Gardening Festival (Illustrated Edition)

Author: (English) Mansfield
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-07-01
Features: British novels have traditionally been long-form works. In the early 20th century, a female writer renowned for her short stories appeared on the British literary scene like a comet. In her brief 14-year career, she wrote 88 short stories, a vast amount of literary criticism, diaries, letters, notes, and distinctive poetry. She made bold explorations in short story writing, earning the title "Chekhov of the English-speaking world," and has had a profound and lasting influence. She is Katherine Mansfield. This book is part of the "20th Century Masterpieces of Foreign Writers" series, selecting 26 representative works from different creative periods of the author, including many of her outstanding works such as Garden Party, A Cup of Tea, The Fly, The Baron, The Governess, and others. Her stories are often more about atmosphere than plot, revealing novelty in the ordinary. Her writing reflects her personality. The short stories of British writer and master of the short story, Katherine Mansfield, are as light, ethereal, and captivating as she herself was. Mansfield appeared on the British literary scene like a comet in the early 20th century, writing many outstanding works in her short career and earning the reputation of "Chekhov of Britain." This book selects 26 representative works from different creative periods of the author, which either depict the fate of life (such as Garden Party, Park Mom's Lifetime) or explore love and marriage (Happiness, Naive but Very Natural). Her keen observation and exceptional artistic talent make these stories true masterpieces of the world.
"What kind of person is he?" I asked. "Why does he always sit there all alone, with his back to us?"
"Oh!" Mrs. Oberregiel said in a low voice. "He is a baron." She looked at me very seriously, but there was a faint disdain in her expression as if she could not believe I did not see it immediately.
"But poor thing, he didn’t choose to be a baron," I said. "Even in this misfortune, he shouldn’t be left all alone." If she hadn’t been holding a fork, I believe she would have made the sign of the cross on her chest.
"You don’t understand at all. He is one of the first barons." She was flustered by my words and turned to the lady doctor sitting to her left.
"My pancakes don’t have filling—no filling!" she protested. "I’ve already tried three."
I glanced at the first baron. He was eating lettuce—forking up a whole lettuce leaf like a rabbit and chewing slowly, which was quite fascinating. He was short, with sparse black hair and a pale complexion, always dressed in black flannel, a coarse linen shirt, black shoes, and the largest black glasses I had ever seen.
Mr. Oberregiel, sitting opposite me, smiled kindly. "Dear lady, you must find it very interesting to sit here and watch carefully. Of course, this is a very distinguished apartment. In the summer, a noblewoman from the Spanish court visited here. She had liver disease. We often chatted together."
I felt pleased and also aware of my own insignificance.
"Well, in your ‘apartment’ in England, you can’t find people as refined as in Germany."
"That’s true," I replied, completely captivated by the baron, who looked like a little yellow silkworm.
"The baron comes every year," Mr. Oberregiel continued. "To rest his mind. He has never spoken to any of the guests staying here." A faint smile flickered across his face. I felt as if I could see his fantasy reaching a delightful peak in silence—in the distant days to come, exchanging a few pleasantries with the baron; abandoning the newspaper I was reading to talk to this great man; hearing him say "thank you" and passing on this radiance to future generations.
At that moment, a postman, who looked like a German officer, delivered the mail. He tossed my letters into my cream pudding and then turned to whisper to the maid. She hurried away.
The landlord entered, holding a small tray with a landscape postcard on it. He bowed respectfully and handed the postcard to the baron. I was disappointed because there was no 25-gun salute.
After the meal, we had coffee. I noticed the baron took three sugar cubes, put two into his cup, and took a handkerchief from his suit pocket, wrapping the third cube in one corner of the handkerchief. He was always the first to enter the dining room and the last to leave; he also placed his small black briefcase on an empty chair beside him.
In the afternoon, leaning by the window, I saw him carrying the briefcase and shuffling along the street. Every time he passed a street lamp, he would step back as if the lamp post were about to strike him, or as if he feared this vulgar thing would soil him.
I wondered where he was going and why he was carrying the briefcase. I had never seen him go to a gambling den or a spa. With his slippers dragging, he looked forlorn. I found myself sympathizing with this baron.
That evening, our group gathered in the hall, lively and discussing the "latest news." Mrs. Oberregiel sat beside me, knitting a shawl for the youngest of her nine daughters. The older girl was pregnant.
"This marriage must be very happy," she said to me. "My dear has married a banker—she has always wanted that."
There were about a dozen people there. The married ones talked among themselves about their husbands’ underwear and peculiarities, while the unmarried ones discussed their admirers’ coats and special charm.
"I knit them all myself," Mrs. Reele said loudly. "With gray woolen yarn. I’ve made two soft collars. He wears one a month."
Later, Lisa whispered, "He told me, ‘You make me so happy. I might write to your mother.’"
It was a small piece of advice, and it wasn’t surprising that we were a little excited.
The door burst open, and the baron entered. Then there was a moment of silence. He walked in slowly, hesitated, then picked up a toothpick from a plate on the piano and walked out again.
After the door closed, we gave a triumphant cheer. It was the first time he had entered the drawing room. Who could say what might happen in the future!
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