End of the world -- Fiction; Epidemics -- Fiction; Science fiction; Twenty-first century -- Fiction
Such were in part the arguments of Adrian, uttered with enthusiasm and
unanswerable rapidity. Something more was in his heart, to which he
dared not give words. He felt that the end of time was come; he knew
that one by one we should dwindle into nothingness. It was not
adviseable to wait this sad consummation in our native country; but
travelling would give us our object for each day, that would distract
our thoughts from the swift-approaching end of things. If we went to
Italy, to sacred and eternal Rome, we might with greater patience
submit to the decree, which had laid her mighty towers low. We might
lose our selfish grief in the sublime aspect of its desolation. All
this was in the mind of Adrian; but he thought of my children, and,
instead of communicating to me these resources of despair, he called up
the image of health and life to be found, where we knew not—when we
knew not; but if never to be found, for ever and for ever to be sought.
He won me over to his party, heart and soul.
It devolved on me to disclose our plan to Idris. The images of health
and hope which I presented to her, made her with a smile consent. With
a smile she agreed to leave her country, from which she had never
before been absent, and the spot she had inhabited from infancy; the
forest and its mighty trees, the woodland paths and green recesses,
where she had played in childhood, and had lived so happily through
youth; she would leave them without regret, for she hoped to purchase
thus the lives of her children. They were her life; dearer than a spot
consecrated to love, dearer than all else the earth contained. The boys
heard with childish glee of our removal: Clara asked if we were to go
to Athens. “It is possible,” I replied; and her countenance became
radiant with pleasure. There she would behold the tomb of her parents,
and the territory filled with recollections of her father’s glory. In
silence, but without respite, she had brooded over these scenes. It was
the recollection of them that had turned her infant gaiety to
seriousness, and had impressed her with high and restless thoughts.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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