Chapter 3 isar valley

I was in my room at this farm last night watching the flames leaping in the big adobe stove.The stove was jointly built by Lawrence and the Indians.He found iron hoops for the curvature of the stove.I don't know how he built it, but the chimney is so powerful that it can pull out a fire, and even a thick log can be instantly reduced to ashes. These dancing flames were like himself in high spirits all night.This morning I saw wild red columbine flowers for the first time.This columbine was discovered with him.Flowers bloomed in a hollow at my feet.Workers cut down the logs there to build a new house.The columbine cauliflower in front of me is like a pitiful burning red and yellow flame, like a gorgeous little flag.

I watched intently a little rabbit hiding motionless behind an oak stump.The hummingbird startled me, too, and it was scared away by me, circling around in panic.To me, there's something romantic about these. I refrain from writing about our very turbulent lives, and avoid thinking about them.I don't agree with publishing for people to read the strangely new thing about the two of us living together.I want to keep them in my heart alone.I want a man to enjoy a little to himself in the wealth he has bequeathed me, concerning himself, me, and the world. However, I am obliged to write his and my own situation as truthfully as possible.Some people say Lawrence loves them, and I don't mind at all, which is ridiculous.Far from being indifferent; some people say he was a solitary genius who died alone and miserable, which is also ridiculous.I am watching over him.

The absolute simple truth is that simple. Some people see him as a cruel, strange character, which is absurd.In fact, he is kind, generous, and passionate. He would also jump on me when I made him angry, especially when the little things of the day overwhelmed him.Isn't that a little undesirable.Sometimes I fight back, sometimes I wait for the storm to die down.We will fight openly and honestly to the end.After the battle, there is peace.so peaceful. I think that's fine.There should be arguments, and if he's downcast and frowning, that's even worse. The incident was caused by the deep nature of the two characters.Presumably we are far from the usual "little gray family".Whoever laughs at him, laugh at him.No amount of taunting may befall a great man without detracting from his greatness, his genius, his love.To understand what was going on between the two of us, you have to live what we have been through.Must be abandoned like both of us, benefited like both of us; and understand the integrity of body and soul.This is not the path most people walk.

However, it is a long way from the small attic rooms of Bavarian farmhouses in the Isar Valley. Lawrence met me in Munich. He gave up the idea of ​​going to a university in Germany to give lectures, and then began his writing life.We started a new life.However, I still miss my children deep in my heart, and I can't forget them.But now it's Lawrence and I, together.A friend lent us a very premium room.There are three rooms in this suite with a balcony and a kitchenette.In the early morning, the high Alps emerge from the pale water.The icy water of the Isar River rushed the raft along the valley below.Great beech forests stretched back for miles to Digance.

Here we started our two lives.What kind of life is this.We have almost no money.Only 15 shillings a week.We scraped by on brown bread, fresh eggs, and Ripples, which Lawrence loved.Strawberries, raspberries, and lingonberries were also found later. We both forgot about space and time in general.Our "times," our events, are Lawrence's cherished flowers and plants, the evening fireflies, the earth fireflies, the new beech leaves that cover our heads like a veil, and our feet buried in the brown beech leaves that fell last year. I remember, when Lawrence saw the gentian for the first time, when he saw the patches of verdure, I wondered if he had some incredible relationship with those flowers and plants; to him.Everything he encountered had a novelty that manifested just then.

I don't want anyone, I don't want anything, just to be happy in the new world Lawrence has given me.I have found what I need.Now, like a trout in a brook, like a daisy in the sun, I can feel lucky.He is generous and dedicated.He said, "Everything you want is here because I belong to you".So I took him and gave me to him in the same way, as in a dream. I asked him, "You said it was up to me, what can I do for you?" He replied, "You have already got me, all of me." He used to say, "You're very young, very young".I protested, "What? Am I older than you?" And he said, "Oh, that's not you, that's something else. You don't understand."

I understood that, whatever my flaws, he loved my essence as much as the verdure of the gentian. He said to me, "You have a gift for living." I said, "Maybe, but you gave me that." But there were some horrible nights when he was sick, feverish, and out of control.Just like the time of death is approaching.Soon, the shadow of the disease disappeared from our healthy and happy life.He recovered physically, full of energy and hope.Almost all the work in that hut was done by him.In the morning, Frau Reitner delivered a bouquet of flowers in a milk jug and breakfast to my lodgings.Frau Leitner set up shop downstairs.Selling boot buttons, pastries, hams, brooms, everything under the sun.She called Lawrence Dr. Hale.She talks to him in Bavarian dialect and offers him to try her "Heidel beers chnapps".During this period, I lived my time contentedly as if in a dream.I spilled coffee on the pillow and just turned the pillow over.I didn't care about anything except that I was living with Lawrence.We talked about everything.He told me at length of every man he had known in his youth; of Walker Street and its inhabitants, at best what I call the common folk of the people; of his mother, the queen of that little family; Down the mine, the father having lunch with the pony pulling the coal; those are very romantic stories to me.At that time, he said, on a Friday night, the miners would get very drunk and start arguing.Every family was hysterical periodically on Friday nights.I was enthralled and listened to it for hours.Still, the poverty of his family was miserable.If his mother could have given him the necessary care and received food that her mother could not afford with her meager money, he would certainly not have suffered from such a serious illness.

A classmate of his at high school invited him to tea, but broke up with him when he learned that Lawrence was the son of a miner.It hurt his heart.Later, I told him the story of my boyhood.My experience is blissful.My family has a beautiful house and grounds on the outskirts of Metz.I live in blooming flowers.There's saxifrage, saffron, poppies--it's a timid little face and big, verdant, delicate irises.It is often my father who picks fresh asparagus, and I run around behind my father.At the end of summer I go to the trees that are laden with fruit, to the cherry, pear, apple, peach, plum trees.Sometimes I still sleep on it.Once I was doing my homework on it and it fell down.I hate going to school.

At first I went to the monastery and didn't gain much there. To-ujours doucement, mapetite Frieda. (Lovely Frieda, you must always obey), that's what they always say when I break into the classroom with my heses on.But it's no use talking, I'm an unreasonable child, and those docile nuns can't change me.I love being with Da Bing.They lived in a temporary barracks outside my courtyard for several years.They invited me and my sister Joanna to see their big Christmas tree.It is full of sausages, cigarettes, ginger biscuits, small packages from home, and small wooden figures they carved for us.Accompanied by the harmonica, they also sang for us.

"WennichzumeinemKindegch" (when we gather around children) Sometimes, my father's past division performed a scene of my father winning the Iron Cross during the Franco-Prussian War.It was the emperor's birthday.After the ceremony, the soldiers lifted the father up and wandered around the living room.My heart was beating violently as if it was about to jump out. "What a hero my father was!" However, a few days later, a corporal who was very close to me told me that he hated being in the army, that life in the army was boring, not life, where people were oppressed.He told me these things standing on the path in the courtyard, in his dazzling blue uniform, with a bouquet of roses in his hand.He told me that every day he jotted down the things he had to do in bed.He said there were 119 entries.I looked up at him and understood his distress.Later, even the excellent military band of the Dragon Banner Division went to the training ground and passed by the small bridge in my courtyard, which did not arouse my interest as before.

Even as the troops marched through, Joanna and I sat securely in the courtyard.Afterwards, we both threw pears or apples into the queue, causing confusion.The officer was so angry that he cursed at his subordinates, we quickly hid behind the wall, and ran out after hiding for a while. I like playing best with my boyfriend in the soldiers' quarters or in the trenches in the forts around Metz.I always like to hang out with teenage or grown men.Only they can give me the kind of pleasure I look forward to.Grown women and girls never do that.Puberty and youth this thing torments me.I am not satisfied with the existing happiness and all kinds of things in society.I have something else that I want more, something that I am looking forward to very much.Where and from whom can it be found?With Lawrence, I found what I was looking for.All the overflowing energy of my childhood came back to me. One day I was bathing in the Isar River.The heel of one of my shoes fell off because of the roughness of the shore.So I took off both shoes and threw them into the Isar.Lawrence looked at me in surprise.I think he was "surprised because I had to go home barefoot. But it's okay, there was no one on the road".Who knows it's not like that.Lawrence was amazed at my extravagance.He scolded me and said, "It takes a lot of work to make a shoe. You should respect the labor of the people who put effort into these shoes." To that, I replied, "Things exist for me, I don't live for them. So I can throw them away if I hate them." I don't care about these at all, carelessly.He went to great lengths to make my life more rigorous. "Hey, you put your woolen clothes in this drawer. Silks here, cottons there." I thought it was interesting, so I did it. I said, "But I want to live like a wild lily." He replied, "What? Even a wild lily is a lot of work. To make the sap, to make the leaves, the flowers, the seeds!" Then he aroused my pride and said, "You can't even make a cup of coffee." Well, you can't even do what any normal woman can do." I thought, "Well, I'm going to have to show you if I can do it." But that was a long time later. One day, I saw a lot of romantic and elegant people on the streets of Munich, and I developed an aristocratic temper.On the street I bought a small crown and a handkerchief with an F on it.I took these things home, and he said, "Okay, I'll get out my coat of arms." He got out a pen with an axe, a blackboard, two lions standing on their front legs .He said, "If people choose me to be king, they won't." Then he said, half-jokingly, "Do you want me to be king of England?" I was too serious to answer.I thought, "The whole universe belongs to both of us, isn't he satisfied? Does he still want to be a king who doesn't have to restrain himself?" However, I firmly believe that as long as he has such a desire, he would have already Can be king.Later, he often wrote poems to me.Because he knew very well that I was particularly interested in poetry. He often goes out for a walk alone.I know he's had a good walk when I hear his step on his way home. Each time he brought me bouquets of bouquets or small bouquets or brightly colored bird feathers. Then he began to tell the story of his adventures: a young deer in the woods stared at him curiously; Then we were thrown out of heaven for two again.Letters come frequently, which is a hindrance to our relationship.The heart of pity for the child disturbed my emotions again. However, Lawrence often comforted me.He said, "Don't be sad, I'm going to make a new world for everyone, just wait and see." I was often comforted.But if I keep doing that, he gets mad and says, "You're not thinking about the kids, and the kids are none of your business." So I start crying and then we have a big fight with him. "What an unreasonable woman I would be if I forgot my children." But in his opinion, my distress over children was the worst thing that could happen.He took my distress too seriously.Perhaps because he loved his mother so deeply, he always believed that a mother should never leave her child.But, I believe, "This connection is permanent. There is nothing in heaven and earth that can be separated. You must wait and wait." My father said in a letter to me, "You travel around the world like a maid." My loving father lamented that I was poor and would never rise in society.I just enjoyed my freedom to the fullest.Like a "Vogelfrei" (one who has been lifted from legal protection).Lawrence faced the edge of the challenge and protected me.Later he said, "You don't know how much power I have put in between you and society." As long as I help him with all my strength, his solid spiritual wings will always guard me. Right now I'm lying on my stomach next to a small puddle formed by a stream of water and writing.The surrounding grass is lush and lush, forming an ideal hideaway for a bath.Ahead lay a vast field covered with alfalfa.Forests and deserts, changing light and shadow all the time, are displayed in front of you.The floating clouds in the west are white and thick, round and rolling. It was the end of June at this time, and strawberries had already grown in the depressions on both sides of the stream.Bright red briars bloom along the banks beside Galena Canyon.If you walk towards the entrance of Galena Canyon, you can also see wild turkeys on the road following Lawrence. He and Mary set up big pipes for water.There are tall poplar trees there.The waters of the Galena River flowed mightily.Heavy rains with a lot of precipitation ruined everything, for which it was necessary to reinforce the pipes. On this farm, we are both healthy and busy.Lawrence could no longer see this. Last night, the jackal killed the lamb on the farm.Poor thing, I took a closer look, it was so startling.The jackal is really abominable.According to Mary, they are still playing with the lambs.They use their tails to drive the flock so that it is easier to catch the sheep.Good-natured, kind-hearted people! This is one of the best times here.Spend quiet time watching the sunset every day.The sun sets beautifully, the stars appear, and the new moon appears in the arms of the old moon.The water sings louder than the day.Some more stars appeared.The light faded in the western sky. But at this very moment, in the stillness of the beautiful night, the jackal quickly approached the house, snatched away the lamb, and killed it.How I wish someone could shoot them all, but they're hard to shoot. He said he wanted to write about the past, but I was still talking about the present.I shall return to our village in the Isar Valley, Ekin, and to young Lawrence at his ease. I remember we went to church in a village near Gierberg.On the altar I saw the Virgin.This is not a Materdol-orosa (Our Lady of Sorrows), nor a spiritual thing, but a calm image of a peasant woman.So, I said, "Oh, you have backlight on your head, but I think I have backlight all over my body. Lawrence made it. You only have a dead son, I don't want that. Please give me life man." Once, the two of us sat on the edge of the small jetty next to Cochelsey and soaked our feet in the clear water of the lake.Lawrence took the ring off my finger and put it on my toe and said see how it looks in clear water.Suddenly it rained heavily.There are woods behind us, and a road leads in every direction.We ran to find shelter from the rain.But we both ran in different directions.I looked around and couldn't see Lawrence, and I was suddenly worried.He's gone, probably slipped into the lake and drowned.I yelled and looked for him everywhere.But he was nowhere to be seen.I'm afraid I won't see you anymore.He often "denies the present world". An hour later, when I saw Lawrence walking down the road, I was going crazy.I called him "Moonlight" after a German fairy tale.He doesn't like me calling him that. From then on, he often sat there very quietly and very intently to write.Sentences poured from his hands onto the paper unconsciously, naturally, and effortlessly, like flowers blooming and birds flying. His concentration was unbelievable.He seemed to have been transported to another world, a created world. His emotions and thoughts change quickly.This makes me very difficult. "But, Laurence, didn't you say the exact opposite of what you are saying last week?" "Yes, that's what I said. I thought that last week, but I think so now. What's the matter?" We had discussed the style of the essay, the new style invented in America—he called it cinematic. All notions of style and form perplexed Lawrence. I believe that true creation must have its own form.This is the case with all living things. "Art for art's sake", "Le StylecestIhomme" (Style is a person) are all good, but that is not creation.Lawrence demanded that everything be absolutely right. One night, he was very excited.He imitated for me an Easter service in a church in his native town. There were priests who were engaged in a revival of religious thought.Often he would fascinate his congregation, and then lick his fingertips with his mouth, as if turning the pages of an imaginary "judgment."He suddenly pointed out a sinner among the church members with his finger, and exclaimed, "Is your name written in this book?" The miner's wife in the straw hat is obsessed with confession.She ran down the aisle between the auditoriums, knelt before the altar, and prayed, "God, we want Henry so he can come. Now I'm coming for him." What an astonishing sight!Lawrence played first the priest and then the miner's wife.Teased me up and down.He told me that when he was 16 years old, he suffered from multiple pneumonias, and then he struggled from the death line with his tenacious perseverance and vitality.After I heard it, I hoped that he would be stronger and healthier. His soul is always healthy.At times, he may be in a bad mood and irritable, but he never complains about his distress. In the Isar Valley he wrote this poem. Song of the Loved Man Between her breasts is my home, between the breasts. Three sides are emptiness and terror, while the fourth is rest. The source of strength is between the warm breasts. I work happily from morning till night. There is no need to fear the horror behind you, look back at it. I am protected and I love working. There is no need to take care of the soul, and no need to drive away fear with prayer. Go home every night and check to see if the door is closed. It's good to pack yourself in and squeeze the horror out. Return every night. Putting my cheek between her breasts is enough. In doing that, my peace will be evidence of my well-behaved day. do that, my failure and fault would inadvertently spring from her flesh, Quietly but surely shames me. I wish it would last forever, I buried my face in her tits To reassure and enrich my quiet mind, Her breasts filled my hands.