the days of my life-第46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！
a native to curse him。 A curse launched into the air was bound to have an effect if coupled with the name of God； either on the person cursed or on the curser。 Budge mentioned the case of Palmer； who cursed an Arab of Sinai； and the natives turned the curse on him by throwing him and his panions down a precipice； and they were dashed to pieces。 Budge added； “I have cursed the fathers and female ancestors of many a man； but I have always feared to curse a man himself。”
Two other stories of Budge’s are worth preserving。
When he was at Cambridge Dr。 Peile of Christ’s offered him an exhibition if he would be examined in Assyrian； and as Budge’s funds were exiguous he was very anxious to get the exhibition。 An examiner； Professor Sayce of Oxford； was found to set the papers — four in all — and the days for the examination were fixed。 The night before the day of the examination Budge dreamed a dream in which he saw himself seated in a room that he had never seen before — a room rather like a shed with a skylight in it。 The tutor came in with a long envelope in his hand； and took from it a batch of green papers； and gave one of these to Budge for him to work at that morning。 The tutor locked him in and left him。 When he looked at the paper he saw it contained questions and extracts from bilingual Assyrian and Akkadian texts for translation。 The questions he could answer； but he could not translate the texts； though he knew them by sight； and his emotions were so great that he woke up in a fright。 At length he fell asleep； but the dream repeated itself twice； and he woke up in a greater fright than before。 He then got up — it was about 2 A。M。 — went downstairs to his room； lighted a fire； and； finding the texts in the second volume of Rawlinson’s great work； found the four texts and worked at them till breakfast…time； when he was able to make passable renderings of them。 He went to College at nine； and was informed that there was no room in the Hall； it being filled by a class
Chapter 14 MEXICO
J。 Gladwyn Jebb — His character — Mr。 and Mrs。 H。 R。 H。 visit him in Mexico — Death of their only son while absent — New York on way to Mexico — Reports — Their loyalty to each other — Mexico City — Don Anselmo — Golden Head of Montezuma — Treasure hunt — Zumpango — Journey to silver mine — Chiapas — Vera Cruz — Frontera — Millions of mosquitoes — A mule load of silver — Attempt of robbers to steal it — Silver mine — Tarantulas — Mishap on journey back — Return to England。
During the year 1889 I made the acquaintance of my late friend J。 Gladwyn Jebb； one of the most delightful persons whom I have ever known。 Some irony of fate brought it about that Jebb should devote his life to the pursuit of mining and mercial ventures — a career for which he was utterly unsuited。 The result may be imagined： he worked very hard in many evil climates； broke down his health； dissipated his large private means in supporting unremunerative enterprises； and died saddened and impoverished。
I have described his character in my introduction to “The Life and Adventures of J。 G。 Jebb；” by his widow； from which I quote a short passage。
In the city of Mexico； where business men are — business men； he was respected universally； and by the Indians he was adored。 “He is a good man； Jebb；” said an honourable old Jewish trader of that city to me — “a man among a thousand； whom I would trust anywhere。 See； I will prove it to you； amigo： he has lived in this town doing business for years； yet； with all his opportunities； he leaves it poorer than he came here。 Did you ever hear the like of that； amigo？”
Would that there existed more of such noble failures — the ignoble are sufficiently abundant — for then the world might be cleaner than it is。 It matters little now： his day is done； and he has journeyed to that wonderful Hereafter of which during life he had so clear a vision； and that was so often the subject of his delightful and suggestive talk。 But his record remains； the record of a brave and generous man who； as I firmly believe； never did； never even contemplated； a mean or doubtful act。 To those who knew him and have lost sight of him there remain also a bright and chivalrous example and the memory of a most perfect gentleman。
Unfortunately for myself； a connection in the City had introduced me to certain Mexican enterprises in which he was concerned that in due course absorbed no small sum out of my hard earnings。 Also he introduced me to Jebb； which good deed I set against the matter of the unlucky investments。
Jebb urged me to e to Mexico and write a novel about Montezuma； both of which things I did in due course； also as a bait he told me a wonderful and； as I believe； perfectly true tale of hidden treasure which we were to proceed to dig up together。 Of this treasure I will write hereafter。
Jebb and Mrs。 Jebb returned to Mexico during the year 1890； where my wife and I made arrangements to visit them at the mencement of 1891。
And now I e to a very sad and terrible event that pierced me with a sudden thrust which has left my heart bleeding to this day。 Yes； still it bleeds； nor will the issue of its blood be stayed till； as he passes by； I touch the healing robes of Death。 I refer to the death of my only son。
This child — he was just under ten when he died — possessed a nature of singular sweetness； so sweet that its very existence should have and indeed did warn me of what fate held in store for us。 So far as my experience goes； children who bring with them to the earth this twilight glow of the bright day in which perchance they dwelt elsewhere； who wear upon their brows this visible halo of an unnatural charm and goodness； rarely remain to bless it long。 That which sent them forth soon calls them back again。 And yet； could we but understand； their short lives may not lack fruit。 Through their influence on others they may still work on the world they left。
My son Rider — he was by his own wish called Jock； to avoid confusion between us — was such a child as this。 I can never remember his doing what he should not； save once when he teased his little sisters by refusing to allow them to e out of a place where he had prisoned them； and for his pains had the only scolding I ever gave him。 Yet he was no milksop or “mother’s darling。” He bore pain well； would ride any horse on which he could climb； and even while he was still in frocks I have known him attack with his little fists someone who made pretence to strike me。 He was an imaginative child。 One example will suffice。 We left London on our holiday： it was the year in which I ain。” When we drove from the station to the farm the full moon shone in the summer sky。 “Look； dad；” he said； pointing to it； “there is God’s lamp！”
The boy was beloved by everyone who knew him； and in turn loved all about him； but especially his mother and myself。 How much I； to whom all my children are so dear； loved； or rather love； him I cannot tell。 He was my darling； for him I would gladly have laid down my life。
It is strange； but when I went to Mexico I knew； almost without doubt； that in this world he and I would never see each other more。 Only I thought it was I who was doomed to die。 Otherwise it is plain that I should never have started on that journey。 With this surety in my heart — it was with me for weeks before we sailed — the parting was bitter indeed。 The boy was to stay with friends； the Gosses。 I bade him good…bye and tore myself away。 I returned after some hours。 A chance； I forget what； had prevented the servant； a tall dark woman whose name is lost to me； from starting with him to Delamere Crescent till later than was expected。 He was still in my study — about to go。 Once more I went through that agony of a separation which I knew to be the last。 With a cheerful face I kissed him — I remember how he flung his arms about my neck — in a cheerful voice I blessed him and bade him farewell； promising to write。 Then he went through the door and it was finished。 I think I wept。
I said nothing of this secret foreknowledge of mine； nor did I attempt to turn from the road that I had chosen because I was aware of what awaited me thereon。 Only I made every possible preparation for my death — even to sealing up all important papers in a despatch…box and depositing them in Messrs。 Gosling’s Bank； where I knew they would be at once available。
But alas！ my spirit saw imperfectly。 Or perhaps knowing only that Death stood between us； I jumped to the conclusion that it was on me of an older generation that his hand would fall； on me who was about to undertake a journey which I guessed to be dangerous； including as it did a visit to the ruins of Palenque； whither at the time few travellers ventured。 It never occurred to me that he was waiting for my son。
About six weeks later — for I may as well tell the story out and be done with it — that hand fell。 My presentiments had returned to me with terrible strength and persistence。 One Sunday morning in the Jebbs’ house in Mexico City； as we were preparing to go to church； they were fulfilled。 Mrs。 Jebb called us to their bedroom。 She had a paper in her hand。 “Something is wrong with one of your children；” she said brokenly。 “Which？” I asked； aware that this meant death； no less； and waited。 “Jock；” was the reply； and the dreadful telegram； our first intimation of his illness； was read。 It said that he had “passed away peacefully” some few hours before。 There were no details or explanations。
Then in truth I descended into hell。 Of the suffering of the poor mother I will not speak。 They belong to her alone。
I can see the room now。 Jebb weeping by the unmade bed； the used basins — all； all。 And in the midst of it myself — with a broken heart！ Were I a living man when these words are read — why； it would be wrong that I should rend the veil； I who never speak of this matter； who never even let that dear name pass my lips。 But they will not be read till I； too； am gone and have learned whatever there is to know。 Perhaps also the tale has its lessons。 At any rate it is a page in my history that cannot be omitted； though it be torn from the living heart and； some may think； too sad to dwell on。
This morning； not an hour since； I stood by my son’s grave and read what I had carved upon his cross： “I shall go to him。” Now that I am growing old these words are full of fort and meaning to me。 Soon； after all these long years of separation； I shall go to him and put my faith to proof。 If it be true； as I believe； then surely my spirit will find his spirit； though it must search from world to world。 If； with all earth’s suffering millions； I am deluded； then let the same everlasting darkness be our bed and canopy。
On my return from Mexico I wrote a romance called “Montezuma’s Daughter。” In this tale the teller loses his children； and I put into his mouth what myself I felt。 Here are the words： I cannot better them after all these years； and they are as true to me now as they were then。
Ah！ we think much of the sorrows of our youth； and should a sweetheart give us the go…by； we fill the world with moans and swear that it holds no fort for us。 But when we bend our heads before the shrouded shape of some lost child； then it is that for the first time we learn how terrible grief can be。 Time； they tell us； will bring consolation； but it is false； for such sorrow time has no salves。 I say it who am old — as they are so shall they be。 There is no hope but faith； there is no fort save in the truth that love which might have withered on the earth grows fastest in the tomb； to flower gloriously in heaven； that no love indeed can be perfect till God sanctifies and pletes it with His seal of death。
I wrote just now that； for reasons I hope to set out later in this book； I believed my faith； which amongst other things promises reunion of the death…divided； to be a true faith。 Indeed； if it be otherwise； what a hell is this in which we live。 Thrusting from the memory all other trials and sorrows； not for any finite earthly life that could be promised me would I endure again from year to year the agony I have suffered on the one count of this bereavement； which is after all； so mon and everyday a thing。 If ever； in some dread hour； faith in all its forms should be proved a dream and mockery； surely in the same hour will sound the death…knell of all that is best in the educated world。 Brutes which guess of nothing better can live happy till the butcher finds them： men who believe can endure till God consoles or calls them。 But will the much…developed man whose heart…strings； like those of the Aeolian harp； must thrill and sob in every wind of pain — will he continue to endure if once he is assured that beneath the precipice from which he will presently be hurled there is — Nothing？ Knowing all they must be called upon to suffer at the best； will he breed children； perhaps to see them thrown from the stark cliff before his eyes and there to cease to be for ever？ （The case of France； where I believe faith grows very weak； seems to give answer to this question。 Yesterday I read that in that country during 1911 the deaths exceeded the births by over thirty thousand。 My conviction is that； unless faith returns to her in some form； as a nation F
