Chapter 7 Chapter 6 Ending

Flush was an old dog now.Returning to England, and reliving those events, must have worn him out.It had been noticed that since his return he had always preferred the shade to the sun--though the shade in Florence was still much hotter than the sun in Whymper Street.He'd sprawl out on all fours under statues, curl up under fountain spouts, just to enjoy the occasional splash of water on his fur.He dozed off lying down for hours at a time.The young dogs came to him, and he would tell them stories about Whitechapel and Whymper Street, describe to them the scent of clover and the smell of Oxford Street, and tell them all about revolution after revolution—the grand dukes Comes and goes, but the spotted spaniel heads down the left alley, never looking back..., he'd say.The fierce Mr. Landau would scurry past and shake his fist at him in feigned anger; the kind Miss Isa Blagden would stop and offer him a square biscuit from her purse.The peasant women in the market made him a bed of leaves in the shadow of the vegetable baskets, and occasionally threw him bunches of grapes to eat.Every resident of Florence knew him and liked him--good guy or simple-minded guy, man or dog.

But he was getting old, and now he didn't even bother to lie down under the fountain, because the pebbles were too hard for his old bones; but on the floor of Mrs. The coat of arms of the Di family is particularly smooth; or under the table in the living room, it is also very cool.One day, shortly after his return from London, he lay there in a deep sleep; the sleep of old age is dreamless and heavy, and today he slept more deeply than usual.While sleeping soundly, the surrounding darkness seemed to grow thicker and deeper.Even if he has a dream, he may dream that he is sleeping in the deepest part of the primeval forest, without a ray of sunlight or human voice, although from time to time he will dream that he hears dozing birds chirping and the wind blowing. Crossing the branch, the little monkey laughed softly.

Suddenly, the branches and leaves were pushed aside, and the light penetrated—shooting blinding beams of light here and there.The monkeys chirped, and the birds woke up, screaming warnings.He stood up suddenly, wide awake.There was a commotion all around. He was lying down and sleeping between the legs of an ordinary table in the living room, but now he was surrounded by many skirts and trousers, and even the table itself began to shake violently from side to side, making him unaware Where should I escape.What the hell happened?What is evil in the table?He let go of his throat and let out a long growl as a question.

It is a pity that Fluch could never be satisfactorily answered; we can offer only a few basic facts here.Simply put, the Countess of Blessington bought a crystal ball from a magician in the early nineteenth century, but the lady "had never known how to use it" and never used it except for the crystal. See anything else in the crystal ball.After her death, the estate was auctioned off, and the ball fell into the hands of people "who could see deeper, or have purer eyes," who saw things in the ball besides the crystal.As for whether the person who bought the ball was the Earl of Stanhope?And is it he who "has the purer eyes"?We don't know.But we can be sure that in 1852 the ball did belong to the Earl of Stanhope, and that he could see the "spirits of the sun" and other things in it.Such a beautiful scene, of course, would not be exclusive to the hospitable nobles, so Earl Stanhope often showed his crystal ball at luncheons and invited friends to watch the elves of the sun.Delighted by the strange sights within the sphere--except Mr. Jolly!Crystal balls became all the rage.Fortunately, a London optics maker soon discovered that he was neither Egyptian nor a magician, but could make the same crystal ball, though of course British crystals were expensive.All in all, in the early 1850s, many people had crystal balls, but, as Lord Stanhope said, "many had crystal balls, but few had the moral courage to admit it." Elves So ubiquitous in London, some people began to feel nervous; Earl Stanley proposed to Sir Lytton "that a committee appointed by the government should investigate and discover as much as possible".I don't know if the elves are afraid because they heard that the official investigation committee is about to be established, or because elves are like people. When there are too many people and crowded together, they tend to reproduce in large numbers. The team escaped from the crystal ball and moved into the table leg.Whatever the motivation, the strategy was successful; crystal balls were expensive, but there was a table for everyone.In this way, when Mrs. Browning returned to Italy in the winter of 1852, she found that the elves had arrived one step ahead of her; almost all the tables in Florence were infected with elf fever, and no one was spared. "From the legation clerk to the British pharmacist," she writes, "everyone is 'serving' the table . . . When people sit around the table, it is not to play bridge." No, it is to read the conveyed message.For example, when you ask a child's age, the table "intelligently follows the alphabetical order and expresses its opinion by tapping its legs."If the table can tell you that your child is four years old, isn't it infinitely intelligent and powerful?So the store began advertising the revolving table; the walls were plastered with leaflets promoting the miraculous "Discovery of Livorno."By 1854, this trend had spread abroad. "There are 400,000 families in the United States who have endorsed that... they have personally enjoyed the fun of communicating with elves." At this time, news also came from England. Sir Don had "imported several knocking spirits from America" ​​to Napworth, with great success--so young Arthur Russell was told, when he was startled to see "a shabbily dressed The strange old man in the dressing-gown," glared at him across the breakfast table—sir Bower-Lytton believed he had become invisible!

The first time Mrs. Browning gazed into Lord Stanhope's crystal ball at luncheon, she saw nothing.But it is undeniable that it is indeed a scene that can very well symbolize the spirit of that era.The Sun Spirit told her that she was going to Rome; but she did not intend to go to Rome, so she contradicted the Sun Spirit. "But," she added honestly, "I do like the uncanny." She was always adventurous, and once risked her life on Manning Street, only half an hour away on Whymper Street. Discovered a world beyond her imagination.So why couldn't another world exist an instant from Florence--a better, more beautiful world, where the dead dwelt in vain attempts to communicate with the living?Anyway, she was willing to take the risk, so she too sat down at the table.Mr Invisible's wise son--Mr Lytton--was present; and Mr Frederick Tennyson and Mr Bowles and Mr Villaary, round the table until the kicks had been enough After that, continue to sit at the table drinking tea and eating strawberries and cream, watching "Florence melting under the purple hills and overlooking stars", chatting all over the world: "... So many stories, so many miracles we swear to see! Oh, Isa, we're all believers--except Robert..." Then the deaf, white-bearded Mr. Kolkap burst in, just to announce to everyone: "The world of spirits does exist--there really is. Future time and space. I admit it, and now I finally believe it.” Mr. Korkap, who has always claimed to be “just a little away from an atheist”, suddenly changed his beliefs because he was deaf and clearly heard “three loud Knock, and he jumps up in surprise!"So how could Mrs. Browning not touch the table? "You know I'm a fantasist, knocking on every door in this world, trying to escape," she wrote.So she summoned confident people to Guidi's mansion, and everyone sat around, put their hands on the living room table, and tried to escape together.

The awakened Flush was full of bewilderment and anxiety, skirts and trousers flapping around him, and the table stood on one leg; but whatever the gentlemen and ladies around the table heard or saw, Flush heard nothing. heard, saw nothing.That's right, the table does stand on one foot, but as long as you press hard to one side, every table will stand on one foot!It itself has knocked over tables and been scolded.But Mrs. Browning stared at her big eyes at this moment, as if she saw some vision outside the house.Flush rushed to the balcony and looked down.Was another grand duke riding by with a large banner and a torch?But Flush saw nothing but an old beggar woman curled up beside a basket of melons on the corner.But Mrs. Browning evidently saw something; she evidently saw something very wonderful.As in Whymper Street, when once she burst into tears for no reason and he saw nothing; another time she held up a piece of paper that looked like a glyph and burst out laughing.But this time it was different; her expression frightened him.In this room, or in this table, in those hemlines and trouser legs, there was something he didn't like so much.

As the weeks passed, Mrs. Browning's penchant for seeing the invisible grew more and more serious.Instead of watching lizards crawling in and out of rocks on sunny, hot days, she sat down at the table; on starry nights, she stopped reading or writing with her hand across the paper If Mr. Browning wasn't home, she'd call Wilson, who was yawning, and they'd sit at the table until the furniture whose main purpose was really shade started kicking at the floor, and Mrs. Browning would tell Wilson Announced, the table was telling her she was about to get sick; Wilson replied that she was just sleepy.After a while, even Wilson, who was stern, stern, and very English, began screaming and looking like he was about to faint.Mrs. Browning followed, busy looking for "sanitary vinegar"!To Flush, this wasting a quiet evening was such a nuisance, if only everyone could just sit quietly and read!

No doubt these suspenseful moments, the vague smells, the kicking of tables, the sound of people screaming, and the smell of vinegar, were all on Flush's nerves.Flush could understand why Baby Bernini would pray "Please let Flush's hair grow back", but someone like that must be present with a foul smell and a pale face, and it is obviously a mahogany table. Antics in the way he prayed irritated him as much as his wise, strong, well-dressed master.But what was worse for Flush than any smell, any antic, was the look on Mrs. Browning's face whenever she looked out of the window as if she saw some wonder, when there was nothing outside.Flush was standing right in front of her, and her eyes pierced him as if he didn't exist.There was no expression more cruel than that—farther than her indifference and anger when he bit Mr Browning's leg, farther than her mocking laughter after his foot was caught in a car door in Regent's Park .Sometimes he did miss Whymper Street and the tables there, at least the table at No. 50 never stood on one leg, the little round table with an iron ring around it and her favorite decorations was always quiet Standing firm.In those long-gone days, he had only to jump on Miss Barrett's sofa and she would wake up and stare at him.And now, though he jumped on her sofa again, she ignored him and continued writing—"Meanwhile, at the request of the psychic, the elf took with her hands a string of garlands that had been placed on the table, and placed them on my On the head. The hand that does this is huge, white as snow, and beautiful. The distance between him and me is as close as the hand I am writing at this moment. I can see Quite clearly." Flush grabbed her hard, her eyes still piercing him as if he didn't exist.So he jumped off the sofa, rushed down the stairs, and ran out into the street.

It was a hot afternoon.The old beggar woman on the corner fell asleep on her melons, and the hot sun seemed to hum in the air, and Flush, like an old horse, clung to the market on the shady side of the street. past.The whole square is colorful, full of awnings, stalls and brightly colored parasols.Selling women sat beside baskets of fruit; pigeons flapped their wings, bells rang, and whips swished.All the colorful mutts of Florence were running in and out, sniffing and scratching.It was as noisy as a beehive, and as hot as a stove.Flush slipped into the shadows, and fell beside his old friend Catalina, lying in the shadow of her crate.A brown vase with alternating red and yellow flowers cast another shadow, and above it stood a statue with its right arm stretched forward, making the shadow a darker violet.Flush lay in this shady spot, watching the young dogs go about their business: grinning and biting at each other, stretching, and rolling on the ground with a youthful air.They chased each other, in sharp circles, the way he had chased the spotted spaniel down the alley.His thoughts went back to Reading for a moment—thinking of Mr. Patricky's spaniel, thinking of his first love, thinking of the ecstasy and innocence of youth.Well, he had been young too, so he wasn't jealous of the young dog he was enjoying.He feels that living in this world is a happy thing, and he has no complaints about this world.The vegetable woman scratched his ears; she used to scold him for stealing grapes or other mischievous things, but now he was old, and she was old too.He guarded the melons for her, and she scratched his ears.She knits her sweater, he naps in his; flies buzz around the pink melon flesh being cut open and on display.

The sun baked the leaves of the lilies and the great green and white parasols, giving off a delicious smell.The marble statue slowly warmed, turning the color of fresh champagne.Flush lay there, letting the sun bake his hair into his skin.When one side was cooked through, he turned around and continued to cook the other side.From the beginning to the end, the crowd in the market chattered non-stop, busy bargaining, and the women who bought vegetables came and went, stopping from time to time to pinch vegetables and fruits with their fingers.The sound of people coming and going, buzzing and lingering in the air, was just what Flush liked to hear.Before long he fell asleep in the shadow of the lilies.Like other dogs, he dreamed in his sleep and his legs began to twitch—did he dream that he was hunting rabbits in Spain?Was he sprinting up a hot hillside, seeing rabbits scurrying through the grass and hearing dark men shouting "Span! Span!"?Then he lay still for a while, and then gave a few little barks in rapid succession, perhaps hearing Dr. Mitford urging his soul.