Читать книгу "Not I, but the Wind..." - Frieda von Richthofen Lawrence - Страница 14

Hotel Rheinischer Hof

Trier—Thursday

Another day nearly gone—it is just sunset. Trier is a nice town. This is a nice hotel. The man is a cocky little fellow, but good. He’s lived in every country and swanks about his languages. He really speaks English nicely. He’s about thirty-five, I should think. When I came in just now—it is sunset—he said, “You are tired?” It goes without saying I laughed. “A little bit,” he added, quite gently. That amuses me. He would do what my men friends always want to do, look after me a bit in the trifling, physical matters.

I have written a newspaper article that nobody on earth will print, because it’s too plain and straight. However, I don’t care. And I’ve been a ripping walk—up a great steep hill nearly like a cliff, beyond the river. I will take you on Saturday—so nice: apple blossom everywhere, and the cuckoo, and brilliant beech trees. Beech leaves seem to rush out in spring, with éclat. You can have coffee at a nice place, and look at the town, like a handful of cinders and rubbish thrown beside the river down below. Then there are the birds always. And I went past a Madonna stuck with flowers, beyond the hilltop, among all the folds and jumble of hills: pretty as heaven. And I smoked a pensive cigarette, and philosophized about love and life and battle, and you and me. And I thought of a theme for my next novel. And I forgot the German for matches, so I had to beg a light from a young priest, in French, and he held me the red end of his cigar. There are not so many soldiers here. I should never hate Trier. There are more priests than soldiers. Of the sort I’ve seen—not a bit Jesuitical—I prefer them. The cathedral is crazy: a grotto, not a cathedral, inside—baroque, baroque. The town is always pleasant, and the people.

One more day, and you’ll be here. Suddenly I see your chin. I love your chin. At this moment, I seem to love you, because you’ve got such a nice chin. Doesn’t it seem ridiculous?

I must go down to supper. I am tired. It was a long walk. And then the strain of these days. I dreamed E ... was frantically furiously wild with me—I won’t tell you the details—and then he calmed down, and I had to comfort him. I am a devil at dreaming. It’s because I get up so late. One always dreams after seven a.m.

The day is gone. I’ll talk a bit to my waiter fellow, and post this. You will come on Saturday? By Jove, if you don’t! We shall always have to battle with life, so we’ll never fight with each other, always help.

Bis Samstag—ich liebe dich schwer.

D. H. Lawrence