按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
e omnibus journeys to Pimlico became impossible。 My Father could not leave his work and so my Mother and I had to take a gloomy lodging close to the doctor's house。 The experiences upon which I presently entered were of a nature in which childhood rarely takes a part。 I was now my Mother's sole and ceaseless companion； the silent witness of her suffering； of her patience； of her vain and delusive attempts to obtain alleviation of her anguish。 For nearly three months I breathed the atmosphere of pain； saw no other light； heard no other sounds； thought no other thoughts than those which accompany physical suffering and weariness。 To my memory these weeks seem years； I have no measure of their monotony。 The lodgings were bare and yet tawdry； out of dingy windows we looked from a second storey upon a dull small street； drowned in autumnal fog。 My Father came to see us when he could； but otherwise； save when we made our morning expedition to the doctor； or when a slatternly girl waited upon us with our distasteful meals； we were alone； without any other occupation than to look forward to that occasional abatement of suffering which was what we hoped for most。
It is difficult for me to recollect how these interminable hours were spent。 But I read aloud in a great part of them。 I have now in my mind's cabinet a picture of my chair turned towards the window； partly that I might see the book more distinctly； partly not to see quite so distinctly that dear patient figure rocking on her sofa； or leaning； like a funeral statue； like a muse upon a monument； with her head on her arms against the mantelpiece。 I read the Bible every day； and at much length； also；with I cannot but think some praiseworthy patience；a book of incommunicable dreariness； called Newton's Thoughts on the Apocalypse。 Newton bore a great resemblance to my old aversion； Jukes； and I made a sort of playful compact with my Mother that if I read aloud a certain number of pages out of Thoughts on the Apocalypse； as a reward I should be allowed to recite 'my own favourite hymns'。 Among these there was one which united her suffrages with mine。 Both of us extremely admired the piece by Toplady which begins：
What though my frail eyelids refuse Continual watchings to keep； And； punctual as midnight renews； Demand the refreshment of sleep。
To this day； I cannot repeat this hymn without a sense of poignant emotion； nor can I pretend to decide how much of this is due to its merit and how much to the peculiar nature of the memories it recalls。 But it might be as rude as I genuinely think it to be skilful； and I should continue to regard it as a sacred poem。 Among all my childish memories none is clearer than my looking up；after reading； in my high treble；
Kind Author and Ground of my hope； Thee； Thee for my God I avow； My glad Ebenezer set up； And own Thou hast help'd me till now； I muse on the years that are past； Wherein my defence Thou hast prov'd； Nor wilt Thou relinquish at last A sinner so signally lov'd；
and hearing my Mother； her eyes brimming with tears and her alabastrine fingers tightly locked together； murmur in unconscious repetition：
Nor wilt Thou relinquish at last A sinner so signally lov'd。
In our lodgings at Pimlico I came across a piece of verse which exercised a lasting influence on my taste。 It was called 'The Cameronian's Dream'； and it had been written by a certain James Hyslop； a schoolmaster on a man…of…war。 I do not know how it came into my possession； but I remember it was adorned by an extremely dim and ill…executed wood…cut of a lake surrounded by mountains； with tombstones in the foreground。 This lugubrious frontispiece positively fascinated me； and lent a further gloomy charm to the ballad itself。 It was in this copy of mediocre verses that the sense of romance first appealed to me； the kind of nature…romance which is connected with hills； and lakes； and the picturesque costumes of old times。 The following stanza； for instance； brought a revelation to me：
'Twas a dream of those ages of darkness and blood； When the minister's home was the mountain and wood； When in Wellwood's dark valley the standard of Zion； All bloody and torn； 'mong the heather was lying。
I persuaded my Mother to explain to me what it was all about； and she told me of the affliction of the Scottish saints； their flight to the waters and the wilderness； their cruel murder while they were singing 'their last song to the God of Salvation'。 I was greatly fired； and the following stanza； in particular； reached my ideal of the Sublime：
The muskets were flashing； the blue swords were gleaming； The helmets were cleft； and the red blood was streaming； The heavens grew dark； and the thunder was rolling； When in Wellwood's dark muirlands the mighty were falling。
Twenty years later I met with the only other person whom I have ever encountered who had even heard of 'The Cameronian's Dream'。 This was Robert Louis Stevenson； who had been greatly struck by it when he was about my age。 Probably the same ephemeral edition of it reached； at the same time； each of our pious households。
As my Mother's illness progressed； she could neither sleep； save by the use of opiates； nor rest； except in a sloping posture； propped up by many pillows。 It was my great joy； and a pleasant diversion； to be allowed to shift； beat up； and rearrange these pillows； a task which I learned to accomplish not too awkwardly。 Her sufferings； I believe； were principally caused by the violence of the medicaments to which her doctor； who was trying a new and fantastic 'cure'； thought it proper to subject her。 Let those who take a pessimistic view of our social progress ask themselves whether such tortures could today be inflicted on a delicate patient； or whether that patient would be allowed to exist； in the greatest misery in a lodging with no professional nurse to wait upon her； and with no companion but a little helpless boy of seven years of age。 Time passes smoothly and swiftly； and we do not perceive the mitigations which he brings in his hands。 Everywhere； in the whole system of human life； improvements； alleviations； ingenious appliances and humane inventions are being introduced to lessen the great burden of suffering。
If we were suddenly transplanted into the world of only fifty years ago； we should be startled and even horror…stricken by the wretchedness to which the step backwards would reintroduce us。 It was in the very year of which I am speaking； a year of which my personal memories are still vivid； that Sir James Simpson received the Monthyon prize as a recognition of his discovery of the use of anaesthetics。 Can our thoughts embrace the mitigation of human torment which the application of chloroform alone has caused？ My early experiences； I confess； made me singularly conscious； at an age when one should know nothing about these things； of that torrent of sorrow and anguish and terror which flows under all footsteps of man。 Within my childish conscience； already； some dim inquiry was awake as to the meaning of this mystery of pain
The floods of the tears meet and gather； The sound of them all grows like thunder； Oh into what bosom； I wonder； Is poured the whole sorrow of years？