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第35章

lavengro-第35章

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Other professions were talked of; amongst which the law; but now an 

event occurred which had nearly stopped my career; and merged all 

minor points of solicitude in anxiety for my life。  My strength and 

appetite suddenly deserted me; and I began to pine and droop。  Some 

said that I had overgrown myself; and that these were the symptoms 

of a rapid decline; I grew worse and worse; and was soon stretched 

upon my bed; from which it seemed scarcely probable that I should 

ever more rise; the physicians themselves giving but slight hopes 

of my recovery:  as for myself; I made up my mind to die; and felt 

quite resigned。  I was sadly ignorant at that time; and; when I 

thought of death; it appeared to me little else than a pleasant 

sleep; and I wished for sleep; of which I got but little。  It was 

well that I did not die that time; for I repeat that I was sadly 

ignorant of many important things。  I did not die; for somebody 

coming gave me a strange; bitter draught; a decoction; I believe; 

of a bitter root which grows on commons and desolate places:  and 

the person who gave it me was an ancient female; a kind of 

doctress; who had been my nurse in my infancy; and who; hearing of 

my state; had come to see me; so I drank the draught; and became a 

little better; and I continued taking draughts made from the bitter 

root till I manifested symptoms of convalescence。



But how much more quickly does strength desert the human frame than 

return to it!  I had become convalescent; it is true; but my state 

of feebleness was truly pitiable。  I believe it is in that state 

that the most remarkable feature of human physiology frequently 

exhibits itself。  Oh; how dare I mention the dark feeling of 

mysterious dread which comes over the mind; and which the lamp of 

reason; though burning bright the while; is unable to dispel!  Art 

thou; as leeches say; the concomitant of disease … the result of 

shattered nerves?  Nay; rather the principle of woe itself; the 

fountain…head of all sorrow coexistent with man; whose influence he 

feels when yet unborn; and whose workings he testifies with his 

earliest cries; when; 'drowned in tears;' he first beholds the 

light; for; as the sparks fly upward; so is man born to trouble; 

and woe doth he bring with him into the world; even thyself; dark 

one; terrible one; causeless; unbegotten; without a father。  Oh; 

how unfrequently dost thou break down the barriers which divide 

thee from the poor soul of man; and overcast its sunshine with thy 

gloomy shadow。  In the brightest days of prosperity … in the midst 

of health and wealth … how sentient is the poor human creature of 

thy neighbourhood! how instinctively aware that the flood…gates of 

horror may be cast open; and the dark stream engulf him for ever 

and ever!  Then is it not lawful for man to exclaim; 'Better that I 

had never been born!'  Fool; for thyself thou wast not born; but to 

fulfil the inscrutable decrees of thy Creator; and how dost thou 

know that this dark principle is not; after all; thy best friend; 

that it is not that which tempers the whole mass of thy corruption?  

It may be; for what thou knowest; the mother of wisdom; and of 

great works:  it is the dread of the horror of the night that makes 

the pilgrim hasten on his way。  When thou feelest it nigh; let thy 

safety word be 'Onward'; if thou tarry; thou art overwhelmed。  

Courage! build great works … 'tis urging thee … it is ever nearest 

the favourites of God … the fool knows little of it。  Thou wouldst 

be joyous; wouldst thou? then be a fool。  What great work was ever 

the result of joy; the puny one?  Who have been the wise ones; the 

mighty ones; the conquering ones of this earth? the joyous?  I 

believe not。  The fool is happy; or comparatively so … certainly 

the least sorrowful; but he is still a fool:  and whose notes are 

sweetest; those of the nightingale; or of the silly lark?



'What ails you; my child?' said a mother to her son; as he lay on a 

couch under the influence of the dreadful one; 'what ails you? you 

seem afraid!'



BOY。  And so I am; a dreadful fear is upon me。



MOTHER。  But of what?  There is no one can harm you; of what are 

you apprehensive?



BOY。  Of nothing that I can express; I know not what I am afraid 

of; but afraid I am。



MOTHER。  Perhaps you see sights and visions; I knew a lady once who 

was continually thinking that she saw an armed man threaten her; 

but it was only an imagination; a phantom of the brain。



BOY。  No armed man threatens me; and 'tis not a thing like that 

would cause me any fear。  Did an armed man threaten me; I would get 

up and fight him; weak as I am; I would wish for nothing better; 

for then; perhaps; I should lose this fear; mine is a dread of I 

know not what; and there the horror lies。



MOTHER。  Your forehead is cool; and your speech collected。  Do you 

know where you are?



BOY。  I know where I am; and I see things just as they are; you are 

beside me; and upon the table there is a book which was written by 

a Florentine; all this I see; and that there is no ground for being 

afraid。  I am; moreover; quite cool; and feel no pain … but; but …



And then there was a burst of 'gemiti; sospiri ed alti guai。'  

Alas; alas; poor child of clay! as the sparks fly upward; so wast 

thou born to sorrow … Onward!







CHAPTER XIX







Agreeable delusions … Youth … A profession … Ab Gwilym … Glorious 

English law … There they pass … My dear old master … The deal desk 

… Language of the tents … Where is Morfydd? … Go to … only once。



IT has been said by this or that writer; I scarcely know by whom; 

that; in proportion as we grow old; and our time becomes short; the 

swifter does it pass; until at last; as we approach the borders of 

the grave; it assumes all the speed and impetuosity of a river 

about to precipitate itself into an abyss; this is doubtless the 

case; provided we can carry to the grave those pleasant thoughts 

and delusions; which alone render life agreeable; and to which even 

to the very last we would gladly cling; but what becomes of the 

swiftness of time; when the mind sees the vanity of human pursuits? 

which is sure to be the case when its fondest; dearest hopes have 

been blighted at the very moment when the harvest was deemed 

secure。  What becomes from that moment; I repeat; of the shortness 

of time?  I put not the question to those who have never known that 

trial; they are satisfied with themselves and all around them; with 

what they have done; and yet hope to do; some carry their delusions 

with them to the borders of the grave; ay; to the very moment when 

they fall into it; a beautiful golden cloud surrounds them to the 

last; and such talk of the shortness of time:  through the medium 

of that cloud the world has ever been a pleasant world to them; 

their only regret is that they are so soon to quit it; but oh; ye 

dear deluded hearts; it is not every one who is so fortunate!



To the generality of mankind there is no period like youth。  The 

generality are far from fortunate; but the period of youth; even to 

the least so; offers moments of considerable happiness; for they 

are not only disposed but able to enjoy most things within their 

reach。  With what trifles at that period are we content; the things 

from which in after…life we should turn away in disdain please us 

then; for we are in the midst of a golden cloud; and everything 

seems decked with a golden hue。  Never during any portion of my 

life did time flow on more speedily than during the two or three 

years immediately succeeding the period to which we arrived in the 

preceding chapter:  since then it has flagged often enough; 

sometimes it has seemed to stand entirely still; and the reader may 

easily judge how it fares at the present; from the circumstance of 

my taking pen in hand; and endeavouring to write down the pas

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