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The Plague, Pestilence & Apocalypse MEGAPACK™

Page 146

by Robert Reed


  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 en-

  dured 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 ful-

  filment. 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 .

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  Her present visit to London tended to augment her state of in-

  quietude, 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 di-

  vine ones, and while the decree of population was abrogated, prop-

  erty 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 com-

  ing year, all contest with her must cease, and our only occupation be

  the choice of a grave .”

  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 de-

  stroyed . 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 pros-

  pect through millions of calculated years,—this visionary who had

  not seen starvation in the wasted forms of his wife and children, or

  THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1108

  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 affec-

  tion . 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 neces-

  sary 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 .

  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 .”

  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 .”

  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

  THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1109

  with lightning—this is also one of his attributes”—and the old man

  laughed .

  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 crea-

  tures . 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 .”

  “So God help me and mine as I promise,” I replied, “on one con-

  dition: return with me to Windsor .”

  “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 .”

  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 .

  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 be-

  cause, 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

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  that it was only through the benevolent and social virtues that any

  safety was to be hoped for the remnant of mankind .

  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 . Al-

  ternate 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 ex-

  tremely 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 .

  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

  Had sight of Proteus coming from the sea;

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  And heard old Triton blow his wreathed horn.16

  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 irk-

  some . 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 ap-

  plause—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 .

  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, bloom-

  ing, 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 house-

  hold 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

  16 Wordsworth .

  THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1112

  of repose, rendered them fatiguing to the luxurious, galling to the

  proud, disgustful to all whose minds, bent on intellectual improve-

  ment, held it their dearest privilege to be exempt from attending to

  mere animal wants .

  But in every change goodness and affection can find field for ex-

  ertion 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 cott
age—a clean hearth and bright fire; the supper ready

  cooked by beloved hands; gratitude for the provision for tomorrow’s

  meal: strange enjoyments for the high-born English, yet they were

  now their sole, hard earned, and dearly prized luxuries .

  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 de-

  spondency, 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,—

  Abra was ready ere we called her name,

  And though we called another, Abra came.17

  17

  Prior’s “Solomon .”

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  It was my task each day to visit the various families assembled in

  our town, and when the weather permitted, I2 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 lone-

  liness, when individual suffering was merged in the general calam-

  ity, 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 congre-

  gation 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

 

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