Chapter 6 Part Three

Villa Borgez This little fountain...(dark)...every drop, every ray, every creature sinks with glee. Happy!I would like to repeat this word over and over again, taking it as a synonym for "joy of life", or even simply calling it "life". what!God didn't create the world just for this, it's because people can understand it just by murmuring... This is a cool and pleasant place, and sleeping here is a joy that no one seems to have experienced before. There is also delicious food waiting for our hungry stomachs. Adriatic Sea (3:00 a.m.) The sailor's song among the cables disturbs me.

what!Very old and very young earth, if you know, if you know, such a short life is bittersweet and wonderful! The eternal idea of ​​appearances, if you knew what value a dying moment can give to an instant! spring!An annual plant with delicate flowers that bloom and fade so quickly.There is only one spring in life, recalling a certain joy does not mean being close to happiness again. fissol hills The beautiful Florence, a city worthy of serious inspection, a magnificent flower capital, is also particularly solemn; the seeds of amyrca, the garlands of "slender laurel branches".

Vanchigliata hills.There, I watched the scene of clouds dissipating in the blue sky for the first time, and I couldn't help being very surprised. I thought that it is impossible for clouds to disappear in the sky, and I thought they would accumulate thicker and thicker until it began to rain.The situation was completely different, but the clouds disappeared one by one, and finally the sky was clear.This is wonderful death, vanishing into nothingness. Rome, Pinzio Hill What pleased me that day was something like love, but it wasn't love, at least not the kind of love that men talk about and pursue, and it wasn't the so-called beauty.That feeling didn't come from the woman, and it didn't come from my mind.If it is only the passion caused by light, should I still write it?Can you understand it?

I was sitting in this garden at the time, not seeing the sun, but the sky was filled with light, as if the blue sky had turned into liquid, into raindrops.Yes, the air is full of waves and eddies of light, shining like bubbles splashed by raindrops; yes, on this long green road, the light seems to flow, and the flowing light covers the branches with golden foam. ... Naples.A small barbershop facing the sea and the sun.The sun is scorching on the pier, so let’s open the curtain and relax. Will it be comfortable for a long time?The mind is calm.Beads of sweat hung on the temples, and the soap foam trembled slightly on the cheeks.After shaving and shaving, switch to a faster razor.Then rub the skin with a small piece of sponge soaked in warm water, lift the lips, and trim them very finely.Then use a light perfume to erase the burn left by the razor, and apply a little balm to further relieve the burn.I still didn't want to move, so I just continued to cut my hair.

Amalfi (Night) The night waits for a while, I don't know what love to wait for. The hut on the sea, the bright moon on the sea, wakes me up brightly. When I walked to the window, I thought it was dawn, and I wanted to watch the sunrise...but it was not...it was the moon (already a very full moon), but the moonlight was so soft, so soft, as if welcoming the second Faust for Helen.The sea is vast.The village is dead.A dog barking in the middle of the night...windows with tattered curtains... No one's place.Can no longer imagine how all this could still wake up.The dog wailed furiously, and it would never be daylight again.Tossing and turning, do you make a move of one kind or another?

Will you go to that lonely garden? Do you go to the beach to bathe? Will you pick oranges gray in the moonlight? Are you going to comfort the dog? (How many times have I felt that nature called me to do something, and I didn't know which one to do.) Waiting for the lingering sleepiness... A child follows me to this walled garden, clinging to the branches of the flickering ladder.An escalator leads to a terrace at the edge of the garden; at first glance it is inaccessible. what!Little face, I caress under the tree, no amount of green shade can hide your brilliance, and the shadow cast by your curly hair on your forehead always looks darker.

I'll pull canes and branches down into the garden, I'll cry aloud in a grove full of birds singing like a cage; till evening, till the night is golden from the mysterious fountain, And make it darker. A delicate body nestles under the branches, My sensitive fingers touch his shiny flesh; I saw his little feet, Stepping silently on the fine sand. Syracuse Canoe.The sky hung low, sometimes falling on us as warm rain.There was a muddy smell among the water plants, and the grass stems rustled. The water is very deep, so there is no gurgling of blue spring water.Everything was silent.In this secluded country, in this natural trumpet-shaped pool, the fountain is like a flower opening among the papyrus.

Tunisia The sky is blue, only a little white, just like a sail, and only a little green, just like the reflection of the sail in the water. night.The ring shone brightly in the darkness. Walking under the moonlight, the thoughts are different from the day. The moonlight on the wild path is bleak.Ghosts in the cemetery.Stepping barefoot on the bluestone slab. Malta The sky is still bright, there is no shadow of the sun, and the summer evening is intoxicated in the square.A very unique passion. Nathanael, I will describe to you the most beautiful garden I have ever seen. In Florence, roses are sold everywhere: on some days the fragrance pervades the city.Every evening I walk in Cascina, and on Sundays I go to the flowerless Boboli Gardens.

In Seville, there is an old mosque by the Giralda River. The orange trees in the courtyard are symmetrical to each other, and the rest of the ground is paved with stone slabs.On a day when the sun is in the sky, people standing there cast only a small shadow.The courtyard is a square, surrounded by high walls, so elegant that I cannot explain it to you. Outside the city there is a large garden surrounded by iron fences, where many tropical trees are planted. I have never been inside, but looking through the iron fence, I saw guinea hens running around in it. I think there are many domesticated animals there.

What else can I tell you about the Alcazar?It is a garden of Persian wonders, and I think, as I tell you about it, that I like that garden better than any garden.As I recalled it, I recited Hafiz's poem: The wine is poured out, Splashing the robes with joy; It's hard to hold back because of deep love, It's no wonder people call him a wise old man. There are fountains on the path, the road is paved with marble slabs, and there are amaranth and cypress trees on both sides, and there are marble pools where the concubines bathe.There are only roses, daffodils and laurel in the garden, but no other flowers.In the garden stood a towering tree, and it could be imagined that a nightingale was imprisoned on it.There are also some pools next to the palace, which are of extremely low grade, just like the pools in the courtyards of residential areas in Munich. The statues beside the pools are all made of shells.

It was also in the Imperial Garden in Munich that one spring, I tasted maygrass ice cream; next to it was a marching band that kept playing and playing. Although the audience was not elegant, they were all music fans.At night, I am fascinated by the mournful singing of the nightingale, which is like a German poem, which makes me feel melancholy.Once the happiness exceeds the limit, tears will flow.The pleasures of these gardens made me feel painfully that I could have been elsewhere.It was this summer that I learned to appreciate the high temperature deliberately.Eyelids are extra sensitive.I remember taking the train one night, I walked to the open car window, just wanting to feel the breeze blowing.I close my eyes, but not to rest my mind, but to savor it.It's been sweltering all day, and although the evening wind is still hot, it feels cool and refreshing when it blows on my hot eyelids. In Granada, when I went to the Terrace of Genera Live, I did not see the planted phlox bloom; likewise, in the Cemetery of Pisa and the Priory of St. Mark, I wanted to see roses, but I did not succeed.On the other hand, when I visited Mount Pinchio in Rome, it was the season when the flowers were in full bloom.In the afternoon, the weather was sweltering, and many people went up the mountain in search of shade.I live nearby and go up the mountain every day.At that time, I was sick, unable to think about anything, in a trance, let the breath of nature permeate my body and mind, sometimes I could not feel the limits of my body, as if it extended far away, and sometimes I felt that my body was very free, as if it had become porous The sugar cubes gradually melted.I sat on the stone bench and could not see the exhausting city of Rome.Standing high, I can have a panoramic view of the Borgez Garden, and the tallest pine treetops in the distance only reach my feet.what!The platform, from which the space is extended.Hey!Swim in the air! ... I really wanted to go wandering in those gardens at Farnez at night, but they won't let me in.The vegetation is particularly lush, covering the ruins there. In Naples there are some gardens that are low-lying, like embankments along the sea, where the sun shines directly into them. In Nimes, the spring park is full of clear water channels. In the Botanical Garden of Montpellier, I still remember that one evening, Ambroise and I sat on an ancient tomb surrounded by green cypresses, chatting leisurely and chewing roses as we did in the garden of Académuse petal. One night in Bailu, we looked at the sparkling sea under the moon, the city's water tower was nearby, the sound of running water kept rushing, and black swans fringed with white feathers cruised on the calm pool. In Malta, I went to read in the mansion garden; in the old town there is a small piece of lemon tree, the locals call it "the grove", we like to go there, pick a ripe lemon, bite it, it is unbearably sour, but leaves Refreshing aftertaste.We also had lemons in the horrible quarries in Syracuse. In The Hague Park, some domesticated yellow deer come and go. Looking at Mont Saint-Michel from the Avranche Park, at dusk, the sandy beach in the distance looks like a burning substance.Some very small towns also have attractive gardens.You'll forget the town, you'll forget the name, but you'll long to see the garden again, but there's no way to do it again. I dream of the gardens in Mosul, and I hear they are full of roses.And the gardens of Nashpur, sung by Omar, and the gardens of Shiraz, sung by Hafiz.We will never see Nashpool Gardens again. In Viskra, though, I got to see those gardens in Valdi, where the kids tended the sheep. In Tunisia, there are no gardens other than cemeteries.In the experimental garden in Algiers (planted with various palms), I ate fruits I had never seen before.As for Blida, Nathanael, what shall I say to you? How tender, the grass of the Sahel!And your orange blossoms in full bloom, your shade!How fragrant, the smell of your gardens!Blida!Blida!Little rose!In early winter, I didn't recognize you.Thy sacred grove, whose leaves are evergreen, needs no spring to renew; thy wisteria and ivy are like branches for a fire.The snow on the mountain slides down and is about to get close to you.I can't even keep warm in my room, let alone in your rainy garden.I was reading Fichte's "Principles of Science" at the time, and I really felt pious again.I became very gentle, and used to say that one should live in sorrow, and tried to make it a virtue.Now I shake the dust off my sandals, and where the wind blows, who knows?Like a prophet, I wandered in the dust of the desert; the dry and weathered stone was hot under my feet (because of the scorching sun).Now, let my feet rest on the grass of the Sahel!If only we were talking about love! Blida!Blida!Little rose!I see you are warm and fragrant, the leaves are shaded, and the branches are full of flowers.Dongxue has long since fled.In your sacred garden the white mosque shone with mysterious light.Blossoms bent the ivy, and the wisteria's clusters of flowers covered an olive tree.The air was luscious, with the scent of orange blossoms, even the slender citrus trees.The old bark fell off the tall branches of the eucalyptus, no longer protective, like thick clothes that come off in warm weather, like my old morals that are worthless after winter. Blida On an early summer morning, we wandered the Sahel.The thick stalks of fennel by the roadside look magnificent (in the golden sunlight, or in the green shade of the still eucalyptus, the stalks of fennel are yellow and green, and they are indeed fresh and lush). And those eucalyptus trees that are either surprised or silent. All things participate in nature, and nothing can be separated from it.This is the all-encompassing law of nature.The train runs in the dark, and in the early morning, it is covered with morning dew. on board How many nights!I face the round glass, the closed porthole of my cabin. — how many nights!I lay on the bunk and looked at you, thinking to myself: Just wait, wait until this eye turns white, then it will be dawn, and I will get up and shake off the discomfort in my body; dawn will also wash the sea, and we will Set foot on a strange land.The day is dawning, the sea is still not calm, the land is still far away; my mind is tossed and tossed on the heaving sea. My whole body remembers the toss of the waves, and I think: Shall I hang a thread of thought to that wobbling mainmast?Waves, shall I only see the sea splashing in the evening wind?I will sow my love on the waves, and sow my thoughts on the wilderness of vast expanses of waves.My love leaps in waves that push forward and surge forward and that resemble each other.Waves pass unrecognizable, while the formless sea is always heaving; far from man, your waves are soundless, but flowing, and no power can stop them.There was silence and no one heard.The waves had struck the flimsy boat with such a sound that we thought it was the howling of a storm.The turbulent waves pushed forward, continuously and silently.The waves followed each other back and forth, lifting up the same sea water in turn, but barely moving it.Only the shape of the wave moves, the sea rises from a wave and then breaks away, never going with the wave.Each wave only stirs the same seawater for an instant, and then passes through it, leaves that seawater, and continues to move forward.O my soul!Never get attached to any one thought!Toss every thought of yours to the sea-wind, never to heaven. Restless waves, it is you who shake my mind so much!You can't build anything on a wave, and the wave will run away under pressure. After drifting here and there for so long, it's frustrating, will it reach the harbor of warmth?Let my soul arrive at the harbor and rest at last, then stand on the solid embankment next to the revolving lighthouse and look back out to sea.