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 .
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1107
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
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1110
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;
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1111
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 .”
THE LAST MAN, by Mary Shelley | 1113
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
