1er
G.C.
FORTNIGHILY REVIRW.
Proch
“SHE NEVER KW.”
-
ARTHUR SCHRUTZCLER.
(I jHALL stay here for a long time. There hangs over this place
between forest and sea a quiet.melancholy that does me good
Everything is,stagnant, and peaceful. Only the whiteilouds move
deliberately; the wind stirs so high above tree-tops and waves that
there isn’t a rustle among the leaves or a murmur from the sea.
Profound aditude reigns here, and one is always conscious of it
even when sitting in a trowd at the hotel or on the promenade. The
band, for the most part, playes nothing but sad Sweden and Danish
airs, but even it’s lively pieces sound subdued and way. When
the musicians have finished, they silently come down the steps of
the Kiosque, and vanish, slowly and dejectedly, among the trees.
I am writing this while I let myself Grift in a boat along the coast
The coast is green and tame. There are unpretentious country
houses standing in gardens; the gardens run down to the water, and
have Leats in them; behind the houses is the narrow white road
and on the other side of the road is the forest. The forest stretches,
slightly undulating, far, far away to the sunset. Its full evening
glory is reflected on the narrow golden Island which my boatman
says may be reached in two hours. I should like to go there, yet
ames: curiously wedded to this spot; I spend my whole time in its
reighbourhood, either on the shore or on my private terrace,
I am lying under the beaches. The branches are weighed down
by the drowsy afternoon tmosphere. Now and then I hear foot
steps coming along the woodland path, but I can see nobody. I
don’t want to stir, and my eyes are fixed on the sky. I hear, too,
the shrill daughter of children, but the vast stillness around me
swallows upduickly alldunds, and scarcely a second elapses when
it seems as if they were a long way off. If I close my eyes and
open them again, I feel as if I were making from a long sleep. So
I let myselftslide away, and float like a piece of nature in the
surrounding silence.
It's all over now with this heavenly rest. Neither in the little
rowing-boat nor under the beeehes will it ever be mine, again. All at
once everything has changed. The melodies played by the band
now sound passionate and mercy; people who pass me seem to be
taking a great deal; children laugh and short. Even the belonged
sea that seemed so silent boats at night noisily on the shore. Life
has again become for me alive.
durch.
G.H.F.P.
8.
G.C.
FORTNIGHILY REVIRW.
Proch
“SHE NEVER KW.”
-
ARTHUR SCHRUTZCLER.
(I jHALL stay here for a long time. There hangs over this place
between forest and sea a quiet.melancholy that does me good
Everything is,stagnant, and peaceful. Only the whiteilouds move
deliberately; the wind stirs so high above tree-tops and waves that
there isn’t a rustle among the leaves or a murmur from the sea.
Profound aditude reigns here, and one is always conscious of it
even when sitting in a trowd at the hotel or on the promenade. The
band, for the most part, playes nothing but sad Sweden and Danish
airs, but even it’s lively pieces sound subdued and way. When
the musicians have finished, they silently come down the steps of
the Kiosque, and vanish, slowly and dejectedly, among the trees.
I am writing this while I let myself Grift in a boat along the coast
The coast is green and tame. There are unpretentious country
houses standing in gardens; the gardens run down to the water, and
have Leats in them; behind the houses is the narrow white road
and on the other side of the road is the forest. The forest stretches,
slightly undulating, far, far away to the sunset. Its full evening
glory is reflected on the narrow golden Island which my boatman
says may be reached in two hours. I should like to go there, yet
ames: curiously wedded to this spot; I spend my whole time in its
reighbourhood, either on the shore or on my private terrace,
I am lying under the beaches. The branches are weighed down
by the drowsy afternoon tmosphere. Now and then I hear foot
steps coming along the woodland path, but I can see nobody. I
don’t want to stir, and my eyes are fixed on the sky. I hear, too,
the shrill daughter of children, but the vast stillness around me
swallows upduickly alldunds, and scarcely a second elapses when
it seems as if they were a long way off. If I close my eyes and
open them again, I feel as if I were making from a long sleep. So
I let myselftslide away, and float like a piece of nature in the
surrounding silence.
It's all over now with this heavenly rest. Neither in the little
rowing-boat nor under the beeehes will it ever be mine, again. All at
once everything has changed. The melodies played by the band
now sound passionate and mercy; people who pass me seem to be
taking a great deal; children laugh and short. Even the belonged
sea that seemed so silent boats at night noisily on the shore. Life
has again become for me alive.
durch.
G.H.F.P.
8.