End of the world -- Fiction; Epidemics -- Fiction; Science fiction; Twenty-first century -- Fiction
Then mighty art thou, O wind, to be throned above all other vicegerents
of nature’s power; whether thou comest destroying from the east, or
pregnant with elementary life from the west; thee the clouds obey; the
sun is subservient to thee; the shoreless ocean is thy slave! Thou
sweepest over the earth, and oaks, the growth of centuries, submit to
thy viewless axe; the snow-drift is scattered on the pinnacles of the
Alps, the avalanche thunders down their vallies. Thou holdest the keys
of the frost, and canst first chain and then set free the streams;
under thy gentle governance the buds and leaves are born, they flourish
nursed by thee.
Why dost thou howl thus, O wind? By day and by night for four long
months thy roarings have not ceased—the shores of the sea are strewn
with wrecks, its keel-welcoming surface has become impassable, the
earth has shed her beauty in obedience to thy command; the frail
balloon dares no longer sail on the agitated air; thy ministers, the
clouds, deluge the land with rain; rivers forsake their banks; the wild
torrent tears up the mountain path; plain and wood, and verdant dell
are despoiled of their loveliness; our very cities are wasted by thee.
Alas, what will become of us? It seems as if the giant waves of ocean,
and vast arms of the sea, were about to wrench the deep-rooted island
from its centre; and cast it, a ruin and a wreck, upon the fields of
the Atlantic.
What are we, the inhabitants of this globe, least among the many that
people infinite space? Our minds embrace infinity; the visible
mechanism of our being is subject to merest accident. Day by day we are
forced to believe this. He whom a scratch has disorganized, he who
disappears from apparent life under the influence of the hostile agency
at work around us, had the same powers as I—I also am subject to the
same laws. In the face of all this we call ourselves lords of the
creation, wielders of the elements, masters of life and death, and we
allege in excuse of this arrogance, that though the individual is
destroyed, man continues for ever.
Thus, losing our identity, that of which we are chiefly conscious, we
glory in the continuity of our species, and learn to regard death
without terror. But when any whole nation becomes the victim of the
destructive powers of exterior agents, then indeed man shrinks into
insignificance, he feels his tenure of life insecure, his inheritance
on earth cut off.
I remember, after having witnessed the destructive effects of a fire, I
could not even behold a small one in a stove, without a sensation of
fear. The mounting flames had curled round the building, as it fell,
and was destroyed. They insinuated themselves into the substances about
them, and the impediments to their progress yielded at their touch.
Could we take integral parts of this power, and not be subject to its
operation? Could we domesticate a cub of this wild beast, and not fear
its growth and maturity?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account