CHAPTER IX.
THUS sad and disarranged were the thoughts of my poor sister, when shebecame assured of the infidelity of Raymond. All her virtues and all herdefects tended to make the blow incurable. Her affection for me, herbrother, for Adrian and Idris, was subject as it were to the reigningpassion of her heart; even her maternal tenderness borrowed half its forcefrom the delight she had in tracing Raymond's features and expression inthe infant's countenance. She had been reserved and even stern inchildhood; but love had softened the asperities of her character, and herunion with Raymond had caused her talents and affections to unfoldthemselves; the one betrayed, and the other lost, she in some degreereturned to her ancient disposition. The concentrated pride of her nature,forgotten during her blissful dream, awoke, and with its adder's stingpierced her heart; her humility of spirit augmented the power of the venom;she had been exalted in her own estimation, while distinguished by hislove: 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 wonhim from her, and her exultation was as cold as a water quenched ember.
We, in our retirement, remained long in ignorance of her misfortune. Soonafter the festival she had sent for her child, and then she seemed to haveforgotten us. Adrian observed a change during a visit that he afterwardpaid them; but he could not tell its extent, or divine the cause. Theystill appeared in public together, and lived under the same roof. Raymondwas as usual courteous, though there was, on occasions, an unbiddenhaughtiness, or painful abruptness in his manners, which startled hisgentle friend; his brow was not clouded but disdain sat on his lips, andhis 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; andher eyes often filled with tears. Sometimes she looked at Raymond, as if tosay--That it should be so! At others her countenance expressed--I willstill do all I can to make you happy. But Adrian read with uncertain aimthe charactery of her face, and might mistake.--Clara was always withher, and she seemed most at ease, when, in an obscure corner, she could sitholding her child's hand, silent and lonely. Still Adrian was unable toguess the truth; he entreated them to visit us at Windsor, and theypromised to come during the following month.
It was May before they arrived: the season had decked the forest trees withleaves, and its paths with a thousand flowers. We had notice of theirintention the day before; and, early in the morning, Perdita arrived withher daughter. Raymond would follow soon, she said; he had been detained bybusiness. According to Adrian's account, I had expected to find her sad;but, on the contrary, she appeared in the highest spirits: true, she hadgrown thin, her eyes were somewhat hollow, and her cheeks sunk, thoughtinged by a bright glow. She was delighted to see us; caressed ourchildren, praised their growth and improvement; Clara also was pleased tomeet again her young friend Alfred; all kinds of childish games wereentered into, in which Perdita joined. She communicated her gaiety to us,and as we amused ourselves on the Castle Terrace, it appeared that ahappier, less care-worn party could not have been assembled. "This isbetter, Mamma," said Clara, "than being in that dismal London, where youoften cry, and never laugh as you do now."--"Silence, little foolishthing," replied her mother, "and remember any one that mentions London issent to Coventry for an hour."
Soon after, Raymond arrived. He did not join as usual in the playful spiritof the rest; but, entering into conversation with Adrian and myself, bydegrees we seceded from our companions, and Idris and Perdita only remainedwith the children. Raymond talked of his new buildings; of his plan for anestablishment for the better education of the poor; as usual Adrian and heentered into argument, and the time slipped away unperceived.
We assembled again towards evening, and Perdita insisted on our havingrecourse to music. She wanted, she said, to give us a specimen of her newaccomplishment; for since she had been in London, she had applied herselfto 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; andall the Operas of Mozart were called into service, that we might choose themost exhilarating of his airs. Among the other transcendant attributes ofMozart's music, it possesses more than any other that of appearing to comefrom the heart; you enter into the passions expressed by him, and aretransported 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 thetrio of "Taci ingiusto core," in Don Giovanni, whose arch entreaty wassoftened by him into tenderness, and thrilled her heart with memories ofthe changed past; it was the same voice, the same tone, the self-samesounds and words, which often before she had received, as the homage oflove to her--no longer was it that; and this concord of sound with itsdissonance of expression penetrated her with regret and despair. Soon afterIdris, who was at the harp, turned to that passionate and sorrowful air inFigaro, "Porgi, amor, qualche risforo," in which the deserted Countesslaments the change of the faithless Almaviva. The soul of tender sorrow isbreathed forth in this strain; and the sweet voice of Idris, sustained bythe mournful chords of her instrument, added to the expression of thewords. During the pathetic appeal with which it concludes, a stifled sobattracted our attention to Perdita, the cessation of the music recalled herto herself, she hastened out of the hall--I followed her. At first, sheseemed 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 lostPerdita 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 wrongin giving words to my grief. I will not speak! Be it enough for you to knowthat I am miserable--be it enough for you to know, that the painted veilof life is rent, that I sit for ever shrouded in darkness and gloom, thatgrief is my sister, everlasting lamentation my mate!"
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 changesof her fortune:--"Dear words," she cried, "expressions of love come uponmy ear, like the remembered sounds of forgotten music, that had been dearto me. They are vain, I know; how very vain in their attempt to soothe orcomfort me. Dearest Lionel, you cannot guess what I have suffered duringthese long months. I have read of mourners in ancient days, who clothedthemselves in sackcloth, scattered dust upon their heads, ate their breadmingled with ashes, and took up their abode on the bleak mountain tops,reproaching heaven and earth aloud with their misfortunes. Why this is thevery luxury of sorrow! thus one might go on from day to day contriving newextravagances, revelling in the paraphernalia of woe, wedded to all theappurtenances of despair. Alas! I must for ever conceal the wretchednessthat consumes me. I must weave a veil of dazzling falsehood to hide mygrief from vulgar eyes, smoothe my brow, and paint my lips in deceitfulsmiles--even in solitude I dare not think how lost I am, lest I becomeinsane and rave."
The tears and agitation of my poor sister had rendered her unfit to returnto the circle we had left--so I persuaded her to let me drive her throughthe park; and, during the ride, I induced her to confide the tale of herunhappiness 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 toher.
Several weeks had elapsed since the festival of the anniversary, and shehad been unable to calm her mind, or to subdue her thoughts to any regulartrain. Sometimes she reproached herself for taking too bitterly to heart,that which many would esteem an imaginary evil; but this was no subject forreason; and, ignorant as she was of the motives and true conduct ofRaymond, things assumed for her even a worse appearance, than the realitywarranted. He was seldom at the palace; never, but when he was assured thathis public duties would prevent his remaining alone with Perdita. Theyseldom addressed each other, shunning explanation, each fearing anycommunication the other might make. Suddenly, however
, the manners ofRaymond changed; he appeared to desire to find opportunities of bringingabout a return to kindness and intimacy with my sister. The tide of lovetowards her appeared to flow again; he could never forget, how once he hadbeen devoted to her, making her the shrine and storehouse wherein to placeevery thought and every sentiment. Shame seemed to hold him back; yet heevidently wished to establish a renewal of confidence and affection. Fromthe moment Perdita had sufficiently recovered herself to form any plan ofaction, she had laid one down, which now she prepared to follow. Shereceived these tokens of returning love with gentleness; she did not shunhis company; but she endeavoured to place a barrier in the way of familiarintercourse or painful discussion, which mingled pride and shame preventedRaymond from surmounting. He began at last to shew signs of angryimpatience, and Perdita became aware that the system she had adopted couldnot continue; she must explain herself to him; she could not summon courageto speak--she wrote thus:--
"Read this letter with patience, I entreat you. It will contain noreproaches. Reproach is indeed an idle word: for what should I reproachyou?
"Allow me in some degree to explain my feeling; without that, we shall bothgrope in the dark, mistaking one another; erring from the path which mayconduct, one of us at least, to a more eligible mode of life than that ledby either during the last few weeks.
"I loved you--I love you--neither anger nor pride dictates these lines;but a feeling beyond, deeper, and more unalterable than either. Myaffections are wounded; it is impossible to heal them:--cease then thevain endeavour, if indeed that way your endeavours tend. Forgiveness!Return! Idle words are these! I forgive the pain I endure; but the troddenpath cannot be retraced.
"Common affection might have been satisfied with common usages. I believedthat you read my heart, and knew its devotion, its unalienable fidelitytowards you. I never loved any but you. You came the embodied image of myfondest dreams. The praise of men, power and high aspirations attended yourcareer. Love for you invested the world for me in enchanted light; it wasno longer the earth I trod--the earth, common mother, yielding only triteand stale repetition of objects and circumstances old and worn out. I livedin a temple glorified by intensest sense of devotion and rapture; 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 allinvesting night; no rising to the set-sun of love. In those days therest of the world was nothing to me: all other men--I neverconsidered 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 enjoyits light with purer and more intense bliss? It was not--it is not acommon infidelity at which I repine. It is the disunion of an whole whichmay not have parts; it is the carelessness with which you have shaken offthe mantle of election with which to me you were invested, and have becomeone 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 youslept, melted even to tears, as the idea filled my mind, that all Ipossessed lay cradled in those idolized, but mortal lineaments before me.Yet, even then, I have checked thick-coming fears with one thought; I wouldnot 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 allthings; 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 lovewas less enduring than the mortal beatings of my fragile heart, every pulseof which knells audibly,
The funeral note Of love, deep buried, without resurrection. No--no--me miserable; for love extinct there is no resurrection!
"Yet I love you. Yet, and for ever, would I contribute all I possess toyour welfare. On account of a tattling world; for the sake of my--of ourchild, I would remain by you, Raymond, share your fortunes, partake yourcounsel. Shall it be thus? We are no longer lovers; nor can I call myself afriend to any; since, lost as I am, I have no thought to spare from my ownwretched, engrossing self. But it will please me to see you each day! tolisten to the public voice praising you; to keep up your paternal love forour girl; to hear your voice; to know that I am near you, though you are nolonger mine.
"If you wish to break the chains that bind us, say the word, and itshall be done--I will take all the blame on myself, of harshnessor 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 isspent; when placid age shall tame the vulture that devours me, friendshipmay 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 wordssound 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 ofremedy. "Notwithstanding your bitter letter," he wrote, "for bitter I mustcall it, you are the chief person in my estimation, and it is yourhappiness that I would principally consult. Do that which seems best toyou: and if you can receive gratification from one mode of life inpreference to another, do not let me be any obstacle. I foresee that theplan which you mark out in your letter will not endure long; but you aremistress of yourself, and it is my sincere wish to contribute as far as youwill permit me to your happiness."
"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 firstto propose alteration. He beholds in me one whom he has injured even untodeath; and I derive no hope from his kindness; no change can possibly bebrought about even by his best intentions. As well might Cleopatra haveworn as an ornament the vinegar which contained her dissolved pearl, as Ibe content with the love that Raymond can now offer me."
I own that I did not see her misfortune with the same eyes as Perdita. Atall events methought that the wound could be healed; and, if they remainedtogether, it would be so. I endeavoured therefore to sooth and soften hermind; and it was not until after many endeavours that I gave up the task asimpracticable. Perdita listened to me impatiently, and answered with someasperity:--"Do you think that any of your arguments are new to me? orthat my own burning wishes and intense anguish have not suggested them alla thousand times, with far more eagerness and subtlety than you can putinto them? Lionel, you cannot understand what woman's love is. In days ofhappiness I have often repeated to myself, with a grateful heart andexulting spirit, all that Raymond sacrificed for me. I was a poor,uneducated, unbefriended, mountain girl, raised from nothingnessby him. All that I possessed of the luxuries of life camefrom him. He gave me an illustrious name and noble station; the world'srespect reflected from his own glory: all this joined to his own undyinglove, inspired me with sensations towards him, akin to those with which weregard 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 becomeworthy of him. I watched over my hasty temper, subdued my burningimpatience of character, schooled my self-engrossing thoughts, educatingmyself to the best perfection I might attain, that the fruit of myexertions might be his happiness. I took no merit to myself for this. Hedeserved it all--all labour, all devotion, all sacrifice; I would havetoiled up a scaleless Alp, to pluck a flower that would please him. I wasready to quit you all,
my beloved and gifted companions, and to live onlywith him, for him. I could not do otherwise, even if I had wished; for ifwe are said to have two souls, he was my better soul, to which the otherwas a perpetual slave. One only return did he owe me, even fidelity. Iearned that; I deserved it. Because I was mountain bred, unallied to thenoble 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 onlymerit in my eyes was that they were his."
Thus passionately Perdita ran on. When I adverted to the question of theirentire 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 imperfectcompanionship, and our masquerade of union, are strangely dear to me. It ispainful, I allow, destructive, impracticable. It keeps up a perpetual feverin my veins; it frets my immedicable wound; it is instinct with poison. YetI must cling to it; perhaps it will kill me soon, and thus perform athankful office."
In the mean time, Raymond had remained with Adrian and Idris. He wasnaturally frank; the continued absence of Perdita and myself becameremarkable; and Raymond soon found relief from the constraint of months, byan unreserved confidence with his two friends. He related to them thesituation in which he had found Evadne. At first, from delicacy to Adrianhe 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 hersufferings. Idris had shared Perdita's ill opinion of the Greek; butRaymond's account softened and interested her. Evadne's constancy,fortitude, even her ill-fated and ill-regulated love, were matter ofadmiration and pity; especially when, from the detail of the events of thenineteenth of October, it was apparent that she preferred suffering anddeath to any in her eyes degrading application for the pity and assistanceof her lover. Her subsequent conduct did not diminish this interest. Atfirst, relieved from famine and the grave, watched over by Raymond with thetenderest assiduity, with that feeling of repose peculiar to convalescence,Evadne gave herself up to rapturous gratitude and love. But reflectionreturned with health. She questioned him with regard to the motives whichhad occasioned his critical absence. She framed her enquiries with Greeksubtlety; she formed her conclusions with the decision and firmnesspeculiar to her disposition. She could not divine, that the breach whichshe had occasioned between Raymond and Perdita was already irreparable: butshe knew, that under the present system it would be widened each day, andthat its result must be to destroy her lover's happiness, and to implantthe fangs of remorse in his heart. From the moment that she perceived theright line of conduct, she resolved to adopt it, and to part from Raymondfor ever. Conflicting passions, long-cherished love, and self-inflicteddisappointment, made her regard death alone as sufficient refuge for herwoe. But the same feelings and opinions which had before restrained her,acted with redoubled force; for she knew that the reflection that he hadoccasioned her death, would pursue Raymond through life, poisoning everyenjoyment, clouding every prospect. Besides, though the violence of heranguish made life hateful, it had not yet produced that monotonous,lethargic sense of changeless misery which for the most part producessuicide. Her energy of character induced her still to combat with the illsof life; even those attendant on hopeless love presented themselves, ratherin the shape of an adversary to be overcome, than of a victor to whom shemust submit. Besides, she had memories of past tenderness to cherish,smiles, words, and even tears, to con over, which, though remembered indesertion and sorrow, were to be preferred to the forgetfulness of thegrave. It was impossible to guess at the whole of her plan. Her letter toRaymond gave no clue for discovery; it assured him, that she was in nodanger of wanting the means of life; she promised in it to preserveherself, and some future day perhaps to present herself to him in a stationnot unworthy of her. She then bade him, with the eloquence of despair andof unalterable love, a last farewell.
All these circumstances were now related to Adrian and Idris. Raymond thenlamented the cureless evil of his situation with Perdita. He declared,notwithstanding her harshness, he even called it coldness, that he lovedher. He had been ready once with the humility of a penitent, and the dutyof a vassal, to surrender himself to her; giving up his very soul to hertutelage, to become her pupil, her slave, her bondsman. She had rejectedthese advances; and the time for such exuberant submission, which must befounded on love and nourished by it, was now passed. Still all his wishesand endeavours were directed towards her peace, and his chief discomfortarose from the perception that he exerted himself in vain. If she were tocontinue inflexible in the line of conduct she now pursued, they must part.The combinations and occurrences of this senseless mode of intercourse weremaddening to him. Yet he would not propose the separation. He was hauntedby the fear of causing the death of one or other of the beings implicatedin these events; and he could not persuade himself to undertake to directthe course of events, lest, ignorant of the land he traversed, he shouldlead those attached to the car into irremediable ruin.
After a discussion on this subject, which lasted for several hours, he tookleave of his friends, and returned to town, unwilling to meet Perditabefore us, conscious, as we all must be, of the thoughts uppermost in theminds of both. Perdita prepared to follow him with her child. Idrisendeavoured to persuade her to remain. My poor sister looked at thecounsellor with affright. She knew that Raymond had conversed with her; hadhe instigated this request?--was this to be the prelude to their eternalseparation?--I have said, that the defects of her character awoke andacquired vigour from her unnatural position. She regarded with suspicionthe invitation of Idris; she embraced me, as if she were about to bedeprived of my affection also: calling me her more than brother, her onlyfriend, her last hope, she pathetically conjured me not to cease to loveher; and with encreased anxiety she departed for London, the scene andcause of all her misery.
The scenes that followed, convinced her that she had not yet fathomed theobscure gulph into which she had plunged. Her unhappiness assumed every daya new shape; every day some unexpected event seemed to close, while in factit led onward, the train of calamities which now befell her.
The selected passion of the soul of Raymond was ambition. Readiness oftalent, a capacity of entering into, and leading the dispositions of men;earnest desire of distinction were the awakeners and nurses of hisambition. But other ingredients mingled with these, and prevented him frombecoming the calculating, determined character, which alone forms asuccessful hero. He was obstinate, but not firm; benevolent in his firstmovements; harsh and reckless when provoked. Above all, he was remorselessand unyielding in the pursuit of any object of desire, however lawless.Love of pleasure, and the softer sensibilities of our nature, made aprominent part of his character, conquering the conqueror; holding him inat the moment of acquisition; sweeping away ambition's web; making himforget the toil of weeks, for the sake of one moment's indulgence of thenew and actual object of his wishes. Obeying these impulses, he had becomethe husband of Perdita: egged on by them, he found himself the lover ofEvadne. He had now lost both. He had neither the ennoblingself-gratulation, which constancy inspires, to console him, nor thevoluptuous sense of abandonment to a forbidden, but intoxicating passion.His heart was exhausted by the recent events; his enjoyment of life wasdestroyed by the resentment of Perdita, and the flight of Evadne; and theinflexibility of the former, set the last seal upon the annihilation of hishopes. As long as their disunion remained a secret, he cherished anexpectation of re-awakening past tenderness in her bosom; now that we wereall made acquainted with these occurrences, and that Perdita, by declaringher resolves to others, in a manner pledged herself to theiraccomplishment, 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 thepresent state of things. He made a vow against love and its train ofstruggles, disappointment and remorse, and sought in mere sensualenjoyment, a remedy for the injurious inroads of passion.
Debasement of character is the certain follower of such pursuits. Yet thiscons
equence would not have been immediately remarkable, if Raymond hadcontinued to apply himself to the execution of his plans for the publicbenefit, and the fulfilling his duties as Protector. But, extreme in allthings, given up to immediate impressions, he entered with ardour into thisnew pursuit of pleasure, and followed up the incongruous intimaciesoccasioned by it without reflection or foresight. The council-chamber wasdeserted; the crowds which attended on him as agents to his variousprojects were neglected. Festivity, and even libertinism, became the orderof the day.
Perdita beheld with affright the encreasing disorder. For a moment shethought that she could stem the torrent, and that Raymond could be inducedto hear reason from her.--Vain hope! The moment of her influence waspassed. He listened with haughtiness, replied disdainfully; and, if intruth, she succeeded in awakening his conscience, the sole effect was thathe sought an opiate for the pang in oblivious riot. With the energy naturalto her, Perdita then endeavoured to supply his place. Their still apparentunion permitted her to do much; but no woman could, in the end, present aremedy to the encreasing negligence of the Protector; who, as if seizedwith a paroxysm of insanity, trampled on all ceremony, all order, all duty,and gave himself up to license.
Reports of these strange proceedings reached us, and we were undecided whatmethod to adopt to restore our friend to himself and his country, whenPerdita suddenly appeared among us. She detailed the progress of themournful change, and entreated Adrian and myself to go up to London, andendeavour to remedy the encreasing evil:--"Tell him," she cried, "tellLord Raymond, that my presence shall no longer annoy him. That he need notplunge into this destructive dissipation for the sake of disgusting me, andcausing me to fly. This purpose is now accomplished; he will never see memore. But let me, it is my last entreaty, let me in the praises of hiscountrymen and the prosperity of England, find the choice of my youthjustified."
During our ride up to town, Adrian and I discussed and argued uponRaymond's conduct, and his falling off from the hopes of permanentexcellence on his part, which he had before given us cause to entertain. Myfriend and I had both been educated in one school, or rather I was hispupil in the opinion, that steady adherence to principle was the only roadto honour; a ceaseless observance of the laws of general utility, the onlyconscientious aim of human ambition. But though we both entertained theseideas, we differed in their application. Resentment added also a sting tomy censure; and I reprobated Raymond's conduct in severe terms. Adrian wasmore benign, more considerate. He admitted that the principles that I laiddown were the best; but he denied that they were the only ones. Quoting thetext, there are many mansions in my father's house, he insisted that themodes 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 twoalike.
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 noProtector; and there was an austere discontent manifest on the countenancesof the leaders, and a whispering and busy tattle among the underlings, notless ominous. We hastened to the palace of the Protectorate. We foundRaymond in his dining room with six others: the bottle was being pushedabout merrily, and had made considerable inroads on the understanding ofone or two. He who sat near Raymond was telling a story, which convulsedthe rest with laughter.
Raymond sat among them, though while he entered into the spirit of thehour, his natural dignity never forsook him. He was gay, playful,fascinating--but never did he overstep the modesty of nature, or therespect due to himself, in his wildest sallies. Yet I own, that consideringthe task which Raymond had taken on himself as Protector of England, andthe cares to which it became him to attend, I was exceedingly provoked toobserve the worthless fellows on whom his time was wasted, and the jovialif not drunken spirit which seemed on the point of robbing him of hisbetter self. I stood watching the scene, while Adrian flitted like a shadowin among them, and, by a word and look of sobriety, endeavoured to restoreorder in the assembly. Raymond expressed himself delighted to see him,declaring that he should make one in the festivity of the night.
This action of Adrian provoked me. I was indignant that he should sit atthe same table with the companions of Raymond--men of abandonedcharacters, or rather without any, the refuse of high-bred luxury, thedisgrace of their country. "Let me entreat Adrian," I cried, "not tocomply: rather join with me in endeavouring to withdraw Lord Raymond fromthis scene, and restore him to other society."
"My good fellow," said Raymond, "this is neither the time nor place for thedelivery of a moral lecture: take my word for it that my amusements andsociety 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 beno more cakes and ale?'"
I turned angrily away: "Verney," said Adrian, "you are very cynical: sitdown; or if you will not, perhaps, as you are not a frequent visitor, LordRaymond will humour you, and accompany us, as we had previously agreedupon, to parliament."
Raymond looked keenly at him; he could read benignity only in his gentlelineaments; he turned to me, observing with scorn my moody and sterndemeanour. "Come," said Adrian, "I have promised for you, enable me to keepmy engagement. Come with us."--Raymond made an uneasy movement, andlaconically replied--"I won't!"
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 onevanished. Raymond strode angrily up and down the room. I stood ready toreceive and reply to his reproaches. Adrian leaned against the wall. "Thisis infinitely ridiculous," he cried, "if you were school-boys, you couldnot conduct yourselves more unreasonably."
"You do not understand," said Raymond. "This is only part of a system:--ascheme of tyranny to which I will never submit. Because I am Protector ofEngland, am I to be the only slave in its empire? My privacy invaded, myactions censured, my friends insulted? But I will get rid of the wholetogether.--Be you witnesses," and he took the star, insignia of office,from his breast, and threw it on the table. "I renounce my office, Iabdicate my power--assume it who will!"---
"Let him assume it," exclaimed Adrian, "who can pronounce himself, or whomthe world will pronounce to be your superior. There does not exist the manin England with adequate presumption. Know yourself, Raymond, and yourindignation will cease; your complacency return. A few months ago, wheneverwe prayed for the prosperity of our country, or our own, we at the sametime prayed for the life and welfare of the Protector, as indissolublylinked to it. Your hours were devoted to our benefit, your ambition was toobtain our commendation. You decorated our towns with edifices, youbestowed on us useful establishments, you gifted the soil with abundantfertility. The powerful and unjust cowered at the steps of yourjudgment-seat, and the poor and oppressed arose like morn-awakened flowersunder the sunshine of your protection.
"Can you wonder that we are all aghast and mourn, when this appearschanged? But, come, this splenetic fit is already passed; resume yourfunctions; your partizans will hail you; your enemies be silenced; ourlove, honour, and duty will again be manifested towards you. Masteryourself, Raymond, and the world is subject to you."
"All this would be very good sense, if addressed to another," repliedRaymond, moodily, "con the lesson yourself, and you, the first peer of theland, may become its sovereign. You the good, the wise, the just, may ruleall hearts. But I perceive, too soon for my own happiness, too late forEngland's good, that I undertook a task to which I am unequal. I cannotrule myself. My passions are my masters; my smallest impulse my tyrant. Doyou think that I renounced the Protectorate (and I have renounced it) in afit of spleen? By the God that lives, I swear never to take up that baubleagain; never again to burthen myself with the weight of care and misery, ofwhich that is the visible sign.
"Once I desired to be a king. It was in the hey-day of youth, in the prideof boyish folly. I knew myself when I renounced it. I renounced it to gain--no matte
r what--for that also I have lost. For many months I havesubmitted to this mock majesty--this solemn jest. I am its dupe nolonger. I will be free.
"I have lost that which adorned and dignified my life; that which linked meto other men. Again I am a solitary man; and I will become again, as in myearly years, a wanderer, a soldier of fortune. My friends, for Verney, Ifeel that you are my friend, do not endeavour to shake my resolve. Perdita,wedded to an imagination, careless of what is behind the veil, whosecharactery is in truth faulty and vile, Perdita has renounced me. With herit was pretty enough to play a sovereign's part; and, as in the recesses ofyour beloved forest we acted masques, and imagined ourselves Arcadianshepherds, to please the fancy of the moment--so was I content, more forPerdita's sake than my own, to take on me the character of one of the greatones of the earth; to lead her behind the scenes of grandeur, to vary herlife 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, andnot act our lives; pursuing the shadow, I lost the reality--now Irenounce both.
"Adrian, I am about to return to Greece, to become again a soldier, perhapsa conqueror. Will you accompany me? You will behold new scenes; see a newpeople; witness the mighty struggle there going forward betweencivilization and barbarism; behold, and perhaps direct the efforts of ayoung and vigorous population, for liberty and order. Come with me. I haveexpected you. I waited for this moment; all is prepared;--will youaccompany me?"
"I will," replied Adrian. "Immediately?"
"To-morrow if you will."
"Reflect!" I cried.
"Wherefore?" asked Raymond--"My dear fellow, I have done nothing elsethan reflect on this step the live-long summer; and be assured that Adrianhas condensed an age of reflection into this little moment. Do not talk ofreflection; from this moment I abjure it; this is my only happy momentduring a long interval of time. I must go, Lionel--the Gods will it; andI must. Do not endeavour to deprive me of my companion, the out-cast'sfriend.
"One word more concerning unkind, unjust Perdita. For a time, I thoughtthat, by watching a complying moment, fostering the still warm ashes, Imight relume in her the flame of love. It is more cold within her, than afire left by gypsies in winter-time, the spent embers crowned by a pyramidof snow. Then, in endeavouring to do violence to my own disposition, I madeall worse than before. Still I think, that time, and even absence, mayrestore her to me. Remember, that I love her still, that my dearest hope isthat she will again be mine. I know, though she does not, how false theveil is which she has spread over the reality--do not endeavour to rendthis deceptive covering, but by degrees withdraw it. Present her with amirror, in which she may know herself; and, when she is an adept in thatnecessary but difficult science, she will wonder at her present mistake,and hasten to restore to me, what is by right mine, her forgiveness, herkind thoughts, her love."