elizabeth and her german garden-第3部分

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ersian　Yellow。　I　wish　now　I　had　put　tea…roses　there；　and　I　have　misgivings　as　to　the　effect　of　the　Persian　Yellows　among　the　Chinas；　for　the　Chinas　are　such　wee　little　baby　things；　and　the　Persian　Yellows　look　as　though　they　intended　to　be　big　bushes。

There　is　not　a　creature　in　all　this　part　of　the　world　who　could　in　the　least　understand　with　what　heart…beatings　I　am　looking　forward　to　the　flowering　of　these　roses；　and　not　a　German　gardening　book　that　does　not　relegate　all　tea…roses　to　hot…houses；　imprisoning　them　for　life；　and　depriving　them　for　ever　of　the　breath　of　God。　It　was　no　doubt　because　I　was　so　ignorant　that　I　rushed　in　where　Teutonic　angels　fear　to　tread　and　made　my　tea…roses　face　a　northern　winter；　but　they　did　face　it　under　fir　branches　and　leaves；　and　not　one　has　suffered；　and　they　are　looking　to…day　as　happy　and　as　determined　to　enjoy　themselves　as　any　roses；　I　am　sure；　in　Europe。

May　14th。To…day　I　am　writing　on　the　verandah　with　the　three　babies；　more　persistent　than　mosquitoes；　raging　round　me；　and　already　several　of　the　thirty　fingers　have　been　in　the　ink…pot　and　the　owners　consoled　when　duty　pointed　to　rebukes。　But　who　can　rebuke　such　penitent　and　drooping　sunbonnets？　I　can　see　nothing　but　sunbonnets　and　pinafores　and　nimble　black　legs。

These　three；　their　patient　nurse；　myself；　the　gardener；　and　the　gardener's　assistant；　are　the　only　people　who　ever　go　into　my　garden；　but　then　neither　are　we　ever　out　of　it。　The　gardener　has　been　here　a　year　and　has　given　me　notice　regularly　on　the　first　of　every　month；　but　up　to　now　has　been　induced　to　stay　on。　　On　the　first　of　this　month　he　came　as　usual；　and　with　determination　written　on　every　feature　told　me　he　intended　to　go　in　June；　and　that　nothing　should　alter　his　decision。　　I　don't　think　he　knows　much　about　gardening；　but　he　can　at　least　dig　and　water；　and　some　of　the　things　he　sows　come　up；　and　some　of　the　plants　he　plants　grow；　besides　which　he　is　the　most　unflaggingly　industrious　person　I　ever　saw；　and　has　the　great　merit　of　never　appearing　to　take　the　faintest　interest　in　what　we　do　in　the　garden。　So　I　have　tried　to　keep　him　on；　not　knowing　what　the　next　one　may　be　like；　and　when　I　asked　him　what　he　had　to　complain　of　and　he　replied　〃Nothing；〃　I　could　only　conclude　that　he　has　a　personal　objection　to　me　because　of　my　eccentric　preference　for　plants　in　groups　rather　than　plants　in　lines。　Perhaps；　too；　he　does　not　like　the　extracts　from　gardening　books　I　read　to　him　sometimes　when　he　is　planting　or　sowing　something　new。　Being　so　helpless　myself；　I　thought　it　simpler；　instead　of　explaining；　to　take　the　book　itself　out　to　him　and　let　him　have　wisdom　at　its　very　source；　administering　it　in　doses　while　he　worked。　I　quite　recognise　that　this　must　be　annoying；　and　only　my　anxiety　not　to　lose　a　whole　year　through　some　stupid　mistake　has　given　me　the　courage　to　do　it。　　I　laugh　sometimes　behind　the　book　at　his　disgusted　face；　and　wish　we　could　be　photographed；　so　that　I　may　be　reminded　in　twenty　years'　time；　when　the　garden　is　a　bower　of　loveliness　and　I　learned　in　all　its　ways；　of　my　first　happy　struggles　and　failures。

All　through　April　he　was　putting　the　perennials　we　had　sown　in　the　autumn　into　their　permanent　places；　and　all　through　April　he　went　about　with　a　long　piece　of　string　making　parallel　lines　down　the　borders　of　beautiful　exactitude　and　arranging　the　poor　plants　like　soldiers　at　a　review。　Two　long　borders　were　done　during　my　absence　one　day；　and　when　I　explained　that　I　should　like　the　third　to　have　plants　in　groups　and　not　in　lines；　and　that　what　I　wanted　was　a　natural　effect　with　no　bare　spaces　of　earth　to　be　seen；　he　looked　even　more　gloomily　hopeless　than　usual；　and　on　my　going　out　later　on　to　see　the　result；　I　found　he　had　planted　two　long　borders　down　the　sides　of　a　straight　walk　with　little　lines　of　five　plants　in　a　rowfirst　five　pinks；　and　next　to　them　five　rockets；　and　behind　the　rockets　five　pinks；　and　behind　the　pinks　five　rockets；　and　so　on　with　different　plants　of　every　sort　and　size　down　to　the　end。　When　I　protested；　he　said　he　had　only　carried　out　my　orders　and　had　known　it　would　not　look　well；　so　I　gave　in；　and　the　remaining　borders　were　done　after　the　pattern　of　the　first　two；　and　I　will　have　patience　and　see　how　they　look　this　summer；　before　digging　them　up　again；　for　it　becomes　beginners　to　be　humble。

If　I　could　only　dig　and　plant　myself！　　How　much　easier；　besides　being　so　fascinating；　to　make　your　own　holes　exactly　where　you　want　them　and　put　in　your　plants　exactly　as　you　choose　instead　of　giving　orders　that　can　only　be　half　understood　from　the　moment　you　depart　from　the　lines　laid　down　by　that　long　piece　of　string！　In　the　first　ecstasy　of　having　a　garden　all　my　own；　and　in　my　burning　impatience　to　make　the　waste　places　blossom　like　a　rose；　I　did　one　warm　Sunday　in　last　year's　April　during　the　servants'　dinner　hour；　doubly　secure　from　the　gardener　by　the　day　and　the　dinner；　slink　out　with　a　spade　and　a　rake　and　feverishly　dig　a　little　piece　of　ground　and　break　it　up　and　sow　surreptitious　ipomaea；　and　run　back　very　hot　and　guilty　into　the　house；　and　get　into　a　chair　and　behind　a　book　and　look　languid　just　in　time　to　save　my　reputation。　And　why　not？　　It　is　not　graceful；　and　it　makes　one　hot；　but　it　is　a　blessed　sort　of　work；　and　if　Eve　had　had　a　spade　in　Paradise　and　known　what　to　do　with　it；　we　should　not　have　had　all　that　sad　business　of　the　apple。

What　a　happy　woman　I　am　living　in　a　garden；　with　books；　babies；　birds；　and　flowers；　and　plenty　of　leisure　to　enjoy　them！　Yet　my　town　acquaintances　look　upon　it　as　imprisonment；　and　burying；　and　I　don't　know　what　besides；　and　would　rend　the　air　with　their　shrieks　if　condemned　to　such　a　life。　　Sometimes　I　feel　as　if　I　were　blest　above　all　my　fellows　in　being　able　to　find　my　happiness　so　easily。　I　believe　I　should　always　be　good　if　the　sun　always　shone；　and　could　enjoy　myself　very　well　in　Siberia　on　a　fine　day。　And　what　can　life　in　town　offer　in　the　way　of　pleasure　to　equal　the　delight　of　any　one　of　the　calm　evenings　I　have　had　this　month　sitting　alone　at　the　foot　of　the　verandah　steps；　with　the　perfume　of　young　larches　all　about；　and　the　May　moon　hanging　low　over　the　beeches；　and　the　beautiful　silence　made　only　more　profound　in　its　peace　by　the　croaking　of　distant　frogs　and　hooting　of　owls？　A　cockchafer　darting　by　close　to　my　ear　with　a　loud　hum　sends　a　shiver　through　me；　partly　of　pleasure　at　the　reminder　of　past　summers；　and　partly　of　fear　lest　he　should　get　caught　in　my　hair。　The　Man　of　Wrath　says　they　are　pernicious　creatures　and　should　be　killed。　I　would　rather　get　the　killing　done　at　the　end　of　the　summer　and　not　crush　them　out　of　such　a　pretty　world　at　the　very　beginning　of　all　the　fun。

This　has　been　quite　an　eventful　afternoon。　My　eldest　baby；　born　in　April；　is　five　years　old；　and　the　youngest；　born　in　June；　is　three；　so　that　the　discerning　will　at　once　be　able　to　guess　the　age　of　the　remaining　middle　or　May　baby。　While　I　was　stooping　over　a　group　of　hollyhocks　planted　on　the　top　of　the　only　thing　in　the　shape　of　a　hill　the　garden　possesses；　the　April　baby；　who　had　been　sitting　pensive　on　a　tree　stump　close　by；　got　up　suddenly　and　began　to　run　aimlessly　about；　shrieking　and　wringing　her　hands　with　every　symptom　of　terror。　I　stared；　wondering　what　had　come　to　her；　and　then　I　saw　that　a　whole　army　of　young　cows；　pasturing　in　a　field　next　to　the　garden；　had　got　through　the　hedge　and　were　grazing　perilously　near　my　tea…roses　and　most　precious　belongings。　The　nurse　and　I　managed　to　chase　them　away；　but　not　before　they　had　trampled　down　a　border　of　pinks　and　lilies　in　the　cruellest　way；　and　made　great　holes　in　a　bed　of　China　roses；　and　even　begun　to　nibble　at　a　Jackmanni　clematis　that　I　am　trying　to　persuade　to　climb　up　a　tree　trunk。　　The　gloomy　gardener　happened　to　be　ill　in　bed；　and　the　assistant　was　at　vespers　as　Lutheran　Germany　calls　afternoon　tea　or　its　equivalent　so　the　nurse　filled　up　the　holes　as　well　as　she　could　with　mould；　burying　the　crushed　and　mangled　roses；　cheated　for　ever　of　their　hopes　of　summer　glory；　and　I　stood　by　looking　on　dejectedly。　The　June　baby；　who　is　two　feet　square　and　valiant　beyond　her　size　and　years；　seized　a　stick　much　bigger　than　herself　and　went　after　the　cows；　the　cowherd　being　nowhere　to　be　seen。　She　planted　herself　in　front　of　them　brandishing　her　stick；　and　they　stood　in　a　row　and　stared　at　her　in　great　astonishment；　and　she　kept　them　off　until　one　of　the　men　from　the　farm　arrived　with　a　whip；　and　having　found　the　cowherd　sleeping　peacefully　in　the　shade；　gave　him　a　sound　beating。　The　cowherd　is　a　great　hulking　young　man；　much　bigger　than　the　man　who　beat　him；　but　he　took　his　punishment　as　part　of　the　day's　work　and　made　no　remark　of　any　sort。　It　could　not　have　hurt　him　much　through　his　leather　breeches；　and　I　think　he　deserved　it；　but　it　must　be　demoralising　work　for　a　strong　young　man　with　no　brains　looking　after　cows。　Nobody　with　less　imagination　than　a　poet　ought　to　take　it　up　as　a　profession。

After　the　June　baby　and　I　had　been　welcomed　back　by　the　other　two　with　as　many　hugs　as　though　we　had　been　restored　to　them　from　great　perils；　and　while　we　were　peacefully　drinking　tea　under　a　beech　tree；　I　happened　to　look　up　into　its　mazy　green；　and　there；　on　a　branch　quite　close　to　my　head；　sat　a　little　baby　owl。　　I　got　on　the　seat　and　caught　it　easily；　for　it　could　not　fly；　and　how　it　had　reached　the　branch　at　all　is　a　mystery。　It　is　a　little　round　ball　of　gray　fluff；　with　the　quaintest；　wisest；　solemn　face。　　Poor　thing！　　I　ought　to　have　let　it　go；　but　the　temptation　to　keep　it　until　the　Man　of　Wrath；　at　present　on　a　journey；　has　seen　it　was　not　to　be　resisted；　as　he　has　often　said　how　much　he　would　like　to　have　a　young　owl　and　try　and　tame　it。　So　I　put　it　into　a　roomy　cage　and　slung　it　up　on　a　branch　near　where　it　had　been　sitting；　and　which　cannot　be　far　from　its　nest　and　its　mother。　We　had　hardly　subsided　again　to　our　tea　when　I　saw　two　more　balls　of　fluff　on　the　ground　in　the　long　grass　and　scarcely　distinguishable　at　a　little　distance　from　small　mole…hills。　These　were　promptly　united　to　their　relation　in　the　cage；　and　now　when　the　Man　of　Wrath　comes　home；　not　only　shall　he　be　welcomed　by　a　wife　decked　with　the　orthodox　smiles；　but　by　the　three　litt