by Robert Reed
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 permit-
ted her to see and feel to be a part of Raymond .
Pale as marble, clear and beaming as that, she heard my tale, and
enquired concerning the spot where he had been deposited . Her fea-
tures 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 Ath-
ens 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 .”
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 .
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 Oeta 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 mo-
notonous recurrence of day and night, unvaried by hope or change,
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1015
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 com-
munication or sympathy .
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 .
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 Oc-
tober 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 LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1016
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 .
“Did I not do right,” said Perdita, “in having my loved one con-
veyed hither? Hereafter this will be the cynosure of Greece . In such
a spot death loses half its terrors, and even the inanimate dust ap-
pears 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 sepa-
ration 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 cycla-
men, 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!
“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 in-
habited, 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 .”
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1017
A shower of tears terminated her sad harangue . I had expected
some extravagant proposition, and remained silent awhile, collect-
ing 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 .”
“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 .”
“My dearest girl!”
“And what is there so strange in my design? I might have de-
ceived 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 com-
mand 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 .”
“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 happi-
ness 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
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1018
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 .”
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 .
“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 shad-
ow of His society, in this my own selected and beloved recess?”—
All this appeared to me, I own, methodized madness . I imagined,
that it was my imperative duty to take her from scenes that thus forc-
ibly 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
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1019
also led me to oppose these fond dreams of cherished grief; her
sensibility had already been too much excited; her infant heedless-
ness 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 .
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 Per-
dita 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 .
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 compos-
ing 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 .
It was late in the day before Perdita awoke, and a longer time
elapsed before recovering from the torpor occasioned by the lauda-
num, she perceived her change of situation . She started wildly from
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1020
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 creakin
g 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?”—
The attendant whom I had stationed to watch her, replied, “to
England .”—
“And my brother?”—
“Is on deck, Madam .”
“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 motion-
less; so that but for the deep sighs that burst from her, it would have
seemed that she slept .
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 ap-
peared, 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 .
When night came on, she begged that Clara might sleep in a sep-
arate cabin . Her servant, however, remained with her . About mid-
night 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 .
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 mur-
mur of the moveless and full sails, the wind whistling in the shrouds,
and the regular motion of the engine . The sea was gently agitated,
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1021
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 .
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 .
