Chapter 62 Chapter 58: Going to the Country

A long, dark night looms over me, and lingering are many hopes, many precious memories, many misplaced or useless sorrows and regrets, and their shadows walk with the night. I left the UK.Until then, I didn't know the magnitude of the blow I was going to endure.I left all dear ones and went.I thought I had taken the blow, that the blow was over.As a man badly wounded in battle is unaware of his wounds, so I walked away alone with my uncultivated heart, unaware of the wounds it had to bear. I didn't realize it quickly, but realized it bit by bit.When I went abroad, the feeling of loneliness I harbored deepened and widened.At first, I just thought it was the grief and grief of losing a loved one, and I couldn't tell anything else.Before I knew it, it became about everything I had lost—love, friendship, interest; about everything that had been destroyed—my earliest trust, my earliest passion, all the ideals and pursuits of my life; It has to do with everything that remains—a feeling of hopelessness, a sense of hopelessness, a sense of desolation and ruins after a catastrophe.

Even if my grief was selfish, I didn't know it was.I mourn for my baby wife who was taken forever from her wonderful world at such a young age.I mourn for him who could have commanded the admiration and admiration of millions as he has commanded me so long ago.I mourn for the broken heart that has finally found rest in the raging sea.I also grieve for the vagrant widows of that simple, honest home where I used to hear the sea breeze as a child. At last, I see no gleam of hope out of all the sorrows I'm in.I travel far and wide with my grief.Then I felt its full weight, and I was bent over it, and I thought it would never lighten.

When this despair reached its peak, I thought I was going to die.Sometimes, I feel that I would rather die in my hometown; I also really turn around and walk back, wanting to get home as soon as possible.But at other times I'm walking from city to city looking for something I don't know and wanting to throw away something I don't know either. I cannot recount all the sufferings I have suffered mentally.When I forced myself to look back at it all, it was like looking back at a dream, many of which can only be described in fragments.I see myself walking, like a dreamer, among strange things, foreign cities, palaces, churches, monasteries, paintings, castles, cemeteries, strange streets; where, still carrying the burden of my pain, feeling nothing at all that was disappearing before my eyes.My heart is haggard, Conceived only of sorrow; That is the night that falls upon my uncultivated heart.Let me look up from it and its long, miserable dreams to see the dawn--thank God I did at last!

For many months I traveled mentally under this darkening cloud.I have thought of many inexplicable reasons for preventing me from going home and staying away--I can't explain them.Sometimes, I wander from one place to another with a disturbed mind, without stopping at all; sometimes, I live in one place for a long time.No matter where I am, I have no purpose in my heart, just like a shell without a soul. I came to Switzerland.I came out of Italy by one of those valley passes in the Alps, and walked with a guide up and down the paths among the great mountains.Even if that terrible silence had spoken to my soul, I felt it not.From the steep peaks and crags, from the roaring torrents and the wild wastelands under the snow, I found the sublime and the magical; but they taught me only so.

One evening I went down a valley just before sunset, to rest there.When I went down the winding path at the foot of the mountain, I saw the valley shining in the distance; at this time, I felt a long-lost feeling of beauty and tranquility, and a tenderness awakened by this tranquility was faintly in my heart rising.I remember stopping once with a sadness that wasn't entirely distressing nor entirely disappointing.I remember, at the time, I almost wished that something would change for the better inside of me. I stepped into the valley when the setting sun surrounded the mountains like clouds that hang forever around the distant peaks around the valley.The hamlet was formed by the foothills that descended into the valley, green and green; above the soft grass, black fir bushes stuck out like wedges from the snow-drifts and held back the falling snow.And above that came a row of cliffs higher than a row, gray stone, shiny ice, and patches of green pastures, all melting into the snow on the summit.The sparse wooden houses on the hillside look lonely, and each dot is a family, which contrasts with the huge peaks above, they are so small that they seem to be worse than toys.The same is true of the densely populated villages in the valley.Where the village stands there is a brook, which rolls over straggly stones, and runs away noisily among the trees.There is a small bridge across the stream in the village.In that quiet air, there was a distant singing, the singing of the shepherds; but when a brilliant sunset drifted over the mountainside, I almost thought that the music came from the clouds, not from the world. sound.Nature suddenly spoke to me in this silence; it comforted me, and I threw my weary head on the grass, and wept--for the first time since Dora was gone.

Before dinner, I saw a packet of letters that had arrived a few minutes before, so I walked out of the village before dinner was ready, in order to read the letters there.I haven't received a letter for a long, long time, nor have I received any mail.And after I left home, I never lost my temper or had the determination to write letters. I only wrote one or two short lines reporting safety and whereabouts. I picked up this pack.I open it.It was Agnes's handwriting. She's happy, she's useful, and things are going as she wants them to.She said so when she told me all about herself.Everything else is about me.

She gave me no counsel; she imposed no obligation upon me; she only told me, with her own earnestness, how she believed in me.She knew (she said) that a character like mine must benefit from suffering.She knew that suffering and feeling would make me stronger and stronger.She was quite sure that, because of what I had gone through, I would have a firmer and nobler pursuit of every ideal.Well, she who is proud of my reputation, who looks forward to my growing reputation, knows for sure that I will continue to work hard.She knew that sorrow in my heart is not weakness, but strength.As what I endured in childhood has made me what I was then, so greater sorrows will encourage me to go on and make me more perfect than I was then, so I will teach others as these pains taught me.She entrusts me to God who has taken my true love; she loves me forever with the sincerity of a sister, her spirit is with me wherever I go, she is proud of what I have achieved, she I will be extremely proud of my future achievements.

Putting our letter in my breast pocket and remembering how I was an hour ago!Although I hear all the voices are fading, although I see the quiet sunset darken, all the colors in the valley are dimmed, and the golden snow on the top of the mountain and the gray sky become a distant piece, I still feel my heart The night is passing, and all its darkness is becoming light.There are no nouns that can express my love for her.Since then, she has been even more lovely to me. I read her letter many times.I write to her before bedtime.I told her that I've always needed her help so badly; that without her, I couldn't be (at all) what she imagined me to be; and since she encouraged me to be that person, I must try to be that way .

I really tried my best to do that.In three months, I will have passed a year in mourning.I made up my mind that I wouldn't make any decisions until those three months had passed.During those three full months I lived in that valley and in places near it. Three months passed and I decided to spend some more time abroad.I stayed in Switzerland as a sojourn; because just thinking about that night made me love that place more and more, and tried to get back to work with my pen. I have the utmost humility and confidence in the guidance Agnes gave me.I searched for nature, and my search was not in vain; when I lived there, I was once bored with everything about human beings and wanted to escape, and now I was interested again.Before long I had almost as many friends in the valley as I had in Yarmouth.When I left for Geneva before the winter and came back in the spring, I felt that although they did not speak English, their sincere greetings were as sweet to my ears as a local accent.

I work from morning till night, enduring, trying, and working.I wrote with the intention of making a novel of my own experience, and when finished I sent it to Traddles, who managed to publish it on my very favorable terms; and from travelers I happened to meet, I heard My reputation has grown even stronger.After some rest and adjustment, I wrote out a new idea that occupied my mind with my usual enthusiasm.The more I progressed in this work, the more I felt that it was in my favor, so I mustered all my energy and devoted myself to writing it.This is my third novel.I haven't written half of the novel, and when I take a break at a certain time, I suddenly feel like returning home.

Although I studied and worked hard for a long time, I also developed the habit of vigorous exercise, so that I left England fully recovered from my weakened body.I have been to many countries and seen many new things, and I hope my accumulation of knowledge has also increased. With regard to this period abroad, I have recalled everything I thought I should write down here—with one exception, which I have not written down without trying to hide my thoughts; for, as I As has been said elsewhere, this story is my memoir.I wish to be able to write down my most intimate thoughts till the end.Now, I will write it. I can't understand the secrets of my own heart very clearly, so I think, if I want to say when I had that bright hope, I should attribute its earliest appearance to Agnes.I cannot tell when, after my grief, it began to occur to me that in my rash youth I had deserted her precious love.I believe, perhaps in the old days, when I felt the pain of losing or wanting something that I couldn't really understand what it was, I heard the whisper of that distant thought.And the thought came to me with a new reproach and a new regret when I was left so sad and alone in this world. If I had had more opportunities to be with her at that time, I would have let it out because of my weakness and loneliness.When I had no choice but to leave the UK, I was a little afraid of this.I can't bear to lose any more of her sisterly affection; once my thoughts are revealed, there will be a tension between us that has never existed before. I cannot forget that I have now viewed and cultivated the feeling for her with my own thoughts.If she had loved me with another love—I sometimes think she had a chance of doing that—I had thrown that away too.Now, this love is no more.When we were both kids, I was used to thinking that she was very distant from my wild ideas.I have directed my enthusiasm to other objects.I did not do what I might have done; it was my noble heart and her own that made Agnes that in me. When that gradual change began within me, when I wanted to know myself better and be a better person, I also did see, by some vague confirmation, that there was one thing I could have hoped not to be. At the wrong time, I could have the honor of marrying her.But, with the passage of time, this hazy foreground fades away; it does not reappear.If she had loved me then, I need only think of my confidence in her, her knowledge of my restless heart, the sacrifices she had to make to be my friend and sister, and the successes she had achieved, I You should only see her more holy.If she never loved me, can I believe she will love me now? I used to feel myself weak compared to her perseverance and patience; now I feel even more so.No matter what she thinks of me, or what I think of her, even though I might have been a match for her a long time ago, I'm not what I used to be, and neither is she.The time has passed, I missed the time, and I deserved to lose her. In these retrospective reflections, I feel pain.It is true that these reflections have made me bitter and remorseful; but I still feel soberly that since I have rashly betrayed the lovely girl while hope was still alive, I should be ashamed to know when hope is gone. It is also true that I no longer linger on thinking about her ashamedly—every time I think of her, I think so.By this time, I was no longer desperately trying to deceive myself.I love her, I adore her; but I also know that it is too late; there will be no change in our long relationship. I used to think of Dora speaking vaguely to me of things that might have happened in those days that were not meant to be our troubles.I have wondered why we feel that things that never happened are as real as things that are finished.The days of my punishment that she spoke of are now true, and even if we had parted in the earliest days of ridiculous behavior, my punishment days would have been real days, only started a little later.I want to turn the possible relationship between me and Agnes into a means of making me more self-denial, more determined, and more aware of myself and my shortcomings and mistakes, so that by understanding the possible relationship Reflecting on the relationship, I think that relationship will never be possible again. From the time I left home to the time I returned home, there were three full years, during which all the contradictions and confusions mentioned above were always lingering and ups and downs in my thoughts.Three years have passed since the immigrant ship set sail.And at the same moment of that sunset, and in that same place, I stood on the deck of the cruise ship that was taking me home, looking at the rose-colored water—the same place I was watching the reflection of the immigrant ship place. 3 years is a long time to calculate, but it goes by in a flash.Homeland is lovely to me, and Agnes is lovely--but she is not mine--she will never be mine.She could have been mine, but that's all in the past.