第 9 节
作者:
卡车 更新:2023-08-28 11:37 字数:9322
ve we been together to the school he was at in Brandenburg; and spent pleasant days wandering about the old town on the edge of one of those lakes that lie in a chain in that wide green plain; and often have we been in Potsdam; where he was quartered as a lieutenant; the Potsdam pilgrimage including hours in the woods around and in the gardens of Sans Souci; with the second volume of Carlyle's Frederick under my father's arm; and often did we spend long summer days at the house in the Mark; at the head of the same blue chain of lakes; where his mother spent her young years; and where; though it belonged to cousins; like everything else that was worth having; we could wander about as we chose; for it was empty; and sit in the deep windows of rooms where there was no furniture; and the painted Venuses and cupids on the ceiling still smiled irrelevantly and stretched their futile wreaths above the emptiness beneath。 And while we sat and rested; my father told me; as my grandmother had a hundred times told him; all that had happened in those rooms in the far…off days when people danced and sang and laughed through life; and nobody seemed ever to be old or sorry。
There was; and still is; an inn within a stone's throw of the great iron gates; with two very old lime trees in front of it; where we used to lunch on our arrival at a little table spread with a red and blue check cloth; the lime blossoms dropping into our soup; and the bees humming in the scented shadows overhead。 I have a picture of the house by my side as I write; done from the lake in old times; with a boat full of ladies in hoops and powder in the foreground; and a youth playing a guitar。 The pilgrimages to this place were those I loved the best。
But the stories my father told me; sometimes odd enough stories to tell a little girl; as we wandered about the echoing rooms; or hung over the stone balustrade and fed the fishes in the lake; or picked the pale dog…roses in the hedges; or lay in the boat in a shady reed…grown bay while he smoked to keep the mosquitoes off; were after all only traditions; imparted to me in small doses from time to time; when his earnest desire not to raise his remarks above the level of dulness supposed to be wholesome for Backfische was neutralised by an impulse to share his thoughts with somebody who would laugh; whereas the place I was bound for on my latest pilgrimage was filled with living; first…hand memories of all the enchanted years that lie between two and eighteen。 How enchanted those years are is made more and more clear to me the older I grow。 There has been nothing in the least like them since; and though I have forgotten most of what happened six months ago; every incident; almost every day of those wonderful long years is perfectly distinct in my memory。
But I had been stiffnecked; proud; unpleasant; altogether cousinly in my behaviour towards the people in possession。 The invitations to revisit the old home had ceased。 The cousins had grown tired of refusals; and had left me alone。 I did not even know who lived in it now; it was so long since I had had any news。 For two days I fought against the strong desire to go there that had suddenly seized me; and assured myself that I would not go; that it would be absurd to go; undignified; sentimental; and silly; that I did not know them and would be in an awkward position; and that I was old enough to know better。 But who can foretell from one hour to the next what a woman will do? And when does she ever know better? On the third morning I set out as hopefully as though it were the most natural thing in the world to fall unexpectedly upon hitherto consistently neglected cousins; and expect to be received with open arms。
It was a complicated journey; and lasted several hours。 During the first part; when it was still dark; I glowed with enthusiasm; with the spirit of adventure; with delight at the prospect of so soon seeing the loved place again; and thought with wonder of the long years I had allowed to pass since last I was there。 Of what I should say to the cousins; and of how I should introduce myself into their midst; I did not think at all: the pilgrim spirit was upon me; the unpractical spirit that takes no thought for anything; but simply wanders along enjoying its own emotions。 It was a quiet; sad morning; and there was a thick mist。 By the time I was in the little train on the light railway that passed through the village nearest my old home; I had got over my first enthusiasm; and had entered the stage of critically examining the changes that had been made in the last ten years。 It was so misty that I could see nothing of the familiar country from the carriage windows; only the ghosts of pines in the front row of the forests; but the railway itself was a new departure; unknown in our day; when we used to drive over ten miles of deep; sandy forest roads to and from the station; and although most people would have called it an evident and great improvement; it was an innovation due; no doubt; to the zeal and energy of the reigning cousin; and who was he; thought I; that he should require more conveniences than my father had found needful? It was no use my telling myself that in my father's time the era of light railways had not dawned; and that if it had; we should have done our utmost to secure one; the thought of my cousin; stepping into my shoes; and then altering them; was odious to me。 By the time I was walking up the hill from the station I had got over this feeling too; and had entered a third stage of wondering uneasily what in the world I should do next。 Where was the intrepid courage with which I had started? At the top of the first hill I sat down to consider this question in detail; for I was very near the house now; and felt I wanted time。 Where; indeed; was the courage and joy of the morning? It had vanished so completely that I could only suppose that it must be lunch time; the observations of years having led to the discovery that the higher sentiments and virtues fly affrighted on the approach of lunch; and none fly quicker than courage。 So I ate the lunch I had brought with me; hoping that it was what I wanted; but it was chilly; made up of sandwiches and pears; and it had to be eaten under a tree at the edge of a field; and it was November; and the mist was thicker than ever and very wet the grass was wet with it; the gaunt tree was wet with it; I was wet with it; and the sandwiches were wet with it。 Nobody's spirits can keep up under such conditions; and as I ate the soaked sandwiches; I deplored the headlong courage more with each mouthful that had torn me from a warm; dry home where I was appreciated; and had brought me first to the damp tree in the damp field; and when I had finished my lunch and dessert of cold pears; was going to drag me into the midst of a circle of unprepared and astonished cousins。 Vast sheep loomed through the mist a few yards off。 The sheep dog kept up a perpetual; irritating yap。 In the fog I could hardly tell where I was; though I knew I must have played there a hundred times as a child。 After the fashion of woman directly she is not perfectly warm and perfectly comfortable; I began to consider the uncertainty of human life; and to shake my head in gloomy approval as lugubrious lines of pessimistic poetry suggested themselves to my mind。
Now it is clearly a desirable plan; if you want to do anything; to do it in the way consecrated by custom; more especially if you are a woman。 The rattle of a carriage along the road just behind me; and the fact that I started and turned suddenly hot; drove this truth home to my soul。 The mist hid me; and the carriage; no doubt full of cousins; drove on in the direction of the house; but what an absurd position I was in! Suppose the kindly mist had lifted; and revealed me lunching in the wet on their property; the cousin of the short and lofty letters; the unangenehme Elisabeth! 〃Die war doch immer verdreht;〃 I could imagine them hastily muttering to each other; before advancing wreathed in welcoming smiles。 It gave me a great shock; this narrow escape; and I got on to my feet quickly; and burying the remains of my lunch under the gigantic molehill on which I had been sitting; asked myself nervously what I proposed to do next。 Should I walk back to the village; go to the Gasthof; write a letter craving permission to call on my cousins; and wait there till an answer came? It would be a discreet and sober course to pursue; the next best thing to having written before leaving home。 But the Gasthof of a north German village is a dreadful place; and the remembrance of one in which I had taken refuge once from a thunderstorm was still so vivid that nature itself cried out against this plan。 The mist; if anything; was growing denser。 I knew every path and gate in the place。 What if I gave up all hope of seeing the house; and went through the little door in the wall at the bottom of the garden; and confined myself for this once to that? In such weather I would be able to wander round as I pleased; without the least risk of being seen by or meeting any cousins; and it was after all the garden that lay nearest my heart。 What a delight it would be to creep into it unobserved; and revisit all