English
Ineachcenturysincethebeginningoftheworldwonderfulthingshavebeendiscovered.
Inthelastcenturymoreamazingthingswerefoundoutthaninanycenturybefore.
Inthisnewcenturyhundredsofthingsstillmoreastoundingwillbebroughttolight.
Atfirstpeoplerefusetobelievethatastrangenewthingcanbedone,thentheybegintohopeitcanbedone,thentheyseeitcanbedone—thenitisdoneandalltheworldwonderswhyitwasnotdonecenturiesago.
Oneofthenewthingspeoplebegantofindoutinthelastcenturywasthatthoughts—justmerethoughts—areaspowerfulaselectricbatteries—asgoodforoneassunlightis,orasbadforoneaspoison.
Toletasadthoughtorabadonegetintoyourmindisasdangerousaslettingascarletfevergermgetintoyourbody.
Ifyouletitstaythereafterithasgotinyoumaynevergetoveritaslongasyoulive.
SolongasMistressMary’smindwasfullofdisagreeablethoughtsaboutherdislikesandsouropinionsofpeopleandherdeterminationnottobepleasedbyorinterestedinanything,shewasayellow-faced,sickly,boredandwretchedchild.
Circumstances,however,wereverykindtoher,thoughshewasnotatallawareofit.
Theybegantopushheraboutforherowngood.
Whenhermindgraduallyfilleditselfwithrobins,andmoorlandcottagescrowdedwithchildren,withqueercrabbedoldgardenersandcommonlittleYorkshirehousemaids,withspringtimeandwithsecretgardenscomingalivedaybyday,andalsowithamoorboyandhis“creatures,”therewasnoroomleftforthedisagreeablethoughtswhichaffectedherliverandherdigestionandmadeheryellowandtired.
SolongasColinshuthimselfupinhisroomandthoughtonlyofhisfearsandweaknessandhisdetestationofpeoplewholookedathimandreflectedhourlyonhumpsandearlydeath,hewasahystericalhalf-crazylittlehypochondriacwhoknewnothingofthesunshineandthespringandalsodidnotknowthathecouldgetwellandcouldstanduponhisfeetifhetriedtodoit.
Whennewbeautifulthoughtsbegantopushouttheoldhideousones,lifebegantocomebacktohim,hisbloodranhealthilythroughhisveinsandstrengthpouredintohimlikeaflood.
Hisscientificexperimentwasquitepracticalandsimpleandtherewasnothingweirdaboutitatall.
Muchmoresurprisingthingscanhappentoanyonewho,whenadisagreeableordiscouragedthoughtcomesintohismind,justhasthesensetorememberintimeandpushitoutbyputtinginanagreeabledeterminedlycourageousone.Twothingscannotbeinoneplace.
“Where,youtendarose,mylad,
Athistlecannotgrow.”
Whilethesecretgardenwascomingaliveandtwochildrenwerecomingalivewithit,therewasamanwanderingaboutcertainfar-awaybeautifulplacesintheNorwegianfiordsandthevalleysandmountainsofSwitzerlandandhewasamanwhofortenyearshadkepthismindfilledwithdarkandheart-brokenthinking.
Hehadnotbeencourageous;hehadnevertriedtoputanyotherthoughtsintheplaceofthedarkones.
Hehadwanderedbybluelakesandthoughtthem;hehadlainonmountain-sideswithsheetsofdeepbluegentiansbloomingallabouthimandflowerbreathsfillingalltheairandhehadthoughtthem.
Aterriblesorrowhadfallenuponhimwhenhehadbeenhappyandhehadlethissoulfillitselfwithblacknessandhadrefusedobstinatelytoallowanyriftoflighttopiercethrough.
Hehadforgottenanddesertedhishomeandhisduties.
Whenhetraveledabout,darknesssobroodedoverhimthatthesightofhimwasawrongdonetootherpeoplebecauseitwasasifhepoisonedtheairabouthimwithgloom.
Moststrangersthoughthemustbeeitherhalfmadoramanwithsomehiddencrimeonhissoul.
He,wasatallmanwithadrawnfaceandcrookedshouldersandthenamehealwaysenteredonhotelregisterswas,“ArchibaldCraven,MisselthwaiteManor,Yorkshire,England.”
HehadtraveledfarandwidesincethedayhesawMistressMaryinhisstudyandtoldhershemighthaveher“bitofearth.”
HehadbeeninthemostbeautifulplacesinEurope,thoughhehadremainednowheremorethanafewdays.
Hehadchosenthequietestandremotestspots.
Hehadbeenonthetopsofmountainswhoseheadswereinthecloudsandhadlookeddownonothermountainswhenthesunroseandtouchedthemwithsuchlightasmadeitseemasiftheworldwerejustbeingborn.
Butthelighthadneverseemedtotouchhimselfuntilonedaywhenherealizedthatforthefirsttimeintenyearsastrangethinghadhappened.
HewasinawonderfulvalleyintheAustrianTyrolandhehadbeenwalkingalonethroughsuchbeautyasmighthavelifted,anyman’ssouloutofshadow.
Hehadwalkedalongwayandithadnotliftedhis.
Butatlasthehadfelttiredandhadthrownhimselfdowntorestonacarpetofmossbyastream.
Itwasaclearlittlestreamwhichranquitemerrilyalongonitsnarrowwaythroughthelusciousdampgreenness.
Sometimesitmadeasoundratherlikeverylowlaughterasitbubbledoverandroundstones.
Hesawbirdscomeanddiptheirheadstodrinkinitandthenflicktheirwingsandflyaway.
Itseemedlikeathingaliveandyetitstinyvoicemadethestillnessseemdeeper.Thevalleywasvery,verystill.
Ashesatgazingintotheclearrunningofthewater,ArchibaldCravengraduallyfelthismindandbodybothgrowquiet,asquietasthevalleyitself.
Hewonderedifheweregoingtosleep,buthewasnot.
Hesatandgazedatthesunlitwaterandhiseyesbegantoseethingsgrowingatitsedge.
Therewasonelovelymassofblueforget-me-notsgrowingsoclosetothestreamthatitsleaveswerewetandatthesehefoundhimselflookingasherememberedhehadlookedatsuchthingsyearsago.
Hewasactuallythinkingtenderlyhowlovelyitwasandwhatwondersofblueitshundredsoflittleblossomswere.
Hedidnotknowthatjustthatsimplethoughtwasslowlyfillinghismind—fillingandfillingituntilotherthingsweresoftlypushedaside.
Itwasasifasweetclearspringhadbeguntoriseinastagnantpoolandhadrisenandrisenuntilatlastitsweptthedarkwateraway.
Butofcoursehedidnotthinkofthishimself.
Heonlyknewthatthevalleyseemedtogrowquieterandquieterashesatandstaredatthebrightdelicateblueness.
Hedidnotknowhowlonghesatthereorwhatwashappeningtohim,butatlasthemovedasifhewereawakeningandhegotupslowlyandstoodonthemosscarpet,drawingalong,deep,softbreathandwonderingathimself.
Somethingseemedtohavebeenunboundandreleasedinhim,veryquietly.
“Whatisit?”hesaid,almostinawhisper,andhepassedhishandoverhisforehead.“Ialmostfeelasif—Iwerealive!”
Idonotknowenoughaboutthewonderfulnessofundiscoveredthingstobeabletoexplainhowthishadhappenedtohim.Neitherdoesanyoneelseyet.
Hedidnotunderstandatallhimself—butherememberedthisstrangehourmonthsafterwardwhenhewasatMisselthwaiteagainandhefoundoutquitebyaccidentthatonthisverydayColinhadcriedoutashewentintothesecretgarden:
“Iamgoingtoliveforeverandeverandever!”
Thesingularcalmnessremainedwithhimtherestoftheeveningandhesleptanewreposefulsleep;butitwasnotwithhimverylong.Hedidnotknowthatitcouldbekept.
Bythenextnighthehadopenedthedoorswidetohisdarkthoughtsandtheyhadcometroopingandrushingback.
Heleftthevalleyandwentonhiswanderingwayagain.
But,strangeasitseemedtohim,therewereminutes—sometimeshalf-hours—when,withouthisknowingwhy,theblackburdenseemedtoliftitselfagainandheknewhewasalivingmanandnotadeadone.
Slowly—slowly—fornoreasonthatheknewof—hewas“comingalive”withthegarden.
AsthegoldensummerchangedintothedeepgoldenautumnhewenttotheLakeofComo.
Therehefoundthelovelinessofadream.
Hespenthisdaysuponthecrystalbluenessofthelakeorhewalkedbackintothesoftthickverdureofthehillsandtrampeduntilhewastiredsothathemightsleep.
Butbythistimehehadbeguntosleepbetter,heknew,andhisdreamshadceasedtobeaterrortohim.
“Perhaps,”hethought,“mybodyisgrowingstronger.”
Itwasgrowingstrongerbut—becauseoftherarepeacefulhourswhenhisthoughtswerechanged—hissoulwasslowlygrowingstronger,too.
HebegantothinkofMisselthwaiteandwonderifheshouldnotgohome.
Nowandthenhewonderedvaguelyabouthisboyandaskedhimselfwhatheshouldfeelwhenhewentandstoodbythecarvedfour-postedbedagainandlookeddownatthesharplychiseledivory-whitefacewhileitsleptand,theblacklashesrimmedsostartlinglytheclose-shuteyes.Heshrankfromit.
Onemarvelofadayhehadwalkedsofarthatwhenhereturnedthemoonwashighandfullandalltheworldwaspurpleshadowandsilver.
Thestillnessoflakeandshoreandwoodwassowonderfulthathedidnotgointothevillahelivedin.
Hewalkeddowntoalittleboweredterraceatthewater’sedgeandsatuponaseatandbreathedinalltheheavenlyscentsofthenight.
Hefeltthestrangecalmnessstealingoverhimanditgrewdeeperanddeeperuntilhefellasleep.
Hedidnotknowwhenhefellasleepandwhenhebegantodream;hisdreamwassorealthathedidnotfeelasifheweredreaming.
Herememberedafterwardhowintenselywideawakeandalerthehadthoughthewas.
Hethoughtthatashesatandbreathedinthescentofthelaterosesandlistenedtothelappingofthewaterathisfeetheheardavoicecalling.
Itwassweetandclearandhappyandfaraway.
Itseemedveryfar,buthehearditasdistinctlyasifithadbeenathisveryside.
“Archie!Archie!Archie!”itsaid,andthenagain,sweeterandclearerthanbefore,“Archie!Archie!”
Hethoughthesprangtohisfeetnotevenstartled.Itwassucharealvoiceanditseemedsonaturalthatheshouldhearit.
“Lilias!Lilias!”heanswered.“Lilias!whereareyou?”
“Inthegarden,”itcamebacklikeasoundfromagoldenflute.“Inthegarden!”
Andthenthedreamended.Buthedidnotawaken.
Hesleptsoundlyandsweetlyallthroughthelovelynight.
Whenhedidawakeatlastitwasbrilliantmorningandaservantwasstandingstaringathim.
HewasanItalianservantandwasaccustomed,asalltheservantsofthevillawere,toacceptingwithoutquestionanystrangethinghisforeignmastermightdo.
Nooneeverknewwhenhewouldgooutorcomeinorwherehewouldchoosetosleeporifhewouldroamaboutthegardenorlieintheboatonthelakeallnight.
ThemanheldasalverwithsomelettersonitandhewaitedquietlyuntilMr.Craventookthem.
WhenhehadgoneawayMr.Cravensatafewmomentsholdingtheminhishandandlookingatthelake.
Hisstrangecalmwasstilluponhimandsomethingmore—alightnessasifthecruelthingwhichhadbeendonehadnothappenedashethought—asifsomethinghadchanged.
Hewasrememberingthedream—thereal—realdream.
“Inthegarden!”hesaid,wonderingathimself.“Inthegarden!Butthedoorislockedandthekeyisburieddeep.”
WhenheglancedatthelettersafewminuteslaterhesawthattheonelyingatthetopoftherestwasanEnglishletterandcamefromYorkshire.
Itwasdirectedinaplainwoman’shandbutitwasnotahandheknew.
Heopenedit,scarcelythinkingofthewriter,butthefirstwordsattractedhisattentionatonce.
“DearSir:
IamSusanSowerbythatmadeboldtospeaktoyouonceonthemoor.ItwasaboutMissMaryIspoke.Iwillmakeboldtospeakagain.
Please,sir,IwouldcomehomeifIwasyou.
Ithinkyouwouldbegladtocomeand—ifyouwillexcuseme,sir—Ithinkyourladywouldaskyoutocomeifshewashere.
Yourobedientservant,
SusanSowerby.”
Mr.Cravenreadthelettertwicebeforeheputitbackinitsenvelope.Hekeptthinkingaboutthedream.
“IwillgobacktoMisselthwaite,”hesaid.“Yes,I’llgoatonce.”
AndhewentthroughthegardentothevillaandorderedPitchertoprepareforhisreturntoEngland.
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