Robert Hugh Benson

Introducción

Hoy, 19 de octubre de 2014, se cumplen 100 años desde que Robert Hugh Benson nos dejó. Durante los 11 años que siguieron a su conversión al catolicismo, Benson se entregó por completo a su fe y vocación, dejando un legado de fervor y dedicación que aún resuena en el mundo literario y religioso.

El intenso ritmo de vida de Benson

Tras su conversión, Benson adoptó un ritmo de vida que muchos podrían considerar insostenible. Dedicado completamente a su nueva fe, su salud comenzó a deteriorarse debido a su incesante actividad. A pesar de reconocer un año antes de su muerte que necesitaba desacelerar, su naturaleza no le permitía trabajar de otra manera. Mantuvo su intensa agenda hasta sus últimos días, reflejo de su incansable e indomable espíritu.

Los últimos días de Hugh Benson

Hugh Benson falleció en la residencia del obispo de Salford, donde había ido a predicar una serie de sermones. A la edad de cuarenta y dos años y 11 meses, dejó este mundo, desgastado por su propia energía inagotable. Sus últimos momentos, narrados por su hermano Arthur, revelan un final tanto heroico como sereno.

El relato de su hermano Arthur

Arthur describe el último momento de Benson con detalles que evocan una profunda humanidad y valentía. «Vi a Hugh sentado en la cama; habían colocado una silla a su lado, cubierta de cojines, para que se apoyara. Estaba pálido y respiraba muy rápido, mientras una enfermera le secaba la frente. El Canónigo Sharrock estaba al pie de la cama, con su estola puesta, leyendo las últimas oraciones de un pequeño libro. Cuando entré, Hugh fijó sus ojos en mí con una extraña sonrisa, con algo triunfal en ella, y dijo con una voz clara y natural, ‘Arthur, ¡esto es el fin!’ Me arrodillé cerca de la cama. Él me miró, y de alguna manera supe que nos entendíamos bien, que no quería palabras ni demostraciones, sino que simplemente estaba contento de que estuviera con él. Las oraciones comenzaron de nuevo. Hugh se persignó débilmente una o dos veces, hizo una o dos respuestas. Luego dijo: ‘Pido perdón, un momento, mi amor para todos ellos.'»

Conclusión

La muerte de Benson no fue simplemente el final de una vida; fue el acto final de un hombre que vivió con un propósito y una pasión extraordinarios. Su capacidad para enfrentar con valentía y dignidad su último momento refleja la intensidad con la que vivió todos los aspectos de su vida. Su legado sigue inspirando a aquellos que buscan entender la complejidad de la fe y la profundidad del compromiso humano.

Texto original:

I saw Hugh sitting up in bed ; they had put a chair beside him, covered with cushions, for him to lean against. He was pale and breathing very fast, with the nurse sponging his brow. Canon Sharrock was standing at the foot of the bed, with his stole on, reading the last prayers from a little book. When I entered, Hugh fixed his eyes on me with a strange smile, with something triumphant in it, and said in a clear, natural voice, » Arthur, this is the end ! » I knelt down near the bed. He looked at me, and I knew somehow that we understood each other well, that he wanted no word or demonstration, but was just glad I was with him. The prayers began again. Hugh crossed himself faintly once or twice, made a response or two. Then he said : » I beg your pardon—one moment—my love to them all.»

The big room was brightly lit; something on the hearth boiled over, and the nurse went across the room. Hugh said to me: » You will make certain I am dead, won’t you ? » I said «Yes,» and then the prayers went on. Suddenly he said to the nurse : » Nurse, is it any good my resisting death—making any effort ? » The nurse said : » No, Monsignor ; just be as quiet as you can.» He closed his eyes at this, and his breath came quicker. Presently he opened his eyes again and looked at me, and said in a low voice : » Arthur, don’t look at me! Nurse, stand between my brother and me!» He moved his hand to indicate where she should stand. I knew well what was in his mind; we had talked not long before of the shock of certain sights, and how a dreadful experience could pierce through the reason and wound the inner spirit; and I knew that he wished to spare me the pain of seeing him die. Once or twice he drew up his hands as though trying to draw breath, and sighed a little; but there was no struggle or apparent pain. He spoke once more and said: «I commit my soul to God, to Mary, and to Joseph.» The nurse had her hand upon his pulse, and presently laid his hand down, saying : » It is all over.» He looked very pale and boyish then, with wide open eyes and parted lips. I kissed his hand, which was warm and firm, and went out with Canon Sharrock, who said to me : «It was wonderful! I have seen many people die, but no one ever so easily and quickly.»

It was wonderful indeed! It seemed to me then, in that moment, strange rather than sad. He had been himself to the very end, no diminution of vigour, no yielding, no humiliation, with all his old courtesy and thoughtfulness and collectedness, and at the same time, I felt, with a real adventurousness —that is the only word I can use. I recognised that we were only the spectators, and •that he was in command of the scene. He had made haste to die, and he had gone, as he was always used to do, straight from one finished task to another that waited for him. It was not like an end ; it was as though he had turned a corner, and was passing on, out of sight but still unquestionably there. It seemed to me like the death of a soldier or a knight, in its calmness of courage, its splendid facing of the last extremity, its magnificent determination to experience, open-eyed and vigilant, the dark crossing.

A.C. Benson, Memoirs of a Brother