Life in the sick-room : $b EssaysMartineau, Harriet
Science
Life in the sick-room : $b Essays
Martineau, Harriet
Conduct of life; Sick
They do not know, however, anything of my most thrilling experience of
these things--for it happens when they are all at rest. I keep late
hours, (for the sake of husbanding my seasons of ease;) and now and then
I have nerve enough to look abroad for my last vision of the day, an
hour after midnight, when the gibbous moon,--having forsaken the
sea,--slowly surmounts the priory ruins on the high rock, appearing in
the black-blue heaven like a quite different planet from that which I
have been watching,--and from that which I shall next greet, a slender
crescent in the light western sky, just after sunset. To go from this
spectacle to one’s bed is to recover for the hour one’s health of soul,
at least: and the remembrance of such a thrill is a cordial for future
sickly hours which strengthens by keeping.
I have a sense of property too in the larks which nestle in all the
furrows of the down. It is a disquietude to see them start up and soar,
with premature joy, on some mild January day, before our snows and
storms have begun, when I detect in myself a feeling of duty to the
careless creatures,--a longing to warn them, by my superior wisdom, that
they must not reckon yet on spring. And on April mornings, when the
shadows are strong in the hollows, and some neighbour’s child sends me
in a handful of primroses from the fields, I look forth, as for my due,
to see the warblers spring and fall, and to catch their carol above the
hum and rejoicing outcry of awakening Nature. If the yellow butterflies
do not come to my flower-box in the sunny noon, I feel myself wronged.
But they do come,--and so do the bees: and there are times when the
service is too importunate,--when the life and light are more than I can
bear, and I draw down the blind, and shut myself in with my weakness,
and with thoughts more abstract. But when, in former days, had simple,
natural influences such power over me? How is it that the long-suffering
sick, already deprived of so much, are ever needlessly debarred from
natural and renovating pleasures like these?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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