The Plague, Pestilence & Apocalypse MEGAPACK™

by Robert Reed

addressed each other, shunning explanation, each fearing any com-

  munication 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 estab-

  lish 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 fa-

  miliar 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:—

  “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?

  “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 .

  “I loved you—I love you—neither anger nor pride dic-

  tates these lines; but a feeling beyond, deeper, and more un-

  alterable than either . My affections are wounded; it is impos-

  sible 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 .

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  “Common affection might have been satisfied with com-

  mon 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 fond-

  est 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 repeti-

  tion of objects and circumstances old and worn out . I lived

  in a temple glorified by intensest sense of devotion and rap-

  ture; I walked, a consecrated being, contemplating only your

  power, your excellence;

  For O, you stood beside me, like my youth,

  Transformed for me the real to a dream,

  Cloathing the palpable and familiar

  With golden exhalations of the dawn.

  ‘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 .

  “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

  THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 952

  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 .

  “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,

  The funeral note

  Of love, deep buried, without resurrection.

  No—no—me miserable; for love extinct there is no resurrec-

  tion!

  “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, Ray-

  mond, 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 .

  “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 my-

  self, of harshness or unkindness, in the world’s eye .

  “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

  THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 953

  linked to this perishable frame, become lethargic and cold,

  even as this sensitive mechanism shall lose its youthful elas-

  ticity? 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,

  “PERDITA .”

  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 esti-

  mation, 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

&nbs
p; 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 hap-

  piness .”

  “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 Ray-

  mond can now offer me .”

  I own that I did not see her misfortune with the same eyes as Per-

  dita . 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 en-

  deavours 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

  THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 954

  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 .”

  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 im-

  perfect 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.”

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  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 con-

  straint 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 di-

  vulged 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 conclu-

  sions 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 suf-

  ficient 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

  THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 956

  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 tender-

  ness 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 discov-

  ery; 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 .

  All these circumstances were n
ow related to Adrian and Idris .

  Raymond then lamented the cureless evil of his situation with Per-

  dita . He declared, notwithstanding her harshness, he even called it

  coldness, that he loved her . He had been ready once with the humil-

  ity 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 en-

  deavours 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 .

  THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 957

  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 up-

  permost 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 Ray-

  mond 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 un-

  natural position . She regarded with suspicion the invitation of Idris;

  she embraced me, as if she were about to be deprived of my affec-

  tion 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 .

  The scenes that followed, convinced her that she had not yet fath-

  omed the obscure gulph into which she had plunged . Her unhappi-