Chapter 7 summer story

In August last summer, I spent in Cadenabia, a small place on the shore of Lake Como, where the white villas and the dark forest shaded each other, and the scenery was pleasant. On a lively spring day, Bellagio Travelers from Menaggio and Menaggio crowded the narrow lakeside, while the small town of Cadenabbia remained quiet and peaceful.During these weeks, it was immersed in the fragrance, the wind and the sun.The hotel was almost alone, with few guests, everyone was a little surprised that other people should choose such a remote place to spend the summer, and everyone was surprised to find that other people had not left every morning.What surprised me most was a refined, well-bred older gentleman.Outwardly, he was a type somewhere between a decent English statesman and a Parisian womanizer, and he didn't play any water sports to pass the time, but spent his days gazing thoughtfully at the edge of his cigarette. Smoke drifts in the air, or occasionally flips through a book.It had been raining for two days, and the loneliness was unbearable. In addition, he was easy-going and enthusiastic, so we became very close as soon as we met, and the difference in age was no longer an obstacle.In terms of origin, he is Lifunia, educated first in France and later in England, has never had a job, has no fixed place of residence for these years, and is a homeless person in the elegant sense, like And pirates who plunder beauties have accumulated many rare treasures from all over the world.He knows a little bit of all kinds of art, and his contempt for devotion to art far exceeds his love for art. He enjoys art for thousands of beautiful hours, but never spends an hour of hard work on creation. .His life seemed idle, because he was not bound by any group, and the wealth accumulated in his life from thousands of precious experiences would evaporate and disappear without a trace when he breathed his last breath.

One evening, after supper, we were sitting in front of the hotel, watching the bright Lake Como dim before our eyes, and I related these thoughts to him.He smiled and said: "Maybe you are not unreasonable, although I don't believe in memories: what has been experienced is over the moment it leaves us. Besides, poetry, twenty, fifty, or one hundred years later, it will not be the same. Have you? But today I'm going to tell you something that I believe would be good material for a novel. Come on! It's best to talk about it while walking." So we wandered along the pretty lakeside path, cast with shadows by old cypresses and straggly leafy chestnuts, whose branches were profiled in the lake, which shimmered uncomfortably.On the other side of the lake Bellagio was white like floating clouds, tinged with soft brilliance by the setting sun, and on the high, dark hill the top of the walls of the Villa Sebeni was painted. With the afterglow of the setting sun like a diamond, it shines brightly.The weather is a bit sultry, but it doesn't make people feel suffocated. The warm air is like a woman's gentle arms, nestling tenderly on the tree shadow, and her breath is full of the fragrance of invisible flowers.

He began: "A confession to begin with. I have been here last year, in Kadnabia, at the same time, at the same hotel, and I have not told you. I told you , I am not a person who likes to repeat my life, so you will be even more surprised that I came to this hotel again this year. But listen! It was as lonely as this time, of course. The gentleman from Milan was here last year too, he caught fish all day, released the fish at night, and caught it again in the morning. And last year there were two old English ladies whose obscure lives hardly attracted any attention. In addition, there is a handsome young man with a lovely pale girl, I still do not believe she is his wife, because the two of them seem too close. Finally, there is a family of Germans, which is typical An older woman from northern Germany, with blond hair, awkward bones, clumsy and ugly movements, her eyes are like steel rods, aggressive, her quarrelsome mouth is like a knife cut, Very sharp. She was accompanied by a sister of hers, which I would never mistake, for they were exactly the same in features, except that the sister's was stretched out, and her floppy face was covered with lines. The two sisters They were together all day long, but never talked, knitting all the time, weaving their empty thoughts, as if they were ruthlessly weaving this boring and narrow world. Between them sat a young girl, about ten years old. Six years old, she is the daughter of one of the two of them, I don't know who her mother is. Her cheeks are immature, but they have shown a little feminine roundness. She is not good-looking, her figure is too slender, She was immature, and of course her dress was rustic, but there was something moving in her vacant air. Her eyes were large and filled with a dim light, but her eyes always eluded others' in bewilderment. She blinked to hide the light of her eyes. She was always knitting, but her hands often moved very slowly, stopping her fingers from time to time, and she sat there quietly, dreaming I don't know why, but at the sight of this, something held me in such a strange way. Was it the sight of the withered mother and her youthful glow? The vulgar but unavoidable daydream that arises when seeing the shadow behind her body is the thought that wrinkles have quietly crept up on every face, fatigue is quietly revealed in laughter, and the dream has quietly hidden in the dream. Is the melancholy of disappointment, or the wild, sudden, aimless longing that is everywhere in girls, the unique and wonderful moment in their lives? At this moment, their eyes Looking eagerly at the universe, for they have not yet attained that which is unique, nothing to cling to, to cling to for life, as algae cling to a log that floats on water. Watch the girl, watch Her dreamy, wet gaze, watching her gestures of fervent and intense caressing every cat and dog , watching her do this, do that, but she can't do anything with a disturbed expression, my heart is full of indescribable excitement.Then there's the way she frantically browses the few not-so-good-for-nothing books in the hotel library at night, or flips through the two battered volumes of Goethe and Baumbach that she brings with her... Why are you laughing? "

I apologize to him: "Goethe and Baumbach together." "Oh, yes! It's ridiculous, of course. But it's not ridiculous. You can believe that young girls at this age, whether they read good poetry or crooked poetry, innocent poetry or deceitful poetry, they They don't care. To them, poetry is just a cup to quench their thirst. They don't pay attention to the wine itself. Filling the glass made her eyes shine too, trembling her fingertips on the table, walking with a strange, clumsy gait, but light, with an air of gallop and fear. See At first she longed to talk to someone, to tell all that filled her breast. But there was no one here, only loneliness, only the monotonous sound of knitting needles clinking left and right, only the cold, suspicious eyes of these two women. A feeling of infinite sympathy My heart was drawn to me, but I couldn't get close to her because, firstly, an elderly person was unattractive to girls at the moment; Associating with older housewives excluded me from any possibility of approaching the girl. So I tried a strange thing. I thought: This young girl has not yet begun to live independently, I don’t have much experience, it’s probably the first time I’ve been to Italy—in Germany, Italy is regarded as the country of romantic love, the country of those Romeos, there, they are talking about love behind their backs, and there are fans falling on the ground, cold light Glittering daggers, masks, maidens of honor, and tender letters. That is due to the influence of the Englishman Shakespeare, although Shakespeare himself has never been to Italy. She must be having a romantic dream, but who What do you know about girls' dreams? These dreams are like floating white clouds, floating aimlessly in the blue sky. These clouds-like dreams are always dyed with fiery colors at dusk, first purple, and then burn into fiery red. She felt that anything could happen here without surprising her, so I decided to make up a mysterious couple for her.

"That night I wrote a long, lingering letter, both humble and respectful, with many strange hints, and the letter was not signed. There were no demands or promises in the letter, and it was both passionate and reserved. In a word, it was like a romantic love letter copied from a poetry book. I knew that she was always the first to go to breakfast every day because of the agitation of her heart, so I folded this letter in the napkin. Arrived The next morning I observed her from the garden: she was startled and amazed, her pale cheeks flushed to the neck, she looked around in bewilderment, and her whole body trembled , hid the letter with a thief-like motion, then sat restless and agitated, and went out, almost untouched earlier, to the shaded, seldom-frequented little On the way, I went to ponder this mysterious letter... What do you want to say?"

Just now I made an action subconsciously, so I have to explain it. "I think it's presumptuous. Didn't it occur to you that she might inquire or—that's the easiest thing—ask the waiter why there was a letter in the napkin? Or that she wouldn't give it to her mother? ?” "Of course I thought about it. But if you've seen this girl, this timid and lovely creature, who looks around timidly when she speaks a little louder, you'll have no scruples. Yes. Girls are shy and you can be bold with them because they are helpless and would rather be dumb than tell anyone. I smiled and looked at her from behind, secretly glad that the joke I made was a success. At this time she Back again, and suddenly I felt the blood thumping in my temples: the girl had changed completely, and her steps had changed. She came disconcerted, restless, flushed, a sweet embarrassment Makes her look clumsy. She does that all day long. Her eyes go out to every window, as if there to catch the secret. Her eyes circle around every passerby, once It fell on me too, and I avoided it so carefully that my eyes wouldn't give me away in the blink of an eye, but in that fleeting moment I felt her question like a fire, which surprised me, and I felt it again after so many years. , throwing the first spark in a girl's eye is more dangerous, more seductive, more ruinous than any joke. I saw her afterwards sitting between two German ladies, knitting listlessly with her fingers. I was doing my knitting, and sometimes I had a quick touch on the clothes, and I was sure that the letter must be hidden there. This game attracted me. I wrote her a second letter that night, and wrote her for several days after that. Letter: In these letters of mine, to experience the feelings of a young man in a burning love, and to fabricate a love that is burning hotter and hotter, this has become a strange and exciting magical force that attracts me, and it has become a source of inspiration for me. Fascination, like the drive with which the hunter lays his snares or lures the beast to his muzzle.

"The results I have achieved are indescribable, almost terrible, and if the game had not fascinated me so much, I would have stopped. Her steps became lithe and chaotic, as if she were dancing, and her face was slightly feverish. , showing a strange beauty, she must not be able to sleep at night, looking forward to the love letter in the morning, because early in the morning her eyes were darkened, and there was a fire in her eyes. She began to pay attention to her grooming, hair There are flowers on her head, her hands are stroking everything with great tenderness, and there is always a question in her eyes, because from the thousands of trivial things in life mentioned in these letters, she feels The letter writer must be near her, like ethereal spirits, playing music, floating around her, spying on her most secret activities, but not wanting to be seen. She looks so happy, This change was not escaped even by the dull ladies, who sometimes gazed with kindly curiosity at her hurrying figure and flowery cheeks, and then looked at her with a faint smile. Her voice became melodious, loud and crisp and bold, and her throat often quivered and swelled a little, as if she were about to sing with a raised vibrato suddenly, as if... But you're laughing again! "

"No, no, please go on. I think you've told it very well, you've got—forgive me—a genius, and you can tell it as well as our novelists. " "Of course you're speaking politely and gently. I'm speaking like you German novelists, that is, overly lyrical, overly sentimental, sentimental, and dull. Well, I'll be brief now! The puppets are dancing. , and I hold the thread in my hand, already confident. In order to deflect any doubts she might have about me—because sometimes I feel that her eyes are fixed on mine—I let her feel that maybe the writer of the letter Not here, but in a health resort nearby, and came across the lake every day in a small boat or motorboat. After that, whenever the bell rang when an approaching boat docked, I saw her make an excuse to get rid of her mother Guardian, rushed out, held his breath at the corner of the pier, and looked at everyone who came.

"Once—it was a gloomy afternoon, and it was a wonderful thing to observe her—a strange thing happened. Among the passengers was a handsome young man, dressed in the fine attire of Italian youth, who He glanced at this place with searching eyes. At this time, the girl's hopelessly searching, inquiring, and thirsty eyes caught his attention. The girl smiled softly, and a shy blush immediately appeared on her face. The young man She was stunned and noticed—it is easy to understand why a person wants to meet such a warm and meaningful gaze from others—and walked towards her with a smile. The girl fled away, deciding in her heart, This is the person she has been looking for for a long time. She ran forward again, but looked back, this is the eternal game of being willing and afraid, eager and ashamed, in which the girl is still willing Let him catch up. Although he felt a little surprised, he was obviously encouraged, so he chased after her, and when he was about to catch up with her, I was startled, thinking that this was going to be a mess—then The two ladies were coming along. The girl rushed towards them like a frightened bird, and the young man drew back cautiously, but they looked back at each other again, sucking each other's eyes passionately. This incident first reminded me that it was time to end the game, but the temptation was so strong that I decided to take advantage of the coincidence as I wished and wrote her a particularly long letter that night to confirm her speculation Now I have a strong temptation to play with two people at the same time.

"The next morning I was struck by a trembling bewilderment over the girl's face. Her rippling beauty was gone, and there was a look of sullenness on her face that I could not understand, and her eyes Crying red, with tears in her eyes, it was evident that she was in deep pain. Her silence seemed to be yearning for a burst of screaming, and a melancholy cloud was gathering on her brow, and there was a melancholy and bitter look in her eyes. Desperate, but this time I was looking forward to seeing her happy. I was a little timid. The first time something never happened, the puppet didn't listen to me. I asked her to dance like this, but she Dance like that. I've been thinking hard and can't think of a way. I'm starting to get scared of my game. In order to avoid that sad complaint in her eyes, I didn't go back to the hotel before dark. Wait until I come back After that, everything became clear. The dining table was empty, and the family was gone. She had to leave without being able to say a word to her. At this moment, her heart was deeply haunted by that one and only day. Haunted that precious moment, but she couldn't tell her loved ones: she was dragged from a sweet dream to a mean little town. I've forgotten about it, but I now And felt her last, complaining gaze, felt what I had thrown into her life—who knows how deeply wounded her heart was—anger, torment, despair, and the bitterest pain What a terrifying power it has."

He fell silent.As we walked, the night grew darker.The moon, hidden by clouds, gave off a strange, trembling brilliance.The middle of the bushes seems to be full of moonlight and stars, and the surface of the lake is pale.Without saying a word, we continued on our way.Later, my companion who was traveling finally broke the silence. "That's the story. Is it a novel?" "I don't know, but I'm going to keep this story in my heart with the others anyway, and I thank you for telling it to me. A novel? Perhaps it's a beautiful prologue that will captivate me. Because These few people are still erratic, they have not fully grasped themselves, their fate has just begun, and it is not fate itself, it is better to write this beginning to the end." "I understand what you mean. You mean the terrible tragedy of this young girl's life, her return to the small town..." "No, not quite that. What happened to this girl didn't interest me. Young women, no matter how eccentric they think they are, are uninteresting because their experiences are all negative, so they are too similar. We The girl in question will marry an honest man as soon as the time comes, and the affair here will always be the most beautiful page in her memory. I am not interested in the future of this girl." "It's very strange. I don't know what you can find in that young man. That look, like a burst of fire spurted out for a while, is something that everyone catches when they are young, but most of them People don't notice it at all, and some people forget it very quickly. Only when you are old will you understand that this is precisely the most precious and deepest thing that can be obtained, the sacred privilege of youth." "I'm not interested in that young man at all..." "Rather?" "I should like to work on the older gentleman, the letter-writer, and finish him off. I think that no matter how old a man is, if he writes such a fiery letter, Falling in love in a dream, he will never go unpunished, never be indifferent. I would like to write how things are faked, how he thinks he has the game, but in fact he does not. The game had mastered him. He mistook the girl's budding beauty for what he saw only as an observer, but in reality it fascinated and gripped him. Suddenly, it was all out of his hands slipped off, and at that moment he felt a great longing for the game and the toy. What attracted me was the flipping of love, making an old man's passion the same as a boy's. More or less, because neither party has fully felt this point. I want to make the old man worry and look forward to. I want to make him restless, let him follow her to see her, but the last moment makes him Not daring to approach her, I want him to come back to where he was, with the hope of seeing her again, with the hope that the gods will help him create a chance encounter, which turned out to be very cruel. I My novel wants to be conceived along this line, and later the novel will be..." "Liar, nonsense, impossible!" I looked up in shock, and he cut me off in a stiff, hoarse, trembling, menacing voice.I've never seen him so excited.In a flash, I felt that I accidentally touched his sore spot just now.He stopped in a hurry, making me very embarrassed, and I saw his white hair shining. I want to change the subject right now.But he was talking again, and now his voice was calm, kind, deep, soft, with a touch of sadness, which made it beautiful. "Perhaps you are right. It is indeed interesting. I remember that Balzac called one of his most moving stories, and many stories could be written on this title. But those who are most familiar with its secrets Old people, they only want to talk about their successes, not their weaknesses. Some things are just like a pendulum that keeps swinging, but they are afraid, and they are ridiculous in these things. Do you really believe that Casanova Is it an accident that the memoirs happen to 'lose' the chapters that write about his old age? By then the rooster has become the cuckolded turtle and the liar has become the dupe. Maybe he felt his hands were too heavy and his heart too narrow .” He held out his hand to me.Then his voice became cold, calm, and unagitated again. "Good night! I think it is very dangerous to tell young people stories on summer nights. It will easily lead them to have many stupid thoughts and all kinds of unnecessary dreams. Good night!" He walked nimbly, but The steps that have become slow due to the relationship of age go back to the darkness.It was very late, usually, on a soft and warm night like this, the sleepiness would have hit me long ago, but today, the sleepiness was dispelled by the excitement churning in the blood.This kind of excitement often occurs when a person encounters a strange event, or experiences other people's events as if they were his own.So I walked along the silent and dark road to Villa Carlotta.I sat down on the cool stone steps leading from the villa to the lake below.Night, what a wonderful night!The lights of Bellagio, which used to flicker like fireflies in the nearby woods, now flicker over the water, far away.Slowly, one by one, the lights went out, and the earth was shrouded in a heavy darkness.Lake Como lay silent, as clean as a black gem, but flickering with confused fire.The fine waves gently hit the stone steps up and down, like white and tender hands lightly pressing the shiny keys.The sky in the distance seemed high and boundless, and thousands of stars were twinkling in the sky.They blinked, quiet and silent, except that now and then a star would suddenly leave its diamond-like confines and plunge into the summer night sky, into darkness, into ravines, valleys, hills or distant places. In the water, unknowingly thrown out by blind force, like a life being thrown into the abyss of inexplicable fate.

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