by Robert Reed
habited, I had revolved the design of quietly laying me down to die;
now I shuddered at the approach of fate . My imagination was busied
in shaping forth the kind of death he would inflict. Would he allow
me to wear out life with famine; or was the food administered to
me to be medicined with death? Would he steal on me in my sleep;
or should I contend to the last with my murderers, knowing, even
while I struggled, that I must be overcome? I lived upon an earth
whose diminished population a child’s arithmetic might number; I
had lived through long months with death stalking close at my side,
while at intervals the shadow of his skeleton-shape darkened my
path . I had believed that I despised the grim phantom, and laughed
his power to scorn .
Any other fate I should have met with courage, nay, have gone
out gallantly to encounter . But to be murdered thus at the midnight
hour by cold-blooded assassins, no friendly hand to close my eyes,
or receive my parting blessing—to die in combat, hate and execra-
tion—ah, why, my angel love, didst thou restore me to life, when
already I had stepped within the portals of the tomb, now that so
soon again I was to be flung back a mangled corpse!
Hours passed—centuries . Could I give words to the many
thoughts which occupied me in endless succession during this in-
terval, I should fill volumes. The air was dank, the dungeon-floor
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1192
mildewed and icy cold; hunger came upon me too, and no sound
reached me from without. Tomorrow the ruffian had declared that I
should die . When would tomorrow come? Was it not already here?
My door was about to be opened . I heard the key turn, and the
bars and bolts slowly removed . The opening of intervening passages
permitted sounds from the interior of the palace to reach me; and I
heard the clock strike one . They come to murder me, I thought; this
hour does not befit a public execution. I drew myself up against
the wall opposite the entrance; I collected my forces, I rallied my
courage, I would not fall a tame prey . Slowly the door receded on
its hinges—I was ready to spring forward to seize and grapple with
the intruder, till the sight of who it was changed at once the temper
of my mind . It was Juliet herself; pale and trembling she stood, a
lamp in her hand, on the threshold of the dungeon, looking at me
with wistful countenance . But in a moment she re-assumed her self-
possession; and her languid eyes recovered their brilliancy . She said,
“I am come to save you, Verney .”
“And yourself also,” I cried: “dearest friend, can we indeed be
saved?”
“Not a word,” she replied, “follow me!”
I obeyed instantly . We threaded with light steps many corridors,
ascended several flights of stairs, and passed through long galler-
ies; at the end of one she unlocked a low portal; a rush of wind
extinguished our lamp; but, in lieu of it, we had the blessed moon-
beams and the open face of heaven. Then first Juliet spoke:—“You
are safe,” she said, “God bless you!— farewell!”
I seized her reluctant hand—“Dear friend,” I cried, “misguided
victim, do you not intend to escape with me? Have you not risked all
in facilitating my flight? and do you think, that I will permit you to
return, and suffer alone the effects of that miscreant’s rage? Never!”
“Do not fear for me,” replied the lovely girl mournfully, “and
do not imagine that without the consent of our chief you could be
without these walls . It is he that has saved you; he assigned to me
the part of leading you hither, because I am best acquainted with
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1193
your motives for coming here, and can best appreciate his mercy in
permitting you to depart .”
“And are you,” I cried, “the dupe of this man? He dreads me
alive as an enemy, and dead he fears my avengers . By favouring this
clandestine escape he preserves a shew of consistency to his follow-
ers; but mercy is far from his heart. Do you forget his artifices, his
cruelty, and fraud? As I am free, so are you . Come, Juliet, the mother
of our lost Idris will welcome you, the noble Adrian will rejoice to
receive you; you will find peace and love, and better hopes than
fanaticism can afford . Come, and fear not; long before day we shall
be at Versailles; close the door on this abode of crime —come, sweet
Juliet, from hypocrisy and guilt to the society of the affectionate and
good .”
I spoke hurriedly, but with fervour: and while with gentle vio-
lence I drew her from the portal, some thought, some recollection of
past scenes of youth and happiness, made her listen and yield to me;
suddenly she broke away with a piercing shriek:—“My child, my
child! he has my child; my darling girl is my hostage .”
She darted from me into the passage; the gate closed between
us—she was left in the fangs of this man of crime, a prisoner, still
to inhale the pestilential atmosphere which adhered to his demoniac
nature; the unimpeded breeze played on my cheek, the moon shone
graciously upon me, my path was free . Glad to have escaped, yet
melancholy in my very joy, I retrod my steps to Versailles .
CHAPTER VI.
EVENTFUL winter passed; winter, the respite of our ills . By de-
grees the sun, which with slant beams had before yielded the more
extended reign to night, lengthened his diurnal journey, and mount-
ed his highest throne, at once the fosterer of earth’s new beauty,
and her lover. We who, like flies that congregate upon a dry rock at
the ebbing of the tide, had played wantonly with time, allowing our
passions, our hopes, and our mad desires to rule us, now heard the
approaching roar of the ocean of destruction, and would have fled to
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1194
some sheltered crevice, before the first wave broke over us. We re-
solved without delay, to commence our journey to Switzerland; we
became eager to leave France . Under the icy vaults of the glaciers,
beneath the shadow of the pines, the swinging of whose mighty
branches was arrested by a load of snow; beside the streams whose
intense cold proclaimed their origin to be from the slow-melting
piles of congelated waters, amidst frequent storms which might pu-
rify the air, we should find health, if in truth health were not herself
diseased .
We began our preparations at first with alacrity. We did not now
bid adieu to our native country, to the graves of those we loved, to
the flowers, and streams, and trees, which had lived beside us from
infancy . Small sorrow would be ours on leaving Paris . A scene of
shame, when we remembered our late contentions, and thought that
we left behind a flock of miserable, deluded victims, bending under
the tyranny of a selfish impostor. Small pangs should we feel in
leaving the gardens, woods, and halls of the palaces of the Bour-
bons at Versailles, which we feared would soon be tainted by the
/>
dead, when we looked forward to vallies lovelier than any garden, to
mighty forests and halls, built not for mortal majesty, but palaces of
nature’s own, with the Alp of marmoreal whiteness for their walls,
the sky for their roof .
Yet our spirits flagged, as the day drew near which we had fixed
for our departure . Dire visions and evil auguries, if such things were,
thickened around us, so that in vain might men say—
These are their reasons, they are natural,22
we felt them to be ominous, and dreaded the future event enchained
to them . That the night owl should screech before the noon-day sun,
that the hard-winged bat should wheel around the bed of beauty,
that muttering thunder should in early spring startle the cloudless
air, that sudden and exterminating blight should fall on the tree and
shrub, were unaccustomed, but physical events, less horrible than
22
Shakespeare—Julius Caesar .
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1195
the mental creations of almighty fear . Some had sight of funeral
processions, and faces all begrimed with tears, which flitted through
the long avenues of the gardens, and drew aside the curtains of the
sleepers at dead of night . Some heard wailing and cries in the air;
a mournful chaunt would stream through the dark atmosphere, as if
spirits above sang the requiem of the human race . What was there in
all this, but that fear created other senses within our frames, making
us see, hear, and feel what was not? What was this, but the action
of diseased imaginations and childish credulity? So might it be; but
what was most real, was the existence of these very fears; the star-
ing looks of horror, the faces pale even to ghastliness, the voices
struck dumb with harrowing dread, of those among us who saw and
heard these things . Of this number was Adrian, who knew the delu-
sion, yet could not cast off the clinging terror . Even ignorant infancy
appeared with timorous shrieks and convulsions to acknowledge
the presence of unseen powers . We must go: in change of scene, in
occupation, and such security as we still hoped to find, we should
discover a cure for these gathering horrors .
On mustering our company, we found them to consist of fourteen
hundred souls, men, women, and children . Until now therefore, we
were undiminished in numbers, except by the desertion of those
who had attached themselves to the impostor-prophet, and remained
behind in Paris. About fifty French joined us. Our order of march
was easily arranged; the ill success which had attended our division,
determined Adrian to keep all in one body . I, with an hundred men,
went forward first as purveyor, taking the road of the Cote d’Or,
through Auxerre, Dijon, Dole, over the Jura to Geneva . I was to
make arrangements, at every ten miles, for the accommodation of
such numbers as I found the town or village would receive, leaving
behind a messenger with a written order, signifying how many were
to be quartered there . The remainder of our tribe was then divided
into bands of fifty each, every division containing eighteen men, and
the remainder, consisting of women and children . Each of these was
headed by an officer, who carried the roll of names, by which they
were each day to be mustered . If the numbers were divided at night,
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1196
in the morning those in the van waited for those in the rear . At each
of the large towns before mentioned, we were all to assemble; and
a conclave of the principal officers would hold council for the gen-
eral weal. I went first, as I said; Adrian last. His mother, with Clara
and Evelyn under her protection, remained also with him . Thus our
order being determined, I departed. My plan was to go at first no
further than Fontainebleau, where in a few days I should be joined
by Adrian, before I took flight again further eastward.
My friend accompanied me a few miles from Versailles . He was
sad; and, in a tone of unaccustomed despondency, uttered a prayer
for our speedy arrival among the Alps, accompanied with an expres-
sion of vain regret that we were not already there . “In that case,” I
observed, “we can quicken our march; why adhere to a plan whose
dilatory proceeding you already disapprove?”
“Nay,” replied he, “it is too late now . A month ago, and we were
masters of ourselves; now,—” he turned his face from me; though
gathering twilight had already veiled its expression, he turned it yet
more away, as he added —“a man died of the plague last night!”
He spoke in a smothered voice, then suddenly clasping his hands,
he exclaimed, “Swiftly, most swiftly advances the last hour for us
all; as the stars vanish before the sun, so will his near approach de-
stroy us . I have done my best; with grasping hands and impotent
strength, I have hung on the wheel of the chariot of plague; but she
drags me along with it, while, like Juggernaut, she proceeds crush-
ing out the being of all who strew the high road of life . Would that it
were over—would that her procession achieved, we had all entered
the tomb together!”
Tears streamed from his eyes . “Again and again,” he continued,
“will the tragedy be acted; again I must hear the groans of the dying,
the wailing of the survivors; again witness the pangs, which, con-
summating all, envelope an eternity in their evanescent existence .
Why am I reserved for this? Why the tainted wether of the flock, am
I not struck to earth among the first? It is hard, very hard, for one of
woman born to endure all that I endure!”
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1197
Hitherto, with an undaunted spirit, and an high feeling of duty
and worth, Adrian had fulfilled his self-imposed task. I had contem-
plated him with reverence, and a fruitless desire of imitation . I now
offered a few words of encouragement and sympathy . He hid his
face in his hands, and while he strove to calm himself, he ejaculated,
“For a few months, yet for a few months more, let not, O God, my
heart fail, or my courage be bowed down; let not sights of intoler-
able misery madden this half-crazed brain, or cause this frail heart
to beat against its prison-bound, so that it burst . I have believed it to
be my destiny to guide and rule the last of the race of man, till death
extinguish my government; and to this destiny I submit .
“Pardon me, Verney, I pain you, but I will no longer complain .
Now I am myself again, or rather I am better than myself . You have
known how from my childhood aspiring thoughts and high desires
have warred with inherent disease and overstrained sensitiveness, till
the latter became victors . You know how I placed this wasted feeble
hand on the abandoned helm of human government . I have been
visited at times by intervals of fluctuation; yet, until now, I have felt
as if a superior and indefatigable spirit had taken up its abode within
me or rather incorporated itself with my weaker being . The holy
visitant has for a time slept, perhaps to show me how powerless I am
without its inspiration . Yet, stay for a while, O Power of goodness
and strength; disdain not yet this rent shrine of fleshly mortality, O
immortal Capability! While one fellow creature remains to whom
aid can be afforded, stay by and prop your shattered, falling engine!”
His vehemence, and voice broken by irrepressible sighs, sunk to
my heart; his eyes gleamed in the gloom of night like two earthly
stars; and, his form dilating, his countenance beaming, truly it al-
most seemed as if at his eloquent appeal a more than mortal spirit
entered his frame, exalting him above humanity . He turned quickly
towards me, and held out his hand . “Farewell, Verney,” he cried,
“brother of my love, farewell; no other weak expression must cross
these lips, I am alive again: to our tasks, to our combats with our
unvanquishable foe, for to the last I will struggle against her .”
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1198
He grasped my hand, and bent a look on me, more fervent and
animated than any smile; then turning his horse’s head, he touched
the animal with the spur, and was out of sight in a moment .
A man last night had died of the plague . The quiver was not
emptied, nor the bow unstrung . We stood as marks, while Parthian
Pestilence aimed and shot, insatiated by conquest, unobstructed by
the heaps of slain . A sickness of the soul, contagious even to my
physical mechanism, came over me . My knees knocked together,
my teeth chattered, the current of my blood, clotted by sudden cold,
painfully forced its way from my heavy heart . I did not fear for
myself, but it was misery to think that we could not even save this
remnant . That those I loved might in a few days be as clay-cold
as Idris in her antique tomb; nor could strength of body or energy
of mind ward off the blow . A sense of degradation came over me .
Did God create man, merely in the end to become dead earth in
the midst of healthful vegetating nature? Was he of no more ac-
count to his Maker, than a field of corn blighted in the ear? Were
our proud dreams thus to fade? Our name was written “a little lower
than the angels;” and, behold, we were no better than ephemera . We
had called ourselves the “paragon of animals,” and, lo! we were a
“quint-essence of dust .” We repined that the pyramids had outlasted