Thetimeofmyendapproaches.Ihavelatelybeensubjecttoattacksofanginapectorisandintheordinarycourseofthings,myphysiciantellsme,Imayfairlyhopethatmylifewillnotbeprotractedmanymonths.Unless,then,Iamcursedwithanexceptionalphysicalconstitution,asIamcursedwithanexceptionalmentalcharacter,Ishallnotmuchlongergroanunderthewearisomeburthenofthisearthlyexistence.Ifitweretobeotherwise—ifIweretoliveontotheagemostmendesireandprovidefor—Ishouldforoncehaveknownwhetherthemiseriesofdelusiveexpectationcanoutweighthemiseriesoftrueprevision.ForIforeseewhenIshalldie,andeverythingthatwillhappeninmylastmoments.
Justamonthfromthisday,onSeptember20,1850,Ishallbesittinginthischair,inthisstudy,atteno’clockatnight,longingtodie,wearyofincessantinsightandforesight,withoutdelusionsandwithouthope.JustasIamwatchingatongueofblueflamerisinginthefire,andmylampisburninglow,thehorriblecontractionwillbeginatmychest.Ishallonlyhavetimetoreachthebell,andpullitviolently,beforethesenseofsuffocationwillcome.Noonewillanswermybell.Iknowwhy.Mytwoservantsarelovers,andwillhavequarrelled.Myhousekeeperwillhaverushedoutofthehouseinafury,twohoursbefore,hopingthatPerrywillbelieveshehasgonetodrownherself.Perryisalarmedatlast,andisgoneoutafterher.Thelittlescullery-maidisasleeponabench:sheneveranswersthebellitdoesnotwakeher.Thesenseofsuffocationincreases:mylampgoesoutwithahorriblestench:Imakeagreateffort,andsnatchatthebellagain.Ilongforlife,andthereisnohelp.Ithirstedfortheunknown:thethirstisgone.OGod,letmestaywiththeknown,andbewearyofit:Iamcontent.Agonyofpainandsuffocation—andallthewhiletheearth,thefields,thepebblybrookatthebottomoftherookery,thefreshscentaftertherain,thelightofthemorningthroughmychamber-window,thewarmthofthehearthafterthefrostyair—willdarknesscloseoverthemforever?
Darkness—darkness—nopain—nothingbutdarkness:butIampassingonandonthroughthedarkness:mythoughtstaysinthedarkness,butalwayswithasenseofmovingonward...
Beforethattimecomes,Iwishtousemylasthoursofeaseandstrengthintellingthestrangestoryofmyexperience.IhaveneverfullyunbosomedmyselftoanyhumanbeingIhaveneverbeenencouragedtotrustmuchinthesympathyofmyfellow-men.Butwehaveallachanceofmeetingwithsomepity,sometenderness,somecharity,whenwearedead:itisthelivingonlywhocannotbeforgiven—thelivingonlyfromwhommen’sindulgenceandreverenceareheldoff,liketherainbythehardeastwind.Whiletheheartbeats,bruiseit—itisyouronlyopportunitywhiletheeyecanstillturntowardsyouwithmoist,timidentreaty,freezeitwithanicyunansweringgazewhiletheear,thatdelicatemessengertotheinmostsanctuaryofthesoul,canstilltakeinthetonesofkindness,putitoffwithhardcivility,orsneeringcompliment,orenviousaffectationofindifferencewhilethecreativebraincanstillthrobwiththesenseofinjustice,withtheyearningforbrotherlyrecognition—makehaste—oppressitwithyourill-consideredjudgements,yourtrivialcomparisons,yourcarelessmisrepresentations.Theheartwillbyandbybestill—“ubisaevaindignatioulteriuscorlacerarenequit”theeyewillceasetoentreattheearwillbedeafthebrainwillhaveceasedfromallwantsaswellasfromallwork.Thenyourcharitablespeechesmayfindventthenyoumayrememberandpitythetoilandthestruggleandthefailurethenyoumaygiveduehonourtotheworkachievedthenyoumayfindextenuationforerrors,andmayconsenttoburythem.
ThatisatrivialschoolboytextwhydoIdwellonit?Ithaslittlereferencetome,forIshallleavenoworksbehindmeformentohonour.Ihavenonearrelativeswhowillmakeup,byweepingovermygrave,forthewoundstheyinflictedonmewhenIwasamongthem.ItisonlythestoryofmylifethatwillperhapswinalittlemoresympathyfromstrangerswhenIamdead,thanIeverbelieveditwouldobtainfrommyfriendswhileIwasliving.
Mychildhoodperhapsseemshappiertomethanitreallywas,bycontrastwithalltheafter-years.Forthenthecurtainofthefuturewasasimpenetrabletomeastootherchildren:Ihadalltheirdelightinthepresenthour,theirsweetindefinitehopesforthemorrowandIhadatendermother:evennow,afterthedrearylapseoflongyears,aslighttraceofsensationaccompaniestheremembranceofhercaressassheheldmeonherknee—herarmsroundmylittlebody,hercheekpressedonmine.Ihadacomplaintoftheeyesthatmademeblindforalittlewhile,andshekeptmeonherkneefrommorningtillnight.Thatunequalledlovesoonvanishedoutofmylife,andeventomychildishconsciousnessitwasasifthatlifehadbecomemorechillIrodemylittlewhiteponyw