Chapter 27 Chapter 27 In the Garden

Since the beginning of the world, wonderful things have been discovered in each century.More amazing things were discovered in the last century than in any previous century.In this century, hundreds of thousands more shocking things will be revealed.At first people refused to believe that a strange new thing could be done, then they started hoping it could be done, then they saw it could be done - and then it was done, and the whole world wondered why it wasn't done centuries ago.One of the things people started to discover last time was that thoughts—just thoughts themselves—are as powerful as batteries—good as sunlight, or as bad as poison.Letting a sad or malicious thought into your mind is as dangerous as letting a scarlet fever germ into your body.If you let it stay after it has entered you, you may never be healed as long as you live.

As long as Miss Mary's mind is full of bad thoughts, and she hates other people's sour thoughts, and is determined not to let anything please her, interest her, she is a sallow, sick, weary, Unlucky boy.However, Jing Si is very kind to her, even though she doesn't realize it.She started being pushed around, for her own good.As her heart gradually filled with robins, the farmhouse on the moor full of children, the queer old gardener, the easy-going little Yorkshire maid, the spring and the The secret garden, filled with a wilderness boy and his "creatures," left no room for the bad thoughts that affected her liver and digestion and left her yellow and tired.

As long as Colin shuts himself in his room and thinks only of his fear, his weakness, and his loathing for those who look at him, thinking of swollen lumps and premature death for hours, he is a hysterical, half-mad little paranoid , didn't know what sunshine and spring were, and didn't know that if he tried hard, he could get better and stand on his own.As beautiful new thoughts began to push away ugly old ones, life began to come back to him, his blood flowed healthily through his veins, and power flooded into him.His scientific experiments are simple and practical, and there is nothing surprising about them.More startling new changes will happen to anyone, if an unpleasant or discouraging thought comes to his mind, it is reasonable to remember to put in a harmonious, firm and courageous thought in time to push it away.Two thoughts cannot be in the same room.

Where did you plant a rose, my child, Thistles will not grow. When the secret garden came to life, and the two children came to life with everything, there was a man wandering somewhere far and beautiful, in the fjords and deep valleys of Norway, in the mountains of Switzerland, and this man filled his heart with A decade of heartbreaking dark thoughts.He had never been brave, never tried to replace dark thoughts with other thoughts.He had wandered by the blue lakes and thought of them; he had been lying on the mountainside surrounded by deep blue gentians blooming like a carpet, filling the air with their scent, and he had thought of them.When he had once been happy, a terrible sorrow fell upon him, and he filled his soul with darkness ever since, obstinately refusing to let even a ray of sunlight penetrate.He has neglected his home and forgotten his responsibilities.As he traveled about, darkness fell upon him, and seeing him was a bad thing to everyone else, for he seemed to poison the air around him with gloom.Most strangers thought he was either half mad or had some hidden crime in his soul.He was a tall man with a twisted face and hunched shoulders, and his name always entered when he checked in at the hotel: "Archibald Craven, Misselwest Manor, Yorkshire, England."

Ever since he met Miss Mary in his study and told her that she could have "a bit of earth" of hers, he had traveled far and wide.He had been to the most beautiful places in Europe, but he could not stay anywhere for more than a few days.He chooses the most peaceful and remote places.He was on the top of the mountains, the peaks reached the clouds, he looked down on the mountains, and when the sun rose, they were dyed with light, as if the whole world was being born. Yet the brilliance never seemed to catch him, until one day, when for the first time in ten years he realized that something strange was happening.He was in a beautiful valley in Tirou, Austria, and he walked alone through such beauty that beauty could lift any soul out of the shadows.He had come a long way, and the beauty hadn't lifted his spirits.But at last he was tired, and sat down on the moss-like moss by the stream to rest.It was a clear little stream, running merrily in its narrow channel, through fragrant, moist greens.Sometimes it bubbled over and around stones, making a sound that sounded like a low laugh.He saw birds come and dip their heads in the stream to drink, and flew away with flicks of their wings.The stream is like a living thing, yet the small sound makes the stillness deeper.The valley is very, very quiet.

When Archibald Craven stared at the clear flowing water, he gradually felt as quiet as a valley.He wondered if he was going to fall asleep, but he didn't.As he sat staring at the sunlit water, his eyes began to see the edges of things growing.A fine forget-me-not grew close to the stream with wet leaves, and he was surprised to find himself looking at the flowers, as he remembered looking at such things years ago.He actually thought tenderly how lovely this is, what a marvelous sight the blue color of these thousands of little flowers is.He didn't know that a simple thought was slowly pouring into his mind - pouring, pouring, until something else was gently pushed aside.It was as if sweet and fresh spring had begun to rise from a pool of stagnant water, rising, rising, until at last the black water was swept away.But of course he hadn't thought of that himself.He only knew that as he sat and stared at the vivid and delicate blue, the valley seemed to be getting quieter and quieter.He didn't know how long he sat there, what happened to him, but the last time he moved, as if waking up, he rose slowly, stood on the moss carpet, took a deep, long, soft breath, felt I am strange.It was as if something had untied inside him, relaxed, soundlessly.

"What's this?" he said, almost in a whisper, and passed his hand to his forehead. "I literally feel—come to life." How wonderful the unknown is, I don't know enough to explain how it happened.Others don't know yet.He didn't understand it himself - yet he remembered the strange hour for months afterwards, and when he returned to Misselwest Manor he discovered by sheer chance that on that very day Colin had entered the Secret Garden when calling out: "I want to live forever forever forever!" This strange calm remained in him all night, and his sleep was new and peaceful, but it did not last long.What he didn't know was that the calm could last.By the next night he had opened the door to his dark thoughts, and they rushed back in file.He left the valley and continued his wandering path.Yet, to his surprise, for a few minutes—sometimes half an hour—he didn't know why, the dark burden seemed to lift itself up again, and he knew he was alive, not dead.Slowly—slowly—for reasons unknown to him—he was "coming alive" with that garden.

When the golden summer turned into deep golden autumn, he went to Koumu Lake⑤.There he found a lovely dream.He might sleep during the day on the crystal-blue lake, or walk back into the soft, dense green of the hillside until he was tired.But by this time he had begun to sleep better, and he knew that his dream was no longer a fear. "Perhaps," he thought, "my body is getting stronger." Stronger, but—for those rare moments of peace, when his mind changed—his soul was slowly growing stronger, too.He began to think of Misselwest, and wondered whether he should go home.Sometimes, he thought vaguely of his son, and asked himself, when he went back and stood again on the edge of the carved four-poster bed, looking down upon the sharp, sharp, ivory-white sleeping face, with black lashes startlingly framed in the tightly closed around the eyes.He flinched.

One day, miraculously, he went far away, and when he came back the moon was full and high, and the whole world was purple shadows and silver.The tranquility of the lake, the shore, and the woods was so wonderful that he did not return to the villa where he lived.He made his way to a little vine-shaded patio by the water's edge, sat down on a seat, and inhaled the heavenly aromas of all nights.He felt that strange calm creep over him, deepening until he fell asleep. He didn't know when he fell asleep and when he started dreaming; his dreams were so real that he didn't think he was dreaming.He later remembered that he thought he was very wide awake, very alert.He thought he was sitting there smelling the scent of late roses, listening to the water lapping at his feet, when a voice called.The voice is sweet, clear, happy, and distant.It sounded far away, but he heard it clearly, as if he was right beside him.

"Archie! Archie! Archie!" said the voice, and began again, sweeter and clearer, "Archie! Archie!" He remembered jumping up, not even surprised.The voice was so real, as if naturally he should hear it. "Lillian! Lillian!" he replied. "Lillian! Where are you?" "In the garden," came the voice back, like a golden flute, "in the garden!" Then the dream is over.But he didn't wake up.He slept deeply and sweetly, and slept through a good night.When he did wake up, the morning was bright, and a servant stood there staring at him.He was an Italian servant, accustomed, like the rest of the villa's servants, to accept any oddity from his foreign master without asking questions.It was not known when he would go out or come back, where he would sleep, or wander about in the garden, or lie all night in a boat on the lake.The man was holding a tray with some letters on it, and he waited silently until Mr. Craven picked it up.After he had gone, Mr. Craven sat for a while with the letter in his hand, looking at the lake.A strange calm still hung over him, and—a relief, as if the cruel things that had happened had not happened—as if something had changed.He was recalling the dream—the real—the real dream.

"In the garden!" he said, wondering, "in the garden! But the door is locked, and the key is buried deep." After a few minutes he glanced at the letters and saw that the top one was in English, from Yorkshire.The addressee and address were written in a plain hand, but not one he knew.When he opened the letter, he almost didn't want to write it to anyone, but the first line caught his attention. Dear Sir: I'm Susan Sowerby, and I took the liberty of speaking to you once in the moor.That time I was talking about Miss Mary.I'm going to take the liberty of speaking again.Please, sir, if I were you, I would come home.I think you'd be glad to come back, and--if you'll forgive me, sir--I think your lady will want you back, if she's still around. Your faithful servant Susan Sowerby Mr. Craven read the letter twice before putting it back in the envelope.He couldn't stop thinking about that dream. "I'm going back to Misselwest," said he, "yes, I'm going at once." He walked across the garden to the villa and ordered Pitcher to make preparations for his return to England. A few days later he was back in England, and on the long train journey he found himself thinking of his son in a way he hadn't thought of him in the past ten years.During those years he wished only to forget him.Now, even though he wasn't thinking about him specifically, memories of him kept coming back.He remembered those dark days when he ran around like a madman because the child lived and the mother died.He had refused to see him once, and when he finally did, he was such a weak, poor little thing that everyone was sure he wouldn't live a few days.Yet to the astonishment of his caretakers, he survived, and everyone then believed he would grow into a misshapen, crippled monster. He wasn't trying to be a bad father, but he never felt like one.He had provided doctors and nurses and luxuries, but he cringed at the thought of the child and buried himself in his own misery.Returning for the first time after leaving Misselwest Manor a year ago, the miserable-looking little thing raised languidly and indifferently his large gray eyes with black lashes, so like the happy eyes he had once admired. , and appallingly dissimilar, he couldn't bear to look at them, and turned away, his face ashen.After that, he rarely saw him, unless he was sleeping, knowing only that he was unmistakably disabled, cranky, hysterical, half mad.The only way to keep him from dangerous rages was to have every detail go his way. None of these memories are refreshing, but as the train winds him through mountain roads and golden plains, the man who is "coming alive" begins to think in a new way, thinking long, hard, Very sober, very deep. "Maybe I was wrong for ten years," he said to himself. "Ten years is a long time. I'm afraid it's too late—too late. What have I been thinking all these years!" Of course, that's the wrong magic - saying "too late" in the first place.Even Colin could tell him.But he doesn't know magic at all - black or white.He still has to learn this.He wondered if Susan Sowerby had taken the courage to write to him only because the mother realized that the boy was sicker--dying.He would perhaps be more miserable now than ever, had he not been enchanted and possessed by that mysterious calming spell.And then a sense of courage and hope that comes with that calm.Instead of succumbing to the worst, he was surprised to find himself trying to believe in something better. "Could she see that I might be able to do him good, to control him?" he thought. "I'm going to see her on the way to Misselwest." However, on the way across the moor, when he stopped the carriage in front of the farmhouse, seven or eight children who were playing around gathered together, made seven or eight friendly and polite curtseys, and told him that their mother was leaving early in the morning. across the field to help a woman who had just given birth. "Our Dickon," they offered, "has gone to the estate, and worked in one of the gardens there, a few days a week." Mr. Craven looked at the group of compact little bodies and round red faces under his feet, each with its own characteristic grin, and he was surprised that they were all similarly healthy.He smiled into their toothy grins, took a gold coin from his pocket, and handed it to the oldest, "Our Elizabeth Ellen." "If you divide it into eight parts, each of you has half a silver piece," he said. Then, surrounded by grins, giggles and brisk curtsies, he drove away, leaving ecstasy, nudging elbows and happy little bouncings in his wake. Driving through the beautiful wilderness is a wonderful thing.Why does this give him a sense of coming home?He was sure that he would never have this feeling again—that feeling of the beauty of the world, the purple flowers blooming in the distance, and the warmth in his heart. As he got closer and closer to that huge old house, the people with the same blood in it were already gone. There are six hundred years.How he had driven away the last time, shuddering to think of the locked rooms and the boy lying on the four-poster bed draped with gold and silver brocade.Could it be that he might find himself better, maybe get over himself and not cringe at him anymore?How real was that dream—how beautiful and clear was the voice that came back. "In the garden—in the garden!" "I'm going to find the key," he said, "I'm going to open the door. I must—though I don't know why." When he arrived at the manor, the servants received him with the usual ceremonies, and noticed that he looked better, and that he did not go to his usual remote room, which was attended by Pitcher.He went to the study and sent for Mrs. Medlock.She came to him somewhat excited, curious and panicked. "How is Master Colin, Medlock?" he asked. "Well, sir," replied Mrs. Medlock, "he—he's changed, so to speak." "Worsened?" He probed. Mrs. Medlock actually blushed. "Well, you see, sir," she tried to explain, "Dr. Craven, the nurse, and I couldn't figure him out." "Why is this happening?" "In truth, sir, Master Colin may be better or worse. His appetite, sir, is incomprehensible—his temper—" "Is he getting--more eccentric?" asked her Master, brow knit in a tense knot. "Exactly, sir. He's been getting very queer - if you compare him to what he used to be. He used to eat nothing, and then all of a sudden he started eating a lot - and then he stopped and the meals were like they used to be. You never know, sir, maybe, he never let anyone take him outside. To get him outside, we've been through things that make a man tremble like a leaf. He'd throw a tantrum , Dr. Craven said he dared not take responsibility for forcing him. Well, sir, out of nowhere—not long after one of his worst tantrums, he suddenly insisted on being carried out every day, and Miss Mary, and Susan Sowerby's son Dickon, who can push his wheelchair. He's enamored of Miss Mary and Dickon both, and Dickon brings his tamed animals, and, sir, If you give credit to him, he was out of doors from morning to night every day." "How does he look?" is the next question. "If he was eating well, sir, you'd think he was putting on flesh—but we're afraid it's a kind of bloat. He's alone with Miss Mary, laughing strangely sometimes. He never used to laugh. Dr. Craven Will come to see you at once, if you will allow him. He has never been so confused in all his life." "Where is Master Colin now?" asked Mr. Craven. "In the garden, sir. He is always in the garden—but no shadow is allowed to come near, for he fears being watched." Mr. Craven barely heard her last words. "In the garden," he said, and when he had dismissed Mrs. Medlock he stood repeating the words over and over again, "in the garden!" He had to struggle to pull himself back to where he was now, and when he felt back on Earth, he turned and walked out of the room.Like Mary, he went down, through the door in the bushes, between the laurel and fountain flower beds.The fountain is spraying, surrounding the entire flower bed with bright autumn flowers.He crossed the grass and turned into the long walkway beside the ivy-covered wall.Instead of walking fast, he walked very slowly, keeping his eyes on the road.He felt as if he was being pulled back to where he'd been looking for so long, and he didn't know why.His steps were even slower as he was drawn closer.Although the ivy hung thickly on the wall, he knew where the door was--but he didn't know exactly where it lay--the buried key. So he stopped and stood still, looking around, and almost at the moment he stopped, he moved suddenly, listened--asked himself if he was in a dream. The ivy hung densely on the door, and the key was buried under the bushes. For ten years of loneliness, no one had ever passed through that door—but there was a sound in the garden.It was the sound of running and tapping footsteps, as if chasing circles under the trees, and the strange muffled voices of human beings—screams, mouth-covering cries of joy.It actually sounded like the laughter of youth, the uncontrollable laughter of children who try not to be heard, but after a while - because their excitement builds up - it breaks out.For heaven's sake what was he dreaming--for heaven's sake what had he heard?Had he lost his mind and thought he heard voices that were inaudible to human ears?Is this what the distant and clear voice wanted to say? Then came the moment, the uncontrollable moment, when those voices forgot to be quiet.The footsteps ran faster and faster—they were coming towards the garden gate—there was a rapid, strong, youthful breathing, and an uncontrollable burst of unrestrained laughter—the door in the wall was thrown wide open, and a layer of ordinary The ivy swung back, and a boy rushed through it at full speed, unable to see the outsider, almost into his arms. Mr. Craven had just had time to put his arms out so that he wouldn't fall for blindly bumping into him, and when he pulled him away to see that there he was, he literally stopped breathing. He is a tall boy and handsome.He was animated, and running made bright colors dance on his cheeks.He threw back his bushy hair from his forehead, and raised his distinctive gray eyes--eyes full of a boyish mirth, fringed with black lashes.It was the eyes that made Dr. Craven stop breathing. "Who-what? Who?" he stammered. It wasn't what Colin expected - it wasn't what he planned.He never expected to meet like this.It might be better to sprint out -- and win a race -- though.He pulls himself to the top.Mary had just run with him, had also rushed through the door, and believed he had made herself taller than ever—by several inches. "Papa," he said, "I'm Colin. You can't believe it. I can hardly believe it myself. I'm Colin." He, like Mrs. Medlock, did not understand what his father meant, and said hastily: "In the garden! In the garden!" "Yes," said Colin hastily, "it's the gardens—and Mary, and Dickon, and the creatures—and the magic. Nobody knows. We'll keep it till you come. I'm all right, I can outrun Mary. I'm going to be an athlete." He spoke these words quite like a healthy child--his face flushed and eager, his words rolling--and Mr. Craven's soul quivered with unbelievable joy. Colin put his hand on his father's arm. "Aren't you happy, Papa?" he said at last. "Aren't you happy? I'm going to live forever and ever and ever!" Mr. Craven put his hands on the boy's shoulders and held him still.He knew that for a while he dared not try to speak. "Take me to the garden, my boy," he said at last, "and tell me all about it." So they led him in. The place was a sea of ​​autumn revelry, gold and purple and violet and fiery red, with clumps of late lilies standing on each side--white lilies, and white and crimson.He remembered well when the first bushes were planted, the time of year when their belated glory began to shine.Late roses climbed, hung, clustered together, and the sun dyed the yellowing trees deeper, making one feel like standing in a golden temple shaded by vines.The newcomers stood silently, as children do when they first come into the gray.He looked around and looked around. "I thought it was dead," he said. "Mary thought so at first," said Colin, "but it came alive." Then they all sat down under their tree--except Colin, who wanted to stand up and tell the story. It was the strangest thing he had ever heard, Archibald.Craven thought, as the story poured out in a boyish, capricious, voluptuous manner.Mystery, magic, wild animals, weird encounters in the middle of the night—spring comes—the insulted self-esteem drags the little prince to stand up, and counterattacks Ji Yuanben head-on, strange companions, playing games, and carefully guarding the big secret.The listener laughed so hard that tears welled up, and sometimes tears welled up when he was not laughing.The athlete, speaker, and scientific discoverer was a ridiculously lovable, healthy young being. "Now," he says at the end of the story, "there's no need to keep it a secret. I dare say they'd almost faint with fright when they saw me—but I'll never sit in that chair again. I'll walk back with you , Dad—go to the house." Ji Yuanben's duties rarely took him out of the garden, but this time he made up an excuse to transport vegetables to the kitchen, and was invited by Mrs. Medlock to have a beer in the servants' hall, where he happened to be--as he had hoped. That—when the most dramatic event that Misselwest Manor had experienced in a generation took place.One of the windows facing the yard reveals a patch of grass.Mrs. Medlock knew that Ji Yuanben was coming from the garden, and hoped that he might catch a glimpse of his master, or even happen to catch him seeing Master Colin. "Did you see them, Ji Yuanben?" she asked. Ji Yuanben took the beer glass away from his mouth, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "Oh yes, I saw it." He replied slyly and meaningfully. "See both?" asked Mrs. Medlock? "I saw both of them." Ji Yuanben replied, "Thank you, madam, I can drink another glass." "Together?" said Mrs. Medlock, hastily filling his beer glass excitedly. "Together, ma'am." Ji Yuanben downed half of Xinman's glass in one gulp. "Where is Master Colin? What does he look like? What did they say to each other?" "I didn't hear it," Ji Yuanben said, "Besides, I was just watching from the wall on the ladder. But I can tell you that there is always something going on outside, and the people in your house don't know anything. You want to find out Yes, you'll find out soon." In less than two minutes, he swallowed the last drop of beer and swung his glass solemnly towards the window that revealed a patch of grass among the bushes. "Look there," he said, "if you're curious. Look who's coming across the grass." Mrs. Medlock threw her hands up high and screamed as Mrs. Medlock watched, and every footman and maid who heard rushed across the servants' hall and stood looking out of the windows with their eyeballs on the verge of popping out. Across the grass, came the owner of Misselwest Manor, in a look no one had ever seen.Beside him, with his head held high, and his eyes full of laughter, walking as hard and sure as any boy in Yorkshire, was--Master Colin! ① A large weed with burrs and purple flowers at the top, which can grow to about one meter. ② Gentiana, a herbaceous plant with smooth, opposite leaves and bright blue flowers. ③The province of Tirou, Austria, in the eastern part of the Alps, has beautiful scenery. ④A herbaceous plant with small flowers in spring, mostly blue and white. ⑤ Koumu Lake, a lake in northern Italy, a famous scenic spot. ⑥1 inch = 2.54 cm (full text)