Chapter 8 Part five

The rainy land of Normandy, the domesticated countryside... You said: We shall make love in the spring, under such-and-such a bush I know, in such-and-such a moss-covered spot, at such and such an hour of day, and the weather is fine and warm, where last year sang The birds went there to sing again. —However, the belated arrival of spring this year and the chills recommend a different kind of pleasure. Summer is also listless and mild.The woman you were looking for did not come.So you said: All kinds of disappointments, at least autumn will make up for it and take care of my troubles.I reckon she won't come, but at least the woods will be in fiery autumn colors.Some days it's warm, so I go and sit by the pond, where a lot of dead leaves fell last year.I sat there waiting for dusk... on other days in the evening I would go downhill to the edge of the woods in the setting sun.However, this year's autumn rains have been continuous, and the trees are stained with mildew, and there is almost no autumn color.The pond is overflowing, and you cannot sit on the bank.

This year, I've been busy in the fields, watching the harvest and plowing as the fall rolls by.This year is different from previous years. Autumn is particularly warm, but it is rainy.Towards the end of September a great storm, blowing for twelve hours, dried all the trees half-way.The leaves that were not blown by the storm turned golden yellow.I live in isolation and feel that this is as important as any major event in the world and worth mentioning. Day after day, morning and evening, time passes. In the morning, sometimes I get up before dawn, and my mind is still in a daze.well!Gray autumn morning!Stay up all night with agitated emotions, no rest for the soul, wake up so tired that you wish you could go back to sleep and die.Tomorrow, I will leave this bleak country where the grass is covered with frost.As dogs hide bread and bones in their crypts in case of hunger; so I know where pleasure is to be found.I know that there is a warm breeze in the hollow where the creek bends, and a golden linden tree that has not fallen leaves stands above the wooden fence; when I meet a child in the blacksmith shop going to school, I smile at him and caress him; I can smell the thick fallen leaves; I pass a hut, and I can smile at a woman and kiss her child; the sound of tinkling iron in the blacksmith shop can be heard far away in autumn..."Is that all? "—"Forget it, go to bed!"—"It's too trivial."—"And I'm too tired to hope..."

It was such a pain to set off in the twilight before dawn.Both soul and body trembled, dizzy, and had to look for something to take away. "Meynalke, what do you like most when you are leaving?" He replied: "I like the feeling of dying the most." Of course, it's not about seeing what else I can take away, but how many things that are dispensable to me are given up.well!Nathanael, how much more we can unload!No soul can be emptied enough to be filled with love—and love, hope, and hope are the only real treasures we have. what!All these places where we can live as well!The place where happiness can multiply: industrious farms, inestimable farm work, exhaustion, incomparably peaceful sleep...

lets go!We count where we stop! ... I changed out of my town attire so as not to maintain an overly dignified air. He sat next to me, close to me.When I felt his heartbeat, I knew he was alive; the warmth of his small body warmed me.He fell asleep on my shoulder.I could hear his breathing, the heat of his breath hurting me, but I dared not move for fear of waking him.His little head kept shaking with the bumps of the car.The car was packed like hell, and everyone else fell asleep, dreaming away the rest of the night. Yes, it is true, I have experienced love, love again, and much more; but, can I not express a little experience of the tenderness at that time?

Yes, yes, I have experienced love. When I become a wanderer, I want to touch everything that wanders.I treat everything that has nowhere to warm with tenderness, and I love everything that is wandering. I remember that four years ago, I spent an evening in this small town; now I revisit, it is also autumn, and it is also not a Sunday; it is also a hot time. I remember that time, as it is today, when I wandered the streets until I came to the edge of the town, and there I saw a terraced garden overlooking this beautiful place. I walked along the same road and recognized all the sights. I stepped on the footsteps of last time, revisiting the excitement of the past... There is a stone bench I once sat on. ——"It's here, I read a book here." "What book?" "Oh! It's Virgil." "I can still hear the washerwoman pounding clothes." There is no wind..." "Just like today."

The kids were out of school, out of school; remember that day too.Pedestrians passing by on the road are also like last time.It was the setting sun that day, and it happened to be dusk now, and the joyous songs during the day were about to stop... that's it. "But that's not enough for a poem." "Throw it away then," I replied. We've had situations where we get up in a hurry at dawn. The driver is harnessing the cart in the yard. Buckets of water wash down the paved streets.The sound of pumping water from the well. Thoughts were chaotic all night, I couldn't fall asleep, and my head was groggy when I woke up.This place has to go again; small bedroom; here, my head rested for a while; felt, thought, lost sleep. ——Forget it if you die!Anywhere (once you're dead, it doesn't matter where you are, and it's nowhere).

How many bedrooms are left at a time!How wonderful it is to set off again and again, and I never want to be a sad scene before leaving.Thinking that I have this now, there is always a burst of excitement in my heart. From this window, let's take a look at it for a while... The thought of starting came up again in an instant.I immediately hoped that the moment of departure would be before the moment of overlooking... so that when the night was about to fall, I could take another look at the infinite possibility of happiness. At that charming moment, a wave of dawn was thrown into the boundless blue sky...

The stagecoach is ready.lets go!Let everything I thought just now disappear with me in the confusion of fleeing. Travel through the forest.Areas of breath with different temperatures.The warmest places smell of earth; the coldest places smell of decaying leaves.I opened my closed eyes again.Yes, there are fallen leaves, here is plowed land... Strasbourg what! "Wonderful cathedral"! ——The bell tower soars into the sky! ——At the top of the bell tower, it's like sitting in a rickety balloon basket, overlooking the storks on the roof. Formal and unnatural, and long feet, It's like a sculpture; the eyes move slowly, and it's rare to have this kind of viewing opportunity.

hotel At night I went to sleep in the barn; In the morning, the coachman found me in the haystack. hotel ... After the third glass of kirsch, the blood rushes to my forehead; After the fourth cup, I feel a little drunk, and feel that all objects are floating towards me, and I can reach out; After drinking the fifth cup, the room I am in, the world seems to be majestic at last, and my majestic thoughts can evolve more freely; After drinking the sixth cup, I felt a little tired and fell asleep. (All the pleasures of our senses are as incomplete as a vision.) hotel I tasted the hotel's strong wine, which smelled like violets and made me sleep soundly all afternoon.I have also experienced the feeling of being drunk at night, under the weight of your powerful thoughts, the whole earth seems to shake.

Nathanael, let me talk to you about drunkenness. Nathanael, the simplest gratifications often intoxicate me, and desire makes me intoxicated before they are gratified.On a journey, what I first seek is not an inn, but hunger. Drunkenness is caused by an empty stomach, especially if you are on your way early in the morning, the hunger is no longer appetite, but dizziness.Traveling until dusk, I was drunk again from thirst. I was very hungry, and I felt that the simple tea and light food were extremely rich, like a feast of extravagance.I am full of passion and savor the intense feeling of my life.Anything that touches my senses brings me pleasure, just like my touchable happiness.

I too have experienced the intoxication of slightly altered minds.I remember one day, my active thoughts were like a cylindrical telescope drawn out one by one.I always thought that the last one I drew was already extremely thin, but in the end I pulled out another thinner one.I remember another day when my mind became so smooth that I had to let it roll.I still remember a day when my thoughts became so elastic that each thought took the shape of all the other thoughts in succession, changing from one to the other.Sometimes two minds run parallel, seemingly stretching on forever without intersecting. I have also experienced the intoxication which makes you believe that you are better, nobler, more honorable, more virtuous, richer than you really are... autumn Farmers are busy with autumn plowing in the big fields, and the furrows raise smoke and dust in the evening; the plow horses are tired and walk more and more slowly.Every dusk makes me intoxicated, like smelling the earth for the first time.In the twilight, I always like to sit on the roadside slope covered with fallen leaves, listen to the singing of the farmers plowing the fields, and watch the tired sunset to sleep peacefully in the wilderness on the horizon. The wet season, the rainy land of Normandy... stroll. ... wild, but not rugged. ...the cliffs. ……forest. ...the icy stream.Take a nap under the shade of a tree and talk about the world. ...orange-red fern. "The pasture!" we thought to ourselves, "Why didn't we meet you on our journey, how we wished we could gallop over you." (The pasture is surrounded by forests.) Evening walk. Take a walk at night. walk ... "Survival", for me, has become a lot of fun.I really want to try all kinds of ways of life in general, like fish and plants.Of all the pleasures of the senses, the pleasure of touch is what I most desire to taste. There is a tree in the field, and its withered and yellow leaves are falling one after another in the autumn rain.I think the rain has been watering for a long time, and its roots deeply embedded in the ground have already been saturated. At that age, I was still barefoot, stepping directly into wet ground, bubbling puddles, cool or warm mud.I know why I like water so much, especially wet things, because water can make us feel the change of temperature difference more directly than air.I like the moist autumn wind and the rainy land of Normandy. la roque The carts bring back the fragrant harvest. The barn is full of hay. Heavy cart, you collide with the road slope and bump in the rut; how many times have I been lying on the haystack with the wild boy drying the grass, and you have carried me back from the field! what!When will I be able to lie in the night hay and wait for the evening to come? ... As dusk fell, we arrived at the door of the barn, only to see the afterglow of the setting sun lingering in the farmyard. farmer farmer!Sing about your farmyard. I will rest awhile near this barn of yours and think of the summers that the scent of the hay will remind me of. Take all your keys and open the doors for me one by one. The first is the door of the hayloft: what!How faithful time is! ……what!Why don't I lie next to the grass shed and rest on the warm haystack, why wander around and overcome the thirst of the desert with a passion! …Staying here, I can listen to the singing of the reapers, and watch the carts bring back the heavy harvest—the extremely precious food, as if it is the answer I am looking forward to for all the questions of my desire.I don't need to go to the wilderness to seek anything. Here I can fully satisfy my desires at my leisure. There have been moments of laughter and there have been moments of crying. There are moments of laughter, and afterward, there will naturally be moments of memories of laughing. Nathanael, no doubt, I, and no one else, have seen these grasses swaying in the wind—grasses, now withered, smelling of hay, like everything that is felled... These grasses are alive, green and golden, swaying in the evening wind. --Ugh!Why not go back to that time, lying on the edge of the grass... the tall grass greets our love! The small game ran back and forth under the blades of grass, and every path it ran could be called a boulevard.I bent down and inspected the ground carefully, from one leaf to another, from one flower to another, I saw groups of small insects. I can tell the moisture of the soil from the sheen of the green leaves and the texture of the petals. Which meadow is full of daisies, but we prefer that lawn, our favorite place, with white flowers in umbels: some are small and dainty, others are like big cradles, dark in color and huge in petals .At dusk, the meadow turns dark green, and all the white flowers seem to be separated from their stems, held up by the rising mist, shining like floating jellyfish. The second is the barn door: Grain, I will praise you.food.The golden wheat, the expected wealth, the incomparably precious food. Even if we run out of bread!Barn, I still have your key.Grain, you pile it up in the barn.You let me eat it all, can't you satisfy my hunger?The birds of the sky in the fields, the rats in the barn, and all the poor at our table... Will what you have left satisfy my hunger? ... Of the grains, I took a handful and kept them until the fair spring season, and sowed them in my fertile field: one yielded a hundred, the other a thousand. Food!Bread, the hungrier I am, the richer you are. Wheat, you are just born, like green grass, tell me, how heavy your golden ears can be supported by your curved stalk! Golden straw, golden ears, golden sheaves—a handful of seeds I sow... The third is the door to the dairy: rest!peaceful!The wicker baskets are continuously filtered, and the cheese gradually shrinks, and then it is placed in a metal cage and pressed into solid blocks.The smell of curd milk in the dog days of July is fresher and weaker. No, it’s not weak, but there is a faint sour smell, which can only be felt when inhaled deep in the nostrils. It can be said that it has gone from smell to taste. up. The churn is very clean.Small morsels of butter are held up by kale leaves.The peasant woman has red hands.The windows were always open, but with wire mesh to keep cats and flies out. Rows of large bowls filled with milk.The color of the milk becomes yellower and yellower until all the cream floats up and slowly forms layers, first expanding and then shrinking, and the milk is thus skimmed.When the milk is completely clear, take out the cream... But, Nathaniel, I can't explain the whole process.I have a friend who is a farmer, and he is very good at talking. He told me the use of everything, and even the whey can't be thrown away (in Normandy, whey is used to feed pigs, and there seems to be a better use for it) . The fourth door is the door of the bullpen: It was unbearably hot in the barn, but the cows smelled good.what!I really want to go back to my childhood, when I was with the sweaty and smelly farm kids, crawling between the legs of the cows, looking for eggs in the corner of the trough, watching the cows, watching the cows shit for hours on end , slapped on the ground, and we made a bet on which one would shit first; one day I was scared away, thinking that a cow would suddenly give birth to a calf. The fifth door is the door of the fruit storage room: In front of the sunny window, bunches of grapes are hanging on strings, each one is brewing and ripening, chewing the sunshine silently, brewing fragrant sugar. pear.Stacks of apples.fruit!I ate your juicy flesh and spit the pits on the ground.Let the pits germinate, and bring us joy again! The little almond, the wonder of it; the nut, the microscopic spring, awaits in sleep.Fruit between two summers; seeds of Lixia. Let us also consider, Nathanael, the painful state of the germination of the seed (the effort with which the germ breaks out of the shell is admirable). Now, though, let's marvel at this: every conception comes with a thrill.The fruit is wrapped in deliciousness, and the relentless pursuit of life by joy. Fruit pulp, the mellow crystallization of love. The sixth door is the door of the press chamber: what!The heat under the factory shed has subsided. I wish I were lying side by side with you among the squeezed apples, between the squeezed apples with a pungent sour taste.what!Shunaim beauty, let's try it out together. Will the pleasure produced by our body lying on the wet apple, with the holy fragrance of the apple, last longer, and will it disappear so quickly... The sound of the press wheels turning is with me in my memory. The seventh door is the door of the still room: The light is dim.The fire was roaring.The machine is dark.The copper light of the big basin is shining. The still, the juice that flows mysteriously, is received with great care. (I have seen pine resin, cherry wood metamorphic glue, tough fig tree latex, and palm tree truncated liquor flowed out in the same way.) The glass bottle with a small mouth, the waves of drunkenness converge in you, turbulent and turbulent.Alcohol, you concentrate all that is sweet and strong in fruit, and all that is sweet and fragrant in flowers. Distiller!To distill out golden droplets. (Some are more delicious than cherry purée, some are as fragrant as meadow.) Nathaniel!This is really a miraculous illusion, as if the whole spring is concentrated here... Ah!Now, let my drunkenness be like acting, show the spring scene by scene!Let me drink, and in a moment I'll stop noticing that I'm shut up in this dark room... Let me drink, to free my spirit and give my body the sights of all the other places I long for. The eighth door is the storeroom door: oh!My golden cup is broken - I am awake.Intoxication has always been a substitute for happiness.carriage!Escape is possible at any time.The sled, the world of ice and snow, I want to put my desire on the sled. Nathanael, we go to all things: we shall touch them one after another.The holsters on the sides of my saddle have gold in them; the trunks have furs that almost make one love the cold.Wheel, who will count the number of turns you turn in your flight?Chariots, light houses, the pleasures that sojourn our hopes, let us snatch you away on a whim!Plowshare, let the ox take you for a walk in our fields!You have to plow the land like a sharp knife!The plowshares don’t need to be rusted in the warehouse, all agricultural tools are the same...all kinds of inertia in us, you are all waiting in pain, waiting to be put on a desire to pull you away-that must be the most beautiful place to yearn for people... sled!I'm going to put all my desires on you, let us fly, and send snow and dust behind you! ... The last door opened into the wilderness. ...