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."

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!--Deh, vieni! ti aspetto!" 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

597

The Last Man