dream life and real life(梦境与现实)-第4章
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he began to tell how something （he did not say whether it was man；
woman； or child） had lifted up its hands and cried for mercy； had kissed a
white man's hands； and cried to him to help it。 Then the Hottentot took
the Bushman by the throat； and dragged him out。
Next night； the moon rose up； and mounted the quiet sky。 She was
full now； and looked in at the little home； at the purple flowers stuck about
the room； and the kippersol on the shelf。 Her light fell on the willow
trees； and on the high rocks； and on a little new…made heap of earth and
round stones。 Three men knew what was under it； and no one else ever
will。
Lily Kloof； South Africa。
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II。 THE WOMAN'S ROSE。
I have an old； brown carved box； the lid is broken and tied with a
string。 In it I keep little squares of paper； with hair inside； and a little
picture which hung over my brother's bed when we were children； and
other things as small。 I have in it a rose。 Other women also have such
boxes where they keep such trifles； but no one has my rose。
When my eye is dim； and my heart grows faint； and my faith in
woman flickers； and her present is an agony to me； and her future a
despair； the scent of that dead rose； withered for twelve years； comes back
to me。 I know there will be spring； as surely as the birds know it when
they see above the snow two tiny； quivering green leaves。 Spring cannot
fail us。
There were other flowers in the box once； a bunch of white acacia
flowers； gathered by the strong hand of a man； as we passed down a
village street on a sultry afternoon； when it had rained； and the drops fell
on us from the leaves of the acacia trees。 The flowers were damp； they
made mildew marks on the paper I folded them in。 After many years I
threw them away。 There is nothing of them left in the box now； but a
faint； strong smell of dried acacia； that recalls that sultry summer
afternoon； but the rose is in the box still。
It is many years ago now； I was a girl of fifteen； and I went to visit in a
small up…country town。 It was young in those days； and two days'
journey from the nearest village； the population consisted mainly of men。
A few were married； and had their wives and children； but most were
single。 There was only one young girl there when I came。 She was
about seventeen； fair； and rather fully…fleshed； she had large dreamy blue
eyes； and wavy light hair； full； rather heavy lips； until she smiled； then her
face broke into dimples； and all her white teeth shone。 The hotel…keeper
may have had a daughter； and the farmer in the outskirts had two； but we
never saw them。 She reigned alone。 All the men worshipped her。 She
was the only woman they had to think of。 They talked of her on the
stoep； at the market； at the hotel； they watched for her at street corners；
they hated the man she bowed to or walked with down the street。 They
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brought flowers to the front door； they offered her their horses； they
begged her to marry them when they dared。 Partly； there was something
noble and heroic in this devotion of men to the best woman they knew；
partly there was something natural in it； that these men； shut off from the
world； should pour at the feet of one woman the worship that otherwise
would have been given to twenty； and partly there was something mean in
their envy of one another。 If she had raised her little finger； I suppose；
she might have married any one out of twenty of them。
Then I came。 I do not think I was prettier； I do not think I was so
pretty as she was。 I was certainly not as handsome。 But I was vital； and
I was new； and she was oldthey all forsook her and followed me。 They
worshipped me。 It was to my door that the flowers came； it was I had
twenty horses offered me when I could only ride one； it was for me they
waited at street corners； it was what I said and did that they talked of。
Partly I liked it。 I had lived alone all my life； no one ever had told me I
was beautiful and a woman。 I believed them。 I did not know it was
simply a fashion； which one man had set and the rest followed
unreasoningly。 I liked them to ask me to marry them； and to say； No。 I
despised them。 The mother heart had not swelled in me yet； I did not
know all men were my children； as the large woman knows when her heart
is grown。 I was too small to be tender。 I liked my power。 I was like a
child with a new whip； which it goes about cracking everywhere； not
caring against what。 I could not wind it up and put it away。 Men were
curious creatures； who liked me； I could never tell why。 Only one thing
took from my pleasure； I could not bear that they had deserted her for me。
I liked her great dreamy blue eyes； I liked her slow walk and drawl； when
I saw her sitting among men； she seemed to me much too good to be
among them； I would have given all their compliments if she would once
have smiled at me as she smiled at them； with all her face breaking into
radiance； with her dimples and flashing teeth。 But I knew it never could
be； I felt sure she hated me； that she wished I was dead； that she wished I
had never come to the village。 She did not know； when we went out
riding； and a man who had always ridden beside her came to ride beside
me； that I sent him away； that once when a man thought to win my favour
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by ridiculing her slow drawl before me I turned on him so fiercely that he
never dared come before me again。 I knew she knew that at the hotel
men had made a bet as to which was the prettier； she or I； and had asked
each man who came in； and that the one who had staked on me won。 I
hated them for it； but I would not let her see that I cared about what she
felt towards me。
She and I never spoke to each other。
If we met in the village street we bowed and passed on； when we
shook hands we did so silently； and did not look at each other。 But I
thought she felt my presence in a room just as I felt hers。
At last the time for my going came。 I was to leave the next day。
Some one I knew gave a party in my honour； to which all the village was
invited。
It was midwinter。 There was nothing in the gardens but a few dahlias
and chrysanthemums； and I suppose that for two hundred miles round
there was not a rose to be bought for love or money。 Only in
