Soliloquies in England, and Later SoliloquiesSantayana, George
Philosophy
Soliloquies in England, and Later Soliloquies
Santayana, George
American essays -- 20th century
English manners are sensible and conducive to comfort even at a
death-bed. No summoning of priests, no great concourse of friends
and relations, no loud grief, no passionate embraces and poignant
farewells; no endless confabulations in the antechamber, no gossip
about the symptoms, the remedies, or the doctors' quarrels and
blunders; no breathless enumeration of distinguished visitors, letters,
and telegrams; no tearful reconciliation of old family feuds nor
whisperings about the division of the property. Instead, either silence
and closed doors, if there is real sorrow, or more commonly only a
little physical weariness in the mourners, a little sigh or glance
at one another, as if to say: We are simply waiting for events; the
doctors and nurses, are attending to everything, and no doubt, when
the end comes, it will be for the best. In the departing soul, too,
probably dulness and indifference. No repentance, no anxiety, no
definite hopes or desires either for this life or for the next. Perhaps
old memories returning, old loves automatically reviving; possibly a
vision, by anticipation, of some reunion in the other world: but how
pale, how ghostly, how impotent this death-dream is! I seem to overhear
the last words, the last thoughts of a mother: "Dear children, you know
I love you. Provision has been made. I should be of little use to you
any longer. How pleasant to look out of that window into the park! Be
sure they don't forget to give Pup some meat with his dog-biscuit." It
is all very simple, very much repressed, the pattering echo of daily
words. Death, it is felt, is not important. What matters is the part
we have played in the world, or may still play there by our influence.
We are not going to a melodramatic Last Judgement. We are shrinking
into ourselves, into the seed we came from, into a long winter's sleep.
Perhaps in another springtime we may revive and come again to the light
somewhere, among those sweet flowers, those dear ones we have lost.
That is God's secret. We have tried to do right here. If there is any
Beyond, we shall try to do right there also.
24
WAR SHRINES
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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