Chapter 3 three

I had a lot going on that afternoon, but the conversation with Roy, the reflections I had the day before yesterday, and the nostalgia that haunts people who are not too old (I don't know why, my room didn't come when I stepped into it) I felt this more strongly than usual when I went) leading my mind to wander down the memory lane.It was as if all those people who had lived in my place in the past were crowded in front of me, their manners were out of date, their clothes were weird, and the men had lamb chop beards. under a wide beard. ], in long gowns; women in padded and ruffled skirts.I don't know if it was my imagination, or if I really heard the noise of London (my house is at the head of Half Moon Street).The sound of the city and the beauty of a sunny day in June (levierge, Levivace etlebe|laujourd'hui[Note]) added to my imagination a layer of not so painful poignancy.The past seemed to lose its reality before my eyes.It seemed to me like a play being performed on the stage, and I was an audience member in the back row of the dark garret.But as the play progressed, everything became clear to me.It was not like the life you lived, hazy with impressions clouded and blurred, but like a landscape painted by a painstaking mid-Victorian artist.

[Note] French: How beautiful, chaste and full of vitality today.This is the first line of the Swan Sonnet by the French poet Mallarme (1842 | 1898). I think life is funnier now than it was forty years ago, and I think people are more agreeable now than they used to be.People were perhaps more respectable and virtuous then, for I have heard they were more learned.I don't know if this is true.All I know is that they were more grumpy than people are now; they ate too much, many of them drank too much, and they didn't exercise much.Their livers were troubled, and their digestive systems were often damaged.They get angry easily.I don't mean London, for I didn't know anything about London when I was a boy, and I don't mean the dignitaries who like to hunt and shoot; , retired officials, and other such people who make up the local society.The lives of these people are almost unbelievably dull.There was no golf course; between some houses there was a poorly kept tennis court played by very young people.There's a dance every year in the town hall; people with carriages go for an afternoon drive; the rest have to go for a fitness walk!You can tell they don't miss entertainment that they would never have thought of, and they throw occasional little parties with each other to add a little excitement to their lives (often a tea party, asking you to bring sheet music, Singing some Maud Valéry White and Tosti there); the days always seemed long; they were bored.People who are destined to live within a mile of each other all their lives, often have violent quarrels, meet every day in the town, and ignore each other for twenty years.They are vain, stubborn, and eccentric.This kind of life may develop some eccentric characters.People back then didn't have much in common with each other like they do today, they had a little reputation for their idiosyncrasies, but they were hard to get along with.Thoughtless and vulgar as we are now, we may be, but none of us look upon each other with any of the old suspicions; our manners may be rude and frank, but friendly;

At that time, I lived with my uncle and aunt on the outskirts of a small town near the sea in Kent.The name of this town is Black Town, and my uncle is the vicar there.My aunt is German. She was born in a very noble but poor family. Therefore, the only dowry she brought when she married my uncle was a custom-made one made by one of her ancestors in the seventeenth century. Marquetry desk and set of tumbler glasses.When I arrived at their house, there were only a few wine glasses left in the set, which were placed as decorations in the living room.I love the stately coat of arms densely engraved on the cup.My aunt used to explain to me the various coats of arms on the shield with a serious face, I don't know how many there are.In the coat of arms, the people or beasts standing on one side and supporting the shield are carved very finely, and the protruding crest on the crown is very romantic.My aunt is a simple old lady with a gentle and charitable disposition.Although she has been married for more than thirty years to an ordinary parish priest with little income other than salary, she has never forgotten her noble origin.Once, a wealthy banker in London, who was quite well-known in the financial world at the time, rented a neighbor's house to spend the summer here.Although my uncle visited him (mainly to collect donations for the New Curate Association, I guess), my aunt refused to go because he was a businessman.No one thought Auntie was a snob.Everyone thought her attitude was perfectly justified.The banker had a little boy my age and I forgot how I knew him.I still remember when I asked my uncle and aunt if they could bring the kid to our house to play, and it sparked a discussion at home.They reluctantly agreed, but I was not allowed to go to his house.My aunt said that if I went to his house, next time I would think of going to the coal merchant's house.My uncle said: Bad company detracts from good manners.

The banker went to church every Sunday morning and always left half a pound on his plate.But if he thought his generosity made a good impression, he was quite mistaken.Everyone in Heishan Town knew about his move, but they only thought he was showing off. There is a winding long street leading to the sea in Heishan Town. There are small two-story houses on both sides of the street. Many of them are residences, but there are also many shops.On both sides of this street, many short streets were newly built, leading to the countryside on one side and the swamp on the other.There are many narrow, winding alleys around the port.Colliers were always bringing coal from Newcastle to Blackspot, and the port was alive.By the time I was old enough to hit the streets by myself, I used to hang out there for hours watching rough, cinder-covered workers in tight jumpers unload coal.

It was in the town of Heishan that I first saw Edward.Driffield's.I was fifteen years old and had just come back from school for the summer.The next morning when I got home, I grabbed a towel and swimming trunks and went to the beach.The sky was cloudless, the air was hot and the sun was shining brightly, but the waves of the North Sea brought a pleasant strong smell, so that simply being here and breathing the air was refreshing.In winter, the residents of Heishan Town walked briskly on the empty street, huddling their whole bodies into a ball, trying to keep their skin less exposed to the bitter east wind.But now they were loafing about; they stood in small groups in the clearing between the Duke of Kent and the Bear and Key.You hear the buzz of their East Anglian dialect, drawn out and probably in a bad accent, but I've grown used to it and still find it a laid-back quality.The natives are healthy-skinned, with blue eyes and high cheekbones, and their hair is light.They all seemed upright, honest, and frank.I don't think they're very bright, but they're all honest.They appeared to be in good health, strong and active though most of them were not tall.At that time, there were very few vehicles in the town of Heishan, so those who stood and chatted in small groups on the road, except for occasional encounters with the town doctor's two-seater carriage or the baker's buggy, almost used it Don't give way.

As we passed the bank, I went in and greeted the manager, who was a parish councilor in my uncle's parish.I ran into my uncle's curate as I was walking out of the bank.He stopped and shook my hand.Walking with him was a stranger.He didn't introduce me to that person.The man was not tall, had a beard, was rather fancy dressed, and wore a pair of bright brown knickerbockers and a jacket with tight legs, dark blue stockings, black leather boots, and a bowler hat .Knickerbockers were not common then, at least in Heishan.I was very young at the time, fresh out of school, and immediately thought him an uneducated scumbag.But while I chatted with the curate, he looked at me friendly, smiling in his pale blue eyes.I felt that he was eager to join the conversation at once, so I put on an air of arrogance.I didn't want to risk having a guy in knickerbockers who looked like a gamekeeper talking to me; and I didn't like the happy, familiar look on his face either.I myself was impeccably dressed in white flannel trousers, a blue flannel blazer with the school badge on the breast pocket, and a black and white wide-brimmed straw hat.Then the curate said he had to go (thank God, because I never know how to end a conversation when I run into acquaintances in the street, and I'm always so embarrassed that I try in vain for a chance to say goodbye), but he Said he was going to the Vicarage that afternoon, and asked me to tell my uncle.The stranger nodded and smiled at me as we parted, but I gave him a cold stare.I thought he was a summer tourist, the kind of tourist we never associate with in Heishan Town.We think Londoners are vulgar.We all say that it's really annoying that these rascals come here from the capital every summer, but the business people in the town naturally don't think so.However, when September ends and Heishan Town returns to its original tranquility, even they breathe a sigh of relief.

When I got home for lunch, my hair was still wet and sticky to my head.I mentioned that I had met the curate in the morning and that he was coming to our house in the afternoon. Old Mrs Shepard passed away last night.my uncle explained. The curate, whose name was Galloway, was tall, thin, and shabby-looking, with tousled black hair and a small sallow and blackened face.He was probably very young, but he seemed to me to be middle-aged.He spoke quickly and gestured a lot.This habit makes everyone think he is weird.If it weren't for his drive, my uncle wouldn't have kept him as his second-in-command.Uncle is very lazy and glad to have someone take over a lot of the work he does.In the afternoon, when Mr. Galloway had finished talking with my uncle about his business at the Vicarage, he came in to greet my aunt, who left him at tea.

Who is that person with you this morning?I asked after he sat down. Oh, that's Edward.Driffield.I didn't introduce you.I'm not sure if your uncle would like you to know him. I don't think so.my uncle said. hey who is heHe's not from the town of Heishan, is he? He was born in this parish, my uncle said, and his father was steward of Fern House, old Miss Wolfe's estate.But none of them were state believers. He married a girl from the town of Heishan.Mr Galloway said. Married in church probably, my aunt said, was she really a waitress at the Railroad Badge? It looks like she did.Mr. Galloway smiled.

Are they going to live here forever? Probably will.They had rented a house on the same street as the Congregational church.said the assistant pastor. At that time in Heitang Town, of course the newly built streets had street names, but everyone didn't know them and didn't use them. Will he come to church?my uncle asked. To be honest, I haven't talked to him about it yet.Mr Galloway replied, you know, he was a fairly educated man. At this point, I can hardly believe it.my uncle said. I heard he went to Harvard Sham School, where he won many scholarships and other awards.He later won another scholarship at Wadham, but he went to sea instead.

I heard he was a very rash fellow.my uncle said. He didn't look much like a sailor.I said. Oh, he quit it years ago.Since then, he has held various jobs. Everything works, everything is easy.my uncle said. Oh, I see, he's a writer. It won't last long either.my uncle said. I've never met a writer with whom I became interested. What does he write?I asked, is it writing a book? I think so, said the curate, writing articles.In the spring he published a novel.He promised to lend it to me. If I were you, I wouldn't waste my time watching such boring stuff.my uncle said.He reads nothing but The Times and The Guardian.

What is his novel called?I asked. He told me the title, but I forgot. You don't need to know anyway, my uncle said, I strongly disapprove of your reading these worthless novels.You'd better spend more time outdoors during the summer vacation, and you probably have summer homework to do, right? I do have homework, which is to read "Ivanhoe" [Note: British Walter.Scott's famous novel, also translated Ivan Ho. 】.I read this book when I was ten years old, and the thought of reading it again and writing a review bores me like hell. I think of Edward.Driffield's subsequent great success, I could not help laughing at how we talked about him at my uncle's dinner table.Not long ago, after Driffield died, those who admired him enthusiastically proposed that he be buried in Westminster Abbey [Note: In London, it is the place where British kings are crowned and famous people are buried. 】inside.There have been two vicarage changes in Black Tavern since my uncle, and the current vicar wrote to the Daily Mail to point out that Driffield was born in that parish, not only did he live in that area for many years, especially towards the end of his life Twenty-five years, and several of his most famous novels have been set here, so it is only fitting that his bones be interred in the churchyard in Heishan Township, where his parents are also laid to rest. Under those Kentish elms.The proposal to have Driffield buried in the cathedral was subsequently rejected by the Dean of Westminster in a rather unceremonious manner, and Mrs Driffield wrote a dignified letter to the press in which she said: She was convinced that burying her late husband among the ordinary people he knew and loved so well was fulfilling the dead man's most fervent wish.Only then did the people in Heishan Town breathe a sigh of relief.However, unless the dignitaries of Black Tavern have changed a lot since I left there, I don't think they would like the idea of ​​ordinary people much.I heard afterwards that they could never tolerate a second Mrs. Driffield.