The Plague, Pestilence & Apocalypse MEGAPACK™

by Robert Reed

  moment,” she murmured, scarce audibly, “only one moment .”—

  THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1142

  She kneeled, and hiding her face in her hands, uttered a brief, but

  earnest prayer, that she might fulfil her duty, and watch over me to

  the last . While there was hope, the agony had been unendurable;—

  all was now concluded; her feelings became solemn and calm . Even

  as Epicharis, unperturbed and firm, submitted to the instruments

  of torture, did Idris, suppressing every sigh and sign of grief, enter

  upon the endurance of torments, of which the rack and the wheel are

  but faint and metaphysical symbols .

  I was changed; the tight-drawn cord that sounded so harshly was

  loosened, the moment that Idris participated in my knowledge of our

  real situation . The perturbed and passion-tossed waves of thought

  subsided, leaving only the heavy swell that kept right on without

  any outward manifestation of its disturbance, till it should break on

  the remote shore towards which I rapidly advanced:—“It is true that

  I am sick,” I said, “and your society, my Idris is my only medicine;

  come, and sit beside me .”

  She made me lie down on the couch, and, drawing a low ottoman

  near, sat close to my pillow, pressing my burning hands in her cold

  palms . She yielded to my feverish restlessness, and let me talk, and

  talked to me, on subjects strange indeed to beings, who thus looked

  the last, and heard the last, of what they loved alone in the world .

  We talked of times gone by; of the happy period of our early love;

  of Raymond, Perdita, and Evadne . We talked of what might arise

  on this desert earth, if, two or three being saved, it were slowly re-

  peopled .—We talked of what was beyond the tomb; and, man in his

  human shape being nearly extinct, we felt with certainty of faith,

  that other spirits, other minds, other perceptive beings, sightless to

  us, must people with thought and love this beauteous and imperish-

  able universe .

  We talked—I know not how long—but, in the morning I awoke

  from a painful heavy slumber; the pale cheek of Idris rested on my

  pillow; the large orbs of her eyes half raised the lids, and shewed

  the deep blue lights beneath; her lips were unclosed, and the slight

  murmurs they formed told that, even while asleep, she suffered . “If

  she were dead,” I thought, “what difference? now that form is the

  THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1143

  temple of a residing deity; those eyes are the windows of her soul;

  all grace, love, and intelligence are throned on that lovely bosom—

  were she dead, where would this mind, the dearer half of mine, be?

  For quickly the fair proportion of this edifice would be more defaced,

  than are the sand-choked ruins of the desert temples of Palmyra .”

  CHAPTER III.

  IDRIS stirred and awoke; alas! she awoke to misery . She saw the

  signs of disease on my countenance, and wondered how she could

  permit the long night to pass without her having sought, not cure,

  that was impossible, but alleviation to my sufferings . She called

  Adrian; my couch was quickly surrounded by friends and assistants,

  and such medicines as were judged fitting were administered. It

  was the peculiar and dreadful distinction of our visitation, that none

  who had been attacked by the pestilence had recovered. The first

  symptom of the disease was the death-warrant, which in no single

  instance had been followed by pardon or reprieve . No gleam of hope

  therefore cheered my friends .

  While fever producing torpor, heavy pains, sitting like lead on

  my limbs, and making my breast heave, were upon me; I continued

  insensible to every thing but pain, and at last even to that . I awoke

  on the fourth morning as from a dreamless sleep . An irritating sense

  of thirst, and, when I strove to speak or move, an entire dereliction

  of power, was all I felt .

  For three days and nights Idris had not moved from my side . She

  administered to all my wants, and never slept nor rested . She did

  not hope; and therefore she neither endeavoured to read the physi-

  cian’s countenance, nor to watch for symptoms of recovery . All her

  thought was to attend on me to the last, and then to lie down and die

  beside me . On the third night animation was suspended; to the eye

  and touch of all I was dead . With earnest prayer, almost with force,

  Adrian tried to draw Idris from me . He exhausted every adjuration,

  her child’s welfare and his own . She shook her head, and wiped a

  stealing tear from her sunk cheek, but would not yield; she entreated

  THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1144

  to be allowed to watch me that one night only, with such affliction

  and meek earnestness, that she gained her point, and sat silent and

  motionless, except when, stung by intolerable remembrance, she

  kissed my closed eyes and pallid lips, and pressed my stiffening

  hands to her beating heart .

  At dead of night, when, though it was mid winter, the cock crowed

  at three o’clock, as herald of the morning change, while hanging

  over me, and mourning in silent, bitter thought for the loss of all of

  love towards her that had been enshrined in my heart; her dishev-

  elled hair hung over her face, and the long tresses fell on the bed;

  she saw one ringlet in motion, and the scattered hair slightly stirred,

  as by a breath . It is not so, she thought, for he will never breathe

  more . Several times the same thing occurred, and she only marked

  it by the same reflection; till the whole ringlet waved back, and she

  thought she saw my breast heave. Her first emotion was deadly fear,

  cold dew stood on her brow; my eyes half opened; and, re-assured,

  she would have exclaimed, “He lives!” but the words were choked

  by a spasm, and she fell with a groan on the floor.

  Adrian was in the chamber . After long watching, he had unwill-

  ingly fallen into a sleep . He started up, and beheld his sister sense-

  less on the earth, weltering in a stream of blood that gushed from her

  mouth . Encreasing signs of life in me in some degree explained her

  state; the surprise, the burst of joy, the revulsion of every sentiment,

  had been too much for her frame, worn by long months of care,

  late shattered by every species of woe and toil . She was now in far

  greater danger than I, the wheels and springs of my life, once again

  set in motion, acquired elasticity from their short suspension . For

  a long time, no one believed that I should indeed continue to live;

  during the reign of the plague upon earth, not one person, attacked

  by the grim disease, had recovered . My restoration was looked on as

  a deception; every moment it was expected that the evil symptoms

  would recur with redoubled violence, until confirmed convales-

  cence, absence of all fever or pain, and encreasing strength, brought

  slow conviction that I had recovered from the plague .

  THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1145

  The restoration of Idris was more problematical . When I had

  been attacked by illness, her cheeks were sunk, her form
emaciated;

  but now, the vessel, which had broken from the effects of extreme

  agitation, did not entirely heal, but was as a channel that drop by

  drop drew from her the ruddy stream that vivified her heart. Her

  hollow eyes and worn countenance had a ghastly appearance; her

  cheek-bones, her open fair brow, the projection of the mouth, stood

  fearfully prominent; you might tell each bone in the thin anatomy of

  her frame . Her hand hung powerless; each joint lay bare, so that the

  light penetrated through and through . It was strange that life could

  exist in what was wasted and worn into a very type of death .

  To take her from these heart-breaking scenes, to lead her to

  forget the world’s desolation in the variety of objects presented

  by travelling, and to nurse her failing strength in the mild climate

  towards which we had resolved to journey, was my last hope for

  her preservation . The preparations for our departure, which had

  been suspended during my illness, were renewed . I did not revive

  to doubtful convalescence; health spent her treasures upon me; as

  the tree in spring may feel from its wrinkled limbs the fresh green

  break forth, and the living sap rise and circulate, so did the renewed

  vigour of my frame, the cheerful current of my blood, the new-born

  elasticity of my limbs, influence my mind to cheerful endurance and

  pleasurable thoughts . My body, late the heavy weight that bound

  me to the tomb, was exuberant with health; mere common exercises

  were insufficient for my reviving strength; methought I could emu-

  late the speed of the race-horse, discern through the air objects at a

  blinding distance, hear the operations of nature in her mute abodes;

  my senses had become so refined and susceptible after my recovery

  from mortal disease .

  Hope, among my other blessings, was not denied to me; and I did

  fondly trust that my unwearied attentions would restore my adored

  girl . I was therefore eager to forward our preparations . According

  to the plan first laid down, we were to have quitted London on the

  twenty-fifth of November; and, in pursuance of this scheme, two-

  thirds of our people—thepeople— all that remained of England, had

  THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1146

  gone forward, and had already been some weeks in Paris . First my

  illness, and subsequently that of Idris, had detained Adrian with his

  division, which consisted of three hundred persons, so that we now

  departed on the first of January, 2098. It was my wish to keep Idris

  as distant as possible from the hurry and clamour of the crowd, and

  to hide from her those appearances that would remind her most forc-

  ibly of our real situation . We separated ourselves to a great degree

  from Adrian, who was obliged to give his whole time to public busi-

  ness . The Countess of Windsor travelled with her son . Clara, Ev-

  elyn, and a female who acted as our attendant, were the only persons

  with whom we had contact . We occupied a commodious carriage,

  our servant officiated as coachman. A party of about twenty persons

  preceded us at a small distance . They had it in charge to prepare our

  halting places and our nightly abode . They had been selected for this

  service out of a great number that offered, on account of the superior

  sagacity of the man who had been appointed their leader .

  Immediately on our departure, I was delighted to find a change in

  Idris, which I fondly hoped prognosticated the happiest results . All

  the cheerfulness and gentle gaiety natural to her revived . She was

  weak, and this alteration was rather displayed in looks and voice

  than in acts; but it was permanent and real . My recovery from the

  plague and confirmed health instilled into her a firm belief that I

  was now secure from this dread enemy . She told me that she was

  sure she should recover . That she had a presentiment, that the tide

  of calamity which deluged our unhappy race had now turned . That

  the remnant would be preserved, and among them the dear objects

  of her tender affection; and that in some selected spot we should

  wear out our lives together in pleasant society . “Do not let my state

  of feebleness deceive you,” she said; “I feel that I am better; there is

  a quick life within me, and a spirit of anticipation that assures me,

  that I shall continue long to make a part of this world . I shall throw

  off this degrading weakness of body, which infects even my mind

  with debility, and I shall enter again on the performance of my du-

  ties . I was sorry to leave Windsor: but now I am weaned from this

  local attachment; I am content to remove to a mild climate, which

  THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1147

  will complete my recovery . Trust me, dearest, I shall neither leave

  you, nor my brother, nor these dear children; my firm determination

  to remain with you to the last, and to continue to contribute to your

  happiness and welfare, would keep me alive, even if grim death

  were nearer at hand than he really is .”

  I was only half re-assured by these expressions; I could not be-

  lieve that the over-quick flow of her blood was a sign of health, or

  that her burning cheeks denoted convalescence . But I had no fears

  of an immediate catastrophe; nay, I persuaded myself that she would

  ultimately recover . And thus cheerfulness reigned in our little soci-

  ety . Idris conversed with animation on a thousand topics . Her chief

  desire was to lead our thoughts from melancholy reflections; so she

  drew charming pictures of a tranquil solitude, of a beauteous re-

  treat, of the simple manners of our little tribe, and of the patriarchal

  brotherhood of love, which would survive the ruins of the populous

  nations which had lately existed . We shut out from our thoughts the

  present, and withdrew our eyes from the dreary landscape we tra-

  versed. Winter reigned in all its gloom. The leafless trees lay with-

  out motion against the dun sky; the forms of frost, mimicking the

  foliage of summer, strewed the ground; the paths were overgrown;

  the unploughed cornfields were patched with grass and weeds; the

  sheep congregated at the threshold of the cottage, the horned ox

  thrust his head from the window . The wind was bleak, and frequent

  sleet or snow-storms, added to the melancholy appearance wintry

  nature assumed .

  We arrived at Rochester, and an accident caused us to be detained

  there a day . During that time, a circumstance occurred that changed

  our plans, and which, alas! in its result changed the eternal course of

  events, turning me from the pleasant new sprung hope I enjoyed, to

  an obscure and gloomy desert . But I must give some little explana-

  tion before I proceed with the final cause of our temporary alteration

  of plan, and refer again to those times when man walked the earth

  fearless, before Plague had become Queen of the World .

  There resided a family in the neighbourhood of Windsor, of very

  humble pretensions, but which had been an object of interest to us

  THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1148

  on account of one of the persons of w
hom it was composed . The

  family of the Claytons had known better days; but, after a series of

  reverses, the father died a bankrupt, and the mother heartbroken, and

  a confirmed invalid, retired with her five children to a little cottage

  between Eton and Salt Hill . The eldest of these children, who was

  thirteen years old, seemed at once from the influence of adversity, to

  acquire the sagacity and principle belonging to a more mature age .

  Her mother grew worse and worse in health, but Lucy attended on

  her, and was as a tender parent to her younger brothers and sisters,

  and in the meantime shewed herself so good-humoured, social, and

  benevolent, that she was beloved as well as honoured, in her little

  neighbourhood .

  Lucy was besides extremely pretty; so when she grew to be six-

  teen, it was to be supposed, notwithstanding her poverty, that she

  should have admirers . One of these was the son of a country-curate;

  he was a generous, frank-hearted youth, with an ardent love of

  knowledge, and no mean acquirements . Though Lucy was untaught,

  her mother’s conversation and manners gave her a taste for refine-

  ments superior to her present situation . She loved the youth even

  without knowing it, except that in any difficulty she naturally turned

  to him for aid, and awoke with a lighter heart every Sunday, because

  she knew that she would be met and accompanied by him in her eve-

  ning walk with her sisters . She had another admirer, one of the head-

  waiters at the inn at Salt Hill . He also was not without pretensions

  to urbane superiority, such as he learnt from gentlemen’s servants

  and waiting-maids, who initiating him in all the slang of high life

  below stairs, rendered his arrogant temper ten times more intrusive .

  Lucy did not disclaim him—she was incapable of that feeling; but

  she was sorry when she saw him approach, and quietly resisted all

  his endeavours to establish an intimacy . The fellow soon discovered

  that his rival was preferred to him; and this changed what was at

  first a chance admiration into a passion, whose main springs were

  envy, and a base desire to deprive his competitor of the advantage

  he enjoyed over himself .

  THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1149

  Poor Lucy’s sad story was but a common one . Her lover’s father