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Penelope's English Experiences-Part10_Kate Douglas Wiggin(1856-1923)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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stopping-place. Why will a woman voluntarily call her place by a

name which she can never pronounce? It is my landlady's misfortune



that she is named 'Obbs, and mine that I am called 'Amilton, but

Mrs. 'Obbs must have rushed with eyes wide open on 'Olly 'Ouse. I



found sitting-room and bedroom at Holly House for two guineas a

week; everything, except roof, extra. This was more than, in my new



spirit of economy I desired to pay, but after exhausting my list I

was obliged to go back rather than sleep in the highroad. Mrs.



Hobbs offered to deduct two shillings a week if I stayed until

Christmas, and said she should not charge me a penny for the linen.



Thanking her with tears of gratitude, I requested dinner. There was

no meat in the house, so I supped frugally off two boiled eggs, a



stodgy household loaf, and a mug of ale, after which I climbed the

stairs, and retired to my feather-bed in a rather depressed frame of



mind.

Visions of Salemina and Francesca driving under the linden-trees in



Berlin flitted across my troubled reveries, with glimpses of Willie

Beresford and his mother at Aix-les-Bains. At this distance, and in



the dead of night, my sacrifice in coming here seemed fruitless.

Why did I not allow myself to drift for ever on that pleasant sea



which has been lapping me in sweet and indolent content these many

weeks? Of what use to labour, to struggle, to deny myself, for an



art to which I can never be more than the humblest handmaiden? I

felt like crying out, as did once a braver woman's soul than mine,



'Let me be weak! I have been seeming to be strong so many years!'

The woman and the artist in me have always struggled for the



mastery. So far the artist has triumphed, and now all at once the

woman is uppermost. I should think the two ought to be able to live



peaceably in the same tenement; they do manage it in some cases; but

it seems a law of my being that I shall either be all one or all the



other.

The question for me to ask myself now is, "Am I in love with loving



and with being loved, or am I in love with Willie Beresford?" How

many women have confounded the two, I wonder?



In this mood I fell asleep, and on a sudden I found myself in a dear

New England garden. The pillow slipped away, and my cheek pressed a



fragrant mound of mignonette, the self-same one on which I hid my

tear-stained face and sobbed my heart out in childish grief and



longing for the mother who would never hold me again. The moon came

up over the Belvern Hills and shone on my half-closed lids; but to



me it was a very different moon, the far-away moon of my childhood,

with a river rippling beneath its silver rays. And the wind that



rustled among the poplar branches outside my window was, in my

dream, stirring the pink petals of a blossoming apple-tree that used



to grow beside the bank of mignonette, wafting down sweet odours and

drinking in sweeter ones. And presently there stole in upon this



harmony of enchanting sounds and delicate fragrances, in which

childhood and womanhood, pleasure and pain, memory and anticipation,



seemed strangely intermingled, the faint music of a voice, growing

clearer and clearer as my ear became familiar with its cadences.



And what the dream voice said to me was something like this:-

'If thou wouldst have happiness, choose neither fame, which doth not



long abide, nor power, which stings the hand that wields it, nor

gold, which glitters but never glorifies; but choose thou Love, and



hold it for ever in thy heart of hearts; for Love is the purest and

the mightiest force in the universe, and once it is thine all other



gifts shall be added unto thee. Love that is passionate yet

reverent, tender yet strong, selfish in desiring all yet generous in



giving all; love of man for woman and woman for man, of parent for

child and friend for friend--when this is born in the soul, the



desert blossoms as the rose. Straightway new hopes and wishes,

sweet longings and pure ambitions, spring into being, like green



shoots that lift their tender heads in sunny places; and if the soil

be kind, they grow stronger and more beautiful as each glad day



laughs in the rosy skies. And by and by singing-birds come and

build their nests in the branches; and these are the pleasures of



life. And the birds sing not often, because of a serpent that




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