in all accesses of anger, or in his drunken fits, he +recurred to the old topic, and stung poor Lucy’s heart by opprobrious +epithets bestowed on her parent. +</p> + +<p> +A passion however, if it be wholly pure, entire, and reciprocal, brings with it +its own solace. Lucy was truly, and from the depth of heart, devoted to her +mother; the sole end she proposed to herself in life, was the comfort and +preservation of this parent. Though she grieved for the result, yet she did not +repent of her marriage, even when her lover returned to bestow competence on +her. Three years had intervened, and how, in their pennyless state, could her +mother have existed during this time? This excellent woman was worthy of her +child’s devotion. A perfect confidence and friendship existed between +them; besides, she was by no means illiterate; and Lucy, whose mind had been in +some degree cultivated by her former lover, now found in her the only person +who could understand and appreciate her. Thus, though suffering, she was by no +means desolate, and when, during fine summer days, she led her mother into the +flowery and shady lanes near their abode, a gleam of unmixed joy enlightened +her countenance; she saw that her parent was happy, and she knew that this +happiness was of her sole creating. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile her husband’s affairs grew more and more involved; ruin was +near at hand, and she was about to lose the fruit of all her labours, when +pestilence came to change the aspect of the world. Her husband reaped benefit +from the universal misery; but, as the disaster encreased, the spirit of +lawlessness seized him; he deserted his home to revel in the luxuries promised +him in London, and found there a grave. Her former lover had been one of the +first victims of the disease. But Lucy continued to live for and in her mother. +Her courage only failed when she dreaded peril for her parent, or feared that +death might prevent her from performing those duties to which she was +unalterably devoted. +</p> + +<p> +When we had quitted Windsor for London, as the previous step to our final +emigration, we visited Lucy, and arranged with her the plan of her own and her +mother’s removal. Lucy was sorry at the necessity which forced her to +quit her native lanes and village, and to drag an infirm parent from her +comforts at home, to the homeless waste of depopulate earth; but she was too +well disciplined by adversity, and of too sweet a temper, to indulge in +repinings at what was inevitable. +</p> + +<p> +Subsequent circumstances, my illness and that of Idris, drove her from our +remembrance; and we called her to mind at last, only to conclude that she made +one of the few who came from Windsor to join the emigrants, and that she was +already in Paris. When we arrived at Rochester therefore, we were surprised to +receive, by a man just come from Slough, a letter from this exemplary sufferer. +His account was, that, journeying from his home, and passing through Datchet, +he was surprised to see smoke issue from the chimney of the inn, and supposing +that he should find comrades for his journey assembled there, he knocked and +was admitted. There was no one in the house but Lucy, and her mother; the +latter had been deprived of the use of her limbs by an attack of rheumatism, +and so, one by one, all the remaining inhabitants of the country set forward, +leaving them alone. Lucy intreated the man to stay with her; in a week or two +her mother would be better, and they would then set out; but they must perish, +if they were left thus helpless and forlorn. The man said, that his wife and +children were already among the emigrants, and it was therefore, according to +his notion, impossible for him to remain. Lucy, as a last resource, gave him a +letter for Idris, to be delivered to her wherever he should meet us. This +commission at least he fulfilled, and Idris received with emotion the following +letter:— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“H<small>ONOURED</small> L<small>ADY</small>, +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure that you will remember and pity me, and I dare hope that you +will assist me; what other hope have I? Pardon my manner of writing, I am so +bewildered. A month ago my dear mother was deprived of the use of her limbs. +She is already better, and in another month would I am sure be able to travel, +in the way you were so kind as to say you would arrange for us. But now +everybody is gone—everybody—as they went away, each said, that +perhaps my mother would be better, before we were quite deserted. But three +days ago I went to Samuel Woods, who, on account of his new-born child, +remained to the last; and there being a large family of them, I thought I could +persuade them to wait a little longer for us; but I found the house deserted. I +have not seen a soul since, till this good man came. —What will become of +us? My mother does not know our state; she is so ill, that I have hidden it +from her. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you not send some one to us? I am sure we must perish miserably as +we are. If I were to try to move my mother now, she would die on the road; and +if, when she gets better, I were able, I cannot guess how, to find out the +roads, and get on so many many miles to the sea, you would all be in France, +and the great ocean would be between us, which is so terrible even to sailors. +What would it be to me, a woman, who never saw it? We should be imprisoned by +it in this country, all, all alone, with no help; better die where we are. I +can hardly write—I cannot stop my tears—it is not for myself; I +could put my trust in God; and let the worst come, I think I could bear it, if +I were alone. But my mother, my sick, my dear, dear mother, who never, since I +was born, spoke a harsh word to me, who has been patient in many sufferings; +pity her, dear Lady, she must die a miserable death if you do not pity her. +People speak carelessly of her, because she is old and infirm, as if we must +not all, if we are spared, become so; and then, when the young are old +themselves, they will think that they ought to be taken care of. It is very +silly of me to write in this way to you; but, when I hear her trying not to +groan, and see her look smiling on me to comfort me, when I know she is in +pain; and when I think that she does not know the worst, but she soon must; and +then she will not complain; but I shall sit guessing at all that she is +dwelling upon, of famine and misery—I feel as if my heart must break, and +I do not know what I say or do; my mother—mother for whom I have borne +much, God preserve you from this fate! Preserve her, Lady, and He will bless +you; and I, poor miserable creature as I am, will thank you and pray for you +while I live. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“Your unhappy and dutiful servant,<br/> +L<small>UCY</small> M<small>ARTIN</small>.”<br/> +“<i>Dec</i>. 30<i>th</i>, 2097. +</p> + +<p> +This letter deeply affected Idris, and she instantly proposed, that we should +return to Datchet, to assist Lucy and her mother. I said that I would without +delay set out for that place, but entreated her to join her brother, and there +await my return with the children. But Idris was in high spirits, and full of +hope. She declared that she could not consent even to a temporary separation +from me, but that there was no need of this, the motion of the carriage did her +good, and the distance was too trifling to be considered. We could dispatch +messengers to Adrian, to inform him of our deviation from the original plan. +She spoke with vivacity, and drew a picture after her own dear heart, of the +pleasure we should bestow upon Lucy, and declared, if I went, she must +accompany me, and that she should very much dislike to entrust the charge of +rescuing them to others, who might fulfil it with coldness or inhumanity. +Lucy’s life had been one act of devotion and virtue; let her now reap the +small reward of finding her excellence appreciated, and her necessity assisted, +by those whom she respected and honoured. +</p> + +<p> +These, and many other arguments, were urged with gentle pertinacity, and the +ardour of a wish to do all the good in her power, by her whose simple +expression of a desire and slightest request had ever been a law with me. I, of +course, consented, the moment that I saw that she had set her heart upon this +step. We sent half our attendant troop on to Adrian; and with the other half +our carriage took a retrograde course back to Windsor. +</p> + +<p> +I wonder now how I could be so blind and senseless, as thus to risk the safety +of Idris; for, if I had eyes, surely I could see the sure, though deceitful, +advance of death in her burning cheek and encreasing weakness. But she said she +was better; and I believed her. Extinction could not be near a being, whose +vivacity and intelligence hourly encreased, and whose frame was endowed with an +intense, and I fondly thought, a strong and permanent spirit of life. Who, +after a great disaster, has not looked back with wonder at his inconceivable +obtuseness of understanding, that could not perceive the many minute threads +with which fate weaves the inextricable net of our destinies, until he is +inmeshed completely in it? +</p> + +<p> +The cross roads which we now entered upon, were even in a worse state than the +long neglected high-ways; and the inconvenience seemed to menace the perishing +frame of Idris with destruction. Passing through Dartford, we arrived at +Hampton on the second day. Even in this short interval my beloved companion +grew sensibly worse in health, though her spirits were still light, and she +cheered my growing anxiety with gay sallies; sometimes the thought pierced my +brain—Is she dying?—as I saw her fair fleshless hand rest on mine, +or observed the feebleness with which she performed the accustomed acts of +life. I drove away the idea, as if it had been suggested by insanity; but it +occurred again and again, only to be dispelled by the continued liveliness of +her manner. +</p> + +<p> +About mid-day, after quitting Hampton, our carriage broke down: the shock +caused Idris to faint, but on her reviving no other ill consequence ensued; our +party of attendants had as usual gone on before us, and our coachman went in +search of another vehicle, our former one being rendered by this accident unfit +for service. The only place near us was a poor village, in which he found a +kind of caravan, able to hold four people, but it was clumsy and ill hung; +besides this he found a very excellent cabriolet: our plan was soon arranged; I +would drive Idris in the latter; while the children were conveyed by the +servant in the former. But these arrangements cost time; we had agreed to +proceed that night to Windsor, and thither our purveyors had gone: we should +find considerable difficulty in getting accommodation, before we reached this +place; after all, the distance was only ten miles; my horse was a good one; I +would go forward at a good pace with Idris, leaving the children to follow at a +rate more consonant to the uses of their cumberous machine. +</p> + +<p> +Evening closed in quickly, far more quickly than I was prepared to expect. At +the going down of the sun it began to snow heavily. I attempted in vain to +defend my beloved companion from the storm; the wind drove the snow in our +faces; and it lay so high on the ground, that we made but small way; while the +night was so dark, that but for the white covering on the ground we should not +have been able to see a yard before us. We had left our accompanying caravan +far behind us; and now I perceived that the storm had made me unconsciously +deviate from my intended route. I had gone some miles out of my way. My +knowledge of the country enabled me to regain the right road; but, instead of +going, as at first agreed upon, by a cross road through Stanwell to Datchet, I +was obliged to take the way of Egham and Bishopgate. It was certain therefore +that I should not be rejoined by the other vehicle, that I should not meet a +single fellow-creature till we arrived at Windsor. +</p> + +<p> +The back of our carriage was drawn up, and I hung a pelisse before it, thus to +curtain the beloved sufferer from the pelting sleet. She leaned on my shoulder, +growing every moment more languid and feeble; at first she replied to my words +of cheer with affectionate thanks; but by degrees she sunk into silence; her +head lay heavily upon me; I only knew that she lived by her irregular breathing +and frequent sighs. For a moment I resolved to stop, and, opposing the back of +the cabriolet to the force of the tempest, to expect morning as well as I +might. But the wind was bleak and piercing, while the occasional shudderings of +my poor Idris, and the intense cold I felt myself, demonstrated that this would +be a dangerous experiment. At length methought she slept—fatal sleep, +induced by frost: at this moment I saw the heavy outline of a cottage traced on +the dark horizon close to us: “Dearest love,” I said, +“support yourself but one moment, and we shall have shelter; let us stop +here, that I may open the door of this blessed dwelling.” +</p> + +<p> +As I spoke, my heart was transported, and my senses swam with excessive delight +and thankfulness; I placed the head of Idris against the carriage, and, leaping +out, scrambled through the snow to the cottage, whose door was open. I had +apparatus about me for procuring light, and that shewed me a comfortable room, +with a pile of wood in one corner, and no appearance of disorder, except that, +the door having been left partly open, the snow, drifting in, had blocked up +the threshold. I returned to the carriage, and the sudden change from light to +darkness at first blinded me. When I recovered my sight—eternal God of +this lawless world! O supreme Death! I will not disturb thy silent reign, or +mar my tale with fruitless exclamations of horror—I saw Idris, who had +fallen from the seat to the bottom of the carriage; her head, its long hair +pendent, with one arm, hung over the side.—Struck by a spasm of horror, I +lifted her up; her heart was pulseless, her faded lips unfanned by the +slightest breath. +</p> + +<p> +I carried her into the cottage; I placed her on the bed. Lighting a fire, I +chafed her stiffening limbs; for two long hours I sought to restore departed +life; and, when hope was as dead as my beloved, I closed with trembling hands +her glazed eyes. I did not doubt what I should now do. In the confusion +attendant on my illness, the task of interring our darling Alfred had devolved +on his grandmother, the Ex-Queen, and she, true to her ruling passion, had +caused him to be carried to Windsor, and buried in the family vault, in St. +George’s Chapel. I must proceed to Windsor, to calm the anxiety of Clara, +who would wait anxiously for us—yet I would fain spare her the +heart-breaking spectacle of Idris, brought in by me lifeless from the journey. +So first I would place my beloved beside her child in the vault, and then seek +the poor children who would be expecting me. +</p> + +<p> +I lighted the lamps of my carriage; I wrapt her in furs, and placed her along +the seat; then taking the reins, made the horses go forward. We proceeded +through the snow, which lay in masses impeding the way, while the descending +flakes, driving against me with redoubled fury, blinded me. The pain occasioned +by the angry elements, and the cold iron of the shafts of frost which buffetted +me, and entered my aching flesh, were a relief to me; blunting my mental +suffering. The horses staggered on, and the reins hung loosely in my hands. I +often thought I would lay my head close to the sweet, cold face of my lost +angel, and thus resign myself to conquering torpor. Yet I must not leave her a +prey to the fowls of the air; but, in pursuance of my determination place her +in the tomb of her forefathers, where a merciful God might permit me to rest +also. +</p> + +<p> +The road we passed through Egham was familiar to me; but the wind and snow +caused the horses to drag their load slowly and heavily. Suddenly the wind +veered from south-west to west, and then again to north-west. As Sampson with +tug and strain stirred from their bases the columns that supported the +Philistine temple, so did the gale shake the dense vapours propped on the +horizon, while the massy dome of clouds fell to the south, disclosing through +the scattered web the clear empyrean, and the little stars, which were set at +an immeasurable distance in the crystalline fields, showered their small rays +on the glittering snow. Even the horses were cheered, and moved on with +renovated strength. We entered the forest at Bishopgate, and at the end of the +Long Walk I saw the Castle, “the proud Keep of Windsor, rising in the +majesty of proportion, girt with the double belt of its kindred and coeval +towers.” I looked with reverence on a structure, ancient almost as the +rock on which it stood, abode of kings, theme of admiration for the wise. With +greater reverence and, tearful affection I beheld it as the asylum of the long +lease of love I had enjoyed there with the perishable, unmatchable treasure of +dust, which now lay cold beside me. Now indeed, I could have yielded to all the +softness of my nature, and wept; and, womanlike, have uttered bitter plaints; +while the familiar trees, the herds of living deer, the sward oft prest by her +fairy-feet, one by one with sad association presented themselves. The white +gate at the end of the Long Walk was wide open, and I rode up the empty town +through the first gate of the feudal tower; and now St. George’s Chapel, +with its blackened fretted sides, was right before me. I halted at its door, +which was open; I entered, and placed my lighted lamp on the altar; then I +returned, and with tender caution I bore Idris up the aisle into the chancel, +and laid her softly down on the carpet which covered the step leading to the +communion table. The banners of the knights of the garter, and their half drawn +swords, were hung in vain emblazonry above the stalls. The banner of her family +hung there, still surmounted by its regal crown. Farewell to the glory and +heraldry of England!—I turned from such vanity with a slight feeling of +wonder, at how mankind could have ever been interested in such things. I bent +over the lifeless corpse of my beloved; and, while looking on her uncovered +face, the features already contracted by the rigidity of death, I felt as if +all the visible universe had grown as soulless, inane, and comfortless as the +clay-cold image beneath me. I felt for a moment the intolerable sense of +struggle with, and detestation for, the laws which govern the world; till the +calm still visible on the face of my dead love recalled me to a more soothing +tone of mind, and I proceeded to fulfil the last office that could now be paid +her. For her I could not lament, so much I envied her enjoyment of “the +sad immunities of the grave.” +</p> + +<p> +The vault had been lately opened to place our Alfred therein. The ceremony +customary in these latter days had been cursorily performed, and the pavement +of the chapel, which was its entrance, having been removed, had not been +replaced. I descended the steps, and walked through the long passage to the +large vault which contained the kindred dust of my Idris. I distinguished the +small coffin of my babe. With hasty, trembling hands I constructed a bier +beside it, spreading it with the furs and Indian shawls, which had wrapt Idris +in her journey thither. I lighted the glimmering lamp, which flickered in this +damp abode of the dead; then I bore my lost one to her last bed, decently +composing her limbs, and covering them with a mantle, veiling all except her +face, which remained lovely and placid. She appeared to rest like one +over-wearied, her beauteous eyes steeped in sweet slumber. Yet, so it was +not—she was dead! How intensely I then longed to lie down beside her, to +gaze till death should gather me to the same repose. +</p> + +<p> +But death does not come at the bidding of the miserable. I had lately recovered +from mortal illness, and my blood had never flowed with such an even current, +nor had my limbs ever been so instinct with quick life, as now. I felt that my +death must be voluntary. Yet what more natural than famine, as I watched in +this chamber of mortality, placed in a world of the dead, beside the lost hope +of my life? Meanwhile as I looked on her, the features, which bore a sisterly +resemblance to Adrian, brought my thoughts back again to the living, to this +dear friend, to Clara, and to Evelyn, who were probably now in Windsor, waiting +anxiously for our arrival. +</p> + +<p> +Methought I heard a noise, a step in the far chapel, which was re-echoed by its +vaulted roof, and borne to me through the hollow passages. Had Clara seen my +carriage pass up the town, and did she seek me here? I must save her at least +from the horrible scene the vault presented. I sprung up the steps, and then +saw a female figure, bent with age, and clad in long mourning robes, advance +through the dusky chapel, supported by a slender cane, yet tottering even with +this support. She heard me, and looked up; the lamp I held illuminated my +figure, and the moon-beams, struggling through the painted glass, fell upon her +face, wrinkled and gaunt, yet with a piercing eye and commanding brow—I +recognized the Countess of Windsor. With a hollow voice she asked, “Where +is the princess?” +</p> + +<p> +I pointed to the torn up pavement: she walked to the spot, and looked down into +the palpable darkness; for the vault was too distant for the rays of the small +lamp I had left there to be discernible. +</p> + +<p> +“Your light,” she said. I gave it her; and she regarded the now +visible, but precipitous steps, as if calculating her capacity to descend. +Instinctively I made a silent offer of my assistance. She motioned me away with +a look of scorn, saying in an harsh voice, as she pointed downwards, +“There at least I may have her undisturbed.” +</p> + +<p> +She walked deliberately down, while I, overcome, miserable beyond words, or +tears, or groans, threw myself on the pavement near—the stiffening form +of Idris was before me, the death-struck countenance hushed in eternal repose +beneath. That was to me the end of all! The day before, I had figured to my +self various adventures, and communion with my friends in after time—now +I had leapt the interval, and reached the utmost edge and bourne of life. Thus +wrapt in gloom, enclosed, walled up, vaulted over by the omnipotent present, I +was startled by the sound of feet on the steps of the tomb, and I remembered +her whom I had utterly forgotten, my angry visitant; her tall form slowly rose +upwards from the vault, a living statue, instinct with hate, and human, +passionate strife: she seemed to me as having reached the pavement of the +aisle; she stood motionless, seeking with her eyes alone, some desired +object—till, perceiving me close to her, she placed her wrinkled hand on +my arm, exclaiming with tremulous accents, “Lionel Verney, my son!” +This name, applied at such a moment by my angel’s mother, instilled into +me more respect than I had ever before felt for this disdainful lady. I bowed +my head, and kissed her shrivelled hand, and, remarking that she trembled +violently, supported her to the end of the chancel, where she sat on the steps +that led to the regal stall. She suffered herself to be led, and still holding +my hand, she leaned her head back against the stall, while the moon beams, +tinged with various colours by the painted glass, fell on her glistening eyes; +aware of her weakness, again calling to mind her long cherished dignity, she +dashed the tears away; yet they fell fast, as she said, for excuse, “She +is so beautiful and placid, even in death. No harsh feeling ever clouded her +serene brow; how did I treat her? wounding her gentle heart with savage +coldness; I had no compassion on her in past years, does she forgive me now? +Little, little does it boot to talk of repentance and forgiveness to the dead, +had I during her life once consulted her gentle wishes, and curbed my rugged +nature to do her pleasure, I should not feel thus.” +</p> + +<p> +Idris and her mother were unlike in person. The dark hair, deep-set black eyes, +and prominent features of the Ex-Queen were in entire contrast to the golden +tresses, the full blue orbs, and the soft lines and contour of her +daughter’s countenance. Yet, in latter days, illness had taken from my +poor girl the full outline of her face, and reduced it to the inflexible shape +of the bone beneath. In the form of her brow, in her oval chin, there was to be +found a resemblance to her mother; nay in some moods, their gestures were not +unlike; nor, having lived so long together, was this wonderful. +</p> + +<p> +There is a magic power in resemblance. When one we love dies, we hope to see +them in another state, and half expect that the agency of mind will inform its +new garb in imitation of its decayed earthly vesture. But these are ideas of +the mind only. We know that the instrument is shivered, the sensible image lies +in miserable fragments, dissolved to dusty nothingness; a look, a gesture, or a +fashioning of the limbs similar to the dead in a living person, touches a +thrilling chord, whose sacred harmony is felt in the heart’s dearest +recess. Strangely moved, prostrate before this spectral image, and enslaved by +the force of blood manifested in likeness of look and movement, I remained +trembling in the presence of the harsh, proud, and till now unloved mother of +Idris. +</p> + +<p> +Poor, mistaken woman! in her tenderest mood before, she had cherished the idea, +that a word, a look of reconciliation from her, would be received with joy, and +repay long years of severity. Now that the time was gone for the exercise of +such power, she fell at once upon the thorny truth of things, and felt that +neither smile nor caress could penetrate to the unconscious state, or influence +the happiness of her who lay in the vault beneath. This conviction, together +with the remembrance of soft replies to bitter speeches, of gentle looks +repaying angry glances; the perception of the falsehood, paltryness and +futility of her cherished dreams of birth and power; the overpowering +knowledge, that love and life were the true emperors of our mortal state; all, +as a tide, rose, and filled her soul with stormy and bewildering confusion. It +fell to my lot, to come as the influential power, to allay the fierce tossing +of these tumultuous waves. I spoke to her; I led her to reflect how happy Idris +had really been, and how her virtues and numerous excellencies had found scope +and estimation in her past career. I praised her, the idol of my heart’s +dear worship, the admired type of feminine perfection. With ardent and +overflowing eloquence, I relieved my heart from its burthen, and awoke to the +sense of a new pleasure in life, as I poured forth the funeral eulogy. Then I +referred to Adrian, her loved brother, and to her surviving child. I declared, +which I had before almost forgotten, what my duties were with regard to these +valued portions of herself, and bade the melancholy repentant mother reflect, +how she could best expiate unkindness towards the dead, by redoubled love of +the survivors. Consoling her, my own sorrows were assuaged; my sincerity won +her entire conviction. +</p> + +<p> +She turned to me. The hard, inflexible, persecuting woman, turned with a mild +expression of face, and said, “If our beloved angel sees us now, it will +delight her to find that I do you even tardy justice. You were worthy of her; +and from my heart I am glad that you won her away from me. Pardon, my son, the +many wrongs I have done you; forget my bitter words and unkind +treatment—take me, and govern me as you will.” +</p> + +<p> +I seized this docile moment to propose our departure from the church. +“First,” she said, “let us replace the pavement above the +vault.” +</p> + +<p> +We drew near to it; “Shall we look on her again?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot,” she replied, “and, I pray you, neither do you. We +need not torture ourselves by gazing on the soulless body, while her living +spirit is buried quick in our hearts, and her surpassing loveliness is so +deeply carved there, that sleeping or waking she must ever be present to +us.” +</p> + +<p> +For a few moments, we bent in solemn silence over the open vault. I consecrated +my future life, to the embalming of her dear memory; I vowed to serve her +brother and her child till death. The convulsive sob of my companion made me +break off my internal orisons. I next dragged the stones over the entrance of +the tomb, and closed the gulph that contained the life of my life. Then, +supporting my decrepid fellow-mourner, we slowly left the chapel. I felt, as I +stepped into the open air, as if I had quitted an happy nest of repose, for a +dreary wilderness, a tortuous path, a bitter, joyless, hopeless pilgrimage. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<p> +Our escort had been directed to prepare our abode for the night at the inn, +opposite the ascent to the Castle. We could not again visit the halls and +familiar chambers of our home, on a mere visit. We had already left for ever +the glades of Windsor, and all of coppice, flowery hedgerow, and murmuring +stream, which gave shape and intensity to the love of our country, and the +almost superstitious attachment with which we regarded native England. It had +been our intention to have called at Lucy’s dwelling in Datchet, and to +have re-assured her with promises of aid and protection before we repaired to +our quarters for the night. Now, as the Countess of Windsor and I turned down +the steep hill that led from the Castle, we saw the children, who had just +stopped in their caravan, at the inn-door. They had passed through Datchet +without halting. I dreaded to meet them, and to be the bearer of my tragic +story, so while they were still occupied in the hurry of arrival, I suddenly +left them, and through the snow and clear moon-light air, hastened along the +well known road to Datchet. +</p> + +<p> +Well known indeed it was. Each cottage stood on its accustomed site, each tree +wore its familiar appearance. Habit had graven uneraseably on my memory, every +turn and change of object on the road. At a short distance beyond the Little +Park, was an elm half blown down by a storm, some ten years ago; and still, +with leafless snow-laden branches, it stretched across the pathway, which wound +through a meadow, beside a shallow brook, whose brawling was silenced by +frost—that stile, that white gate, that hollow oak tree, which doubtless +once belonged to the forest, and which now shewed in the moonlight its gaping +rent; to whose fanciful appearance, tricked out by the dusk into a resemblance +of the human form, the children had given the name of Falstaff;—all these +objects were as well known to me as the cold hearth of my deserted home, and +every moss-grown wall and plot of orchard ground, alike as twin lambs are to +each other in a stranger’s eye, yet to my accustomed gaze bore +differences, distinction, and a name. England remained, though England was +dead—it was the ghost of merry England that I beheld, under those +greenwood shade passing generations had sported in security and ease. To this +painful recognition of familiar places, was added a feeling experienced by all, +understood by none—a feeling as if in some state, less visionary than a +dream, in some past real existence, I had seen all I saw, with precisely the +same feelings as I now beheld them—as if all my sensations were a duplex +mirror of a former revelation. To get rid of this oppressive sense I strove to +imagine change in this tranquil spot—this augmented my mood, by causing +me to bestow more attention on the objects which occasioned me pain. +</p> + +<p> +I reached Datchet and Lucy’s humble abode—once noisy with Saturday +night revellers, or trim and neat on Sunday morning it had borne testimony to +the labours and orderly habits of the housewife. The snow lay high about the +door, as if it had remained unclosed for many days. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“What scene of death hath Roscius now to act?” +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +I muttered to myself as I looked at the dark casements. At first I thought I +saw a light in one of them, but it proved to be merely the refraction of the +moon-beams, while the only sound was the crackling branches as the breeze +whirred the snow flakes from them—the moon sailed high and unclouded in +the interminable ether, while the shadow of the cottage lay black on the garden +behind. I entered this by the open wicket, and anxiously examined each window. +At length I detected a ray of light struggling through a closed shutter in one +of the upper rooms—it was a novel feeling, alas! to look at any house and +say there dwells its usual inmate—the door of the house was merely on the +latch: so I entered and ascended the moon-lit staircase. The door of the +inhabited room was ajar: looking in, I saw Lucy sitting as at work at the table +on which the light stood; the implements of needlework were about her, but her +hand had fallen on her lap, and her eyes, fixed on the ground, shewed by their +vacancy that her thoughts wandered. Traces of care and watching had diminished +her former attractions—but her simple dress and cap, her desponding +attitude, and the single candle that cast its light upon her, gave for a moment +a picturesque grouping to the whole. A fearful reality recalled me from the +thought—a figure lay stretched on the bed covered by a sheet—her +mother was dead, and Lucy, apart from all the world, deserted and alone, +watched beside the corpse during the weary night. I entered the room, and my +unexpected appearance at first drew a scream from the lone survivor of a dead +nation; but she recognised me, and recovered herself, with the quick exercise +of self-control habitual to her. “Did you not expect me?” I asked, +in that low voice which the presence of the dead makes us as it were +instinctively assume. +</p> + +<p> +“You are very good,” replied she, “to have come yourself; I +can never thank you sufficiently; but it is too late.” +</p> + +<p> +“Too late,” cried I, “what do you mean? It is not too late to +take you from this deserted place, and conduct you to—-” +</p> + +<p> +My own loss, which I had forgotten as I spoke, now made me turn away, while +choking grief impeded my speech. I threw open the window, and looked on the +cold, waning, ghastly, misshaped circle on high, and the chill white earth +beneath—did the spirit of sweet Idris sail along the moon-frozen crystal +air?—No, no, a more genial atmosphere, a lovelier habitation was surely +hers! +</p> + +<p> +I indulged in this meditation for a moment, and then again addressed the +mourner, who stood leaning against the bed with that expression of resigned +despair, of complete misery, and a patient sufferance of it, which is far more +touching than any of the insane ravings or wild gesticulation of untamed +sorrow. I desired to draw her from this spot; but she opposed my wish. That +class of persons whose imagination and sensibility have never been taken out of +the narrow circle immediately in view, if they possess these qualities to any +extent, are apt to pour their influence into the very realities which appear to +destroy them, and to cling to these with double tenacity from not being able to +comprehend any thing beyond. Thus Lucy, in desert England, in a dead world, +wished to fulfil the usual ceremonies of the dead, such as were customary to +the English country people, when death was a rare visitant, and gave us time to +receive his dreaded usurpation with pomp and circumstance—going forth in +procession to deliver the keys of the tomb into his conquering hand. She had +already, alone as she was, accomplished some of these, and the work on which I +found her employed, was her mother’s shroud. My heart sickened at such +detail of woe, which a female can endure, but which is more painful to the +masculine spirit than deadliest struggle, or throes of unutterable but +transient agony. +</p> + +<p> +This must not be, I told her; and then, as further inducement, I communicated +to her my recent loss, and gave her the idea that she must come with me to take +charge of the orphan children, whom the death of Idris had deprived of a +mother’s care. Lucy never resisted the call of a duty, so she yielded, +and closing the casements and doors with care, she accompanied me back to +Windsor. As we went she communicated to me the occasion of her mother’s +death. Either by some mischance she had got sight of Lucy’s letter to +Idris, or she had overheard her conversation with the countryman who bore it; +however it might be, she obtained a knowledge of the appalling situation of +herself and her daughter, her aged frame could not sustain the anxiety and +horror this discovery instilled—she concealed her knowledge from Lucy, +but brooded over it through sleepless nights, till fever and delirium, swift +forerunners of death, disclosed the secret. Her life, which had long been +hovering on its extinction, now yielded at once to the united effects of misery +and sickness, and that same morning she had died. +</p> + +<p> +After the tumultuous emotions of the day, I was glad to find on my arrival at +the inn that my companions had retired to rest. I gave Lucy in charge to the +Countess’s attendant, and then sought repose from my various struggles +and impatient regrets. For a few moments the events of the day floated in +disastrous pageant through my brain, till sleep bathed it in forgetfulness; +when morning dawned and I awoke, it seemed as if my slumber had endured for +years. +</p> + +<p> +My companions had not shared my oblivion. Clara’s swollen eyes shewed +that she had passed the night in weeping. The Countess looked haggard and wan. +Her firm spirit had not found relief in tears, and she suffered the more from +all the painful retrospect and agonizing regret that now occupied her. We +departed from Windsor, as soon as the burial rites had been performed for +Lucy’s mother, and, urged on by an impatient desire to change the scene, +went forward towards Dover with speed, our escort having gone before to provide +horses; finding them either in the warm stables they instinctively sought +during the cold weather, or standing shivering in the bleak fields ready to +surrender their liberty in exchange for offered corn. +</p> + +<p> +During our ride the Countess recounted to me the extraordinary circumstances +which had brought her so strangely to my side in the chancel of St. +George’s chapel. When last she had taken leave of Idris, as she looked +anxiously on her faded person and pallid countenance, she had suddenly been +visited by a conviction that she saw her for the last time. It was hard to part +with her while under the dominion of this sentiment, and for the last time she +endeavoured to persuade her daughter to commit herself to her nursing, +permitting me to join Adrian. Idris mildly refused, and thus they separated. +The idea that they should never again meet grew on the Countess’s mind, +and haunted her perpetually; a thousand times she had resolved to turn back and +join us, and was again and again restrained by the pride and anger of which she +was the slave. Proud of heart as she was, she bathed her pillow with nightly +tears, and through the day was subdued by nervous agitation and expectation of +the dreaded event, which she was wholly incapable of curbing. She confessed +that at this period her hatred of me knew no bounds, since she considered me as +the sole obstacle to the fulfilment of her dearest wish, that of attending upon +her daughter in her last moments. She desired to express her fears to her son, +and to seek consolation from his sympathy with, or courage from his rejection +of, her auguries. +</p> + +<p> +On the first day of her arrival at Dover she walked with him on the sea beach, +and with the timidity characteristic of passionate and exaggerated feeling was +by degrees bringing the conversation to the desired point, when she could +communicate her fears to him, when the messenger who bore my letter announcing +our temporary return to Windsor, came riding down to them. He gave some oral +account of how he had left us, and added, that notwithstanding the cheerfulness +and good courage of Lady Idris, he was afraid that she would hardly reach +Windsor alive. “True,” said the Countess, “your fears are +just, she is about to expire!” +</p> + +<p> +As she spoke, her eyes were fixed on a tomblike hollow of the cliff, and she +saw, she averred the same to me with solemnity, Idris pacing slowly towards +this cave. She was turned from her, her head was bent down, her white dress was +such as she was accustomed to wear, except that a thin crape-like veil covered +her golden tresses, and concealed her as a dim transparent mist. She looked +dejected, as docilely yielding to a commanding power; she submissively entered, +and was lost in the dark recess. +</p> + +<p> +“Were I subject to visionary moods,” said the venerable lady, as +she continued her narrative, “I might doubt my eyes, and condemn my +credulity; but reality is the world I live in, and what I saw I doubt not had +existence beyond myself. From that moment I could not rest; it was worth my +existence to see her once again before she died; I knew that I should not +accomplish this, yet I must endeavour. I immediately departed for Windsor; and, +though I was assured that we travelled speedily, it seemed to me that our +progress was snail-like, and that delays were created solely for my annoyance. +Still I accused you, and heaped on your head the fiery ashes of my burning +impatience. It was no disappointment, though an agonizing pang, when you +pointed to her last abode; and words would ill express the abhorrence I that +moment felt towards you, the triumphant impediment to my dearest wishes. I saw +her, and anger, and hate, and injustice died at her bier, giving place at their +departure to a remorse (Great God, that I should feel it!) which must last +while memory and feeling endure.” +</p> + +<p> +To medicine such remorse, to prevent awakening love and new-born mildness from +producing the same bitter fruit that hate and harshness had done, I devoted all +my endeavours to soothe the venerable penitent. Our party was a melancholy one; +each was possessed by regret for what was remediless; for the absence of his +mother shadowed even the infant gaiety of Evelyn. Added to this was the +prospect of the uncertain future. Before the final accomplishment of any great +voluntary change the mind vacillates, now soothing itself by fervent +expectation, now recoiling from obstacles which seem never to have presented +themselves before with so frightful an aspect. An involuntary tremor ran +through me when I thought that in another day we might have crossed the watery +barrier, and have set forward on that hopeless, interminable, sad wandering, +which but a short time before I regarded as the only relief to sorrow that our +situation afforded. +</p> + +<p> +Our approach to Dover was announced by the loud roarings of the wintry sea. +They were borne miles inland by the sound-laden blast, and by their +unaccustomed uproar, imparted a feeling of insecurity and peril to our stable +abode. At first we hardly permitted ourselves to think that any unusual +eruption of nature caused this tremendous war of air and water, but rather +fancied that we merely listened to what we had heard a thousand times before, +when we had watched the flocks of fleece-crowned waves, driven by the winds, +come to lament and die on the barren sands and pointed rocks. But we found upon +advancing farther, that Dover was overflowed— many of the houses were +overthrown by the surges which filled the streets, and with hideous brawlings +sometimes retreated leaving the pavement of the town bare, till again hurried +forward by the influx of ocean, they returned with thunder-sound to their +usurped station. +</p> + +<p> +Hardly less disturbed than the tempestuous world of waters was the assembly of +human beings, that from the cliff fearfully watched its ravings. On the morning +of the arrival of the emigrants under the conduct of Adrian, the sea had been +serene and glassy, the slight ripples refracted the sunbeams, which shed their +radiance through the clear blue frosty air. This placid appearance of nature +was hailed as a good augury for the voyage, and the chief immediately repaired +to the harbour to examine two steamboats which were moored there. On the +following midnight, when all were at rest, a frightful storm of wind and +clattering rain and hail first disturbed them, and the voice of one shrieking +in the streets, that the sleepers must awake or they would be drowned; and when +they rushed out, half clothed, to discover the meaning of this alarm, they +found that the tide, rising above every mark, was rushing into the town. They +ascended the cliff, but the darkness permitted only the white crest of waves to +be seen, while the roaring wind mingled its howlings in dire accord with the +wild surges. The awful hour of night, the utter inexperience of many who had +never seen the sea before, the wailing of women and cries of children added to +the horror of the tumult. All the following day the same scene continued. When +the tide ebbed, the town was left dry; but on its flow, it rose even higher +than on the preceding night. The vast ships that lay rotting in the roads were +whirled from their anchorage, and driven and jammed against the cliff, the +vessels in the harbour were flung on land like sea-weed, and there battered to +pieces by the breakers. The waves dashed against the cliff, which if in any +place it had been before loosened, now gave way, and the affrighted crowd saw +vast fragments of the near earth fall with crash and roar into the deep. This +sight operated differently on different persons. The greater part thought it a +judgment of God, to prevent or punish our emigration from our native land. Many +were doubly eager to quit a nook of ground now become their prison, which +appeared unable to resist the inroads of ocean’s giant waves. +</p> + +<p> +When we arrived at Dover, after a fatiguing day’s journey, we all +required rest and sleep; but the scene acting around us soon drove away such +ideas. We were drawn, along with the greater part of our companions, to the +edge of the cliff, there to listen to and make a thousand conjectures. A fog +narrowed our horizon to about a quarter of a mile, and the misty veil, cold and +dense, enveloped sky and sea in equal obscurity. What added to our inquietude +was the circumstance that two-thirds of our original number were now waiting +for us in Paris, and clinging, as we now did most painfully, to any addition to +our melancholy remnant, this division, with the tameless impassable ocean +between, struck us with affright. At length, after loitering for several hours +on the cliff, we retired to Dover Castle, whose roof sheltered all who breathed +the English air, and sought the sleep necessary to restore strength and courage +to our worn frames and languid spirits. +</p> + +<p> +Early in the morning Adrian brought me the welcome intelligence that the wind +had changed: it had been south-west; it was now north-east. The sky was +stripped bare of clouds by the increasing gale, while the tide at its ebb +seceded entirely from the town. The change of wind rather increased the fury of +the sea, but it altered its late dusky hue to a bright green; and in spite of +its unmitigated clamour, its more cheerful appearance instilled hope and +pleasure. All day we watched the ranging of the mountainous waves, and towards +sunset a desire to decypher the promise for the morrow at its setting, made us +all gather with one accord on the edge of the cliff. When the mighty luminary +approached within a few degrees of the tempest-tossed horizon, suddenly, a +wonder! three other suns, alike burning and brilliant, rushed from various +quarters of the heavens towards the great orb; they whirled round it. The glare +of light was intense to our dazzled eyes; the sun itself seemed to join in the +dance, while the sea burned like a furnace, like all Vesuvius a-light, with +flowing lava beneath. The horses broke loose from their stalls in +terror—a herd of cattle, panic struck, raced down to the brink of the +cliff, and blinded by light, plunged down with frightful yells in the waves +below. The time occupied by the apparition of these meteors was comparatively +short; suddenly the three mock suns united in one, and plunged into the sea. A +few seconds afterwards, a deafening watery sound came up with awful peal from +the spot where they had disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile the sun, disencumbered from his strange satellites, paced with its +accustomed majesty towards its western home. When—we dared not trust our +eyes late dazzled, but it seemed that—the sea rose to meet it—it +mounted higher and higher, till the fiery globe was obscured, and the wall of +water still ascended the horizon; it appeared as if suddenly the motion of +earth was revealed to us—as if no longer we were ruled by ancient laws, +but were turned adrift in an unknown region of space. Many cried aloud, that +these were no meteors, but globes of burning matter, which had set fire to the +earth, and caused the vast cauldron at our feet to bubble up with its +measureless waves; the day of judgment was come they averred, and a few moments +would transport us before the awful countenance of the omnipotent judge; while +those less given to visionary terrors, declared that two conflicting gales had +occasioned the last phaenomenon. In support of this opinion they pointed out +the fact that the east wind died away, while the rushing of the coming west +mingled its wild howl with the roar of the advancing waters. Would the cliff +resist this new battery? Was not the giant wave far higher than the precipice? +Would not our little island be deluged by its approach? The crowd of spectators +fled. They were dispersed over the fields, stopping now and then, and looking +back in terror. A sublime sense of awe calmed the swift pulsations of my +heart—I awaited the approach of the destruction menaced, with that solemn +resignation which an unavoidable necessity instils. The ocean every moment +assumed a more terrific aspect, while the twilight was dimmed by the rack which +the west wind spread over the sky. By slow degrees however, as the wave +advanced, it took a more mild appearance; some under current of air, or +obstruction in the bed of the waters, checked its progress, and it sank +gradually; while the surface of the sea became uniformly higher as it dissolved +into it. This change took from us the fear of an immediate catastrophe, +although we were still anxious as to the final result. We continued during the +whole night to watch the fury of the sea and the pace of the driving clouds, +through whose openings the rare stars rushed impetuously; the thunder of +conflicting elements deprived us of all power to sleep. +</p> + +<p> +This endured ceaselessly for three days and nights. The stoutest hearts quailed +before the savage enmity of nature; provisions began to fail us, though every +day foraging parties were dispersed to the nearer towns. In vain we schooled +ourselves into the belief, that there was nothing out of the common order of +nature in the strife we witnessed; our disasterous and overwhelming destiny +turned the best of us to cowards. Death had hunted us through the course of +many months, even to the narrow strip of time on which we now stood; narrow +indeed, and buffeted by storms, was our footway overhanging the great sea of +calamity— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + As an unsheltered northern shore<br/> +Is shaken by the wintry wave—<br/> +And frequent storms for evermore,<br/> +(While from the west the loud winds rave,<br/> +Or from the east, or mountains hoar)<br/> +The struck and tott’ring sand-bank lave.<a href="#fn21" name="fnref21"><sup>[21]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p> +It required more than human energy to bear up against the menaces of +destruction that every where surrounded us. +</p> + +<p> +After the lapse of three days, the gale died away, the sea-gull sailed upon the +calm bosom of the windless atmosphere, and the last yellow leaf on the topmost +branch of the oak hung without motion. The sea no longer broke with fury; but a +swell setting in steadily for shore, with long sweep and sullen burst replaced +the roar of the breakers. Yet we derived hope from the change, and we did not +doubt that after the interval of a few days the sea would resume its +tranquillity. The sunset of the fourth day favoured this idea; it was clear and +golden. As we gazed on the purple sea, radiant beneath, we were attracted by a +novel spectacle; a dark speck—as it neared, visibly a boat—rode on +the top of the waves, every now and then lost in the steep vallies between. We +marked its course with eager questionings; and, when we saw that it evidently +made for shore, we descended to the only practicable landing place, and hoisted +a signal to direct them. By the help of glasses we distinguished her crew; it +consisted of nine men, Englishmen, belonging in truth to the two divisions of +our people, who had preceded us, and had been for several weeks at Paris. As +countryman was wont to meet countryman in distant lands, did we greet our +visitors on their landing, with outstretched hands and gladsome welcome. They +were slow to reciprocate our gratulations. They looked angry and resentful; not +less than the chafed sea which they had traversed with imminent peril, though +apparently more displeased with each other than with us. It was strange to see +these human beings, who appeared to be given forth by the earth like rare and +inestimable plants, full of towering passion, and the spirit of angry contest. +Their first demand was to be conducted to the Lord Protector of England, so +they called Adrian, though he had long discarded the empty title, as a bitter +mockery of the shadow to which the Protectorship was now reduced. They were +speedily led to Dover Castle, from whose keep Adrian had watched the movements +of the boat. He received them with the interest and wonder so strange a +visitation created. In the confusion occasioned by their angry demands for +precedence, it was long before we could discover the secret meaning of this +strange scene. By degrees, from the furious declamations of one, the fierce +interruptions of another, and the bitter scoffs of a third, we found that they +were deputies from our colony at Paris, from three parties there formed, who, +each with angry rivalry, tried to attain a superiority over the other two. +These deputies had been dispatched by them to Adrian, who had been selected +arbiter; and they had journied from Paris to Calais, through the vacant towns +and desolate country, indulging the while violent hatred against each other; +and now they pleaded their several causes with unmitigated party-spirit. +</p> + +<p> +By examining the deputies apart, and after much investigation, we learnt the +true state of things at Paris. Since parliament had elected him Ryland’s +deputy, all the surviving English had submitted to Adrian. He was our captain +to lead us from our native soil to unknown lands, our lawgiver and our +preserver. On the first arrangement of our scheme of emigration, no continued +separation of our members was contemplated, and the command of the whole body +in gradual ascent of power had its apex in the Earl of Windsor. But unforeseen +circumstances changed our plans for us, and occasioned the greater part of our +numbers to be divided for the space of nearly two months, from the supreme +chief. They had gone over in two distinct bodies; and on their arrival at Paris +dissension arose between them. +</p> + +<p> +They had found Paris a desert. When first the plague had appeared, the return +of travellers and merchants, and communications by letter, informed us +regularly of the ravages made by disease on the continent. But with the +encreased mortality this intercourse declined and ceased. Even in England +itself communication from one part of the island to the other became slow and +rare. No vessel stemmed the flood that divided Calais from Dover; or if some +melancholy voyager, wishing to assure himself of the life or death of his +relatives, put from the French shore to return among us, often the greedy ocean +swallowed his little craft, or after a day or two he was infected by the +disorder, and died before he could tell the tale of the desolation of France. +We were therefore to a great degree ignorant of the state of things on the +continent, and were not without some vague hope of finding numerous companions +in its wide track. But the same causes that had so fearfully diminished the +English nation had had even greater scope for mischief in the sister land. +France was a blank; during the long line of road from Calais to Paris not one +human being was found. In Paris there were a few, perhaps a hundred, who, +resigned to their coming fate, flitted about the streets of the capital and +assembled to converse of past times, with that vivacity and even gaiety that +seldom deserts the individuals of this nation. +</p> + +<p> +The English took uncontested possession of Paris. Its high houses and narrow +streets were lifeless. A few pale figures were to be distinguished at the +accustomed resort at the Tuileries; they wondered wherefore the islanders +should approach their ill-fated city—for in the excess of wretchedness, +the sufferers always imagine, that their part of the calamity is the bitterest, +as, when enduring intense pain, we would exchange the particular torture we +writhe under, for any other which should visit a different part of the frame. +They listened to the account the emigrants gave of their motives for leaving +their native land, with a shrug almost of disdain—“Return,” +they said, “return to your island, whose sea breezes, and division from +the continent gives some promise of health; if Pestilence among you has slain +its hundreds, with us it has slain its thousands. Are you not even now more +numerous than we are?—A year ago you would have found only the sick +burying the dead; now we are happier; for the pang of struggle has passed away, +and the few you find here are patiently waiting the final blow. But you, who +are not content to die, breathe no longer the air of France, or soon you will +only be a part of her soil.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus, by menaces of the sword, they would have driven back those who had +escaped from fire. But the peril left behind was deemed imminent by my +countrymen; that before them doubtful and distant; and soon other feelings +arose to obliterate fear, or to replace it by passions, that ought to have had +no place among a brotherhood of unhappy survivors of the expiring world. +</p> + +<p> +The more numerous division of emigrants, which arrived first at Paris, assumed +a superiority of rank and power; the second party asserted their independence. +A third was formed by a sectarian, a self-erected prophet, who, while he +attributed all power and rule to God, strove to get the real command of his +comrades into his own hands. This third division consisted of fewest +individuals, but their purpose was more one, their obedience to their leader +more entire, their fortitude and courage more unyielding and active. +</p> + +<p> +During the whole progress of the plague, the teachers of religion were in +possession of great power; a power of good, if rightly directed, or of +incalculable mischief, if fanaticism or intolerance guided their efforts. In +the present instance, a worse feeling than either of these actuated the leader. +He was an impostor in the most determined sense of the term. A man who had in +early life lost, through the indulgence of vicious propensities, all sense of +rectitude or self-esteem; and who, when ambition was awakened in him, gave +himself up to its influence unbridled by any scruple. His father had been a +methodist preacher, an enthusiastic man with simple intentions; but whose +pernicious doctrines of election and special grace had contributed to destroy +all conscientious feeling in his son. During the progress of the pestilence he +had entered upon various schemes, by which to acquire adherents and power. +Adrian had discovered and defeated these attempts; but Adrian was absent; the +wolf assumed the shepherd’s garb, and the flock admitted the deception: +he had formed a party during the few weeks he had been in Paris, who zealously +propagated the creed of his divine mission, and believed that safety and +salvation were to be afforded only to those who put their trust in him. +</p> + +<p> +When once the spirit of dissension had arisen, the most frivolous causes gave +it activity. The first party, on arriving at Paris, had taken possession of the +Tuileries; chance and friendly feeling had induced the second to lodge near to +them. A contest arose concerning the distribution of the pillage; the chiefs of +the first division demanded that the whole should be placed at their disposal; +with this assumption the opposite party refused to comply. When next the latter +went to forage, the gates of Paris were shut on them. After overcoming this +difficulty, they marched in a body to the Tuileries. They found that their +enemies had been already expelled thence by the Elect, as the fanatical party +designated themselves, who refused to admit any into the palace who did not +first abjure obedience to all except God, and his delegate on earth, their +chief. Such was the beginning of the strife, which at length proceeded so far, +that the three divisions, armed, met in the Place Vendome, each resolved to +subdue by force the resistance of its adversaries. They assembled, their +muskets were loaded, and even pointed at the breasts of their so called +enemies. One word had been sufficient; and there the last of mankind would have +burthened their souls with the crime of murder, and dipt their hands in each +other’s blood. A sense of shame, a recollection that not only their +cause, but the existence of the whole human race was at stake, entered the +breast of the leader of the more numerous party. He was aware, that if the +ranks were thinned, no other recruits could fill them up; that each man was as +a priceless gem in a kingly crown, which if destroyed, the earth’s deep +entrails could yield no paragon. He was a young man, and had been hurried on by +presumption, and the notion of his high rank and superiority to all other +pretenders; now he repented his work, he felt that all the blood about to be +shed would be on his head; with sudden impulse therefore he spurred his horse +between the bands, and, having fixed a white handkerchief on the point of his +uplifted sword, thus demanded parley; the opposite leaders obeyed the signal. +He spoke with warmth; he reminded them of the oath all the chiefs had taken to +submit to the Lord Protector; he declared their present meeting to be an act of +treason and mutiny; he allowed that he had been hurried away by passion, but +that a cooler moment had arrived; and he proposed that each party should send +deputies to the Earl of Windsor, inviting his interference and offering +submission to his decision. His offer was accepted so far, that each leader +consented to command a retreat, and moreover agreed, that after the approbation +of their several parties had been consulted, they should meet that night on +some neutral spot to ratify the truce. At the meeting of the chiefs, this plan +was finally concluded upon. The leader of the fanatics indeed refused to admit +the arbitration of Adrian; he sent ambassadors, rather than deputies, to assert +his claim, not plead his cause. +</p> + +<p> +The truce was to continue until the first of February, when the bands were +again to assemble on the Place Vendome; it was of the utmost consequence +therefore that Adrian should arrive in Paris by that day, since an hair might +turn the scale, and peace, scared away by intestine broils, might only return +to watch by the silent dead. It was now the twenty-eighth of January; every +vessel stationed near Dover had been beaten to pieces and destroyed by the +furious storms I have commemorated. Our journey however would admit of no +delay. That very night, Adrian, and I, and twelve others, either friends or +attendants, put off from the English shore, in the boat that had brought over +the deputies. We all took our turn at the oar; and the immediate occasion of +our departure affording us abundant matter for conjecture and discourse, +prevented the feeling that we left our native country, depopulate England, for +the last time, to enter deeply into the minds of the greater part of our +number. It was a serene starlight night, and the dark line of the English coast +continued for some time visible at intervals, as we rose on the broad back of +the waves. I exerted myself with my long oar to give swift impulse to our +skiff; and, while the waters splashed with melancholy sound against its sides, +I looked with sad affection on this last glimpse of sea-girt England, and +strained my eyes not too soon to lose sight of the castellated cliff, which +rose to protect the land of heroism and beauty from the inroads of ocean, that, +turbulent as I had lately seen it, required such cyclopean walls for its +repulsion. A solitary sea-gull winged its flight over our heads, to seek its +nest in a cleft of the precipice. Yes, thou shalt revisit the land of thy +birth, I thought, as I looked invidiously on the airy voyager; but we shall, +never more! Tomb of Idris, farewell! Grave, in which my heart lies sepultured, +farewell for ever! +</p> + +<p> +We were twelve hours at sea, and the heavy swell obliged us to exert all our +strength. At length, by mere dint of rowing, we reached the French coast. The +stars faded, and the grey morning cast a dim veil over the silver horns of the +waning moon—the sun rose broad and red from the sea, as we walked over +the sands to Calais. Our first care was to procure horses, and although wearied +by our night of watching and toil, some of our party immediately went in quest +of these in the wide fields of the unenclosed and now barren plain round +Calais. We divided ourselves, like seamen, into watches, and some reposed, +while others prepared the morning’s repast. Our foragers returned at noon +with only six horses—on these, Adrian and I, and four others, proceeded +on our journey towards the great city, which its inhabitants had fondly named +the capital of the civilized world. Our horses had become, through their long +holiday, almost wild, and we crossed the plain round Calais with impetuous +speed. From the height near Boulogne, I turned again to look on England; nature +had cast a misty pall over her, her cliff was hidden—there was spread the +watery barrier that divided us, never again to be crossed; she lay on the ocean +plain, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +In the great pool a swan’s nest. +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Ruined the nest, alas! the swans of Albion had passed away for ever—an +uninhabited rock in the wide Pacific, which had remained since the creation +uninhabited, unnamed, unmarked, would be of as much account in the +world’s future history, as desert England. +</p> + +<p> +Our journey was impeded by a thousand obstacles. As our horses grew tired, we +had to seek for others; and hours were wasted, while we exhausted our artifices +to allure some of these enfranchised slaves of man to resume the yoke; or as we +went from stable to stable through the towns, hoping to find some who had not +forgotten the shelter of their native stalls. Our ill success in procuring +them, obliged us continually to leave some one of our companions behind; and on +the first of February, Adrian and I entered Paris, wholly unaccompanied. The +serene morning had dawned when we arrived at Saint Denis, and the sun was high, +when the clamour of voices, and the clash, as we feared, of weapons, guided us +to where our countrymen had assembled on the Place Vendome. We passed a knot of +Frenchmen, who were talking earnestly of the madness of the insular invaders, +and then coming by a sudden turn upon the Place, we saw the sun glitter on +drawn swords and fixed bayonets, while yells and clamours rent the air. It was +a scene of unaccustomed confusion in these days of depopulation. Roused by +fancied wrongs, and insulting scoffs, the opposite parties had rushed to attack +each other; while the elect, drawn up apart, seemed to wait an opportunity to +fall with better advantage on their foes, when they should have mutually +weakened each other. A merciful power interposed, and no blood was shed; for, +while the insane mob were in the very act of attack, the females, wives, +mothers and daughters, rushed between; they seized the bridles; they embraced +the knees of the horsemen, and hung on the necks, or enweaponed arms of their +enraged relatives; the shrill female scream was mingled with the manly shout, +and formed the wild clamour that welcomed us on our arrival. +</p> + +<p> +Our voices could not be heard in the tumult; Adrian however was eminent for the +white charger he rode; spurring him, he dashed into the midst of the throng: he +was recognized, and a loud cry raised for England and the Protector. The late +adversaries, warmed to affection at the sight of him, joined in heedless +confusion, and surrounded him; the women kissed his hands, and the edges of his +garments; nay, his horse received tribute of their embraces; some wept their +welcome; he appeared an angel of peace descended among them; and the only +danger was, that his mortal nature would be demonstrated, by his suffocation +from the kindness of his friends. His voice was at length heard, and obeyed; +the crowd fell back; the chiefs alone rallied round him. I had seen Lord +Raymond ride through his lines; his look of victory, and majestic mien obtained +the respect and obedience of all: such was not the appearance or influence of +Adrian. His slight figure, his fervent look, his gesture, more of deprecation +than rule, were proofs that love, unmingled with fear, gave him dominion over +the hearts of a multitude, who knew that he never flinched from danger, nor was +actuated by other motives than care for the general welfare. No distinction was +now visible between the two parties, late ready to shed each other’s +blood, for, though neither would submit to the other, they both yielded ready +obedience to the Earl of Windsor. +</p> + +<p> +One party however remained, cut off from the rest, which did not sympathize in +the joy exhibited on Adrian’s arrival, or imbibe the spirit of peace, +which fell like dew upon the softened hearts of their countrymen. At the head +of this assembly was a ponderous, dark-looking man, whose malign eye surveyed +with gloating delight the stern looks of his followers. They had hitherto been +inactive, but now, perceiving themselves to be forgotten in the universal +jubilee, they advanced with threatening gestures: our friends had, as it were +in wanton contention, attacked each other; they wanted but to be told that +their cause was one, for it to become so: their mutual anger had been a fire of +straw, compared to the slow-burning hatred they both entertained for these +seceders, who seized a portion of the world to come, there to entrench and +incastellate themselves, and to issue with fearful sally, and appalling +denunciations, on the mere common children of the earth. The first advance of +the little army of the elect reawakened their rage; they grasped their arms, +and waited but their leader’s signal to commence the attack, when the +clear tones of Adrian’s voice were heard, commanding them to fall back; +with confused murmur and hurried retreat, as the wave ebbs clamorously from the +sands it lately covered, our friends obeyed. Adrian rode singly into the space +between the opposing bands; he approached the hostile leader, as requesting him +to imitate his example, but his look was not obeyed, and the chief advanced, +followed by his whole troop. There were many women among them, who seemed more +eager and resolute than their male companions. They pressed round their leader, +as if to shield him, while they loudly bestowed on him every sacred +denomination and epithet of worship. Adrian met them half way; they halted: +“What,” he said, “do you seek? Do you require any thing of us +that we refuse to give, and that you are forced to acquire by arms and +warfare?” +</p> + +<p> +His questions were answered by a general cry, in which the words election, sin, +and red right arm of God, could alone be heard. +</p> + +<p> +Adrian looked expressly at their leader, saying, “Can you not silence +your followers? Mine, you perceive, obey me.” +</p> + +<p> +The fellow answered by a scowl; and then, perhaps fearful that his people +should become auditors of the debate he expected to ensue, he commanded them to +fall back, and advanced by himself. “What, I again ask,” said +Adrian, “do you require of us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Repentance,” replied the man, whose sinister brow gathered clouds +as he spoke. “Obedience to the will of the Most High, made manifest to +these his Elected People. Do we not all die through your sins, O generation of +unbelief, and have we not a right to demand of you repentance and +obedience?” +</p> + +<p> +“And if we refuse them, what then?” his opponent inquired mildly. +</p> + +<p> +“Beware,” cried the man, “God hears you, and will smite your +stony heart in his wrath; his poisoned arrows fly, his dogs of death are +unleashed! We will not perish unrevenged—and mighty will our avenger be, +when he descends in visible majesty, and scatters destruction among you.” +</p> + +<p> +“My good fellow,” said Adrian, with quiet scorn, “I wish that +you were ignorant only, and I think it would be no difficult task to prove to +you, that you speak of what you do not understand. On the present occasion +however, it is enough for me to know that you seek nothing of us; and, heaven +is our witness, we seek nothing of you. I should be sorry to embitter by strife +the few days that we any of us may have here to live; when there,” he +pointed downwards, “we shall not be able to contend, while here we need +not. Go home, or stay; pray to your God in your own mode; your friends may do +the like. My orisons consist in peace and good will, in resignation and hope. +Farewell!” +</p> + +<p> +He bowed slightly to the angry disputant who was about to reply; and, turning +his horse down Rue Saint Honore, called on his friends to follow him. He rode +slowly, to give time to all to join him at the Barrier, and then issued his +orders that those who yielded obedience to him, should rendezvous at +Versailles. In the meantime he remained within the walls of Paris, until he had +secured the safe retreat of all. In about a fortnight the remainder of the +emigrants arrived from England, and they all repaired to Versailles; apartments +were prepared for the family of the Protector in the Grand Trianon, and there, +after the excitement of these events, we reposed amidst the luxuries of the +departed Bourbons. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn21"></a> <a href="#fnref21">[21]</a> +Chorus in Œdipus Coloneus. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<p> +After the repose of a few days, we held a council, to decide on our future +movements. Our first plan had been to quit our wintry native latitude, and seek +for our diminished numbers the luxuries and delights of a southern climate. We +had not fixed on any precise spot as the termination of our wanderings; but a +vague picture of perpetual spring, fragrant groves, and sparkling streams, +floated in our imagination to entice us on. A variety of causes had detained us +in England, and we had now arrived at the middle of February; if we pursued our +original project, we should find ourselves in a worse situation than before, +having exchanged our temperate climate for the intolerable heats of a summer in +Egypt or Persia. We were therefore obliged to modify our plan, as the season +continued to be inclement; and it was determined that we should await the +arrival of spring in our present abode, and so order our future movements as to +pass the hot months in the icy vallies of Switzerland, deferring our southern +progress until the ensuing autumn, if such a season was ever again to be beheld +by us. +</p> + +<p> +The castle and town of Versailles afforded our numbers ample accommodation, and +foraging parties took it by turns to supply our wants. There was a strange and +appalling motley in the situation of these the last of the race. At first I +likened it to a colony, which borne over the far seas, struck root for the +first time in a new country. But where was the bustle and industry +characteristic of such an assemblage; the rudely constructed dwelling, which +was to suffice till a more commodious mansion could be built; the marking out +of fields; the attempt at cultivation; the eager curiosity to discover unknown +animals and herbs; the excursions for the sake of exploring the country? Our +habitations were palaces—our food was ready stored in +granaries—there was no need of labour, no inquisitiveness, no restless +desire to get on. If we had been assured that we should secure the lives of our +present numbers, there would have been more vivacity and hope in our councils. +We should have discussed as to the period when the existing produce for +man’s sustenance would no longer suffice for us, and what mode of life we +should then adopt. We should have considered more carefully our future plans, +and debated concerning the spot where we should in future dwell. But summer and +the plague were near, and we dared not look forward. Every heart sickened at +the thought of amusement; if the younger part of our community were ever +impelled, by youthful and untamed hilarity, to enter on any dance or song, to +cheer the melancholy time, they would suddenly break off, checked by a mournful +look or agonizing sigh from any one among them, who was prevented by sorrows +and losses from mingling in the festivity. If laughter echoed under our roof, +yet the heart was vacant of joy; and, when ever it chanced that I witnessed +such attempts at pastime, they encreased instead of diminishing my sense of +woe. In the midst of the pleasure-hunting throng, I would close my eyes, and +see before me the obscure cavern, where was garnered the mortality of Idris, +and the dead lay around, mouldering in hushed repose. When I again became aware +of the present hour, softest melody of Lydian flute, or harmonious maze of +graceful dance, was but as the demoniac chorus in the Wolf’s Glen, and +the caperings of the reptiles that surrounded the magic circle. +</p> + +<p> +My dearest interval of peace occurred, when, released from the obligation of +associating with the crowd, I could repose in the dear home where my children +lived. Children I say, for the tenderest emotions of paternity bound me to +Clara. She was now fourteen; sorrow, and deep insight into the scenes around +her, calmed the restless spirit of girlhood; while the remembrance of her +father whom she idolized, and respect for me and Adrian, implanted an high +sense of duty in her young heart. Though serious she was not sad; the eager +desire that makes us all, when young, plume our wings, and stretch our necks, +that we may more swiftly alight tiptoe on the height of maturity, was subdued +in her by early experience. All that she could spare of overflowing love from +her parents’ memory, and attention to her living relatives, was spent +upon religion. This was the hidden law of her heart, which she concealed with +childish reserve, and cherished the more because it was secret. What faith so +entire, what charity so pure, what hope so fervent, as that of early youth? and +she, all love, all tenderness and trust, who from infancy had been tossed on +the wide sea of passion and misfortune, saw the finger of apparent divinity in +all, and her best hope was to make herself acceptable to the power she +worshipped. Evelyn was only five years old; his joyous heart was incapable of +sorrow, and he enlivened our house with the innocent mirth incident to his +years. +</p> + +<p> +The aged Countess of Windsor had fallen from her dream of power, rank and +grandeur; she had been suddenly seized with the conviction, that love was the +only good of life, virtue the only ennobling distinction and enriching wealth. +Such a lesson had been taught her by the dead lips of her neglected daughter; +and she devoted herself, with all the fiery violence of her character, to the +obtaining the affection of the remnants of her family. In early years the heart +of Adrian had been chilled towards her; and, though he observed a due respect, +her coldness, mixed with the recollection of disappointment and madness, caused +him to feel even pain in her society. She saw this, and yet determined to win +his love; the obstacle served the rather to excite her ambition. As Henry, +Emperor of Germany, lay in the snow before Pope Leo’s gate for three +winter days and nights, so did she in humility wait before the icy barriers of +his closed heart, till he, the servant of love, and prince of tender courtesy, +opened it wide for her admittance, bestowing, with fervency and gratitude, the +tribute of filial affection she merited. Her understanding, courage, and +presence of mind, became powerful auxiliaries to him in the difficult task of +ruling the tumultuous crowd, which were subjected to his control, in truth by a +single hair. +</p> + +<p> +The principal circumstances that disturbed our tranquillity during this +interval, originated in the vicinity of the impostor-prophet and his followers. +They continued to reside at Paris; but missionaries from among them often +visited Versailles—and such was the power of assertions, however false, +yet vehemently iterated, over the ready credulity of the ignorant and fearful, +that they seldom failed in drawing over to their party some from among our +numbers. An instance of this nature coming immediately under our notice, we +were led to consider the miserable state in which we should leave our +countrymen, when we should, at the approach of summer, move on towards +Switzerland, and leave a deluded crew behind us in the hands of their miscreant +leader. The sense of the smallness of our numbers, and expectation of decrease, +pressed upon us; and, while it would be a subject of congratulation to +ourselves to add one to our party, it would be doubly gratifying to rescue from +the pernicious influence of superstition and unrelenting tyranny, the victims +that now, though voluntarily enchained, groaned beneath it. If we had +considered the preacher as sincere in a belief of his own denunciations, or +only moderately actuated by kind feeling in the exercise of his assumed powers, +we should have immediately addressed ourselves to him, and endeavoured with our +best arguments to soften and humanize his views. But he was instigated by +ambition, he desired to rule over these last stragglers from the fold of death; +his projects went so far, as to cause him to calculate that, if, from these +crushed remains, a few survived, so that a new race should spring up, he, by +holding tight the reins of belief, might be remembered by the post-pestilential +race as a patriarch, a prophet, nay a deity; such as of old among the +post-diluvians were Jupiter the conqueror, Serapis the lawgiver, and Vishnou +the preserver. These ideas made him inflexible in his rule, and violent in his +hate of any who presumed to share with him his usurped empire. +</p> + +<p> +It is a strange fact, but incontestible, that the philanthropist, who ardent in +his desire to do good, who patient, reasonable and gentle, yet disdains to use +other argument than truth, has less influence over men’s minds, than he +who, grasping and selfish, refuses not to adopt any means, nor awaken any +passion, nor diffuse any falsehood, for the advancement of his cause. If this +from time immemorial has been the case, the contrast was infinitely greater, +now that the one could bring harrowing fears and transcendent hopes into play; +while the other had few hopes to hold forth, nor could influence the +imagination to diminish the fears which he himself was the first to entertain. +The preacher had persuaded his followers, that their escape from the plague, +the salvation of their children, and the rise of a new race of men from their +seed, depended on their faith in, and their submission to him. They greedily +imbibed this belief; and their over-weening credulity even rendered them eager +to make converts to the same faith. +</p> + +<p> +How to seduce any individuals from such an alliance of fraud, was a frequent +subject of Adrian’s meditations and discourse. He formed many plans for +the purpose; but his own troop kept him in full occupation to ensure their +fidelity and safety; beside which the preacher was as cautious and prudent, as +he was cruel. His victims lived under the strictest rules and laws, which +either entirely imprisoned them within the Tuileries, or let them out in such +numbers, and under such leaders, as precluded the possibility of controversy. +There was one among them however whom I resolved to save; she had been known to +us in happier days; Idris had loved her; and her excellent nature made it +peculiarly lamentable that she should be sacrificed by this merciless cannibal +of souls. +</p> + +<p> +This man had between two and three hundred persons enlisted under his banners. +More than half of them were women; there were about fifty children of all ages; +and not more than eighty men. They were mostly drawn from that which, when such +distinctions existed, was denominated the lower rank of society. The exceptions +consisted of a few high-born females, who, panic-struck, and tamed by sorrow, +had joined him. Among these was one, young, lovely, and enthusiastic, whose +very goodness made her a more easy victim. I have mentioned her before: Juliet, +the youngest daughter, and now sole relic of the ducal house of L—-. +There are some beings, whom fate seems to select on whom to pour, in unmeasured +portion, the vials of her wrath, and whom she bathes even to the lips in +misery. Such a one was the ill-starred Juliet. She had lost her indulgent +parents, her brothers and sisters, companions of her youth; in one fell swoop +they had been carried off from her. Yet she had again dared to call herself +happy; united to her admirer, to him who possessed and filled her whole heart, +she yielded to the lethean powers of love, and knew and felt only his life and +presence. At the very time when with keen delight she welcomed the tokens of +maternity, this sole prop of her life failed, her husband died of the plague. +For a time she had been lulled in insanity; the birth of her child restored her +to the cruel reality of things, but gave her at the same time an object for +whom to preserve at once life and reason. Every friend and relative had died +off, and she was reduced to solitude and penury; deep melancholy and angry +impatience distorted her judgment, so that she could not persuade herself to +disclose her distress to us. When she heard of the plan of universal +emigration, she resolved to remain behind with her child, and alone in wide +England to live or die, as fate might decree, beside the grave of her beloved. +She had hidden herself in one of the many empty habitations of London; it was +she who rescued my Idris on the fatal twentieth of November, though my +immediate danger, and the subsequent illness of Idris, caused us to forget our +hapless friend. This circumstance had however brought her again in contact with +her fellow-creatures; a slight illness of her infant, proved to her that she +was still bound to humanity by an 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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +My antagonist did not deign to reply, even by a look;—“You know +your duty,” he said to his comrades,—“obey.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“And yourself also,” I cried: “dearest friend, can we indeed +be saved?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a word,” she replied, “follow me!” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<p> +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; beside +the streams whose intense cold proclaimed their origin to be from the +slow-melting piles of congelated waters, amidst frequent storms which might +purify the air, we should find health, if in truth health were not herself +diseased. +</p> + +<p> +We began our preparations at first with alacrity. We did not now bid adieu to +our native country, to the graves of those we loved, to the flowers, and +streams, and trees, which had lived beside us from infancy. Small sorrow would +be ours on leaving Paris. A scene of shame, when we remembered our late +contentions, and thought that we left behind a flock of miserable, deluded +victims, bending under the tyranny of a selfish impostor. Small pangs should we +feel in leaving the gardens, woods, and halls of the palaces of the Bourbons at +Versailles, which we feared would soon be tainted by the dead, when we looked +forward to vallies lovelier than any garden, to mighty forests and halls, built +not for mortal majesty, but palaces of nature’s own, with the Alp of +marmoreal whiteness for their walls, the sky for their roof. +</p> + +<p> +Yet our spirits flagged, as the day drew near which we had fixed for our +departure. Dire visions and evil auguries, if such things were, thickened +around us, so that in vain might men say— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +These are their reasons, they are natural,<a href="#fn22" name="fnref22"><sup>[22]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +we felt them to be ominous, and dreaded the future event enchained to them. +That the night owl should screech before the noon-day sun, that the hard-winged +bat should wheel around the bed of beauty, that muttering thunder should in +early spring startle the cloudless air, that sudden and exterminating blight +should fall on the tree and shrub, were unaccustomed, but physical events, less +horrible than the mental creations of almighty fear. Some had sight of funeral +processions, and faces all begrimed with tears, which flitted through the long +avenues of the gardens, and drew aside the curtains of the sleepers at dead of +night. Some heard wailing and cries in the air; a mournful chaunt would stream +through the dark atmosphere, as if spirits above sang the requiem of the human +race. What was there in all this, but that fear created other senses within our +frames, making us see, hear, and feel what was not? What was this, but the +action of diseased imaginations and childish credulity? So might it be; but +what was most real, was the existence of these very fears; the staring looks of +horror, the faces pale even to ghastliness, the voices struck dumb with +harrowing dread, of those among us who saw and heard these things. Of this +number was Adrian, who knew the delusion, yet could not cast off the clinging +terror. Even ignorant infancy appeared with timorous shrieks and convulsions to +acknowledge the presence of unseen powers. We must go: in change of scene, in +occupation, and such security as we still hoped to find, we should discover a +cure for these gathering horrors. +</p> + +<p> +On mustering our company, we found them to consist of fourteen hundred souls, +men, women, and children. Until now therefore, we were undiminished in numbers, +except by the desertion of those who had attached themselves to the +impostor-prophet, and remained behind in Paris. About fifty French joined us. +Our order of march was easily arranged; the ill success which had attended our +division, determined Adrian to keep all in one body. I, with an hundred men, +went forward first as purveyor, taking the road of the Côte d’Or, through +Auxerre, Dijon, Dole, over the Jura to Geneva. I was to make arrangements, at +every ten miles, for the accommodation of such numbers as I found the town or +village would receive, leaving behind a messenger with a written order, +signifying how many were to be quartered there. The remainder of our tribe was +then divided into bands of fifty each, every division containing eighteen men, +and the remainder, consisting of women and children. Each of these was headed +by an officer, who carried the roll of names, by which they were each day to be +mustered. If the numbers were divided at night, in the morning those in the van +waited for those in the rear. At each of the large towns before mentioned, we +were all to assemble; and a conclave of the principal officers would hold +council for the general weal. I went first, as I said; Adrian last. His mother, +with Clara and Evelyn under her protection, remained also with him. Thus our +order being determined, I departed. My plan was to go at first no further than +Fontainebleau, where in a few days I should be joined by Adrian, before I took +flight again further eastward. +</p> + +<p> +My friend accompanied me a few miles from Versailles. He was sad; and, in a +tone of unaccustomed despondency, uttered a prayer for our speedy arrival among +the Alps, accompanied with an expression of vain regret that we were not +already there. “In that case,” I observed, “we can quicken +our march; why adhere to a plan whose dilatory proceeding you already +disapprove?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nay,” replied he, “it is too late now. A month ago, and we +were masters of ourselves; now,—” he turned his face from me; +though gathering twilight had already veiled its expression, he turned it yet +more away, as he added —“a man died of the plague last +night!” +</p> + +<p> +He spoke in a smothered voice, then suddenly clasping his hands, he exclaimed, +“Swiftly, most swiftly advances the last hour for us all; as the stars +vanish before the sun, so will his near approach destroy us. I have done my +best; with grasping hands and impotent strength, I have hung on the wheel of +the chariot of plague; but she drags me along with it, while, like Juggernaut, +she proceeds crushing out the being of all who strew the high road of life. +Would that it were over—would that her procession achieved, we had all +entered the tomb together!” +</p> + +<p> +Tears streamed from his eyes. “Again and again,” he continued, +“will the tragedy be acted; again I must hear the groans of the dying, +the wailing of the survivors; again witness the pangs, which, consummating all, +envelope an eternity in their evanescent existence. Why am I reserved for this? +Why the tainted wether of the flock, am I not struck to earth among the first? +It is hard, very hard, for one of woman born to endure all that I +endure!” +</p> + +<p> +Hitherto, with an undaunted spirit, and an high feeling of duty and worth, +Adrian had fulfilled his self-imposed task. I had contemplated him with +reverence, and a fruitless desire of imitation. I now offered a few words of +encouragement and sympathy. He hid his face in his hands, and while he strove +to calm himself, he ejaculated, “For a few months, yet for a few months +more, let not, O God, my heart fail, or my courage be bowed down; let not +sights of intolerable misery madden this half-crazed brain, or cause this frail +heart to beat against its prison-bound, so that it burst. I have believed it to +be my destiny to guide and rule the last of the race of man, till death +extinguish my government; and to this destiny I submit. +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me, Verney, I pain you, but I will no longer complain. Now I am +myself again, or rather I am better than myself. You have known how from my +childhood aspiring thoughts and high desires have warred with inherent disease +and overstrained sensitiveness, till the latter became victors. You know how I +placed this wasted feeble hand on the abandoned helm of human government. I +have been visited at times by intervals of fluctuation; yet, until now, I have +felt as if a superior and indefatigable spirit had taken up its abode within me +or rather incorporated itself with my weaker being. The holy visitant has for a +time slept, perhaps to show me how powerless I am without its inspiration. Yet, +stay for a while, O Power of goodness and strength; disdain not yet this rent +shrine of fleshly mortality, O immortal Capability! While one fellow creature +remains to whom aid can be afforded, stay by and prop your shattered, falling +engine!” +</p> + +<p> +His vehemence, and voice broken by irrepressible sighs, sunk to my heart; his +eyes gleamed in the gloom of night like two earthly stars; and, his form +dilating, his countenance beaming, truly it almost seemed as if at his eloquent +appeal a more than mortal spirit entered his frame, exalting him above +humanity. He turned quickly towards me, and held out his hand. “Farewell, +Verney,” he cried, “brother of my love, farewell; no other weak +expression must cross these lips, I am alive again: to our tasks, to our +combats with our unvanquishable foe, for to the last I will struggle against +her.” +</p> + +<p> +He grasped my hand, and bent a look on me, more fervent and animated than any +smile; then turning his horse’s head, he touched the animal with the +spur, and was out of sight in a moment. +</p> + +<p> +A man last night had died of the plague. The quiver was not emptied, nor the +bow unstrung. We stood as marks, while Parthian Pestilence aimed and shot, +insatiated by conquest, unobstructed by the heaps of slain. A sickness of the +soul, contagious even to my physical mechanism, came over me. My knees knocked +together, my teeth chattered, the current of my blood, clotted by sudden cold, +painfully forced its way from my heavy heart. I did not fear for myself, but it +was misery to think that we could not even save this remnant. That those I +loved might in a few days be as clay-cold as Idris in her antique tomb; nor +could strength of body or energy of mind ward off the blow. A sense of +degradation came over me. Did God create man, merely in the end to become dead +earth in the midst of healthful vegetating nature? Was he of no more account to +his Maker, than a field of corn blighted in the ear? Were our proud dreams thus +to fade? Our name was written “a little lower than the angels;” +and, behold, we were no better than ephemera. We had called ourselves the +“paragon of animals,” and, lo! we were a “quint-essence of +dust.” We repined that the pyramids had outlasted the embalmed body of +their builder. Alas! the mere shepherd’s hut of straw we passed on the +road, contained in its structure the principle of greater longevity than the +whole race of man. How reconcile this sad change to our past aspirations, to +our apparent powers! +</p> + +<p> +Sudden an internal voice, articulate and clear, seemed to say:—Thus from +eternity, it was decreed: the steeds that bear Time onwards had this hour and +this fulfilment enchained to them, since the void brought forth its burthen. +Would you read backwards the unchangeable laws of Necessity? +</p> + +<p> +Mother of the world! Servant of the Omnipotent! eternal, changeless Necessity! +who with busy fingers sittest ever weaving the indissoluble chain of +events!—I will not murmur at thy acts. If my human mind cannot +acknowledge that all that is, is right; yet since what is, must be, I will sit +amidst the ruins and smile. Truly we were not born to enjoy, but to submit, and +to hope. +</p> + +<p> +Will not the reader tire, if I should minutely describe our long-drawn journey +from Paris to Geneva? If, day by day, I should record, in the form of a +journal, the thronging miseries of our lot, could my hand write, or language +afford words to express, the variety of our woe; the hustling and crowding of +one deplorable event upon another? Patience, oh reader! whoever thou art, +wherever thou dwellest, whether of race spiritual, or, sprung from some +surviving pair, thy nature will be human, thy habitation the earth; thou wilt +here read of the acts of the extinct race, and wilt ask wonderingly, if they, +who suffered what thou findest recorded, were of frail flesh and soft +organization like thyself. Most true, they were— weep therefore; for +surely, solitary being, thou wilt be of gentle disposition; shed compassionate +tears; but the while lend thy attention to the tale, and learn the deeds and +sufferings of thy predecessors. +</p> + +<p> +Yet the last events that marked our progress through France were so full of +strange horror and gloomy misery, that I dare not pause too long in the +narration. If I were to dissect each incident, every small fragment of a second +would contain an harrowing tale, whose minutest word would curdle the blood in +thy young veins. It is right that I should erect for thy instruction this +monument of the foregone race; but not that I should drag thee through the +wards of an hospital, nor the secret chambers of the charnel-house. This tale, +therefore, shall be rapidly unfolded. Images of destruction, pictures of +despair, the procession of the last triumph of death, shall be drawn before +thee, swift as the rack driven by the north wind along the blotted splendour of +the sky. +</p> + +<p> +Weed-grown fields, desolate towns, the wild approach of riderless horses had +now become habitual to my eyes; nay, sights far worse, of the unburied dead, +and human forms which were strewed on the road side, and on the steps of once +frequented habitations, where, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + Through the flesh that wastes away<br/> +Beneath the parching sun, the whitening bones<br/> +Start forth, and moulder in the sable dust.<a href="#fn23" name="fnref23"><sup>[23]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +Sights like these had become—ah, woe the while! so familiar, that we had +ceased to shudder, or spur our stung horses to sudden speed, as we passed them. +France in its best days, at least that part of France through which we +travelled, had been a cultivated desert, and the absence of enclosures, of +cottages, and even of peasantry, was saddening to a traveller from sunny Italy, +or busy England. Yet the towns were frequent and lively, and the cordial +politeness and ready smile of the wooden-shoed peasant restored good humour to +the splenetic. Now, the old woman sat no more at the door with her +distaff—the lank beggar no longer asked charity in courtier-like phrase; +nor on holidays did the peasantry thread with slow grace the mazes of the +dance. Silence, melancholy bride of death, went in procession with him from +town to town through the spacious region. +</p> + +<p> +We arrived at Fontainebleau, and speedily prepared for the reception of our +friends. On mustering our numbers for the night, three were found missing. When +I enquired for them, the man to whom I spoke, uttered the word +“plague,” and fell at my feet in convulsions; he also was infected. +There were hard faces around me; for among my troop were sailors who had +crossed the line times unnumbered, soldiers who, in Russia and far America, had +suffered famine, cold and danger, and men still sterner-featured, once nightly +depredators in our over-grown metropolis; men bred from their cradle to see the +whole machine of society at work for their destruction. I looked round, and saw +upon the faces of all horror and despair written in glaring characters. +</p> + +<p> +We passed four days at Fontainebleau. Several sickened and died, and in the +mean time neither Adrian nor any of our friends appeared. My own troop was in +commotion; to reach Switzerland, to plunge into rivers of snow, and to dwell in +caves of ice, became the mad desire of all. Yet we had promised to wait for the +Earl; and he came not. My people demanded to be led forward— rebellion, +if so we might call what was the mere casting away of straw-formed shackles, +appeared manifestly among them. They would away on the word without a leader. +The only chance of safety, the only hope of preservation from every form of +indescribable suffering, was our keeping together. I told them this; while the +most determined among them answered with sullenness, that they could take care +of themselves, and replied to my entreaties with scoffs and menaces. +</p> + +<p> +At length, on the fifth day, a messenger arrived from Adrian, bearing letters, +which directed us to proceed to Auxerre, and there await his arrival, which +would only be deferred for a few days. Such was the tenor of his public +letters. Those privately delivered to me, detailed at length the difficulties +of his situation, and left the arrangement of my future plans to my own +discretion. His account of the state of affairs at Versailles was brief, but +the oral communications of his messenger filled up his omissions, and shewed me +that perils of the most frightful nature were gathering around him. At first +the re-awakening of the plague had been concealed; but the number of deaths +encreasing, the secret was divulged, and the destruction already achieved, was +exaggerated by the fears of the survivors. Some emissaries of the enemy of +mankind, the accursed Impostors, were among them instilling their doctrine that +safety and life could only be ensured by submission to their chief; and they +succeeded so well, that soon, instead of desiring to proceed to Switzerland, +the major part of the multitude, weak-minded women, and dastardly men, desired +to return to Paris, and, by ranging themselves under the banners of the so +called prophet, and by a cowardly worship of the principle of evil, to purchase +respite, as they hoped, from impending death. The discord and tumult induced by +these conflicting fears and passions, detained Adrian. It required all his +ardour in pursuit of an object, and his patience under difficulties, to calm +and animate such a number of his followers, as might counterbalance the panic +of the rest, and lead them back to the means from which alone safety could be +derived. He had hoped immediately to follow me; but, being defeated in this +intention, he sent his messenger urging me to secure my own troop at such a +distance from Versailles, as to prevent the contagion of rebellion from +reaching them; promising, at the same time, to join me the moment a favourable +occasion should occur, by means of which he could withdraw the main body of the +emigrants from the evil influence at present exercised over them. +</p> + +<p> +I was thrown into a most painful state of uncertainty by these communications. +My first impulse was that we should all return to Versailles, there to assist +in extricating our chief from his perils. I accordingly assembled my troop, and +proposed to them this retrograde movement, instead of the continuation of our +journey to Auxerre. With one voice they refused to comply. The notion +circulated among them was, that the ravages of the plague alone detained the +Protector; they opposed his order to my request; they came to a resolve to +proceed without me, should I refuse to accompany them. Argument and adjuration +were lost on these dastards. The continual diminution of their own numbers, +effected by pestilence, added a sting to their dislike of delay; and my +opposition only served to bring their resolution to a crisis. That same evening +they departed towards Auxerre. Oaths, as from soldiers to their general, had +been taken by them: these they broke. I also had engaged myself not to desert +them; it appeared to me inhuman to ground any infraction of my word on theirs. +The same spirit that caused them to rebel against me, would impel them to +desert each other; and the most dreadful sufferings would be the consequence of +their journey in their present unordered and chiefless array. These feelings +for a time were paramount; and, in obedience to them, I accompanied the rest +towards Auxerre. We arrived the same night at Villeneuve-la-Guiard, a town at +the distance of four posts from Fontainebleau. When my companions had retired +to rest, and I was left alone to revolve and ruminate upon the intelligence I +received of Adrian’s situation, another view of the subject presented +itself to me. What was I doing, and what was the object of my present +movements? Apparently I was to lead this troop of selfish and lawless men +towards Switzerland, leaving behind my family and my selected friend, which, +subject as they were hourly to the death that threatened to all, I might never +see again. Was it not my first duty to assist the Protector, setting an example +of attachment and duty? At a crisis, such as the one I had reached, it is very +difficult to balance nicely opposing interests, and that towards which our +inclinations lead us, obstinately assumes the appearance of selfishness, even +when we meditate a sacrifice. We are easily led at such times to make a +compromise of the question; and this was my present resource. I resolved that +very night to ride to Versailles; if I found affairs less desperate than I now +deemed them, I would return without delay to my troop; I had a vague idea that +my arrival at that town, would occasion some sensation more or less strong, of +which we might profit, for the purpose of leading forward the vacillating +multitude—at least no time was to be lost—I visited the stables, I +saddled my favourite horse, and vaulting on his back, without giving myself +time for further reflection or hesitation, quitted Villeneuve-la-Guiard on my +return to Versailles. +</p> + +<p> +I was glad to escape from my rebellious troop, and to lose sight for a time, of +the strife of evil with good, where the former for ever remained triumphant. I +was stung almost to madness by my uncertainty concerning the fate of Adrian, +and grew reckless of any event, except what might lose or preserve my +unequalled friend. With an heavy heart, that sought relief in the rapidity of +my course, I rode through the night to Versailles. I spurred my horse, who +addressed his free limbs to speed, and tossed his gallant head in pride. The +constellations reeled swiftly by, swiftly each tree and stone and landmark fled +past my onward career. I bared my head to the rushing wind, which bathed my +brow in delightful coolness. As I lost sight of Villeneuve-la-Guiard, I forgot +the sad drama of human misery; methought it was happiness enough to live, +sensitive the while of the beauty of the verdure-clad earth, the +star-bespangled sky, and the tameless wind that lent animation to the whole. My +horse grew tired—and I, forgetful of his fatigue, still as he lagged, +cheered him with my voice, and urged him with the spur. He was a gallant +animal, and I did not wish to exchange him for any chance beast I might light +on, leaving him never to be refound. All night we went forward; in the morning +he became sensible that we approached Versailles, to reach which as his home, +he mustered his flagging strength. The distance we had come was not less than +fifty miles, yet he shot down the long Boulevards swift as an arrow; poor +fellow, as I dismounted at the gate of the castle, he sunk on his knees, his +eyes were covered with a film, he fell on his side, a few gasps inflated his +noble chest, and he died. I saw him expire with an anguish, unaccountable even +to myself, the spasm was as the wrenching of some limb in agonizing torture, +but it was brief as it was intolerable. I forgot him, as I swiftly darted +through the open portal, and up the majestic stairs of this castle of +victories—heard Adrian’s voice—O fool! O woman nurtured, +effeminate and contemptible being—I heard his voice, and answered it with +convulsive shrieks; I rushed into the Hall of Hercules, where he stood +surrounded by a crowd, whose eyes, turned in wonder on me, reminded me that on +the stage of the world, a man must repress such girlish extacies. I would have +given worlds to have embraced him; I dared not—Half in exhaustion, half +voluntarily, I threw myself at my length on the ground— dare I disclose +the truth to the gentle offspring of solitude? I did so, that I might kiss the +dear and sacred earth he trod. +</p> + +<p> +I found everything in a state of tumult. An emissary of the leader of the +elect, had been so worked up by his chief, and by his own fanatical creed, as +to make an attempt on the life of the Protector and preserver of lost mankind. +His hand was arrested while in the act of poignarding the Earl; this +circumstance had caused the clamour I heard on my arrival at the castle, and +the confused assembly of persons that I found assembled in the Salle +d’Hercule. Although superstition and demoniac fury had crept among the +emigrants, yet several adhered with fidelity to their noble chieftain; and +many, whose faith and love had been unhinged by fear, felt all their latent +affection rekindled by this detestable attempt. A phalanx of faithful breasts +closed round him; the wretch, who, although a prisoner and in bonds, vaunted +his design, and madly claimed the crown of martyrdom, would have been torn to +pieces, had not his intended victim interposed. Adrian, springing forward, +shielded him with his own person, and commanded with energy the submission of +his infuriate friends—at this moment I had entered. +</p> + +<p> +Discipline and peace were at length restored in the castle; and then Adrian +went from house to house, from troop to troop, to soothe the disturbed minds of +his followers, and recall them to their ancient obedience. But the fear of +immediate death was still rife amongst these survivors of a world’s +destruction; the horror occasioned by the attempted assassination, past away; +each eye turned towards Paris. Men love a prop so well, that they will lean on +a pointed poisoned spear; and such was he, the impostor, who, with fear of hell +for his scourge, most ravenous wolf, played the driver to a credulous flock. +</p> + +<p> +It was a moment of suspense, that shook even the resolution of the unyielding +friend of man. Adrian for one moment was about to give in, to cease the +struggle, and quit, with a few adherents, the deluded crowd, leaving them a +miserable prey to their passions, and to the worse tyrant who excited them. But +again, after a brief fluctuation of purpose, he resumed his courage and +resolves, sustained by the singleness of his purpose, and the untried spirit of +benevolence which animated him. At this moment, as an omen of excellent import, +his wretched enemy pulled destruction on his head, destroying with his own +hands the dominion he had erected. +</p> + +<p> +His grand hold upon the minds of men, took its rise from the doctrine +inculcated by him, that those who believed in, and followed him, were the +remnant to be saved, while all the rest of mankind were marked out for death. +Now, at the time of the Flood, the omnipotent repented him that he had created +man, and as then with water, now with the arrows of pestilence, was about to +annihilate all, except those who obeyed his decrees, promulgated by the <i>ipse +dixit</i> prophet. It is impossible to say on what foundations this man built +his hopes of being able to carry on such an imposture. It is likely that he was +fully aware of the lie which murderous nature might give to his assertions, and +believed it to be the cast of a die, whether he should in future ages be +reverenced as an inspired delegate from heaven, or be recognized as an impostor +by the present dying generation. At any rate he resolved to keep up the drama +to the last act. When, on the first approach of summer, the fatal disease again +made its ravages among the followers of Adrian, the impostor exultingly +proclaimed the exemption of his own congregation from the universal calamity. +He was believed; his followers, hitherto shut up in Paris, now came to +Versailles. Mingling with the coward band there assembled, they reviled their +admirable leader, and asserted their own superiority and exemption. At length +the plague, slow-footed, but sure in her noiseless advance, destroyed the +illusion, invading the congregation of the elect, and showering promiscuous +death among them. Their leader endeavoured to conceal this event; he had a few +followers, who, admitted into the arcana of his wickedness, could help him in +the execution of his nefarious designs. Those who sickened were immediately and +quietly withdrawn, the cord and a midnight-grave disposed of them for ever; +while some plausible excuse was given for their absence. At last a female, +whose maternal vigilance subdued even the effects of the narcotics administered +to her, became a witness of their murderous designs on her only child. Mad with +horror, she would have burst among her deluded fellow-victims, and, wildly +shrieking, have awaked the dull ear of night with the history of the fiend-like +crime; when the Impostor, in his last act of rage and desperation, plunged a +poignard in her bosom. Thus wounded to death, her garments dripping with her +own life-blood, bearing her strangled infant in her arms, beautiful and young +as she was, Juliet, (for it was she) denounced to the host of deceived +believers, the wickedness of their leader. He saw the aghast looks of her +auditors, changing from horror to fury—the names of those already +sacrificed were echoed by their relatives, now assured of their loss. The +wretch with that energy of purpose, which had borne him thus far in his guilty +career, saw his danger, and resolved to evade the worst forms of it—he +rushed on one of the foremost, seized a pistol from his girdle, and his loud +laugh of derision mingled with the report of the weapon with which he destroyed +himself. +</p> + +<p> +They left his miserable remains even where they lay; they placed the corpse of +poor Juliet and her babe upon a bier, and all, with hearts subdued to saddest +regret, in long procession walked towards Versailles. They met troops of those +who had quitted the kindly protection of Adrian, and were journeying to join +the fanatics. The tale of horror was recounted—all turned back; and thus +at last, accompanied by the undiminished numbers of surviving humanity, and +preceded by the mournful emblem of their recovered reason, they appeared before +Adrian, and again and for ever vowed obedience to his commands, and fidelity to +his cause. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn22"></a> <a href="#fnref22">[22]</a> +Shakespeare—Julius Cæsar. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn23"></a> <a href="#fnref23">[23]</a> +Elton’s Translation of Hesiod’s “Shield of Hercules.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<p> +These events occupied so much time, that June had numbered more than half its +days, before we again commenced our long-protracted journey. The day after my +return to Versailles, six men, from among those I had left at +Villeneuve-la-Guiard, arrived, with intelligence, that the rest of the troop +had already proceeded towards Switzerland. We went forward in the same track. +</p> + +<p> +It is strange, after an interval of time, to look back on a period, which, +though short in itself, appeared, when in actual progress, to be drawn out +interminably. By the end of July we entered Dijon; by the end of July those +hours, days, and weeks had mingled with the ocean of forgotten time, which in +their passage teemed with fatal events and agonizing sorrow. By the end of +July, little more than a month had gone by, if man’s life were measured +by the rising and setting of the sun: but, alas! in that interval ardent youth +had become grey-haired; furrows deep and uneraseable were trenched in the +blooming cheek of the young mother; the elastic limbs of early manhood, +paralyzed as by the burthen of years, assumed the decrepitude of age. Nights +passed, during whose fatal darkness the sun grew old before it rose; and +burning days, to cool whose baleful heat the balmy eve, lingering far in +eastern climes, came lagging and ineffectual; days, in which the dial, radiant +in its noon-day station, moved not its shadow the space of a little hour, until +a whole life of sorrow had brought the sufferer to an untimely grave. +</p> + +<p> +We departed from Versailles fifteen hundred souls. We set out on the eighteenth +of June. We made a long procession, in which was contained every dear +relationship, or tie of love, that existed in human society. Fathers and +husbands, with guardian care, gathered their dear relatives around them; wives +and mothers looked for support to the manly form beside them, and then with +tender anxiety bent their eyes on the infant troop around. They were sad, but +not hopeless. Each thought that someone would be saved; each, with that +pertinacious optimism, which to the last characterized our human nature, +trusted that their beloved family would be the one preserved. +</p> + +<p> +We passed through France, and found it empty of inhabitants. Some one or two +natives survived in the larger towns, which they roamed through like ghosts; we +received therefore small encrease to our numbers, and such decrease through +death, that at last it became easier to count the scanty list of survivors. As +we never deserted any of the sick, until their death permitted us to commit +their remains to the shelter of a grave, our journey was long, while every day +a frightful gap was made in our troop—they died by tens, by fifties, by +hundreds. No mercy was shewn by death; we ceased to expect it, and every day +welcomed the sun with the feeling that we might never see it rise again. +</p> + +<p> +The nervous terrors and fearful visions which had scared us during the spring, +continued to visit our coward troop during this sad journey. Every evening +brought its fresh creation of spectres; a ghost was depicted by every blighted +tree; and appalling shapes were manufactured from each shaggy bush. By degrees +these common marvels palled on us, and then other wonders were called into +being. Once it was confidently asserted, that the sun rose an hour later than +its seasonable time; again it was discovered that he grew paler and paler; that +shadows took an uncommon appearance. It was impossible to have imagined, during +the usual calm routine of life men had before experienced, the terrible effects +produced by these extravagant delusions: in truth, of such little worth are our +senses, when unsupported by concurring testimony, that it was with the utmost +difficulty I kept myself free from the belief in supernatural events, to which +the major part of our people readily gave credit. Being one sane amidst a crowd +of the mad, I hardly dared assert to my own mind, that the vast luminary had +undergone no change—that the shadows of night were unthickened by +innumerable shapes of awe and terror; or that the wind, as it sung in the +trees, or whistled round an empty building, was not pregnant with sounds of +wailing and despair. Sometimes realities took ghostly shapes; and it was +impossible for one’s blood not to curdle at the perception of an evident +mixture of what we knew to be true, with the visionary semblance of all that we +feared. +</p> + +<p> +Once, at the dusk of the evening, we saw a figure all in white, apparently of +more than human stature, flourishing about the road, now throwing up its arms, +now leaping to an astonishing height in the air, then turning round several +times successively, then raising itself to its full height and gesticulating +violently. Our troop, on the alert to discover and believe in the supernatural, +made a halt at some distance from this shape; and, as it became darker, there +was something appalling even to the incredulous, in the lonely spectre, whose +gambols, if they hardly accorded with spiritual dignity, were beyond human +powers. Now it leapt right up in the air, now sheer over a high hedge, and was +again the moment after in the road before us. By the time I came up, the fright +experienced by the spectators of this ghostly exhibition, began to manifest +itself in the flight of some, and the close huddling together of the rest. Our +goblin now perceived us; he approached, and, as we drew reverentially back, +made a low bow. The sight was irresistibly ludicrous even to our hapless band, +and his politeness was hailed by a shout of laughter;—then, again +springing up, as a last effort, it sunk to the ground, and became almost +invisible through the dusky night. This circumstance again spread silence and +fear through the troop; the more courageous at length advanced, and, raising +the dying wretch, discovered the tragic explanation of this wild scene. It was +an opera-dancer, and had been one of the troop which deserted from +Villeneuve-la-Guiard: falling sick, he had been deserted by his companions; in +an access of delirium he had fancied himself on the stage, and, poor fellow, +his dying sense eagerly accepted the last human applause that could ever be +bestowed on his grace and agility. +</p> + +<p> +At another time we were haunted for several days by an apparition, to which our +people gave the appellation of the Black Spectre. We never saw it except at +evening, when his coal black steed, his mourning dress, and plume of black +feathers, had a majestic and awe-striking appearance; his face, one said, who +had seen it for a moment, was ashy pale; he had lingered far behind the rest of +his troop, and suddenly at a turn in the road, saw the Black Spectre coming +towards him; he hid himself in fear, and the horse and his rider slowly past, +while the moonbeams fell on the face of the latter, displaying its unearthly +hue. Sometimes at dead of night, as we watched the sick, we heard one galloping +through the town; it was the Black Spectre come in token of inevitable death. +He grew giant tall to vulgar eyes; an icy atmosphere, they said, surrounded +him; when he was heard, all animals shuddered, and the dying knew that their +last hour was come. It was Death himself, they declared, come visibly to seize +on subject earth, and quell at once our decreasing numbers, sole rebels to his +law. One day at noon, we saw a dark mass on the road before us, and, coming up, +beheld the Black Spectre fallen from his horse, lying in the agonies of disease +upon the ground. He did not survive many hours; and his last words disclosed +the secret of his mysterious conduct. He was a French noble of distinction, +who, from the effects of plague, had been left alone in his district; during +many months, he had wandered from town to town, from province to province, +seeking some survivor for a companion, and abhorring the loneliness to which he +was condemned. When he discovered our troop, fear of contagion conquered his +love of society. He dared not join us, yet he could not resolve to lose sight +of us, sole human beings who besides himself existed in wide and fertile +France; so he accompanied us in the spectral guise I have described, till +pestilence gathered him to a larger congregation, even that of Dead Mankind. +</p> + +<p> +It had been well, if such vain terrors could have distracted our thoughts from +more tangible evils. But these were too dreadful and too many not to force +themselves into every thought, every moment, of our lives. We were obliged to +halt at different periods for days together, till another and yet another was +consigned as a clod to the vast clod which had been once our living mother. +Thus we continued travelling during the hottest season; and it was not till the +first of August, that we, the emigrants,—reader, there were just eighty +of us in number,—entered the gates of Dijon. +</p> + +<p> +We had expected this moment with eagerness, for now we had accomplished the +worst part of our drear journey, and Switzerland was near at hand. Yet how +could we congratulate ourselves on any event thus imperfectly fulfilled? Were +these miserable beings, who, worn and wretched, passed in sorrowful procession, +the sole remnants of the race of man, which, like a flood, had once spread over +and possessed the whole earth? It had come down clear and unimpeded from its +primal mountain source in Ararat, and grew from a puny streamlet to a vast +perennial river, generation after generation flowing on ceaselessly. The same, +but diversified, it grew, and swept onwards towards the absorbing ocean, whose +dim shores we now reached. It had been the mere plaything of nature, when first +it crept out of uncreative void into light; but thought brought forth power and +knowledge; and, clad with these, the race of man assumed dignity and authority. +It was then no longer the mere gardener of earth, or the shepherd of her +flocks; “it carried with it an imposing and majestic aspect; it had a +pedigree and illustrious ancestors; it had its gallery of portraits, its +monumental inscriptions, its records and +titles.”<a href="#fn24" name="fnref24"><sup>[24]</sup></a> +</p> + +<p> +This was all over, now that the ocean of death had sucked in the slackening +tide, and its source was dried up. We first had bidden adieu to the state of +things which having existed many thousand years, seemed eternal; such a state +of government, obedience, traffic, and domestic intercourse, as had moulded our +hearts and capacities, as far back as memory could reach. Then to patriotic +zeal, to the arts, to reputation, to enduring fame, to the name of country, we +had bidden farewell. We saw depart all hope of retrieving our ancient +state—all expectation, except the feeble one of saving our individual +lives from the wreck of the past. To preserve these we had quitted +England—England, no more; for without her children, what name could that +barren island claim? With tenacious grasp we clung to such rule and order as +could best save us; trusting that, if a little colony could be preserved, that +would suffice at some remoter period to restore the lost community of mankind. +</p> + +<p> +But the game is up! We must all die; nor leave survivor nor heir to the wide +inheritance of earth. We must all die! The species of man must perish; his +frame of exquisite workmanship; the wondrous mechanism of his senses; the noble +proportion of his godlike limbs; his mind, the throned king of these; must +perish. Will the earth still keep her place among the planets; will she still +journey with unmarked regularity round the sun; will the seasons change, the +trees adorn themselves with leaves, and flowers shed their fragrance, in +solitude? Will the mountains remain unmoved, and streams still keep a downward +course towards the vast abyss; will the tides rise and fall, and the winds fan +universal nature; will beasts pasture, birds fly, and fishes swim, when man, +the lord, possessor, perceiver, and recorder of all these things, has passed +away, as though he had never been? O, what mockery is this! Surely death is not +death, and humanity is not extinct; but merely passed into other shapes, +unsubjected to our perceptions. Death is a vast portal, an high road to life: +let us hasten to pass; let us exist no more in this living death, but die that +we may live! +</p> + +<p> +We had longed with inexpressible earnestness to reach Dijon, since we had fixed +on it, as a kind of station in our progress. But now we entered it with a +torpor more painful than acute suffering. We had come slowly but irrevocably to +the opinion, that our utmost efforts would not preserve one human being alive. +We took our hands therefore away from the long grasped rudder; and the frail +vessel on which we floated, seemed, the government over her suspended, to rush, +prow foremost, into the dark abyss of the billows. A gush of grief, a wanton +profusion of tears, and vain laments, and overflowing tenderness, and +passionate but fruitless clinging to the priceless few that remained, was +followed by languor and recklessness. +</p> + +<p> +During this disastrous journey we lost all those, not of our own family, to +whom we had particularly attached ourselves among the survivors. It were not +well to fill these pages with a mere catalogue of losses; yet I cannot refrain +from this last mention of those principally dear to us. The little girl whom +Adrian had rescued from utter desertion, during our ride through London on the +twentieth of November, died at Auxerre. The poor child had attached herself +greatly to us; and the suddenness of her death added to our sorrow. In the +morning we had seen her apparently in health—in the evening, Lucy, before +we retired to rest, visited our quarters to say that she was dead. Poor Lucy +herself only survived, till we arrived at Dijon. She had devoted herself +throughout to the nursing the sick, and attending the friendless. Her excessive +exertions brought on a slow fever, which ended in the dread disease whose +approach soon released her from her sufferings. She had throughout been +endeared to us by her good qualities, by her ready and cheerful execution of +every duty, and mild acquiescence in every turn of adversity. When we consigned +her to the tomb, we seemed at the same time to bid a final adieu to those +peculiarly feminine virtues conspicuous in her; uneducated and unpretending as +she was, she was distinguished for patience, forbearance, and sweetness. These, +with all their train of qualities peculiarly English, would never again be +revived for us. This type of all that was most worthy of admiration in her +class among my countrywomen, was placed under the sod of desert France; and it +was as a second separation from our country to have lost sight of her for ever. +</p> + +<p> +The Countess of Windsor died during our abode at Dijon. One morning I was +informed that she wished to see me. Her message made me remember, that several +days had elapsed since I had last seen her. Such a circumstance had often +occurred during our journey, when I remained behind to watch to their close the +last moments of some one of our hapless comrades, and the rest of the troop +past on before me. But there was something in the manner of her messenger, that +made me suspect that all was not right. A caprice of the imagination caused me +to conjecture that some ill had occurred to Clara or Evelyn, rather than to +this aged lady. Our fears, for ever on the stretch, demanded a nourishment of +horror; and it seemed too natural an occurrence, too like past times, for the +old to die before the young. I found the venerable mother of my Idris lying on +a couch, her tall emaciated figure stretched out; her face fallen away, from +which the nose stood out in sharp profile, and her large dark eyes, hollow and +deep, gleamed with such light as may edge a thunder cloud at sun-set. All was +shrivelled and dried up, except these lights; her voice too was fearfully +changed, as she spoke to me at intervals. “I am afraid,” said she, +“that it is selfish in me to have asked you to visit the old woman again, +before she dies: yet perhaps it would have been a greater shock to hear +suddenly that I was dead, than to see me first thus.” +</p> + +<p> +I clasped her shrivelled hand: “Are you indeed so ill?” I asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you not perceive death in my face,” replied she, “it is +strange; I ought to have expected this, and yet I confess it has taken me +unaware. I never clung to life, or enjoyed it, till these last months, while +among those I senselessly deserted: and it is hard to be snatched immediately +away. I am glad, however, that I am not a victim of the plague; probably I +should have died at this hour, though the world had continued as it was in my +youth.” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke with difficulty, and I perceived that she regretted the necessity of +death, even more than she cared to confess. Yet she had not to complain of an +undue shortening of existence; her faded person shewed that life had naturally +spent itself. We had been alone at first; now Clara entered; the Countess +turned to her with a smile, and took the hand of this lovely child; her roseate +palm and snowy fingers, contrasted with relaxed fibres and yellow hue of those +of her aged friend; she bent to kiss her, touching her withered mouth with the +warm, full lips of youth. “Verney,” said the Countess, “I +need not recommend this dear girl to you, for your own sake you will preserve +her. Were the world as it was, I should have a thousand sage precautions to +impress, that one so sensitive, good, and beauteous, might escape the dangers +that used to lurk for the destruction of the fair and excellent. This is all +nothing now. +</p> + +<p> +“I commit you, my kind nurse, to your uncle’s care; to yours I +entrust the dearest relic of my better self. Be to Adrian, sweet one, what you +have been to me—enliven his sadness with your sprightly sallies; sooth +his anguish by your sober and inspired converse, when he is dying; nurse him as +you have done me.” +</p> + +<p> +Clara burst into tears; “Kind girl,” said the Countess, “do +not weep for me. Many dear friends are left to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“And yet,” cried Clara, “you talk of their dying also. This +is indeed cruel —how could I live, if they were gone? If it were possible +for my beloved protector to die before me, I could not nurse him; I could only +die too.” +</p> + +<p> +The venerable lady survived this scene only twenty-four hours. She was the last +tie binding us to the ancient state of things. It was impossible to look on +her, and not call to mind in their wonted guise, events and persons, as alien +to our present situation as the disputes of Themistocles and Aristides, or the +wars of the two roses in our native land. The crown of England had pressed her +brow; the memory of my father and his misfortunes, the vain struggles of the +late king, the images of Raymond, Evadne, and Perdita, who had lived in the +world’s prime, were brought vividly before us. We consigned her to the +oblivious tomb with reluctance; and when I turned from her grave, Janus veiled +his retrospective face; that which gazed on future generations had long lost +its faculty. +</p> + +<p> +After remaining a week at Dijon, until thirty of our number deserted the vacant +ranks of life, we continued our way towards Geneva. At noon on the second day +we arrived at the foot of Jura. We halted here during the heat of the day. Here +fifty human beings—fifty, the only human beings that survived of the +food-teeming earth, assembled to read in the looks of each other ghastly +plague, or wasting sorrow, desperation, or worse, carelessness of future or +present evil. Here we assembled at the foot of this mighty wall of mountain, +under a spreading walnut tree; a brawling stream refreshed the green sward by +its sprinkling; and the busy grasshopper chirped among the thyme. We clustered +together a group of wretched sufferers. A mother cradled in her enfeebled arms +the child, last of many, whose glazed eye was about to close for ever. Here +beauty, late glowing in youthful lustre and consciousness, now wan and +neglected, knelt fanning with uncertain motion the beloved, who lay striving to +paint his features, distorted by illness, with a thankful smile. There an +hard-featured, weather-worn veteran, having prepared his meal, sat, his head +dropped on his breast, the useless knife falling from his grasp, his limbs +utterly relaxed, as thought of wife and child, and dearest relative, all lost, +passed across his recollection. There sat a man who for forty years had basked +in fortune’s tranquil sunshine; he held the hand of his last hope, his +beloved daughter, who had just attained womanhood; and he gazed on her with +anxious eyes, while she tried to rally her fainting spirit to comfort him. Here +a servant, faithful to the last, though dying, waited on one, who, though still +erect with health, gazed with gasping fear on the variety of woe around. +</p> + +<p> +Adrian stood leaning against a tree; he held a book in his hand, but his eye +wandered from the pages, and sought mine; they mingled a sympathetic glance; +his looks confessed that his thoughts had quitted the inanimate print, for +pages more pregnant with meaning, more absorbing, spread out before him. By the +margin of the stream, apart from all, in a tranquil nook, where the purling +brook kissed the green sward gently, Clara and Evelyn were at play, sometimes +beating the water with large boughs, sometimes watching the summer-flies that +sported upon it. Evelyn now chased a butterfly—now gathered a flower for +his cousin; and his laughing cherub-face and clear brow told of the light heart +that beat in his bosom. Clara, though she endeavoured to give herself up to his +amusement, often forgot him, as she turned to observe Adrian and me. She was +now fourteen, and retained her childish appearance, though in height a woman; +she acted the part of the tenderest mother to my little orphan boy; to see her +playing with him, or attending silently and submissively on our wants, you +thought only of her admirable docility and patience; but, in her soft eyes, and +the veined curtains that veiled them, in the clearness of her marmoreal brow, +and the tender expression of her lips, there was an intelligence and beauty +that at once excited admiration and love. +</p> + +<p> +When the sun had sunk towards the precipitate west, and the evening shadows +grew long, we prepared to ascend the mountain. The attention that we were +obliged to pay to the sick, made our progress slow. The winding road, though +steep, presented a confined view of rocky fields and hills, each hiding the +other, till our farther ascent disclosed them in succession. We were seldom +shaded from the declining sun, whose slant beams were instinct with exhausting +heat. There are times when minor difficulties grow gigantic —times, when +as the Hebrew poet expressively terms it, “the grasshopper is a +burthen;” so was it with our ill fated party this evening. Adrian, +usually the first to rally his spirits, and dash foremost into fatigue and +hardship, with relaxed limbs and declined head, the reins hanging loosely in +his grasp, left the choice of the path to the instinct of his horse, now and +then painfully rousing himself, when the steepness of the ascent required that +he should keep his seat with better care. Fear and horror encompassed me. Did +his languid air attest that he also was struck with contagion? How long, when I +look on this matchless specimen of mortality, may I perceive that his thought +answers mine? how long will those limbs obey the kindly spirit within? how long +will light and life dwell in the eyes of this my sole remaining friend? Thus +pacing slowly, each hill surmounted, only presented another to be ascended; +each jutting corner only discovered another, sister to the last, endlessly. +Sometimes the pressure of sickness in one among us, caused the whole cavalcade +to halt; the call for water, the eagerly expressed wish to repose; the cry of +pain, and suppressed sob of the mourner—such were the sorrowful +attendants of our passage of the Jura. +</p> + +<p> +Adrian had gone first. I saw him, while I was detained by the loosening of a +girth, struggling with the upward path, seemingly more difficult than any we +had yet passed. He reached the top, and the dark outline of his figure stood in +relief against the sky. He seemed to behold something unexpected and wonderful; +for, pausing, his head stretched out, his arms for a moment extended, he seemed +to give an All Hail! to some new vision. Urged by curiosity, I hurried to join +him. After battling for many tedious minutes with the precipice, the same scene +presented itself to me, which had wrapt him in extatic wonder. +</p> + +<p> +Nature, or nature’s favourite, this lovely earth, presented her most +unrivalled beauties in resplendent and sudden exhibition. Below, far, far +below, even as it were in the yawning abyss of the ponderous globe, lay the +placid and azure expanse of lake Leman; vine-covered hills hedged it in, and +behind dark mountains in cone-like shape, or irregular cyclopean wall, served +for further defence. But beyond, and high above all, as if the spirits of the +air had suddenly unveiled their bright abodes, placed in scaleless altitude in +the stainless sky, heaven-kissing, companions of the unattainable ether, were +the glorious Alps, clothed in dazzling robes of light by the setting sun. And, +as if the world’s wonders were never to be exhausted, their vast +immensities, their jagged crags, and roseate painting, appeared again in the +lake below, dipping their proud heights beneath the unruffled +waves—palaces for the Naiads of the placid waters. Towns and villages lay +scattered at the foot of Jura, which, with dark ravine, and black promontories, +stretched its roots into the watery expanse beneath. Carried away by wonder, I +forgot the death of man, and the living and beloved friend near me. When I +turned, I saw tears streaming from his eyes; his thin hands pressed one against +the other, his animated countenance beaming with admiration; “Why,” +cried he, at last, “Why, oh heart, whisperest thou of grief to me? Drink +in the beauty of that scene, and possess delight beyond what a fabled paradise +could afford.” +</p> + +<p> +By degrees, our whole party surmounting the steep, joined us, not one among +them, but gave visible tokens of admiration, surpassing any before experienced. +One cried, “God reveals his heaven to us; we may die blessed.” +Another and another, with broken exclamations, and extravagant phrases, +endeavoured to express the intoxicating effect of this wonder of nature. So we +remained awhile, lightened of the pressing burthen of fate, forgetful of death, +into whose night we were about to plunge; no longer reflecting that our eyes +now and for ever were and would be the only ones which might perceive the +divine magnificence of this terrestrial exhibition. An enthusiastic transport, +akin to happiness, burst, like a sudden ray from the sun, on our darkened life. +Precious attribute of woe-worn humanity! that can snatch extatic emotion, even +from under the very share and harrow, that ruthlessly ploughs up and lays waste +every hope. +</p> + +<p> +This evening was marked by another event. Passing through Ferney in our way to +Geneva, unaccustomed sounds of music arose from the rural church which stood +embosomed in trees, surrounded by smokeless, vacant cottages. The peal of an +organ with rich swell awoke the mute air, lingering along, and mingling with +the intense beauty that clothed the rocks and woods, and waves around. +Music—the language of the immortals, disclosed to us as testimony of +their existence—music, “silver key of the fountain of tears,” +child of love, soother of grief, inspirer of heroism and radiant thoughts, O +music, in this our desolation, we had forgotten thee! Nor pipe at eve cheered +us, nor harmony of voice, nor linked thrill of string; thou camest upon us now, +like the revealing of other forms of being; and transported as we had been by +the loveliness of nature, fancying that we beheld the abode of spirits, now we +might well imagine that we heard their melodious communings. We paused in such +awe as would seize on a pale votarist, visiting some holy shrine at midnight; +if she beheld animated and smiling, the image which she worshipped. We all +stood mute; many knelt. In a few minutes however, we were recalled to human +wonder and sympathy by a familiar strain. The air was Haydn’s +“New-Created World,” and, old and drooping as humanity had become, +the world yet fresh as at creation’s day, might still be worthily +celebrated by such an hymn of praise. Adrian and I entered the church; the nave +was empty, though the smoke of incense rose from the altar, bringing with it +the recollection of vast congregations, in once thronged cathedrals; we went +into the loft. A blind old man sat at the bellows; his whole soul was ear; and +as he sat in the attitude of attentive listening, a bright glow of pleasure was +diffused over his countenance; for, though his lack-lustre eye could not +reflect the beam, yet his parted lips, and every line of his face and venerable +brow spoke delight. A young woman sat at the keys, perhaps twenty years of age. +Her auburn hair hung on her neck, and her fair brow shone in its own beauty; +but her drooping eyes let fall fast-flowing tears, while the constraint she +exercised to suppress her sobs, and still her trembling, flushed her else pale +cheek; she was thin; languor, and alas! sickness, bent her form. We stood +looking at the pair, forgetting what we heard in the absorbing sight; till, the +last chord struck, the peal died away in lessening reverberations. The mighty +voice, inorganic we might call it, for we could in no way associate it with +mechanism of pipe or key, stilled its sonorous tone, and the girl, turning to +lend her assistance to her aged companion, at length perceived us. +</p> + +<p> +It was her father; and she, since childhood, had been the guide of his darkened +steps. They were Germans from Saxony, and, emigrating thither but a few years +before, had formed new ties with the surrounding villagers. About the time that +the pestilence had broken out, a young German student had joined them. Their +simple history was easily divined. He, a noble, loved the fair daughter of the +poor musician, and followed them in their flight from the persecutions of his +friends; but soon the mighty leveller came with unblunted scythe to mow, +together with the grass, the tall flowers of the field. The youth was an early +victim. She preserved herself for her father’s sake. His blindness +permitted her to continue a delusion, at first the child of accident—and +now solitary beings, sole survivors in the land, he remained unacquainted with +the change, nor was aware that when he listened to his child’s music, the +mute mountains, senseless lake, and unconscious trees, were, himself excepted, +her sole auditors. +</p> + +<p> +The very day that we arrived she had been attacked by symptomatic illness. She +was paralyzed with horror at the idea of leaving her aged, sightless father +alone on the empty earth; but she had not courage to disclose the truth, and +the very excess of her desperation animated her to surpassing exertions. At the +accustomed vesper hour, she led him to the chapel; and, though trembling and +weeping on his account, she played, without fault in time, or error in note, +the hymn written to celebrate the creation of the adorned earth, soon to be her +tomb. +</p> + +<p> +We came to her like visitors from heaven itself; her high-wrought courage; her +hardly sustained firmness, fled with the appearance of relief. With a shriek +she rushed towards us, embraced the knees of Adrian, and uttering but the +words, “O save my father!” with sobs and hysterical cries, opened +the long-shut floodgates of her woe. +</p> + +<p> +Poor girl!—she and her father now lie side by side, beneath the high +walnut-tree where her lover reposes, and which in her dying moments she had +pointed out to us. Her father, at length aware of his daughter’s danger, +unable to see the changes of her dear countenance, obstinately held her hand, +till it was chilled and stiffened by death. Nor did he then move or speak, +till, twelve hours after, kindly death took him to his breakless repose. They +rest beneath the sod, the tree their monument;—the hallowed spot is +distinct in my memory, paled in by craggy Jura, and the far, immeasurable Alps; +the spire of the church they frequented still points from out the embosoming +trees; and though her hand be cold, still methinks the sounds of divine music +which they loved wander about, solacing their gentle ghosts. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn24"></a> <a href="#fnref24">[24]</a> +Burke’s Reflections on the French Revolution. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap28"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<p> +We had now reached Switzerland, so long the final mark and aim of our +exertions. We had looked, I know not wherefore, with hope and pleasing +expectation on her congregation of hills and snowy crags, and opened our bosoms +with renewed spirits to the icy Biz, which even at Midsummer used to come from +the northern glacier laden with cold. Yet how could we nourish expectation of +relief? Like our native England, and the vast extent of fertile France, this +mountain-embowered land was desolate of its inhabitants. Nor bleak +mountain-top, nor snow-nourished rivulet; not the ice-laden Biz, nor thunder, +the tamer of contagion, had preserved them— why therefore should we claim +exemption? +</p> + +<p> +Who was there indeed to save? What troop had we brought fit to stand at bay, +and combat with the conqueror? We were a failing remnant, tamed to mere +submission to the coming blow. A train half dead, through fear of death—a +hopeless, unresisting, almost reckless crew, which, in the tossed bark of life, +had given up all pilotage, and resigned themselves to the destructive force of +ungoverned winds. Like a few furrows of unreaped corn, which, left standing on +a wide field after the rest is gathered to the garner, are swiftly borne down +by the winter storm. Like a few straggling swallows, which, remaining after +their fellows had, on the first unkind breath of passing autumn, migrated to +genial climes, were struck to earth by the first frost of November. Like a +stray sheep that wanders over the sleet-beaten hill-side, while the flock is in +the pen, and dies before morning-dawn. Like a cloud, like one of many that were +spread in impenetrable woof over the sky, which, when the shepherd north has +driven its companions “to drink Antipodean noon,” fades and +dissolves in the clear ether—Such were we! +</p> + +<p> +We left the fair margin of the beauteous lake of Geneva, and entered the Alpine +ravines; tracing to its source the brawling Arve, through the rock-bound valley +of Servox, beside the mighty waterfalls, and under the shadow of the +inaccessible mountains, we travelled on; while the luxuriant walnut-tree gave +place to the dark pine, whose musical branches swung in the wind, and whose +upright forms had braved a thousand storms—till the verdant sod, the +flowery dell, and shrubbery hill were exchanged for the sky-piercing, +untrodden, seedless rock, “the bones of the world, waiting to be clothed +with every thing necessary to give life and beauty.”<a href="#fn25" name="fnref25"><sup>[25]</sup></a> +Strange that we should seek shelter here! Surely, if, in those countries where +earth was wont, like a tender mother, to nourish her children, we had found her +a destroyer, we need not seek it here, where stricken by keen penury she seems +to shudder through her stony veins. Nor were we mistaken in our conjecture. We +vainly sought the vast and ever moving glaciers of Chamounix, rifts of pendant +ice, seas of congelated waters, the leafless groves of tempest-battered pines, +dells, mere paths for the loud avalanche, and hill-tops, the resort of +thunder-storms. Pestilence reigned paramount even here. By the time that day +and night, like twin sisters of equal growth, shared equally their dominion +over the hours, one by one, beneath the ice-caves, beside the waters springing +from the thawed snows of a thousand winters, another and yet another of the +remnant of the race of Man, closed their eyes for ever to the light. +</p> + +<p> +Yet we were not quite wrong in seeking a scene like this, whereon to close the +drama. Nature, true to the last, consoled us in the very heart of misery. +Sublime grandeur of outward objects soothed our hapless hearts, and were in +harmony with our desolation. Many sorrows have befallen man during his +chequered course; and many a woe-stricken mourner has found himself sole +survivor among many. Our misery took its majestic shape and colouring from the +vast ruin, that accompanied and made one with it. Thus on lovely earth, many a +dark ravine contains a brawling stream, shadowed by romantic rocks, threaded by +mossy paths—but all, except this, wanted the mighty back-ground, the +towering Alps, whose snowy capes, or bared ridges, lifted us from our dull +mortal abode, to the palaces of Nature’s own. +</p> + +<p> +This solemn harmony of event and situation regulated our feelings, and gave as +it were fitting costume to our last act. Majestic gloom and tragic pomp +attended the decease of wretched humanity. The funeral procession of monarchs +of old, was transcended by our splendid shews. Near the sources of the Arveiron +we performed the rites for, four only excepted, the last of the species. Adrian +and I, leaving Clara and Evelyn wrapt in peaceful unobserving slumber, carried +the body to this desolate spot, and placed it in those caves of ice beneath the +glacier, which rive and split with the slightest sound, and bring destruction +on those within the clefts—no bird or beast of prey could here profane +the frozen form. So, with hushed steps and in silence, we placed the dead on a +bier of ice, and then, departing, stood on the rocky platform beside the river +springs. All hushed as we had been, the very striking of the air with our +persons had sufficed to disturb the repose of this thawless region; and we had +hardly left the cavern, before vast blocks of ice, detaching themselves from +the roof, fell, and covered the human image we had deposited within. We had +chosen a fair moonlight night, but our journey thither had been long, and the +crescent sank behind the western heights by the time we had accomplished our +purpose. The snowy mountains and blue glaciers shone in their own light. The +rugged and abrupt ravine, which formed one side of Mont Anvert, was opposite to +us, the glacier at our side; at our feet Arveiron, white and foaming, dashed +over the pointed rocks that jutted into it, and, with whirring spray and +ceaseless roar, disturbed the stilly night. Yellow lightnings played around the +vast dome of Mont Blanc, silent as the snow-clad rock they illuminated; all was +bare, wild, and sublime, while the singing of the pines in melodious murmurings +added a gentle interest to the rough magnificence. Now the riving and fall of +icy rocks clave the air; now the thunder of the avalanche burst on our ears. In +countries whose features are of less magnitude, nature betrays her living +powers in the foliage of the trees, in the growth of herbage, in the soft +purling of meandering streams; here, endowed with giant attributes, the +torrent, the thunder-storm, and the flow of massive waters, display her +activity. Such the church-yard, such the requiem, such the eternal +congregation, that waited on our companion’s funeral! +</p> + +<p> +Nor was it the human form alone which we had placed in this eternal sepulchre, +whose obsequies we now celebrated. With this last victim Plague vanished from +the earth. Death had never wanted weapons wherewith to destroy life, and we, +few and weak as we had become, were still exposed to every other shaft with +which his full quiver teemed. But pestilence was absent from among them. For +seven years it had had full sway upon earth; she had trod every nook of our +spacious globe; she had mingled with the atmosphere, which as a cloak enwraps +all our fellow-creatures—the inhabitants of native Europe—the +luxurious Asiatic—the swarthy African and free American had been +vanquished and destroyed by her. Her barbarous tyranny came to its close here +in the rocky vale of Chamounix. +</p> + +<p> +Still recurring scenes of misery and pain, the fruits of this distemper, made +no more a part of our lives—the word plague no longer rung in our +ears—the aspect of plague incarnate in the human countenance no longer +appeared before our eyes. From this moment I saw plague no more. She abdicated +her throne, and despoiled herself of her imperial sceptre among the ice rocks +that surrounded us. She left solitude and silence co-heirs of her kingdom. +</p> + +<p> +My present feelings are so mingled with the past, that I cannot say whether the +knowledge of this change visited us, as we stood on this sterile spot. It seems +to me that it did; that a cloud seemed to pass from over us, that a weight was +taken from the air; that henceforth we breathed more freely, and raised our +heads with some portion of former liberty. Yet we did not hope. We were +impressed by the sentiment, that our race was run, but that plague would not be +our destroyer. The coming time was as a mighty river, down which a charmed boat +is driven, whose mortal steersman knows, that the obvious peril is not the one +he needs fear, yet that danger is nigh; and who floats awe-struck under +beetling precipices, through the dark and turbid waters—seeing in the +distance yet stranger and ruder shapes, towards which he is irresistibly +impelled. What would become of us? O for some Delphic oracle, or Pythian maid, +to utter the secrets of futurity! O for some Œdipus to solve the riddle of the +cruel Sphynx! Such Œdipus was I to be—not divining a word’s +juggle, but whose agonizing pangs, and sorrow-tainted life were to be the +engines, wherewith to lay bare the secrets of destiny, and reveal the meaning +of the enigma, whose explanation closed the history of the human race. +</p> + +<p> +Dim fancies, akin to these, haunted our minds, and instilled feelings not +unallied to pleasure, as we stood beside this silent tomb of nature, reared by +these lifeless mountains, above her living veins, choking her vital principle. +“Thus are we left,” said Adrian, “two melancholy blasted +trees, where once a forest waved. We are left to mourn, and pine, and die. Yet +even now we have our duties, which we must string ourselves to fulfil: the duty +of bestowing pleasure where we can, and by force of love, irradiating with +rainbow hues the tempest of grief. Nor will I repine if in this extremity we +preserve what we now possess. Something tells me, Verney, that we need no +longer dread our cruel enemy, and I cling with delight to the oracular voice. +Though strange, it will be sweet to mark the growth of your little boy, and the +development of Clara’s young heart. In the midst of a desert world, we +are everything to them; and, if we live, it must be our task to make this new +mode of life happy to them. At present this is easy, for their childish ideas +do not wander into futurity, and the stinging craving for sympathy, and all of +love of which our nature is susceptible, is not yet awake within them: we +cannot guess what will happen then, when nature asserts her indefeasible and +sacred powers; but, long before that time, we may all be cold, as he who lies +in yonder tomb of ice. We need only provide for the present, and endeavour to +fill with pleasant images the inexperienced fancy of your lovely niece. The +scenes which now surround us, vast and sublime as they are, are not such as can +best contribute to this work. Nature is here like our fortunes, grand, but too +destructive, bare, and rude, to be able to afford delight to her young +imagination. Let us descend to the sunny plains of Italy. Winter will soon be +here, to clothe this wilderness in double desolation; but we will cross the +bleak hill-tops, and lead her to scenes of fertility and beauty, where her path +will be adorned with flowers, and the cheery atmosphere inspire pleasure and +hope.” +</p> + +<p> +In pursuance of this plan we quitted Chamounix on the following day. We had no +cause to hasten our steps; no event was transacted beyond our actual sphere to +enchain our resolves, so we yielded to every idle whim, and deemed our time +well spent, when we could behold the passage of the hours without dismay. We +loitered along the lovely Vale of Servox; passed long hours on the bridge, +which, crossing the ravine of Arve, commands a prospect of its pine-clothed +depths, and the snowy mountains that wall it in. We rambled through romantic +Switzerland; till, fear of coming winter leading us forward, the first days of +October found us in the valley of La Maurienne, which leads to Cenis. I cannot +explain the reluctance we felt at leaving this land of mountains; perhaps it +was, that we regarded the Alps as boundaries between our former and our future +state of existence, and so clung fondly to what of old we had loved. Perhaps, +because we had now so few impulses urging to a choice between two modes of +action, we were pleased to preserve the existence of one, and preferred the +prospect of what we were to do, to the recollection of what had been done. We +felt that for this year danger was past; and we believed that, for some months, +we were secured to each other. There was a thrilling, agonizing delight in the +thought—it filled the eyes with misty tears, it tore the heart with +tumultuous heavings; frailer than the “snow fall in the river,” +were we each and all—but we strove to give life and individuality to the +meteoric course of our several existences, and to feel that no moment escaped +us unenjoyed. Thus tottering on the dizzy brink, we were happy. Yes! as we sat +beneath the toppling rocks, beside the waterfalls, near +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +—Forests, ancient as the hills,<br/> +And folding sunny spots of greenery, +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +where the chamois grazed, and the timid squirrel laid up its +hoard—descanting on the charms of nature, drinking in the while her +unalienable beauties—we were, in an empty world, happy. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, O days of joy—days, when eye spoke to eye, and voices, sweeter than +the music of the swinging branches of the pines, or rivulet’s gentle +murmur, answered mine—yet, O days replete with beatitude, days of loved +society—days unutterably dear to me forlorn—pass, O pass before me, +making me in your memory forget what I am. Behold, how my streaming eyes blot +this senseless paper—behold, how my features are convulsed by agonizing +throes, at your mere recollection, now that, alone, my tears flow, my lips +quiver, my cries fill the air, unseen, unmarked, unheard! Yet, O yet, days of +delight! let me dwell on your long-drawn hours! +</p> + +<p> +As the cold increased upon us, we passed the Alps, and descended into Italy. At +the uprising of morn, we sat at our repast, and cheated our regrets by gay +sallies or learned disquisitions. The live-long day we sauntered on, still +keeping in view the end of our journey, but careless of the hour of its +completion. As the evening star shone out, and the orange sunset, far in the +west, marked the position of the dear land we had for ever left, talk, thought +enchaining, made the hours fly—O that we had lived thus for ever and for +ever! Of what consequence was it to our four hearts, that they alone were the +fountains of life in the wide world? As far as mere individual sentiment was +concerned, we had rather be left thus united together, than if, each alone in a +populous desert of unknown men, we had wandered truly companionless till +life’s last term. In this manner, we endeavoured to console each other; +in this manner, true philosophy taught us to reason. +</p> + +<p> +It was the delight of Adrian and myself to wait on Clara, naming her the little +queen of the world, ourselves her humblest servitors. When we arrived at a +town, our first care was to select for her its most choice abode; to make sure +that no harrowing relic remained of its former inhabitants; to seek food for +her, and minister to her wants with assiduous tenderness. Clara entered into +our scheme with childish gaiety. Her chief business was to attend on Evelyn; +but it was her sport to array herself in splendid robes, adorn herself with +sunny gems, and ape a princely state. Her religion, deep and pure, did not +teach her to refuse to blunt thus the keen sting of regret; her youthful +vivacity made her enter, heart and soul, into these strange masquerades. +</p> + +<p> +We had resolved to pass the ensuing winter at Milan, which, as being a large +and luxurious city, would afford us choice of homes. We had descended the Alps, +and left far behind their vast forests and mighty crags. We entered smiling +Italy. Mingled grass and corn grew in her plains, the unpruned vines threw +their luxuriant branches around the elms. The grapes, overripe, had fallen on +the ground, or hung purple, or burnished green, among the red and yellow +leaves. The ears of standing corn winnowed to emptiness by the spendthrift +winds; the fallen foliage of the trees, the weed-grown brooks, the dusky olive, +now spotted with its blackened fruit; the chestnuts, to which the squirrel only +was harvest-man; all plenty, and yet, alas! all poverty, painted in wondrous +hues and fantastic groupings this land of beauty. In the towns, in the +voiceless towns, we visited the churches, adorned by pictures, master-pieces of +art, or galleries of statues—while in this genial clime the animals, in +new found liberty, rambled through the gorgeous palaces, and hardly feared our +forgotten aspect. The dove-coloured oxen turned their full eyes on us, and +paced slowly by; a startling throng of silly sheep, with pattering feet, would +start up in some chamber, formerly dedicated to the repose of beauty, and rush, +huddling past us, down the marble staircase into the street, and again in at +the first open door, taking unrebuked possession of hallowed sanctuary, or +kingly council-chamber. We no longer started at these occurrences, nor at worse +exhibition of change—when the palace had become a mere tomb, pregnant +with fetid stench, strewn with the dead; and we could perceive how pestilence +and fear had played strange antics, chasing the luxurious dame to the dank +fields and bare cottage; gathering, among carpets of Indian woof, and beds of +silk, the rough peasant, or the deformed half-human shape of the wretched +beggar. +</p> + +<p> +We arrived at Milan, and stationed ourselves in the Vice-Roy’s palace. +Here we made laws for ourselves, dividing our day, and fixing distinct +occupations for each hour. In the morning we rode in the adjoining country, or +wandered through the palaces, in search of pictures or antiquities. In the +evening we assembled to read or to converse. There were few books that we dared +read; few, that did not cruelly deface the painting we bestowed on our +solitude, by recalling combinations and emotions never more to be experienced +by us. Metaphysical disquisition; fiction, which wandering from all reality, +lost itself in self-created errors; poets of times so far gone by, that to read +of them was as to read of Atlantis and Utopia; or such as referred to nature +only, and the workings of one particular mind; but most of all, talk, varied +and ever new, beguiled our hours. +</p> + +<p> +While we paused thus in our onward career towards death, time held on its +accustomed course. Still and for ever did the earth roll on, enthroned in her +atmospheric car, speeded by the force of the invisible coursers of never-erring +necessity. And now, this dew-drop in the sky, this ball, ponderous with +mountains, lucent with waves, passing from the short tyranny of watery Pisces +and the frigid Ram, entered the radiant demesne of Taurus and the Twins. There, +fanned by vernal airs, the Spirit of Beauty sprung from her cold repose; and, +with winnowing wings and soft pacing feet, set a girdle of verdure around the +earth, sporting among the violets, hiding within the springing foliage of the +trees, tripping lightly down the radiant streams into the sunny deep. +“For lo! winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on +the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the +turtle is heard in our land; the fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the +vines, with the tender grape, give a good +smell.”<a href="#fn26" name="fnref26"><sup>[26]</sup></a> Thus was it in +the time of the ancient regal poet; thus was it now. +</p> + +<p> +Yet how could we miserable hail the approach of this delightful season? We +hoped indeed that death did not now as heretofore walk in its shadow; yet, left +as we were alone to each other, we looked in each other’s faces with +enquiring eyes, not daring altogether to trust to our presentiments, and +endeavouring to divine which would be the hapless survivor to the other three. +We were to pass the summer at the lake of Como, and thither we removed as soon +as spring grew to her maturity, and the snow disappeared from the hill tops. +Ten miles from Como, under the steep heights of the eastern mountains, by the +margin of the lake, was a villa called the Pliniana, from its being built on +the site of a fountain, whose periodical ebb and flow is described by the +younger Pliny in his letters. The house had nearly fallen into ruin, till in +the year 2090, an English nobleman had bought it, and fitted it up with every +luxury. Two large halls, hung with splendid tapestry, and paved with marble, +opened on each side of a court, of whose two other sides one overlooked the +deep dark lake, and the other was bounded by a mountain, from whose stony side +gushed, with roar and splash, the celebrated fountain. Above, underwood of +myrtle and tufts of odorous plants crowned the rock, while the star-pointing +giant cypresses reared themselves in the blue air, and the recesses of the +hills were adorned with the luxuriant growth of chestnut-trees. Here we fixed +our summer residence. We had a lovely skiff, in which we sailed, now stemming +the midmost waves, now coasting the over-hanging and craggy banks, thick sown +with evergreens, which dipped their shining leaves in the waters, and were +mirrored in many a little bay and creek of waters of translucent darkness. Here +orange plants bloomed, here birds poured forth melodious hymns; and here, +during spring, the cold snake emerged from the clefts, and basked on the sunny +terraces of rock. +</p> + +<p> +Were we not happy in this paradisiacal retreat? If some kind spirit had +whispered forgetfulness to us, methinks we should have been happy here, where +the precipitous mountains, nearly pathless, shut from our view the far fields +of desolate earth, and with small exertion of the imagination, we might fancy +that the cities were still resonant with popular hum, and the peasant still +guided his plough through the furrow, and that we, the world’s free +denizens, enjoyed a voluntary exile, and not a remediless cutting off from our +extinct species. +</p> + +<p> +Not one among us enjoyed the beauty of this scenery so much as Clara. Before we +quitted Milan, a change had taken place in her habits and manners. She lost her +gaiety, she laid aside her sports, and assumed an almost vestal plainness of +attire. She shunned us, retiring with Evelyn to some distant chamber or silent +nook; nor did she enter into his pastimes with the same zest as she was wont, +but would sit and watch him with sadly tender smiles, and eyes bright with +tears, yet without a word of complaint. She approached us timidly, avoided our +caresses, nor shook off her embarrassment till some serious discussion or lofty +theme called her for awhile out of herself. Her beauty grew as a rose, which, +opening to the summer wind, discloses leaf after leaf till the sense aches with +its excess of loveliness. A slight and variable colour tinged her cheeks, and +her motions seemed attuned by some hidden harmony of surpassing sweetness. We +redoubled our tenderness and earnest attentions. She received them with +grateful smiles, that fled swift as sunny beam from a glittering wave on an +April day. +</p> + +<p> +Our only acknowledged point of sympathy with her, appeared to be Evelyn. This +dear little fellow was a comforter and delight to us beyond all words. His +buoyant spirit, and his innocent ignorance of our vast calamity, were balm to +us, whose thoughts and feelings were over-wrought and spun out in the immensity +of speculative sorrow. To cherish, to caress, to amuse him was the common task +of all. Clara, who felt towards him in some degree like a young mother, +gratefully acknowledged our kindness towards him. To me, O! to me, who saw the +clear brows and soft eyes of the beloved of my heart, my lost and ever dear +Idris, re-born in his gentle face, to me he was dear even to pain; if I pressed +him to my heart, methought I clasped a real and living part of her, who had +lain there through long years of youthful happiness. +</p> + +<p> +It was the custom of Adrian and myself to go out each day in our skiff to +forage in the adjacent country. In these expeditions we were seldom accompanied +by Clara or her little charge, but our return was an hour of hilarity. Evelyn +ransacked our stores with childish eagerness, and we always brought some new +found gift for our fair companion. Then too we made discoveries of lovely +scenes or gay palaces, whither in the evening we all proceeded. Our sailing +expeditions were most divine, and with a fair wind or transverse course we cut +the liquid waves; and, if talk failed under the pressure of thought, I had my +clarionet with me, which awoke the echoes, and gave the change to our careful +minds. Clara at such times often returned to her former habits of free converse +and gay sally; and though our four hearts alone beat in the world, those four +hearts were happy. +</p> + +<p> +One day, on our return from the town of Como, with a laden boat, we expected as +usual to be met at the port by Clara and Evelyn, and we were somewhat surprised +to see the beach vacant. I, as my nature prompted, would not prognosticate +evil, but explained it away as a mere casual incident. Not so Adrian. He was +seized with sudden trembling and apprehension, and he called to me with +vehemence to steer quickly for land, and, when near, leapt from the boat, half +falling into the water; and, scrambling up the steep bank, hastened along the +narrow strip of garden, the only level space between the lake and the mountain. +I followed without delay; the garden and inner court were empty, so was the +house, whose every room we visited. Adrian called loudly upon Clara’s +name, and was about to rush up the near mountain-path, when the door of a +summer-house at the end of the garden slowly opened, and Clara appeared, not +advancing towards us, but leaning against a column of the building with +blanched cheeks, in a posture of utter despondency. Adrian sprang towards her +with a cry of joy, and folded her delightedly in his arms. She withdrew from +his embrace, and, without a word, again entered the summer-house. Her quivering +lips, her despairing heart refused to afford her voice to express our +misfortune. Poor little Evelyn had, while playing with her, been seized with +sudden fever, and now lay torpid and speechless on a little couch in the +summer-house. +</p> + +<p> +For a whole fortnight we unceasingly watched beside the poor child, as his life +declined under the ravages of a virulent typhus. His little form and tiny +lineaments encaged the embryo of the world-spanning mind of man. Man’s +nature, brimful of passions and affections, would have had an home in that +little heart, whose swift pulsations hurried towards their close. His small +hand’s fine mechanism, now flaccid and unbent, would in the growth of +sinew and muscle, have achieved works of beauty or of strength. His tender rosy +feet would have trod in firm manhood the bowers and glades of earth— +these reflections were now of little use: he lay, thought and strength +suspended, waiting unresisting the final blow. +</p> + +<p> +We watched at his bedside, and when the access of fever was on him, we neither +spoke nor looked at each other, marking only his obstructed breath and the +mortal glow that tinged his sunken cheek, the heavy death that weighed on his +eyelids. It is a trite evasion to say, that words could not express our long +drawn agony; yet how can words image sensations, whose tormenting keenness +throw us back, as it were, on the deep roots and hidden foundations of our +nature, which shake our being with earth-quake-throe, so that we leave to +confide in accustomed feelings which like mother-earth support us, and cling to +some vain imagination or deceitful hope, which will soon be buried in the ruins +occasioned by the final shock. I have called that period a fortnight, which we +passed watching the changes of the sweet child’s malady—and such it +might have been—at night, we wondered to find another day gone, while +each particular hour seemed endless. Day and night were exchanged for one +another uncounted; we slept hardly at all, nor did we even quit his room, +except when a pang of grief seized us, and we retired from each other for a +short period to conceal our sobs and tears. We endeavoured in vain to abstract +Clara from this deplorable scene. She sat, hour after hour, looking at him, now +softly arranging his pillow, and, while he had power to swallow, administered +his drink. At length the moment of his death came: the blood paused in its flow +—his eyes opened, and then closed again: without convulsion or sigh, the +frail tenement was left vacant of its spiritual inhabitant. +</p> + +<p> +I have heard that the sight of the dead has confirmed materialists in their +belief. I ever felt otherwise. Was that my child—that moveless decaying +inanimation? My child was enraptured by my caresses; his dear voice cloathed +with meaning articulations his thoughts, otherwise inaccessible; his smile was +a ray of the soul, and the same soul sat upon its throne in his eyes. I turn +from this mockery of what he was. Take, O earth, thy debt! freely and for ever +I consign to thee the garb thou didst afford. But thou, sweet child, amiable +and beloved boy, either thy spirit has sought a fitter dwelling, or, shrined in +my heart, thou livest while it lives. +</p> + +<p> +We placed his remains under a cypress, the upright mountain being scooped out +to receive them. And then Clara said, “If you wish me to live, take me +from hence. There is something in this scene of transcendent beauty, in these +trees, and hills and waves, that for ever whisper to me, leave thy cumbrous +flesh, and make a part of us. I earnestly entreat you to take me away.” +</p> + +<p> +So on the fifteenth of August we bade adieu to our villa, and the embowering +shades of this abode of beauty; to calm bay and noisy waterfall; to +Evelyn’s little grave we bade farewell! and then, with heavy hearts, we +departed on our pilgrimage towards Rome. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn25"></a> <a href="#fnref25">[25]</a> +Mary Wollstonecraft’s Letters from Norway. +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +<a name="fn26"></a> <a href="#fnref26">[26]</a> +Solomon’s Song. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap29"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<p> +Now—soft awhile—have I arrived so near the end? Yes! it is all over +now—a step or two over those new made graves, and the wearisome way is +done. Can I accomplish my task? Can I streak my paper with words capacious of +the grand conclusion? Arise, black Melancholy! quit thy Cimmerian solitude! +Bring with thee murky fogs from hell, which may drink up the day; bring blight +and pestiferous exhalations, which, entering the hollow caverns and breathing +places of earth, may fill her stony veins with corruption, so that not only +herbage may no longer flourish, the trees may rot, and the rivers run with +gall—but the everlasting mountains be decomposed, and the mighty deep +putrify, and the genial atmosphere which clips the globe, lose all powers of +generation and sustenance. Do this, sad visaged power, while I write, while +eyes read these pages. +</p> + +<p> +And who will read them? Beware, tender offspring of the re-born world— +beware, fair being, with human heart, yet untamed by care, and human brow, yet +unploughed by time—beware, lest the cheerful current of thy blood be +checked, thy golden locks turn grey, thy sweet dimpling smiles be changed to +fixed, harsh wrinkles! Let not day look on these lines, lest garish day waste, +turn pale, and die. Seek a cypress grove, whose moaning boughs will be harmony +befitting; seek some cave, deep embowered in earth’s dark entrails, where +no light will penetrate, save that which struggles, red and flickering, through +a single fissure, staining thy page with grimmest livery of death. +</p> + +<p> +There is a painful confusion in my brain, which refuses to delineate distinctly +succeeding events. Sometimes the irradiation of my friend’s gentle smile +comes before me; and methinks its light spans and fills eternity—then, +again, I feel the gasping throes— +</p> + +<p> +We quitted Como, and in compliance with Adrian’s earnest desire, we took +Venice in our way to Rome. There was something to the English peculiarly +attractive in the idea of this wave-encircled, island-enthroned city. Adrian +had never seen it. We went down the Po and the Brenta in a boat; and, the days +proving intolerably hot, we rested in the bordering palaces during the day, +travelling through the night, when darkness made the bordering banks +indistinct, and our solitude less remarkable; when the wandering moon lit the +waves that divided before our prow, and the night-wind filled our sails, and +the murmuring stream, waving trees, and swelling canvass, accorded in +harmonious strain. Clara, long overcome by excessive grief, had to a great +degree cast aside her timid, cold reserve, and received our attentions with +grateful tenderness. While Adrian with poetic fervour discoursed of the +glorious nations of the dead, of the beauteous earth and the fate of man, she +crept near him, drinking in his speech with silent pleasure. We banished from +our talk, and as much as possible from our thoughts, the knowledge of our +desolation. And it would be incredible to an inhabitant of cities, to one among +a busy throng, to what extent we succeeded. It was as a man confined in a +dungeon, whose small and grated rift at first renders the doubtful light more +sensibly obscure, till, the visual orb having drunk in the beam, and adapted +itself to its scantiness, he finds that clear noon inhabits his cell. So we, a +simple triad on empty earth, were multiplied to each other, till we became all +in all. We stood like trees, whose roots are loosened by the wind, which +support one another, leaning and clinging with encreased fervour while the +wintry storms howl. Thus we floated down the widening stream of the Po, +sleeping when the cicale sang, awake with the stars. We entered the narrower +banks of the Brenta, and arrived at the shore of the Laguna at sunrise on the +sixth of September. The bright orb slowly rose from behind its cupolas and +towers, and shed its penetrating light upon the glassy waters. Wrecks of +gondolas, and some few uninjured ones, were strewed on the beach at Fusina. We +embarked in one of these for the widowed daughter of ocean, who, abandoned and +fallen, sat forlorn on her propping isles, looking towards the far mountains of +Greece. We rowed lightly over the Laguna, and entered Canale Grande. The tide +ebbed sullenly from out the broken portals and violated halls of Venice: sea +weed and sea monsters were left on the blackened marble, while the salt ooze +defaced the matchless works of art that adorned their walls, and the sea gull +flew out from the shattered window. In the midst of this appalling ruin of the +monuments of man’s power, nature asserted her ascendancy, and shone more +beauteous from the contrast. The radiant waters hardly trembled, while the +rippling waves made many sided mirrors to the sun; the blue immensity, seen +beyond Lido, stretched far, unspecked by boat, so tranquil, so lovely, that it +seemed to invite us to quit the land strewn with ruins, and to seek refuge from +sorrow and fear on its placid extent. +</p> + +<p> +We saw the ruins of this hapless city from the height of the tower of San +Marco, immediately under us, and turned with sickening hearts to the sea, +which, though it be a grave, rears no monument, discloses no ruin. Evening had +come apace. The sun set in calm majesty behind the misty summits of the +Apennines, and its golden and roseate hues painted the mountains of the +opposite shore. “That land,” said Adrian, “tinged with the +last glories of the day, is Greece.” Greece! The sound had a responsive +chord in the bosom of Clara. She vehemently reminded us that we had promised to +take her once again to Greece, to the tomb of her parents. Why go to Rome? what +should we do at Rome? We might take one of the many vessels to be found here, +embark in it, and steer right for Albania. +</p> + +<p> +I objected the dangers of ocean, and the distance of the mountains we saw, from +Athens; a distance which, from the savage uncultivation of the country, was +almost impassable. Adrian, who was delighted with Clara’s proposal, +obviated these objections. The season was favourable; the north-west that blew +would take us transversely across the gulph; and then we might find, in some +abandoned port, a light Greek caique, adapted for such navigation, and run down +the coast of the Morea, and, passing over the Isthmus of Corinth, without much +land-travelling or fatigue, find ourselves at Athens. This appeared to me wild +talk; but the sea, glowing with a thousand purple hues, looked so brilliant and +safe; my beloved companions were so earnest, so determined, that, when Adrian +said, “Well, though it is not exactly what you wish, yet consent, to +please me”—I could no longer refuse. That evening we selected a +vessel, whose size just seemed fitted for our enterprize; we bent the sails and +put the rigging in order, and reposing that night in one of the city’s +thousand palaces, agreed to embark at sunrise the following morning. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +When winds that move not its calm surface, sweep<br/> +The azure sea, I love the land no more;<br/> +The smiles of the serene and tranquil deep<br/> +Tempt my unquiet mind— +</p> + +<p> +Thus said Adrian, quoting a translation of Moschus’s poem, as in the +clear morning light, we rowed over the Laguna, past Lido, into the open +sea—I would have added in continuation, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> + But when the roar<br/> +Of ocean’s gray abyss resounds, and foam<br/> +Gathers upon the sea, and vast waves burst— +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +But my friends declared that such verses were evil augury; so in cheerful mood +we left the shallow waters, and, when out at sea, unfurled our sails to catch +the favourable breeze. The laughing morning air filled them, while sun-light +bathed earth, sky and ocean—the placid waves divided to receive our keel, +and playfully kissed the dark sides of our little skiff, murmuring a welcome; +as land receded, still the blue expanse, most waveless, twin sister to the +azure empyrean, afforded smooth conduct to our bark. As the air and waters were +tranquil and balmy, so were our minds steeped in quiet. In comparison with the +unstained deep, funereal earth appeared a grave, its high rocks and stately +mountains were but monuments, its trees the plumes of a herse, the brooks and +rivers brackish with tears for departed man. Farewell to desolate towns +—to fields with their savage intermixture of corn and weeds—to ever +multiplying relics of our lost species. Ocean, we commit ourselves to thee +—even as the patriarch of old floated above the drowned world, let us be +saved, as thus we betake ourselves to thy perennial flood. +</p> + +<p> +Adrian sat at the helm; I attended to the rigging, the breeze right aft filled +our swelling canvas, and we ran before it over the untroubled deep. The wind +died away at noon; its idle breath just permitted us to hold our course. As +lazy, fair-weather sailors, careless of the coming hour, we talked gaily of our +coasting voyage, of our arrival at Athens. We would make our home of one of the +Cyclades, and there in myrtle-groves, amidst perpetual spring, fanned by the +wholesome sea-breezes—we would live long years in beatific +union—Was there such a thing as death in the world?— +</p> + +<p> +The sun passed its zenith, and lingered down the stainless floor of heaven. +Lying in the boat, my face turned up to the sky, I thought I saw on its blue +white, marbled streaks, so slight, so immaterial, that now I said— They +are there—and now, It is a mere imagination. A sudden fear stung me while +I gazed; and, starting up, and running to the prow,—as I stood, my hair +was gently lifted on my brow—a dark line of ripples appeared to the east, +gaining rapidly on us—my breathless remark to Adrian, was followed by the +flapping of the canvas, as the adverse wind struck it, and our boat +lurched—swift as speech, the web of the storm thickened over head, the +sun went down red, the dark sea was strewed with foam, and our skiff rose and +fell in its encreasing furrows. +</p> + +<p> +Behold us now in our frail tenement, hemmed in by hungry, roaring waves, +buffeted by winds. In the inky east two vast clouds, sailing contrary ways, +met; the lightning leapt forth, and the hoarse thunder muttered. Again in the +south, the clouds replied, and the forked stream of fire running along the +black sky, shewed us the appalling piles of clouds, now met and obliterated by +the heaving waves. Great God! And we alone—we three— +alone—alone—sole dwellers on the sea and on the earth, we three +must perish! The vast universe, its myriad worlds, and the plains of boundless +earth which we had left—the extent of shoreless sea +around—contracted to my view—they and all that they contained, +shrunk up to one point, even to our tossing bark, freighted with glorious +humanity. +</p> + +<p> +A convulsion of despair crossed the love-beaming face of Adrian, while with set +teeth he murmured, “Yet they shall be saved!” Clara, visited by an +human pang, pale and trembling, crept near him—he looked on her with an +encouraging smile—“Do you fear, sweet girl? O, do not fear, we +shall soon be on shore!” +</p> + +<p> +The darkness prevented me from seeing the changes of her countenance; but her +voice was clear and sweet, as she replied, “Why should I fear? neither +sea nor storm can harm us, if mighty destiny or the ruler of destiny does not +permit. And then the stinging fear of surviving either of you, is not +here—one death will clasp us undivided.” +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile we took in all our sails, save a gib; and, as soon as we might +without danger, changed our course, running with the wind for the Italian +shore. Dark night mixed everything; we hardly discerned the white crests of the +murderous surges, except when lightning made brief noon, and drank the +darkness, shewing us our danger, and restoring us to double night. We were all +silent, except when Adrian, as steersman, made an encouraging observation. Our +little shell obeyed the rudder miraculously well, and ran along on the top of +the waves, as if she had been an offspring of the sea, and the angry mother +sheltered her endangered child. +</p> + +<p> +I sat at the prow, watching our course; when suddenly I heard the waters break +with redoubled fury. We were certainly near the shore—at the same time I +cried, “About there!” and a broad lightning filling the concave, +shewed us for one moment the level beach a-head, disclosing even the sands, and +stunted, ooze-sprinkled beds of reeds, that grew at high water mark. Again it +was dark, and we drew in our breath with such content as one may, who, while +fragments of volcano-hurled rock darken the air, sees a vast mass ploughing the +ground immediately at his feet. What to do we knew not —the breakers +here, there, everywhere, encompassed us—they roared, and dashed, and +flung their hated spray in our faces. With considerable difficulty and danger +we succeeded at length in altering our course, and stretched out from shore. I +urged my companions to prepare for the wreck of our little skiff, and to bind +themselves to some oar or spar which might suffice to float them. I was myself +an excellent swimmer—the very sight of the sea was wont to raise in me +such sensations, as a huntsman experiences, when he hears a pack of hounds in +full cry; I loved to feel the waves wrap me and strive to overpower me; while +I, lord of myself, moved this way or that, in spite of their angry buffetings. +Adrian also could swim—but the weakness of his frame prevented him from +feeling pleasure in the exercise, or acquiring any great expertness. But what +power could the strongest swimmer oppose to the overpowering violence of ocean +in its fury? My efforts to prepare my companions were rendered nearly futile +—for the roaring breakers prevented our hearing one another speak, and +the waves, that broke continually over our boat, obliged me to exert all my +strength in lading the water out, as fast as it came in. The while darkness, +palpable and rayless, hemmed us round, dissipated only by the lightning; +sometimes we beheld thunderbolts, fiery red, fall into the sea, and at +intervals vast spouts stooped from the clouds, churning the wild ocean, which +rose to meet them; while the fierce gale bore the rack onwards, and they were +lost in the chaotic mingling of sky and sea. Our gunwales had been torn away, +our single sail had been rent to ribbands, and borne down the stream of the +wind. We had cut away our mast, and lightened the boat of all she +contained—Clara attempted to assist me in heaving the water from the +hold, and, as she turned her eyes to look on the lightning, I could discern by +that momentary gleam, that resignation had conquered every fear. We have a +power given us in any worst extremity, which props the else feeble mind of man, +and enables us to endure the most savage tortures with a stillness of soul +which in hours of happiness we could not have imagined. A calm, more dreadful +in truth than the tempest, allayed the wild beatings of my heart—a calm +like that of the gamester, the suicide, and the murderer, when the last die is +on the point of being cast—while the poisoned cup is at the +lips,—as the death-blow is about to be given. +</p> + +<p> +Hours passed thus—hours which might write old age on the face of +beardless youth, and grizzle the silky hair of infancy—-hours, while the +chaotic uproar continued, while each dread gust transcended in fury the one +before, and our skiff hung on the breaking wave, and then rushed into the +valley below, and trembled and spun between the watery precipices that seemed +most to meet above her. For a moment the gale paused, and ocean sank to +comparative silence—it was a breathless interval; the wind which, as a +practised leaper, had gathered itself up before it sprung, now with terrific +roar rushed over the sea, and the waves struck our stern. Adrian exclaimed that +the rudder was gone;—“We are lost,” cried Clara, “Save +yourselves—O save yourselves!” The lightning shewed me the poor +girl half buried in the water at the bottom of the boat; as she was sinking in +it Adrian caught her up, and sustained her in his arms. We were without a +rudder—we rushed prow foremost into the vast billows piled up +a-head— they broke over and filled the tiny skiff; one scream I +heard—one cry that we were gone, I uttered; I found myself in the waters; +darkness was around. When the light of the tempest flashed, I saw the keel of +our upset boat close to me—I clung to this, grasping it with clenched +hand and nails, while I endeavoured during each flash to discover any +appearance of my companions. I thought I saw Adrian at no great distance from +me, clinging to an oar; I sprung from my hold, and with energy beyond my human +strength, I dashed aside the waters as I strove to lay hold of him. As that +hope failed, instinctive love of life animated me, and feelings of contention, +as if a hostile will combated with mine. I breasted the surges, and flung them +from me, as I would the opposing front and sharpened claws of a lion about to +enfang my bosom. When I had been beaten down by one wave, I rose on another, +while I felt bitter pride curl my lip. +</p> + +<p> +Ever since the storm had carried us near the shore, we had never attained any +great distance from it. With every flash I saw the bordering coast; yet the +progress I made was small, while each wave, as it receded, carried me back into +ocean’s far abysses. At one moment I felt my foot touch the sand, and +then again I was in deep water; my arms began to lose their power of motion; my +breath failed me under the influence of the strangling waters— a thousand +wild and delirious thoughts crossed me: as well as I can now recall them, my +chief feeling was, how sweet it would be to lay my head on the quiet earth, +where the surges would no longer strike my weakened frame, nor the sound of +waters ring in my ears—to attain this repose, not to save my life, I made +a last effort—the shelving shore suddenly presented a footing for me. I +rose, and was again thrown down by the breakers—a point of rock to which +I was enabled to cling, gave me a moment’s respite; and then, taking +advantage of the ebbing of the waves, I ran forwards— gained the dry +sands, and fell senseless on the oozy reeds that sprinkled them. +</p> + +<p> +I must have lain long deprived of life; for when first, with a sickening +feeling, I unclosed my eyes, the light of morning met them. Great change had +taken place meanwhile: grey dawn dappled the flying clouds, which sped onwards, +leaving visible at intervals vast lakes of pure ether. A fountain of light +arose in an encreasing stream from the east, behind the waves of the Adriatic, +changing the grey to a roseate hue, and then flooding sky and sea with aerial +gold. +</p> + +<p> +A kind of stupor followed my fainting; my senses were alive, but memory was +extinct. The blessed respite was short—a snake lurked near me to sting me +into life—on the first retrospective emotion I would have started up, but +my limbs refused to obey me; my knees trembled, the muscles had lost all power. +I still believed that I might find one of my beloved companions cast like me, +half alive, on the beach; and I strove in every way to restore my frame to the +use of its animal functions. I wrung the brine from my hair; and the rays of +the risen sun soon visited me with genial warmth. With the restoration of my +bodily powers, my mind became in some degree aware of the universe of misery, +henceforth to be its dwelling. I ran to the water’s edge, calling on the +beloved names. Ocean drank in, and absorbed my feeble voice, replying with +pitiless roar. I climbed a near tree: the level sands bounded by a pine forest, +and the sea clipped round by the horizon, was all that I could discern. In vain +I extended my researches along the beach; the mast we had thrown overboard, +with tangled cordage, and remnants of a sail, was the sole relic land received +of our wreck. Sometimes I stood still, and wrung my hands. I accused earth and +sky —the universal machine and the Almighty power that misdirected it. +Again I threw myself on the sands, and then the sighing wind, mimicking a human +cry, roused me to bitter, fallacious hope. Assuredly if any little bark or +smallest canoe had been near, I should have sought the savage plains of ocean, +found the dear remains of my lost ones, and clinging round them, have shared +their grave. +</p> + +<p> +The day passed thus; each moment contained eternity; although when hour after +hour had gone by, I wondered at the quick flight of time. Yet even now I had +not drunk the bitter potion to the dregs; I was not yet persuaded of my loss; I +did not yet feel in every pulsation, in every nerve, in every thought, that I +remained alone of my race,—that I was the LAST MAN. +</p> + +<p> +The day had clouded over, and a drizzling rain set in at sunset. Even the +eternal skies weep, I thought; is there any shame then, that mortal man should +spend himself in tears? I remembered the ancient fables, in which human beings +are described as dissolving away through weeping into ever-gushing fountains. +Ah! that so it were; and then my destiny would be in some sort akin to the +watery death of Adrian and Clara. Oh! grief is fantastic; it weaves a web on +which to trace the history of its woe from every form and change around; it +incorporates itself with all living nature; it finds sustenance in every +object; as light, it fills all things, and, like light, it gives its own +colours to all. +</p> + +<p> +I had wandered in my search to some distance from the spot on which I had been +cast, and came to one of those watch-towers, which at stated distances line the +Italian shore. I was glad of shelter, glad to find a work of human hands, after +I had gazed so long on nature’s drear barrenness; so I entered, and +ascended the rough winding staircase into the guard-room. So far was fate kind, +that no harrowing vestige remained of its former inhabitants; a few planks laid +across two iron tressels, and strewed with the dried leaves of Indian corn, was +the bed presented to me; and an open chest, containing some half mouldered +biscuit, awakened an appetite, which perhaps existed before, but of which, +until now, I was not aware. Thirst also, violent and parching, the result of +the sea-water I had drank, and of the exhaustion of my frame, tormented me. +Kind nature had gifted the supply of these wants with pleasurable sensations, +so that I—even I!—was refreshed and calmed, as I ate of this sorry +fare, and drank a little of the sour wine which half filled a flask left in +this abandoned dwelling. Then I stretched myself on the bed, not to be +disdained by the victim of shipwreck. The earthy smell of the dried leaves was +balm to my sense after the hateful odour of sea-weed. I forgot my state of +loneliness. I neither looked backward nor forward; my senses were hushed to +repose; I fell asleep and dreamed of all dear inland scenes, of hay-makers, of +the shepherd’s whistle to his dog, when he demanded his help to drive the +flock to fold; of sights and sounds peculiar to my boyhood’s mountain +life, which I had long forgotten. +</p> + +<p> +I awoke in a painful agony—for I fancied that ocean, breaking its bounds, +carried away the fixed continent and deep rooted mountains, together with the +streams I loved, the woods, and the flocks—it raged around, with that +continued and dreadful roar which had accompanied the last wreck of surviving +humanity. As my waking sense returned, the bare walls of the guard room closed +round me, and the rain pattered against the single window. How dreadful it is, +to emerge from the oblivion of slumber, and to receive as a good morrow the +mute wailing of one’s own hapless heart —to return from the land of +deceptive dreams, to the heavy knowledge of unchanged disaster!—Thus was +it with me, now, and for ever! The sting of other griefs might be blunted by +time; and even mine yielded sometimes during the day, to the pleasure inspired +by the imagination or the senses; but I never look first upon the morning-light +but with my fingers pressed tight on my bursting heart, and my soul deluged +with the interminable flood of hopeless misery. Now I awoke for the first time +in the dead world—I awoke alone—and the dull dirge of the sea, +heard even amidst the rain, recalled me to the reflection of the wretch I had +become. The sound came like a reproach, a scoff—like the sting of remorse +in the soul—I gasped—the veins and muscles of my throat swelled, +suffocating me. I put my fingers to my ears, I buried my head in the leaves of +my couch, I would have dived to the centre to lose hearing of that hideous +moan. +</p> + +<p> +But another task must be mine—again I visited the detested beach— +again I vainly looked far and wide—again I raised my unanswered cry, +lifting up the only voice that could ever again force the mute air to syllable +the human thought. +</p> + +<p> +What a pitiable, forlorn, disconsolate being I was! My very aspect and garb +told the tale of my despair. My hair was matted and wild—my limbs soiled +with salt ooze; while at sea, I had thrown off those of my garments that +encumbered me, and the rain drenched the thin summer-clothing I had +retained—my feet were bare, and the stunted reeds and broken shells made +them bleed—the while, I hurried to and fro, now looking earnestly on some +distant rock which, islanded in the sands, bore for a moment a deceptive +appearance—now with flashing eyes reproaching the murderous ocean for its +unutterable cruelty. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment I compared myself to that monarch of the waste—Robinson +Crusoe. We had been both thrown companionless—he on the shore of a +desolate island: I on that of a desolate world. I was rich in the so called +goods of life. If I turned my steps from the near barren scene, and entered any +of the earth’s million cities, I should find their wealth stored up for +my accommodation—clothes, food, books, and a choice of dwelling beyond +the command of the princes of former times—every climate was subject to +my selection, while he was obliged to toil in the acquirement of every +necessary, and was the inhabitant of a tropical island, against whose heats and +storms he could obtain small shelter.—Viewing the question thus, who +would not have preferred the Sybarite enjoyments I could command, the +philosophic leisure, and ample intellectual resources, to his life of labour +and peril? Yet he was far happier than I: for he could hope, nor hope in +vain—the destined vessel at last arrived, to bear him to countrymen and +kindred, where the events of his solitude became a fire-side tale. To none +could I ever relate the story of my adversity; no hope had I. He knew that, +beyond the ocean which begirt his lonely island, thousands lived whom the sun +enlightened when it shone also on him: beneath the meridian sun and visiting +moon, I alone bore human features; I alone could give articulation to thought; +and, when I slept, both day and night were unbeheld of any. He had fled from +his fellows, and was transported with terror at the print of a human foot. I +would have knelt down and worshipped the same. The wild and cruel Caribbee, the +merciless Cannibal—or worse than these, the uncouth, brute, and +remorseless veteran in the vices of civilization, would have been to me a +beloved companion, a treasure dearly prized—his nature would be kin to +mine; his form cast in the same mould; human blood would flow in his veins; a +human sympathy must link us for ever. It cannot be that I shall never behold a +fellow being more!—never! —never!—not in the course of +years!—Shall I wake, and speak to none, pass the interminable hours, my +soul, islanded in the world, a solitary point, surrounded by vacuum? Will day +follow day endlessly thus? —No! no! a God rules the +world—providence has not exchanged its golden sceptre for an +aspic’s sting. Away! let me fly from the ocean-grave, let me depart from +this barren nook, paled in, as it is, from access by its own desolateness; let +me tread once again the paved towns; step over the threshold of man’s +dwellings, and most certainly I shall find this thought a horrible +vision—a maddening, but evanescent dream. +</p> + +<p> +I entered Ravenna, (the town nearest to the spot whereon I had been cast), +before the second sun had set on the empty world; I saw many living creatures; +oxen, and horses, and dogs, but there was no man among them; I entered a +cottage, it was vacant; I ascended the marble stairs of a palace, the bats and +the owls were nestled in the tapestry; I stepped softly, not to awaken the +sleeping town: I rebuked a dog, that by yelping disturbed the sacred stillness; +I would not believe that all was as it seemed—The world was not dead, but +I was mad; I was deprived of sight, hearing, and sense of touch; I was +labouring under the force of a spell, which permitted me to behold all sights +of earth, except its human inhabitants; they were pursuing their ordinary +labours. Every house had its inmate; but I could not perceive them. If I could +have deluded myself into a belief of this kind, I should have been far more +satisfied. But my brain, tenacious of its reason, refused to lend itself to +such imaginations—and though I endeavoured to play the antic to myself, I +knew that I, the offspring of man, during long years one among many—now +remained sole survivor of my species. +</p> + +<p> +The sun sank behind the western hills; I had fasted since the preceding +evening, but, though faint and weary, I loathed food, nor ceased, while yet a +ray of light remained, to pace the lonely streets. Night came on, and sent +every living creature but me to the bosom of its mate. It was my solace, to +blunt my mental agony by personal hardship—of the thousand beds around, I +would not seek the luxury of one; I lay down on the pavement,—a cold +marble step served me for a pillow—midnight came; and then, though not +before, did my wearied lids shut out the sight of the twinkling stars, and +their reflex on the pavement near. Thus I passed the second night of my +desolation. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap30"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<p> +I awoke in the morning, just as the higher windows of the lofty houses received +the first beams of the rising sun. The birds were chirping, perched on the +windows sills and deserted thresholds of the doors. I awoke, and my first +thought was, Adrian and Clara are dead. I no longer shall be hailed by their +good-morrow—or pass the long day in their society. I shall never see them +more. The ocean has robbed me of them—stolen their hearts of love from +their breasts, and given over to corruption what was dearer to me than light, +or life, or hope. +</p> + +<p> +I was an untaught shepherd-boy, when Adrian deigned to confer on me his +friendship. The best years of my life had been passed with him. All I had +possessed of this world’s goods, of happiness, knowledge, or +virtue—I owed to him. He had, in his person, his intellect, and rare +qualities, given a glory to my life, which without him it had never known. +Beyond all other beings he had taught me, that goodness, pure and single, can +be an attribute of man. It was a sight for angels to congregate to behold, to +view him lead, govern, and solace, the last days of the human race. +</p> + +<p> +My lovely Clara also was lost to me—she who last of the daughters of man, +exhibited all those feminine and maiden virtues, which poets, painters, and +sculptors, have in their various languages strove to express. Yet, as far as +she was concerned, could I lament that she was removed in early youth from the +certain advent of misery? Pure she was of soul, and all her intents were holy. +But her heart was the throne of love, and the sensibility her lovely +countenance expressed, was the prophet of many woes, not the less deep and +drear, because she would have for ever concealed them. +</p> + +<p> +These two wondrously endowed beings had been spared from the universal wreck, +to be my companions during the last year of solitude. I had felt, while they +were with me, all their worth. I was conscious that every other sentiment, +regret, or passion had by degrees merged into a yearning, clinging affection +for them. I had not forgotten the sweet partner of my youth, mother of my +children, my adored Idris; but I saw at least a part of her spirit alive again +in her brother; and after, that by Evelyn’s death I had lost what most +dearly recalled her to me; I enshrined her memory in Adrian’s form, and +endeavoured to confound the two dear ideas. I sound the depths of my heart, and +try in vain to draw thence the expressions that can typify my love for these +remnants of my race. If regret and sorrow came athwart me, as well it might in +our solitary and uncertain state, the clear tones of Adrian’s voice, and +his fervent look, dissipated the gloom; or I was cheered unaware by the mild +content and sweet resignation Clara’s cloudless brow and deep blue eyes +expressed. They were all to me—the suns of my benighted soul—repose +in my weariness—slumber in my sleepless woe. Ill, most ill, with +disjointed words, bare and weak, have I expressed the feeling with which I +clung to them. I would have wound myself like ivy inextricably round them, so +that the same blow might destroy us. I would have entered and been a part of +them—so that +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +even now I had accompanied them to their new and incommunicable abode. +</p> + +<p> +Never shall I see them more. I am bereft of their dear converse—bereft of +sight of them. I am a tree rent by lightning; never will the bark close over +the bared fibres—never will their quivering life, torn by the winds, +receive the opiate of a moment’s balm. I am alone in the world— but +that expression as yet was less pregnant with misery, than that Adrian and +Clara are dead. +</p> + +<p> +The tide of thought and feeling rolls on for ever the same, though the banks +and shapes around, which govern its course, and the reflection in the wave, +vary. Thus the sentiment of immediate loss in some sort decayed, while that of +utter, irremediable loneliness grew on me with time. Three days I wandered +through Ravenna—now thinking only of the beloved beings who slept in the +oozy caves of ocean—now looking forward on the dread blank before me; +shuddering to make an onward step—writhing at each change that marked the +progress of the hours. +</p> + +<p> +For three days I wandered to and fro in this melancholy town. I passed whole +hours in going from house to house, listening whether I could detect some +lurking sign of human existence. Sometimes I rang at a bell; it tinkled through +the vaulted rooms, and silence succeeded to the sound. I called myself +hopeless, yet still I hoped; and still disappointment ushered in the hours, +intruding the cold, sharp steel which first pierced me, into the aching +festering wound. I fed like a wild beast, which seizes its food only when stung +by intolerable hunger. I did not change my garb, or seek the shelter of a roof, +during all those days. Burning heats, nervous irritation, a ceaseless, but +confused flow of thought, sleepless nights, and days instinct with a frenzy of +agitation, possessed me during that time. +</p> + +<p> +As the fever of my blood encreased, a desire of wandering came upon me. I +remember, that the sun had set on the fifth day after my wreck, when, without +purpose or aim, I quitted the town of Ravenna. I must have been very ill. Had I +been possessed by more or less of delirium, that night had surely been my last; +for, as I continued to walk on the banks of the Mantone, whose upward course I +followed, I looked wistfully on the stream, acknowledging to myself that its +pellucid waves could medicine my woes for ever, and was unable to account to +myself for my tardiness in seeking their shelter from the poisoned arrows of +thought, that were piercing me through and through. I walked a considerable +part of the night, and excessive weariness at length conquered my repugnance to +the availing myself of the deserted habitations of my species. The waning moon, +which had just risen, shewed me a cottage, whose neat entrance and trim garden +reminded me of my own England. I lifted up the latch of the door and entered. A +kitchen first presented itself, where, guided by the moon beams, I found +materials for striking a light. Within this was a bed room; the couch was +furnished with sheets of snowy whiteness; the wood piled on the hearth, and an +array as for a meal, might almost have deceived me into the dear belief that I +had here found what I had so long sought—one survivor, a companion for my +loneliness, a solace to my despair. I steeled myself against the delusion; the +room itself was vacant: it was only prudent, I repeated to myself, to examine +the rest of the house. I fancied that I was proof against the expectation; yet +my heart beat audibly, as I laid my hand on the lock of each door, and it sunk +again, when I perceived in each the same vacancy. Dark and silent they were as +vaults; so I returned to the first chamber, wondering what sightless host had +spread the materials for my repast, and my repose. I drew a chair to the table, +and examined what the viands were of which I was to partake. In truth it was a +death feast! The bread was blue and mouldy; the cheese lay a heap of dust. I +did not dare examine the other dishes; a troop of ants passed in a double line +across the table cloth; every utensil was covered with dust, with cobwebs, and +myriads of dead flies: these were objects each and all betokening the +fallaciousness of my expectations. Tears rushed into my eyes; surely this was a +wanton display of the power of the destroyer. What had I done, that each +sensitive nerve was thus to be anatomized? Yet why complain more now than ever? +This vacant cottage revealed no new sorrow— the world was empty; mankind +was dead—I knew it well—why quarrel therefore with an acknowledged +and stale truth? Yet, as I said, I had hoped in the very heart of despair, so +that every new impression of the hard-cut reality on my soul brought with it a +fresh pang, telling me the yet unstudied lesson, that neither change of place +nor time could bring alleviation to my misery, but that, as I now was, I must +continue, day after day, month after month, year after year, while I lived. I +hardly dared conjecture what space of time that expression implied. It is true, +I was no longer in the first blush of manhood; neither had I declined far in +the vale of years—men have accounted mine the prime of life: I had just +entered my thirty-seventh year; every limb was as well knit, every articulation +as true, as when I had acted the shepherd on the hills of Cumberland; and with +these advantages I was to commence the train of solitary life. Such were the +reflections that ushered in my slumber on that night. +</p> + +<p> +The shelter, however, and less disturbed repose which I enjoyed, restored me +the following morning to a greater portion of health and strength, than I had +experienced since my fatal shipwreck. Among the stores I had discovered on +searching the cottage the preceding night, was a quantity of dried grapes; +these refreshed me in the morning, as I left my lodging and proceeded towards a +town which I discerned at no great distance. As far as I could divine, it must +have been Forli. I entered with pleasure its wide and grassy streets. All, it +is true, pictured the excess of desolation; yet I loved to find myself in those +spots which had been the abode of my fellow creatures. I delighted to traverse +street after street, to look up at the tall houses, and repeat to myself, once +they contained beings similar to myself—I was not always the wretch I am +now. The wide square of Forli, the arcade around it, its light and pleasant +aspect cheered me. I was pleased with the idea, that, if the earth should be +again peopled, we, the lost race, would, in the relics left behind, present no +contemptible exhibition of our powers to the new comers. +</p> + +<p> +I entered one of the palaces, and opened the door of a magnificent saloon. I +started—I looked again with renewed wonder. What wild-looking, unkempt, +half-naked savage was that before me? The surprise was momentary. +</p> + +<p> +I perceived that it was I myself whom I beheld in a large mirror at the end of +the hall. No wonder that the lover of the princely Idris should fail to +recognize himself in the miserable object there pourtrayed. My tattered dress +was that in which I had crawled half alive from the tempestuous sea. My long +and tangled hair hung in elf locks on my brow—my dark eyes, now hollow +and wild, gleamed from under them—my cheeks were discoloured by the +jaundice, which (the effect of misery and neglect) suffused my skin, and were +half hid by a beard of many days’ growth. +</p> + +<p> +Yet why should I not remain thus, I thought; the world is dead, and this +squalid attire is a fitter mourning garb than the foppery of a black suit. And +thus, methinks, I should have remained, had not hope, without which I do not +believe man could exist, whispered to me, that, in such a plight, I should be +an object of fear and aversion to the being, preserved I knew not where, but I +fondly trusted, at length, to be found by me. Will my readers scorn the vanity, +that made me attire myself with some care, for the sake of this visionary +being? Or will they forgive the freaks of a half crazed imagination? I can +easily forgive myself—for hope, however vague, was so dear to me, and a +sentiment of pleasure of so rare occurrence, that I yielded readily to any +idea, that cherished the one, or promised any recurrence of the former to my +sorrowing heart. After such occupation, I visited every street, alley, and nook +of Forli. These Italian towns presented an appearance of still greater +desolation, than those of England or France. Plague had appeared here +earlier—it had finished its course, and achieved its work much sooner +than with us. Probably the last summer had found no human being alive, in all +the track included between the shores of Calabria and the northern Alps. My +search was utterly vain, yet I did not despond. Reason methought was on my +side; and the chances were by no means contemptible, that there should exist in +some part of Italy a survivor like myself—of a wasted, depopulate land. +As therefore I rambled through the empty town, I formed my plan for future +operations. I would continue to journey on towards Rome. After I should have +satisfied myself, by a narrow search, that I left behind no human being in the +towns through which I passed, I would write up in a conspicuous part of each, +with white paint, in three languages, that “Verney, the last of the race +of Englishmen, had taken up his abode in Rome.” +</p> + +<p> +In pursuance of this scheme, I entered a painter’s shop, and procured +myself the paint. It is strange that so trivial an occupation should have +consoled, and even enlivened me. But grief renders one childish, despair +fantastic. To this simple inscription, I merely added the adjuration, +“Friend, come! I wait for thee!—<i>Deh, vieni! ti +aspetto!</i>” On the following morning, with something like hope for my +companion, I quitted Forli on my way to Rome. Until now, agonizing retrospect, +and dreary prospects for the future, had stung me when awake, and cradled me to +my repose. Many times I had delivered myself up to the tyranny of +anguish— many times I resolved a speedy end to my woes; and death by my +own hands was a remedy, whose practicability was even cheering to me. What +could I fear in the other world? If there were an hell, and I were doomed to +it, I should come an adept to the sufferance of its tortures—the act were +easy, the speedy and certain end of my deplorable tragedy. But now these +thoughts faded before the new born expectation. I went on my way, not as +before, feeling each hour, each minute, to be an age instinct with incalculable +pain. +</p> + +<p> +As I wandered along the plain, at the foot of the Appennines—through +their vallies, and over their bleak summits, my path led me through a country +which had been trodden by heroes, visited and admired by thousands. They had, +as a tide, receded, leaving me blank and bare in the midst. But why complain? +Did I not hope?—so I schooled myself, even after the enlivening spirit +had really deserted me, and thus I was obliged to call up all the fortitude I +could command, and that was not much, to prevent a recurrence of that chaotic +and intolerable despair, that had succeeded to the miserable shipwreck, that +had consummated every fear, and dashed to annihilation every joy. +</p> + +<p> +I rose each day with the morning sun, and left my desolate inn. As my feet +strayed through the unpeopled country, my thoughts rambled through the +universe, and I was least miserable when I could, absorbed in reverie, forget +the passage of the hours. Each evening, in spite of weariness, I detested to +enter any dwelling, there to take up my nightly abode—I have sat, hour +after hour, at the door of the cottage I had selected, unable to lift the +latch, and meet face to face blank desertion within. Many nights, though +autumnal mists were spread around, I passed under an ilex—many times I +have supped on arbutus berries and chestnuts, making a fire, gypsy-like, on the +ground—because wild natural scenery reminded me less acutely of my +hopeless state of loneliness. I counted the days, and bore with me a peeled +willow-wand, on which, as well as I could remember, I had notched the days that +had elapsed since my wreck, and each night I added another unit to the +melancholy sum. +</p> + +<p> +I had toiled up a hill which led to Spoleto. Around was spread a plain, +encircled by the chestnut-covered Appennines. A dark ravine was on one side, +spanned by an aqueduct, whose tall arches were rooted in the dell below, and +attested that man had once deigned to bestow labour and thought here, to adorn +and civilize nature. Savage, ungrateful nature, which in wild sport defaced his +remains, protruding her easily renewed, and fragile growth of wild flowers and +parasite plants around his eternal edifices. I sat on a fragment of rock, and +looked round. The sun had bathed in gold the western atmosphere, and in the +east the clouds caught the radiance, and budded into transient loveliness. It +set on a world that contained me alone for its inhabitant. I took out my +wand—I counted the marks. Twenty-five were already +traced—twenty-five days had already elapsed, since human voice had +gladdened my ears, or human countenance met my gaze. Twenty-five long, weary +days, succeeded by dark and lonesome nights, had mingled with foregone years, +and had become a part of the past—the never to be recalled—a real, +undeniable portion of my life—twenty-five long, long days. +</p> + +<p> +Why this was not a month!—Why talk of days—or weeks—or +months—I must grasp years in my imagination, if I would truly picture the +future to myself—three, five, ten, twenty, fifty anniversaries of that +fatal epoch might elapse—every year containing twelve months, each of +more numerous calculation in a diary, than the twenty-five days gone +by—Can it be? Will it be?—We had been used to look forward to death +tremulously— wherefore, but because its place was obscure? But more +terrible, and far more obscure, was the unveiled course of my lone futurity. I +broke my wand; I threw it from me. I needed no recorder of the inch and +barley-corn growth of my life, while my unquiet thoughts created other +divisions, than those ruled over by the planets—and, in looking back on +the age that had elapsed since I had been alone, I disdained to give the name +of days and hours to the throes of agony which had in truth portioned it out. +</p> + +<p> +I hid my face in my hands. The twitter of the young birds going to rest, and +their rustling among the trees, disturbed the still evening-air—the +crickets chirped—the aziolo cooed at intervals. My thoughts had been of +death—these sounds spoke to me of life. I lifted up my eyes—a bat +wheeled round—the sun had sunk behind the jagged line of mountains, and +the paly, crescent moon was visible, silver white, amidst the orange sunset, +and accompanied by one bright star, prolonged thus the twilight. A herd of +cattle passed along in the dell below, untended, towards their watering +place—the grass was rustled by a gentle breeze, and the olive-woods, +mellowed into soft masses by the moonlight, contrasted their sea-green with the +dark chestnut foliage. Yes, this is the earth; there is no change—no +ruin—no rent made in her verdurous expanse; she continues to wheel round +and round, with alternate night and day, through the sky, though man is not her +adorner or inhabitant. Why could I not forget myself like one of those animals, +and no longer suffer the wild tumult of misery that I endure? Yet, ah! what a +deadly breach yawns between their state and mine! Have not they companions? +Have not they each their mate—their cherished young, their home, which, +though unexpressed to us, is, I doubt not, endeared and enriched, even in their +eyes, by the society which kind nature has created for them? It is I only that +am alone—I, on this little hill top, gazing on plain and mountain +recess—on sky, and its starry population, listening to every sound of +earth, and air, and murmuring wave,—I only cannot express to any +companion my many thoughts, nor lay my throbbing head on any loved bosom, nor +drink from meeting eyes an intoxicating dew, that transcends the fabulous +nectar of the gods. Shall I not then complain? Shall I not curse the murderous +engine which has mowed down the children of men, my brethren? Shall I not +bestow a malediction on every other of nature’s offspring, which dares +live and enjoy, while I live and suffer? +</p> + +<p> +Ah, no! I will discipline my sorrowing heart to sympathy in your joys; I will +be happy, because ye are so. Live on, ye innocents, nature’s selected +darlings; I am not much unlike to you. Nerves, pulse, brain, joint, and flesh, +of such am I composed, and ye are organized by the same laws. I have something +beyond this, but I will call it a defect, not an endowment, if it leads me to +misery, while ye are happy. Just then, there emerged from a near copse two +goats and a little kid, by the mother’s side; they began to browze the +herbage of the hill. I approached near to them, without their perceiving me; I +gathered a handful of fresh grass, and held it out; the little one nestled +close to its mother, while she timidly withdrew. The male stepped forward, +fixing his eyes on me: I drew near, still holding out my lure, while he, +depressing his head, rushed at me with his horns. I was a very fool; I knew it, +yet I yielded to my rage. I snatched up a huge fragment of rock; it would have +crushed my rash foe. I poized it—aimed it—then my heart failed me. +I hurled it wide of the mark; it rolled clattering among the bushes into dell. +My little visitants, all aghast, galloped back into the covert of the wood; +while I, my very heart bleeding and torn, rushed down the hill, and by the +violence of bodily exertion, sought to escape from my miserable self. +</p> + +<p> +No, no, I will not live among the wild scenes of nature, the enemy of all that +lives. I will seek the towns—Rome, the capital of the world, the crown of +man’s achievements. Among its storied streets, hallowed ruins, and +stupendous remains of human exertion, I shall not, as here, find every thing +forgetful of man; trampling on his memory, defacing his works, proclaiming from +hill to hill, and vale to vale,—by the torrents freed from the boundaries +which he imposed—by the vegetation liberated from the laws which he +enforced—by his habitation abandoned to mildew and weeds, that his power +is lost, his race annihilated for ever. +</p> + +<p> +I hailed the Tiber, for that was as it were an unalienable possession of +humanity. I hailed the wild Campagna, for every rood had been trod by man; and +its savage uncultivation, of no recent date, only proclaimed more distinctly +his power, since he had given an honourable name and sacred title to what else +would have been a worthless, barren track. I entered Eternal Rome by the Porta +del Popolo, and saluted with awe its time-honoured space. The wide square, the +churches near, the long extent of the Corso, the near eminence of Trinita +de’ Monti appeared like fairy work, they were so silent, so peaceful, and +so very fair. It was evening; and the population of animals which still existed +in this mighty city, had gone to rest; there was no sound, save the murmur of +its many fountains, whose soft monotony was harmony to my soul. The knowledge +that I was in Rome, soothed me; that wondrous city, hardly more illustrious for +its heroes and sages, than for the power it exercised over the imaginations of +men. I went to rest that night; the eternal burning of my heart +quenched,—my senses tranquil. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning I eagerly began my rambles in search of oblivion. I ascended +the many terraces of the garden of the Colonna Palace, under whose roof I had +been sleeping; and passing out from it at its summit, I found myself on Monte +Cavallo. The fountain sparkled in the sun; the obelisk above pierced the clear +dark-blue air. The statues on each side, the works, as they are inscribed, of +Phidias and Praxiteles, stood in undiminished grandeur, representing Castor and +Pollux, who with majestic power tamed the rearing animal at their side. If +those illustrious artists had in truth chiselled these forms, how many passing +generations had their giant proportions outlived! and now they were viewed by +the last of the species they were sculptured to represent and deify. I had +shrunk into insignificance in my own eyes, as I considered the multitudinous +beings these stone demigods had outlived, but this after-thought restored me to +dignity in my own conception. The sight of the poetry eternized in these +statues, took the sting from the thought, arraying it only in poetic ideality. +</p> + +<p> +I repeated to myself,—I am in Rome! I behold, and as it were, familiarly +converse with the wonder of the world, sovereign mistress of the imagination, +majestic and eternal survivor of millions of generations of extinct men. I +endeavoured to quiet the sorrows of my aching heart, by even now taking an +interest in what in my youth I had ardently longed to see. Every part of Rome +is replete with relics of ancient times. The meanest streets are strewed with +truncated columns, broken capitals—Corinthian and Ionic, and sparkling +fragments of granite or porphyry. The walls of the most penurious dwellings +enclose a fluted pillar or ponderous stone, which once made part of the palace +of the Cæsars; and the voice of dead time, in still vibrations, is breathed +from these dumb things, animated and glorified as they were by man. +</p> + +<p> +I embraced the vast columns of the temple of Jupiter Stator, which survives in +the open space that was the Forum, and leaning my burning cheek against its +cold durability, I tried to lose the sense of present misery and present +desertion, by recalling to the haunted cell of my brain vivid memories of times +gone by. I rejoiced at my success, as I figured Camillus, the Gracchi, Cato, +and last the heroes of Tacitus, which shine meteors of surpassing brightness +during the murky night of the empire;—as the verses of Horace and Virgil, +or the glowing periods of Cicero thronged into the opened gates of my mind, I +felt myself exalted by long forgotten enthusiasm. I was delighted to know that +I beheld the scene which they beheld—the scene which their wives and +mothers, and crowds of the unnamed witnessed, while at the same time they +honoured, applauded, or wept for these matchless specimens of humanity. At +length, then, I had found a consolation. I had not vainly sought the storied +precincts of Rome—I had discovered a medicine for my many and vital +wounds. +</p> + +<p> +I sat at the foot of these vast columns. The Coliseum, whose naked ruin is +robed by nature in a verdurous and glowing veil, lay in the sunlight on my +right. Not far off, to the left, was the Tower of the Capitol. Triumphal +arches, the falling walls of many temples, strewed the ground at my feet. I +strove, I resolved, to force myself to see the Plebeian multitude and lofty +Patrician forms congregated around; and, as the Diorama of ages passed across +my subdued fancy, they were replaced by the modern Roman; the Pope, in his +white stole, distributing benedictions to the kneeling worshippers; the friar +in his cowl; the dark-eyed girl, veiled by her mezzera; the noisy, sun-burnt +rustic, leading his herd of buffaloes and oxen to the Campo Vaccino. The +romance with which, dipping our pencils in the rainbow hues of sky and +transcendent nature, we to a degree gratuitously endow the Italians, replaced +the solemn grandeur of antiquity. I remembered the dark monk, and floating +figures of “The Italian,” and how my boyish blood had thrilled at +the description. I called to mind Corinna ascending the Capitol to be crowned, +and, passing from the heroine to the author, reflected how the Enchantress +Spirit of Rome held sovereign sway over the minds of the imaginative, until it +rested on me—sole remaining spectator of its wonders. +</p> + +<p> +I was long wrapt by such ideas; but the soul wearies of a pauseless flight; +and, stooping from its wheeling circuits round and round this spot, suddenly it +fell ten thousand fathom deep, into the abyss of the present— into +self-knowledge—into tenfold sadness. I roused myself—I cast off my +waking dreams; and I, who just now could almost hear the shouts of the Roman +throng, and was hustled by countless multitudes, now beheld the desart ruins of +Rome sleeping under its own blue sky; the shadows lay tranquilly on the ground; +sheep were grazing untended on the Palatine, and a buffalo stalked down the +Sacred Way that led to the Capitol. I was alone in the Forum; alone in Rome; +alone in the world. Would not one living man —one companion in my weary +solitude, be worth all the glory and remembered power of this time-honoured +city? Double sorrow—sadness, bred in Cimmerian caves, robed my soul in a +mourning garb. The generations I had conjured up to my fancy, contrasted more +strongly with the end of all —the single point in which, as a pyramid, +the mighty fabric of society had ended, while I, on the giddy height, saw +vacant space around me. +</p> + +<p> +From such vague laments I turned to the contemplation of the minutiae of my +situation. So far, I had not succeeded in the sole object of my desires, the +finding a companion for my desolation. Yet I did not despair. It is true that +my inscriptions were set up for the most part, in insignificant towns and +villages; yet, even without these memorials, it was possible that the person, +who like me should find himself alone in a depopulate land, should, like me, +come to Rome. The more slender my expectation was, the more I chose to build on +it, and to accommodate my actions to this vague possibility. +</p> + +<p> +It became necessary therefore, that for a time I should domesticate myself at +Rome. It became necessary, that I should look my disaster in the face— +not playing the school-boy’s part of obedience without submission; +enduring life, and yet rebelling against the laws by which I lived. +</p> + +<p> +Yet how could I resign myself? Without love, without sympathy, without +communion with any, how could I meet the morning sun, and with it trace its oft +repeated journey to the evening shades? Why did I continue to live— why +not throw off the weary weight of time, and with my own hand, let out the +fluttering prisoner from my agonized breast?—It was not cowardice that +withheld me; for the true fortitude was to endure; and death had a soothing +sound accompanying it, that would easily entice me to enter its demesne. But +this I would not do. I had, from the moment I had reasoned on the subject, +instituted myself the subject to fate, and the servant of necessity, the +visible laws of the invisible God—I believed that my obedience was the +result of sound reasoning, pure feeling, and an exalted sense of the true +excellence and nobility of my nature. Could I have seen in this empty earth, in +the seasons and their change, the hand of a blind power only, most willingly +would I have placed my head on the sod, and closed my eyes on its loveliness +for ever. But fate had administered life to me, when the plague had already +seized on its prey—she had dragged me by the hair from out the strangling +waves—By such miracles she had bought me for her own; I admitted her +authority, and bowed to her decrees. If, after mature consideration, such was +my resolve, it was doubly necessary that I should not lose the end of life, the +improvement of my faculties, and poison its flow by repinings without end. Yet +how cease to repine, since there was no hand near to extract the barbed spear +that had entered my heart of hearts? I stretched out my hand, and it touched +none whose sensations were responsive to mine. I was girded, walled in, vaulted +over, by seven-fold barriers of loneliness. Occupation alone, if I could +deliver myself up to it, would be capable of affording an opiate to my +sleepless sense of woe. Having determined to make Rome my abode, at least for +some months, I made arrangements for my accommodation—I selected my home. +The Colonna Palace was well adapted for my purpose. Its grandeur— its +treasure of paintings, its magnificent halls were objects soothing and even +exhilarating. +</p> + +<p> +I found the granaries of Rome well stored with grain, and particularly with +Indian corn; this product requiring less art in its preparation for food, I +selected as my principal support. I now found the hardships and lawlessness of +my youth turn to account. A man cannot throw off the habits of sixteen years. +Since that age, it is true, I had lived luxuriously, or at least surrounded by +all the conveniences civilization afforded. But before that time, I had been +“as uncouth a savage, as the wolf-bred founder of old +Rome”—and now, in Rome itself, robber and shepherd propensities, +similar to those of its founder, were of advantage to its sole inhabitant. I +spent the morning riding and shooting in the Campagna—I passed long hours +in the various galleries—I gazed at each statue, and lost myself in a +reverie before many a fair Madonna or beauteous nymph. I haunted the Vatican, +and stood surrounded by marble forms of divine beauty. Each stone deity was +possessed by sacred gladness, and the eternal fruition of love. They looked on +me with unsympathizing complacency, and often in wild accents I reproached them +for their supreme indifference—for they were human shapes, the human form +divine was manifest in each fairest limb and lineament. The perfect moulding +brought with it the idea of colour and motion; often, half in bitter mockery, +half in self-delusion, I clasped their icy proportions, and, coming between +Cupid and his Psyche’s lips, pressed the unconceiving marble. +</p> + +<p> +I endeavoured to read. I visited the libraries of Rome. I selected a volume, +and, choosing some sequestered, shady nook, on the banks of the Tiber, or +opposite the fair temple in the Borghese Gardens, or under the old pyramid of +Cestius, I endeavoured to conceal me from myself, and immerse myself in the +subject traced on the pages before me. As if in the same soil you plant +nightshade and a myrtle tree, they will each appropriate the mould, moisture, +and air administered, for the fostering their several properties—so did +my grief find sustenance, and power of existence, and growth, in what else had +been divine manna, to feed radiant meditation. Ah! while I streak this paper +with the tale of what my so named occupations were—while I shape the +skeleton of my days—my hand trembles—my heart pants, and my brain +refuses to lend expression, or phrase, or idea, by which to image forth the +veil of unutterable woe that clothed these bare realities. O, worn and beating +heart, may I dissect thy fibres, and tell how in each unmitigable misery, +sadness dire, repinings, and despair, existed? May I record my many +ravings—the wild curses I hurled at torturing nature—and how I have +passed days shut out from light and food—from all except the burning hell +alive in my own bosom? +</p> + +<p> +I was presented, meantime, with one other occupation, the one best fitted to +discipline my melancholy thoughts, which strayed backwards, over many a ruin, +and through many a flowery glade, even to the mountain recess, from which in +early youth I had first emerged. +</p> + +<p> +During one of my rambles through the habitations of Rome, I found writing +materials on a table in an author’s study. Parts of a manuscript lay +scattered about. It contained a learned disquisition on the Italian language; +one page an unfinished dedication to posterity, for whose profit the writer had +sifted and selected the niceties of this harmonious language —to whose +everlasting benefit he bequeathed his labours. +</p> + +<p> +I also will write a book, I cried—for whom to read?—to whom +dedicated? And then with silly flourish (what so capricious and childish as +despair?) I wrote, +</p> + +<p class="center"> +DEDICATION<br/> +TO THE ILLUSTRIOUS DEAD.<br/> +SHADOWS, ARISE, AND READ YOUR FALL!<br/> +BEHOLD THE HISTORY OF THE<br/> +LAST MAN. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, will not this world be re-peopled, and the children of a saved pair of +lovers, in some to me unknown and unattainable seclusion, wandering to these +prodigious relics of the ante-pestilential race, seek to learn how beings so +wondrous in their achievements, with imaginations infinite, and powers godlike, +had departed from their home to an unknown country? +</p> + +<p> +I will write and leave in this most ancient city, this “world’s +sole monument,” a record of these things. I will leave a monument of the +existence of Verney, the Last Man. At first I thought only to speak of plague, +of death, and last, of desertion; but I lingered fondly on my early years, and +recorded with sacred zeal the virtues of my companions. They have been with me +during the fulfilment of my task. I have brought it to an end—I lift my +eyes from my paper—again they are lost to me. Again I feel that I am +alone. +</p> + +<p> +A year has passed since I have been thus occupied. The seasons have made their +wonted round, and decked this eternal city in a changeful robe of surpassing +beauty. A year has passed; and I no longer <i>guess</i> at my state or my +prospects—loneliness is my familiar, sorrow my inseparable companion. I +have endeavoured to brave the storm—I have endeavoured to school myself +to fortitude—I have sought to imbue myself with the lessons of wisdom. It +will not do. My hair has become nearly grey—my voice, unused now to utter +sound, comes strangely on my ears. My person, with its human powers and +features, seem to me a monstrous excrescence of nature. How express in human +language a woe human being until this hour never knew! How give intelligible +expression to a pang none but I could ever understand!— No one has +entered Rome. None will ever come. I smile bitterly at the delusion I have so +long nourished, and still more, when I reflect that I have exchanged it for +another as delusive, as false, but to which I now cling with the same fond +trust. +</p> + +<p> +Winter has come again; and the gardens of Rome have lost their leaves— +the sharp air comes over the Campagna, and has driven its brute inhabitants to +take up their abode in the many dwellings of the deserted city—frost has +suspended the gushing fountains—and Trevi has stilled her eternal music. +I had made a rough calculation, aided by the stars, by which I endeavoured to +ascertain the first day of the new year. In the old out-worn age, the Sovereign +Pontiff was used to go in solemn pomp, and mark the renewal of the year by +driving a nail in the gate of the temple of Janus. On that day I ascended St. +Peter’s, and carved on its topmost stone the aera 2100, last year of the +world! +</p> + +<p> +My only companion was a dog, a shaggy fellow, half water and half +shepherd’s dog, whom I found tending sheep in the Campagna. His master +was dead, but nevertheless he continued fulfilling his duties in expectation of +his return. If a sheep strayed from the rest, he forced it to return to the +flock, and sedulously kept off every intruder. Riding in the Campagna I had +come upon his sheep-walk, and for some time observed his repetition of lessons +learned from man, now useless, though unforgotten. His delight was excessive +when he saw me. He sprung up to my knees; he capered round and round, wagging +his tail, with the short, quick bark of pleasure: he left his fold to follow +me, and from that day has never neglected to watch by and attend on me, shewing +boisterous gratitude whenever I caressed or talked to him. His pattering steps +and mine alone were heard, when we entered the magnificent extent of nave and +aisle of St. Peter’s. We ascended the myriad steps together, when on the +summit I achieved my design, and in rough figures noted the date of the last +year. I then turned to gaze on the country, and to take leave of Rome. I had +long determined to quit it, and I now formed the plan I would adopt for my +future career, after I had left this magnificent abode. +</p> + +<p> +A solitary being is by instinct a wanderer, and that I would become. A hope of +amelioration always attends on change of place, which would even lighten the +burthen of my life. I had been a fool to remain in Rome all this time: Rome +noted for Malaria, the famous caterer for death. But it was still possible, +that, could I visit the whole extent of earth, I should find in some part of +the wide extent a survivor. Methought the sea-side was the most probable +retreat to be chosen by such a one. If left alone in an inland district, still +they could not continue in the spot where their last hopes had been +extinguished; they would journey on, like me, in search of a partner for their +solitude, till the watery barrier stopped their further progress. +</p> + +<p> +To that water—cause of my woes, perhaps now to be their cure, I would +betake myself. Farewell, Italy!—farewell, thou ornament of the world, +matchless Rome, the retreat of the solitary one during long months!—to +civilized life—to the settled home and succession of monotonous days, +farewell! Peril will now be mine; and I hail her as a friend—death will +perpetually cross my path, and I will meet him as a benefactor; hardship, +inclement weather, and dangerous tempests will be my sworn mates. Ye spirits of +storm, receive me! ye powers of destruction, open wide your arms, and clasp me +for ever! if a kinder power have not decreed another end, so that after long +endurance I may reap my reward, and again feel my heart beat near the heart of +another like to me. +</p> + +<p> +Tiber, the road which is spread by nature’s own hand, threading her +continent, was at my feet, and many a boat was tethered to the banks. I would +with a few books, provisions, and my dog, embark in one of these and float down +the current of the stream into the sea; and then, keeping near land, I would +coast the beauteous shores and sunny promontories of the blue Mediterranean, +pass Naples, along Calabria, and would dare the twin perils of Scylla and +Charybdis; then, with fearless aim, (for what had I to lose?) skim +ocean’s surface towards Malta and the further Cyclades. I would avoid +Constantinople, the sight of whose well-known towers and inlets belonged to +another state of existence from my present one; I would coast Asia Minor, and +Syria, and, passing the seven-mouthed Nile, steer northward again, till losing +sight of forgotten Carthage and deserted Lybia, I should reach the pillars of +Hercules. And then—no matter where—the oozy caves, and soundless +depths of ocean may be my dwelling, before I accomplish this long-drawn voyage, +or the arrow of disease find my heart as I float singly on the weltering +Mediterranean; or, in some place I touch at, I may find what I seek—a +companion; or if this may not be—to endless time, decrepid and grey +headed—youth already in the grave with those I love— the lone +wanderer will still unfurl his sail, and clasp the tiller—and, still +obeying the breezes of heaven, for ever round another and another promontory, +anchoring in another and another bay, still ploughing seedless ocean, leaving +behind the verdant land of native Europe, adown the tawny shore of Africa, +having weathered the fierce seas of the Cape, I may moor my worn skiff in a +creek, shaded by spicy groves of the odorous islands of the far Indian ocean. +</p> + +<p> +These are wild dreams. Yet since, now a week ago, they came on me, as I stood +on the height of St. Peter’s, they have ruled my imagination. I have +chosen my boat, and laid in my scant stores. I have selected a few books; the +principal are Homer and Shakespeare—But the libraries of the world are +thrown open to me—and in any port I can renew my stock. I form no +expectation of alteration for the better; but the monotonous present is +intolerable to me. Neither hope nor joy are my pilots—restless despair +and fierce desire of change lead me on. I long to grapple with danger, to be +excited by fear, to have some task, however slight or voluntary, for each +day’s fulfilment. I shall witness all the variety of appearance, that the +elements can assume—I shall read fair augury in the rainbow— menace +in the cloud—some lesson or record dear to my heart in everything. Thus +around the shores of deserted earth, while the sun is high, and the moon waxes +or wanes, angels, the spirits of the dead, and the ever-open eye of the +Supreme, will behold the tiny bark, freighted with Verney—the <small>LAST +MAN</small>. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE END. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST MAN ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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