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Life of John Sterling-Part38_Thomas Carlyle(1795-1881)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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then, such notices of his own feelings and condition as could be

addressed to a boy. These Letters, I have lately read: they give,



beyond any he has written, a noble image of the intrinsic

Sterling;--the same face we had long known; but painted now as on the



azure of Eternity, serene, victorious, divinely sad; the dusts and

extraneous disfigurements imprinted on it by the world, now washed



away. One little Excerpt, not the best, but the fittest for its

neighborhood here, will be welcome to the reader:--



"_To Master Edward C. Sterling, London_.

"HILLSIDE, VENTNOR, 29th June, 1844.



"MY DEAR BOY,--We have been going on here as quietly as possible, with

no event that I know of. There is nothing except books to occupy me.



But you may suppose that my thoughts often move towards you, and that

I fancy what you may be doing in the great City,--the greatest on the



Earth,--where I spent so many years of my life. I first saw London

when I was between eight and nine years old, and then lived in or near



it for the whole of the next ten, and more there than anywhere else

for seven years longer. Since then I have hardly ever been a year



without seeing the place, and have often lived in it for a

considerable time. There I grew from childhood to be a man. My



little Brothers and Sisters, and since, my Mother, died and are buried

there. There I first saw your Mamma, and was there married. It seems



as if, in some strange way, London were a part of Me or I of London.

I think of it often, not as full of noise and dust and confusion, but



as something silent, grand and everlasting.

"When I fancy how you are walking in the same streets, and moving



along the same river, that I used to watch so intently, as if in a

dream, when younger than you are,--I could gladly burst into tears,



not of grief, but with a feeling that there is no name for.

Everything is so wonderful, great and holy, so sad and yet not bitter,



so full of Death and so bordering on Heaven. Can you understand

anything of this? If you can, you will begin to know what a serious



matter our Life is; how unworthy and stupid it is to trifle it away

without heed; what a wretched, insignificant, worthless creature any



one comes to be, who does not as soon as possible bend his whole

strength, as in stringing a stiff bow, to doing whatever task lies



first before him....

"We have a mist here to-day from the sea. It reminds me of that which



I used to see from my house in St, Vincent, rolling over the great

volcano and the mountains round it. I used to look at it from our



windows with your Mamma, and you a little baby in her arms.

"This Letter is not so well written as I could wish, but I hope you



will be able to read it.

"Your affectionate Papa,



"JOHN STERLING."

These Letters go from June 9th to August 2d, at which latter date



vacation-time arrived, and the Boy returned to him. The Letters are

preserved; and surely well worth preserving.



In this manner he wore the slow doomed months away. Day after day his

little period of Library went on waning, shrinking into less and less;



but I think it never altogether ended till the general end came.--For

courage, for active audacity we had all known Sterling; but such a



fund of mild stoicism, of devoutpatience and heroiccomposure, we did

not hitherto know in him. His sufferings, his sorrows, all his



unutterabilities in this slow agony, he held right manfully down;

marched loyally, as at the bidding of the Eternal, into the dread



Kingdoms, and no voice of weakness was heard from him. Poor noble

Sterling, he had struggled so high and gained so little here! But



this also he did gain, to be a brave man; and it was much.

Summer passed into Autumn: Sterling's earthly businesses, to the last



detail of them, were now all as good as done: his strength too was

wearing to its end, his daily turn in the Library shrunk now to a



span. He had to hold himself as if in readiness for the great voyage

at any moment. One other Letter I must give; not quite the last



message I had from Sterling, but the last that can be inserted here:

a brief Letter, fit to be forever memorable to the receiver of it:--



"_To Thomas Carlyle, Esq., Chelsea, London_.

"HILLSIDE, VENTNOR, 10th August, 1844.



MY DEAR CARLYLE,--For the first time for many months it seems possible

to send you a few words; merely, however, for Remembrance and



Farewell. On higher matters there is nothing to say. I tread the

common road into the great darkness, without any thought of fear, and



with very much of hope. Certainty indeed I have none. With regard to




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