Produced by Aaron Cannon, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
The Solitary Summer
by Elizabeth von Arnim
To the man of wrath
With some apologies and much love
May
May 2nd.—Last night after dinner, when we were in the garden, I said,"I want to be alone for a whole summer, and get to the very dregs oflife. I want to be as idle as I can, so that my soul may have time togrow. Nobody shall be invited to stay with me, and if any one calls theywill be told that I am out, or away, or sick. I shall spend the monthsin the garden, and on the plain, and in the forests. I shall watch thethings that happen in my garden, and see where I have made mistakes. Onwet days I will go into the thickest parts of the forests, where thepine needles are everlastingly dry, and when the sun shines I'll lie onthe heath and see how the broom flares against the clouds. I shall beperpetually happy, because there will be no one to worry me. Out thereon the plain there is silence, and where there is silence I havediscovered there is peace."
"Mind you do not get your feet damp," said the Man of Wrath, removinghis cigar.
It was the evening of May Day, and the spring had taken hold of me bodyand soul. The sky was full of stars, and the garden of scents, and theborders of wallflowers and sweet, sly pansies. All day there had been abreeze, and all day slow masses of white clouds had been sailing acrossthe blue. Now it was so still, so motionless, so breathless, that itseemed as though a quiet hand had been laid on the garden, soothing andhushing it into silence.
The Man of Wrath sat at the foot of the verandah steps in that placidafter-dinner mood which suffers fools, if not gladly, at leastindulgently, and I stood in front of him, leaning against the sun-dial.
"Shall you take a book with you?" he asked.
"Yes, I shall," I replied, slightly nettled by his tone. "I am quiteready to admit that though the fields and flowers are always ready toteach, I am not always in the mood to learn, and sometimes my eyes areincapable of seeing things that at other times are quite plain."
"And then you read?"
"And then I read. Well, dear Sage, what of that?"
But he smoked in silence, and seemed suddenly absorbed by the stars.
"See," he said, after a pause, during which I stood looking at him andwishing he would use longer sentences, and he looked at the sky and didnot think about me at all, "see how bright the stars are to-night.Almost as though it might freeze."
"It isn't going to freeze, and I won't look at anything until you havetold me what you think of my idea. Wouldn't a whole lovely summer, quitealone, be delightful? Wouldn't it be perfect to get up every morning forweeks and feel that you belong to yourself and to nobody else?" And Iwent over to him and put a hand on each shoulder and gave him a littleshake, for he persisted in gazing at the stars just as though I had notbeen there. "Please, Man of Wrath, say something long for once," Ientreated; "you haven't said a good long sentence for a week."
He slowly brought his gaze from the stars down to me and smiled. Then hedrew me on to his knee.
"Don't get affectionate," I urged; "it is words, not deeds, that I want.
But I'll stay here if you'll talk."
"Well then, I will talk. What am I to say? You know you do as youplease, and I never interfere w