End of the world -- Fiction; Epidemics -- Fiction; Science fiction; Twenty-first century -- Fiction
Had sight of Proteus coming from the sea;
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 irksome. 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 applause—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, blooming, 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 household 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 of repose, rendered them fatiguing to
the luxurious, galling to the proud, disgustful to all whose minds,
bent on intellectual improvement, held it their dearest privilege to be
exempt from attending to mere animal wants.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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