robert louis stevenson-第13章
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！
ng a lengthened line of progenitors。 How characteristic it is of him … a man who for so many years suffered as an invalid … that he should lay it down that the two great virtues； including all others； were cheerfulness and delight in labour。
One writer has very well said on this feature in Stevenson：
〃Other authors have struggled bravely against physical weakness； but their work has not usually been of a creative order； dependent for its success on high animal spirits。 They have written histories； essays； contemplative or didactic poems； works which may more or less be regarded as 'dull narcotics numbing pain。' But who； in so fragile a frame as Robert Louis Stevenson's； has retained such indomitable elasticity； such fertility of invention； such unflagging energy； not merely to collect and arrange； but to project and body forth？ Has any true 'maker' been such an incessant sufferer？ From his childhood； as he himself said apropos of the CHILD'S GARDEN； he could 'speak with less authority of gardens than of that other 〃land of counterpane。〃' There were； indeed； a few years of adolescence during which his health was tolerable； but they were years of apprenticeship to life and art （'pioching；' as he called it）； not of serious production。 Though he was a precocious child； his genius ripened slowly； and it was just reaching maturity when the 'wolverine；' as he called his disease； fixed its fangs in his flesh。 From that time forward not only did he live with death at his elbow in an almost literal sense （he used to carry his left arm in a sling lest a too sudden movement should bring on a haemorrhage）； but he had ever…recurring intervals of weeks and months during which he was totally unfit for work； while even at the best of times he had to husband his strength most jealously。 Add to all this that he was a slow and laborious writer； who would take more pains with a phrase than Scott with a chapter … then look at the stately shelf of his works； brimful of impulse； initiative； and the joy of life； and say whether it be an exaggeration to call his tenacity and fortitude unique！〃
Samoa； with its fine climate； prolonged his life … we had fain hoped that in that air he found so favourable he might have lived for many years； to add to the precious stock of innocent delight he has given to the world … to do yet more and greater。 It was not to be。 They buried him； with full native honours as to a chief； on the top of Vaea mountain； 1300 feet high … a road for the coffin to pass being cut through the woods on the slopes of the hill。 There he has a resting…place not all unfit … for he sought the pure and clearer air on the heights from whence there are widest prospects； yet not in the spot he would have chosen … for his heart was at home； and not very long before his death he sang； surely with pathetic reference now：
〃Spring shall come； come again； calling up the moorfowl； Spring shall bring the sun and rain； bring the bees and flowers； Red shall the heather bloom over hill and valley； Soft flow the stream thro' the even…flowing hours； Fair the day shine； as it shone upon my childhood … Fair shine the day on the house with open door； Birds come and cry there； and twitter in the chimney … But I go for ever and come again no more。〃
CHAPTER X … A SAMOAN MEMORIAL OF R。 L。 STEVENSON
A FEW weeks after his death； the mail from Samoa； brought to Stevenson's friends； myself among the number； a precious； if pathetic； memorial of the master。 It is in the form of 〃A Letter to Mr Stevenson's Friends；〃 by his stepson； Mr Lloyd Osbourne； and bears the motto from Walt Whitman； 〃I have been waiting for you these many years。 Give me your hand and welcome。〃 Mr Osbourne gives a full account of the last hours。
〃He wrote hard all that morning of the last day； his half…finished book； HERMISTON； he judged the best he had ever written； and the sense of successful effort made him buoyant and happy as nothing else could。 In the afternoon the mail fell to be answered … not business correspondence； for this was left till later … but replies to the long； kindly letters of distant friends received but two days since； and still bright in memory。 At sunset he came downstairs； rallied his wife about the forebodings she could not shake off； talked of a lecturing tour to America that he was eager to make； 'as he was now so well'； and played a game of cards with her to drive away her melancholy。 He said he was hungry； begged her assistance to help him make a salad for the evening meal； and； to enhance the little feast he brought up a bottle of old Burgundy from the cellar。 He was helping his wife on the verandah； and gaily talking； when suddenly he put both hands to his head and cried out； 'What's that？' Then he asked quickly； 'Do I look strange？' Even as he did so he fell on his knees beside her。 He was helped into the great hall； between his wife and his body… servant； Sosimo； losing consciousness instantly as he lay back in the armchair that had once been his grandfather's。 Little time was lost in bringing the doctors … Anderson of the man…of…war； and his friend； Dr Funk。 They looked at him and shook their heads； they laboured strenuously； and left nothing undone。 But he had passed the bounds of human skill。 He had grown so well and strong； that his wasted lungs were unable to bear the stress of returning health。〃
Then 'tis told how the Rev。 Mr Clarke came and prayed by him； and how； soon after； the chiefs were summoned； and came； bringing their fine mats； which； laid on the body； almost hid the Union jack in which it had been wrapped。 One of the old Mataafa chiefs； who had been in prison； and who had been one of those who worked on the making of the 〃Road of the Loving Heart〃 （the road of gratitude which the chiefs had made up to Mr Stevenson's house as a mark of their appreciation of his efforts on their behalf）； came and crouched beside the body and said：
〃I am only a poor Samoan； and ignorant。 Others are rich； and can give Tusitala （6） the parting presents of rich； fine mats； I am poor； and can give nothing this last day he receives his friends。 Yet I am not afraid to come and look the last time in my friend's face； never to see him more till we meet with God。 Behold！ Tusitala is dead； Mataafa is also dead。 These two great friends have been taken by God。 When Mataafa was taken； who was our support but Tusitala？ We were in prison； and he cared for us。 We were sick； and he made us well。 We were hungry； and he fed us。 The day was no longer than his kindness。 You are great people； and full of love。 Yet who among you is so great as Tusitala？ What is your love to his love？ Our clan was Mataafa's clan； for whom I speak this day； therein was Tusitala also。 We mourn them both。〃
A select company of Samoans would not be deterred； and watched by the body all night； chanting songs； with bits of Catholic prayers； and in the morning the work began of clearing a path through the wood on the hill to the spot on the crown where Mr Stevenson had expressed a wish to be buried。 The following prayer； which Mr Stevenson had written and read aloud to his family only the night before； was read by Mr Clarke in the service：
〃We beseech thee； Lord； to behold us with favour； folk of many families and nations； gathered together in the peace of this roof； weak men and women； subsisting under the covert of Thy patience。 Be patient still； suffer us yet a while longer … with our broken purposes of good； with our idle endeavours against evil … suffer us a while longer to endure； and （if it may be） help us to do better。 Bless to us our extraordinary mercies； if the day come when these must be taken； have us play the man under affliction。 Be with our friends； be with ourselves。 Go with each of us to rest： if any awake； temper to them the dark hours of watching； and when the day returns to us； our Sun and Comforter； call us up with morning faces and with morning hearts … eager to labour … eager to be happy； if happiness shall be our portion； and if the day be marked for sorrow； strong to endure it。
〃We tha
