英语小说网

On Tuesday, May 29, Sophie was standing in the kitchen doing the dishes. Her mother had gone into the living room to watch the TV news. When the opening theme faded out she heard from the kitchen that a major in the Norwegian UN Battalion had been killed by a shell.

She told Joanna more. She told her all about her visit to Alberto, the postcard in the mailbox, and the ten-crown piece she had found on the way home. She kept the dream about Hilde and the gold crucifix to herself.

Sophie heard nothing more from Alberto for several days, but she glanced frequently into the garden hoping to catch sight of Hermes. She told her mother that the dog had found its own way home and that she had been invited in by its owner, a former physics teacher. He had told Sophie about the solar system and the new science that developed in the sixteenth century.

… such stuff as dreams are made on…

Sophie threw the dish towel on the table and rushed into the living room. She was just in time to catch a glimpse of the UN officer's face for a few seconds before they switched to the next item.

"Yes, there is. You have a boyfriend, and I'm beginning to think he's much older than you. Answer me now: Do you know a man in Lebanon?"

"But Sophie, it's not that bad!"

Sophie burst into tears.

She had stopped crying, but now it was her mother's turn to react. She got out of her chair and switched off the TV. "What's going on, Sophie?"

"Whose daughter?"

"Did they say his name?"

"No, not exactly…"

"No, you're being silly."

"Maybe I should start asking some questions instead. Why is Dad never home? Is it because you haven't got the guts to get a divorce? Maybe you've got a boyfriend you don't want Dad and me to know about and so on and so on. I've got plenty of questions of my own."

"It's none of your business."

"Oh no!" she cried.

"Isn't that the same as Lillesand?"

"Yes, war is a terrible thing!"

"Have you met the son of someone in Lebanon?"

"No, I haven't. I haven't even met his daughter."

"But if you come from Grimstad, you might go to school in Lillesand."

Her mother turned to her.

"Yes, but I don't remember it. He was from Grimstad, I think."

"I think it is."

"Nothing."

"I think we need to talk."

Sophie ran up to her room; she felt like crying.

As soon as she was through in the bathroom and had curled up under the covers, her mother came into the bedroom.

Sophie was thinking how complicated it was to live two lives at the same time. She began to look forward to the end of the philosophy course. Maybe it would be over by her birthday -- or at least by Midsummer Eve, when Hilde's father would be home from Lebanon…

Sophie pretended to be asleep even though she knew her mother wouldn't believe it. She knew her mother knew that Sophie knew her mother wouldn't believe it either. Nevertheless her mother pretended to believe that Sophie was asleep. She sat on the edge of Sophie's bed and stroked her hair.

"That may be. But right now I'm so worn out I'm going to bed. And I'm getting my period."

"That sounds great. Who will you invite?"

"I want to have a birthday party," she said suddenly.

"Of course. We have a big garden. Hopefully the good weather will continue."

"Lots of people… Can I?"

"It is, indeed."

Sophie had been talking with her head almost buried in her pillow. Now her mother said, "Sophie -- you must tell me why you seem so out of balance at the moment."

"Did I say that?"

"I see."

"It belongs to a man called Alberto."

"You went all that way with the dog?"

"You said that the dog had often been here."

"I don't know."

"You're hardly ever at home," she ventured.

"Weren't you like this when you were fifteen?"

"That's good, isn't it?"

"It is?"

"Most of all I'd like to have it on Midsummer Eve."

"He lives down in the Old Town."

"There's nothing dangerous about that."

"All right, that's what we'll do."

"Probably. But you know what I am talking about."

She had to think now. She wanted to tell as much as possible, but she couldn't tell everything.

Sophie suddenly turned to face her mother. "The dog's name is Hermes," she said.

"Alberto and Hermes have been here lots of times."

"I feel I've grown up a lot lately."

"It's a very important day," Sophie said, thinking not only of her birthday.

"No, I'm much too busy."

"And he only wrote about philosophy?"

"Except that it wasn't a love letter."

"Just like that, over the hedge?"

"Can't you at least ask one question at a time? They haven't been in the house. But they often go for walks in the woods. Is that so mysterious?"

"So that was the 'love letter' we talked about."

"No, not in the least."

"What about the white rabbit and all that stuff?"

"He has also written letters to me, lots of times, actually. Sometimes he has sent them by mail and other times he has just dropped them in the mailbox on his way out for a walk."

"What for? Were they in the house as well?"

"That was something Alberto said. He is a real philosopher, you see. He has told me about all the philosophers."

"They walk past our gate like everyone else when they go for a walk. One day when I got home from school I talked to the dog. That's how I got to know Alberto."

"Yes, can you imagine! And I've learned more from him than I have learned in eight years of school. For instance, have you ever heard of Giordano Bruno, who was burned at the stake in 1600? Or of Newton's Law of Universal Gravitation?"

"Oh yes, fluently."

"About how old is this man?"

This was a tough one. Sophie thought hard. She chose the most likely story.

"Alberto's a funny kind of name, isn't it?"

"But what is his connection with Lebanon?"

"If he will. At any rate, he's more interesting to talk to than the boys in my class. It's just that…"

"Well, nearly everything that's important comes either from Greece or from Italy."

"No, there's a lot I don't know."

"It sounds Italian."

"Alberto has a brother who's a major in the UN Battalion. And he's from Lillesand. Maybe he's the major who once lived in the major's cabin."

"I bet you don't even know why the earth orbits the sun -- and it's your own planet!"

"Perhaps."

"You know what, Sophie -- I think you should inviteAlberto home one day. I have never met a real philosopher."

"We'll see."

"I have no idea -- about fifty, probably."

"But he speaks Norwegian?"

"Maybe we could invite him to your birthday party? It could be such fun to mix the generations. Then maybe I could come too. At least, I could help with the serving. Wouldn't that be a good idea?"

When her mother returned with the pill and a glass of water Sophie had fallen asleep.

"What?"

May 31 was a Thursday. Sophie agonized through the afternoon classes at school. She was doing better in some subjects since she started on the philosophy course. Usually her grades were good in most subjects, but lately they were even better, except in math.

"Yes, please."

"Do you want an aspirin?"

In the last class they got an essay handed back. Sophie had written on "Man and Technology." She had written reams on the Renaissance and the scientific breakthrough, the new view of nature and Francis Bacon, who had said that knowledge was power. She had been very careful to point out that the empirical method came before the technological discoveries. Then she had written about some of the things she could think of about technology that were not so good for society. She ended with a paragraph on the fact that everything people do can be used for good or evil. Good and evil are like a white and a black thread that make up a single strand.

"They'd probably flip and think Alberto was my new boyfriend."

"Yes, we shall. And Sophie -- it is true that things haven't always been easy between Dad and me. But there was never anyone else…"

"Well, we'll have to see."

"Then you just tell them he isn't."

"I have to sleep now. I've got such awful cramps."

As the teacher gave out the exercise books he looked down at Sophie and winked.

Sometimes they are so closely intertwined that it is impossible to untangle them.

She got an A and the comment: "Where do you get all this from?" As he stood there, she took out a pen and wrote with block letters in the margin of her exercise book: I'M STUDYING PHILOSOPHY.

You said on the phone that you were getting better at looking after your things. I'm glad, because you're the untidiest creature I've ever met. Then you said the only thing you'd lost since we last spoke was ten crowns. I'll do what I can to help you find it. Although I am far away, I have a helping hand back home. (If I find the money I'll put it in with your birthday present.) Love, Dad, who feels as if he's already started the long trip home.

As she was closing the exercise book again, something fell out of it. It was a postcard from Lebanon:

Dear Hilde, When you read this we shall already have spoken together by phone about the tragic death down here. Sometimes I ask myself if war could have been avoided if people had been a bit better at thinking. Perhaps the best remedy against violence would be a short course in philosophy. What about "the UN's little philosophy book"-- which all new citizens of the world could be given a copy of in their own language. I'll propose the idea to the UN General Secretary.

Sophie shrugged her shoulders. "We don't have to invite the worst idiots."

"No, look… 5/30/90, it says."

"But you are going to invite Jeremy?"

"Do you think it could have come by mail? And the teacher just popped it in your exercise book?"

"I doubt if a postcard from Lebanon can get to Norway in one day," said Joanna.

"With boys?"

"Probably June 15…"

"I'm going to have a garden party on Midsummer Eve," said Sophie.

No more was said about the postcard.

"If you want. By the way, I might invite Alberto Knox."

"No idea. I don't know whether I dare ask either."

"That was yesterday… the day after the death of the major in Lebanon."

Joanna was waiting in the playground. On the way home Sophie opened her schoolbag and showed Joanna the latest card.

"Especially not considering the rather unusual address: Hilde Moller Knag, c/o Sophie Amundsen, Fu-rulia Junior High School…"

"When is it postmarked?" asked Joanna.

Sophie had just managed to finish reading the card when the last bell rang. Once again her thoughts were in turmoil.

"You must be crazy!"

That was as far as the conversation got before their ways parted at the supermarket.

"I know."

The first thing Sophie did when she got home was to see if Hermes was in the garden. Sure enough, there he was, sniffing around the apple trees.

"Hermes!"

He dashed up to her, wagged his tail wildly, and jumped up to lick her face.

That was actually quite a lot in the space of one second.

The dog stood motionless for a second. Sophie knew exactly what was going on in that second: the dog heard her call, recognized her voice, and decided to see if she was there. Then, discovering her, he began to run toward her. Finally all four legs came pattering like drumsticks.

"Hermes, clever boy! Down, down. No, stop slobbering all over me. Heel, boy! That's it!"

Sophie let herself into the house. Sherekan came jumping out from the bushes. He was rather wary of the stranger. Sophie put his cat food out, poured birdseed in the budgerigars' cup, got out a salad leaf for the tortoise, and wrote a note to her mother.

Democritus, on the other hand, thought people and animals were really rather alike because both were made up of atoms. And he didn't think that either people or animals had immortal souls. According to him, souls were built up of atoms that are spread to the winds when people die. He was the one who thought a person's soul was inseparably bound to the brain.

They set off through the town. Sophie had remembered to take some money with her this time. She wondered whether she ought to take the bus with Hermes, but decided she had better wait and ask Alberto about it.

What was the difference between a dog and a person? She recalled Aristotle's words. He said that people and animals are both natural living creatures with a lot of characteristics in common. But there was one distinct difference between people and animals, and that was hu-man reasoning.

She wrote that she was going to take Hermes home and would be back by seven.

While she walked on and on behind Hermes she thought about what an animal really is.

How could he have been so sure?

Sophie bent down and picked up the card. Hermes started growling as if he didn't like Sophie touching it.

The card read:

They were already beyond Main Square and were approaching the Old Town. When they got to the sidewalk where Sophie had found the ten crowns, she looked automatically down at the asphalt. And there, on exactly the same spot where she had bent down and picked up the money, lay a postcard with the picture side up. The picture showed a garden with palms and orange trees.

But how could the soul be made of atoms? The soul wasn't anything you could touch like the rest of the body. It was something "spiritual."

Dear Hilde, Life consists of a long chain of coincidences. It is not altogether unlikely that the ten crowns you lost turned up right here. Maybe it was found on the square in Lillesand by an old lady who was waiting for the bus to Kristiansand. From Kris-tiansand she took the train to visit her grandchildren, and many, many hours later she lost the coin here on New Square. It is then perfectly possible that the very same coin was picked up later on that day by a girl who really needed it to get home by bus. You never can tell, Hilde, but if it is truly so, then one must certainly ask whether or not God's providence is behind everything. Love, Dad, who in spirit is sitting on the dock at home in Lillesand. P. S. I said I would help you find the ten crowns.

Sophie ran up the stairs after Hermes. As soon as Alberto opened the door, she said: "Out of my way. Here comes the mailman."

"You clown!" she said and handed him the card.

On the address side it said: "Hilde Moller Knag, c/o a casual passer-by…" The postmark was stamped 6/15/90.

She felt she had every reason to be annoyed. Alberto stood aside as she barged in. Hermes laid himself down under the coat pegs as before.

"Has the major presented another visiting card, my child?"

"He gets ruder all the time. But maybe it's just as well."

Sophie looked up at him and discovered that he was wearing a different costume. He had put on a long curled wig and a wide, baggy suit with a mass of lace. He wore a loud silk scarf at his throat, and on top of the suit he had thrown a red cape. He also wore white stockings and thin patent leather shoes with bows. The whole costume reminded Sophie of pictures she had seen of the court of Louis XIV.

"Exactly."

"Hm… and you really found ten crowns on the same spot where he planted the card?"

"It is a first edition of the book of Descartes's philosophical essays published in 1637 in which his famous Discourse on Method originally appeared, and one of my most treasured possessions."

"Perfume?"

On the coffee table was a small antique casket containing an assorted collection of lenses for eyeglasses. Beside it lay an open book. It looked really old.

"It tries to be elegant but is really a sham. Can't you see how he has the effrontery to compare his own shabby surveillance of us with God's providence?"

"What is that?" Sophie asked.

They went into the living room with the sloping walls and the skylight. Sophie noticed that Alberto had put different objects out in place of some of those she had seen last time.

"And today we are going to talk about the seventeenth century."

"Why?"

"It'll make it easier to unmask him. But this trick was both pompous and tasteless. It almost stinks of cheap perfume."

"Four o'clock."

"Let's go in and sit down. What time is it?"

He held up the card. Then he tore it to pieces. So as not to make his mood worse she refrained from mentioning the card that fell out of her exercise book at school.

"Of course. But first let us try to familiarize ourselves with the period they lived in. Have a seat."

"I would probably understand better how valuable these things are if I knew who Spinoza and Descartes were."

"It holds an exclusive collection of lenses -- or optical glass. They were polished by the Dutch philosopher Spinoza sometime during the mid-1600s. They were extremely costly and are also among my most valued treasures."

They sat in the same places as before, Sophie in the big armchair and Alberto Knox on the sofa. Between them was the coffee table with the book and the casket. Alberto removed his wig and laid it on the writing desk.

"We are going to talk about the seventeenth century -- or what we generally refer to as the Baroque period."

"The word 'baroque' comes from a word that was first used to describe a pearl of irregular shape. Irregularity was typical of Baroque art, which was much richer in highly contrastive forms than the plainer and more harmonious Renaissance art. The seventeenth century was on the whole characterized by tensions between irreconcilable contrasts. On the one hand there was the Renaissance's unremitting optimism -- and on the other hand there were the many who sought the opposite extreme in a life of religious seclusion and self-denial. Both in art and in real life, we meet pompous and flamboyant forms of self-expression, while at the same time there arose a monastic movement, turning away from the world."

"The Baroque period? What a strange name."

"And the casket?"

"Both proud palaces and remote monasteries, in other words."

"Yes, you could certainly say that. One of the Baroque period's favorite sayings was the Latin expression 'carpe diem'--'seize the day.' Another Latin expression that was widely quoted was 'memento mori,' which means 'Remember that you must die.' In art, a painting could depict an extremely luxurious lifestyle, with a little skull painted in one corner.

"It's true. It is sad to realize that nothing lasts."

"You think exactly as many people did in the seventeenth century. The Baroque period was also an age of conflict in a political sense. Europe was ravaged by wars. The worst was the Thirty Years' War which raged over most of the continent from 1618 to 1648. In reality it was a series of wars which took a particular toll on Germany. Not least as a result of the Thirty Years' War, France gradually became the dominant power in Europe."

"In many senses, the Baroque period was characterized by vanity or affectation. But at the same time a lot of people were concerned with the other side of the coin; they were concerned with the ephemeral nature of things. That is, the fact that all the beauty that surrounds us must one day perish."

"What were the wars about?"

"More or less like in Lebanon."

"To a great extent they were wars between Protestants and Catholics. But they were also about political power."

"You're thinking of Gustav III, a good example of the sort of thing I mean. The assassination of Gustav III wasn't until 1792, but the circumstances were quite baroque. He was murdered while attending a huge masked ball."

"Apart from wars, the seventeenth century was a time of great class differences. I'm sure you have heard of the French aristocracy and the Court of Versailles. I don't know whether you have heard much about the poverty of the French people. But any display of magnificence presupposes a display of power. It has often been said that the political situation in the Baroque period was not unlike its art and architecture. Baroque buildings were typified by a lot of ornate nooks and crannies. In a somewhat similar fashion the political situation was typified by intrigue, plotting, and assassinations."

"Wasn't a Swedish king shot in a theater?"

"The great masked ball was held at the Opera. We could say that the Baroque period in Sweden came to an end with the murder of Gustav III. During his time there had been a rule of 'enlightened despotism,' similar to that in the reign of Louis XIV almost a hundred years earlier. Gustav III was also an extremely vain person who adored all French ceremony and courtesies. He also loved the theater…"

"… and that was the death of him."

"I thought he was at the theater."

"Yes, but the theater of the Baroque period was more than an art form. It was the most commonly employed symbol of the time."

"A symbol of what?"

"Of life, Sophie. I don't know how many times during the seventeenth century it was said that 'Life is a theater.' It was very often, anyway. The Baroque period gave birth to modern theater -- with all its forms of scenery and theatrical machinery. In the theater one built up an illusion on stage -- to expose ultimately that the stage play was just an illusion. The theater thus became a reflection of human life in general. The theater could show that 'pride comes before a fall,' and present a merciless portrait of human frailty."

"When they were not comparing life to a stage, the Baroque poets were comparing life to a dream. Shakespeare says, for example: We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep…"

"In As You Like It, he says: All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts."

"Thanks, I got the message."

"Yes."

"He wrote his greatest plays around the year 1600, so he stands with one foot in the Renaissance and the other in the Baroque. Shakespeare's work is full of passages about life as a theater. Would you like to hear some of them?"

"Did Shakespeare live in the Baroque period?"

"And in Macbeth, he says: Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more; it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing."

"He was preoccupied with the brevity of life. You must have heard Shakespeare's most famous line?"

"Yes, spoken by Hamlet. One day we are walking around on the earth -- and the next day we are dead and gone."

"To be or not to be -- that is the question."

"How very pessimistic."

"That was very poetic."

"He may be right. We read a play at school. It was called Jeppe on the Mount."

"By Ludvig Holberg, yes. He was a gigantic figure here in Scandinavia, marking the transition from the Baroque period to the Age of Enlightenment."

"Jeppe falls asleep in a ditch… and wakes up in the Baron's bed. So he thinks he only dreamed that he was a poor farmhand. Then when he falls asleep again they carry him back to the ditch, and he wakes up again. This time he thinks he only dreamed he was lying in the Baron's bed."

"The Spanish dramatist Calderon de la Barca, who was bom in the year 1600, wrote a play called Life Is a Dream, in which he says: 'What is life? A madness. What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a story, and the greatest good is little enough, for all life is a dream…'"

"Holberg borrowed this theme from Calderon, and Calderon had borrowed it from the old Arabian tales, A Thousand and One Nights. Comparing life to a dream, though, is a theme we find even farther back in history, not least in India and China. The old Chinese sage Chuang-tzu, for example, said: Once I dreamed I was a butterfly, and now I no longer know whether I am Chuang-tzu, who dreamed I was a butterfly, or whether I am a butterfly dreaming that I am Chuang-tzu."

"We had in Norway a genuine Baroque poet called Fetter Dass, who lived from 1647 to 1707. On the one hand he was concerned with describing life as it is here and now, and on the other hand he emphasized that only God is eternal and constant."

"God is God if every land was waste, God is God if every man were dead."

"Well, it was impossible to prove either way."

"What about their philosophy?"

"But in the same hymn he writes about rural life in Northern Norway -- and about lumpfish, cod, and coal-fish. This is a typical Baroque feature, describing in the same text the earthly and the here and now -- and the celestial and the hereafter. It is all very reminiscent of Plato's distinction between the concrete world of the senses and the immutable world of ideas."

"That too was characterized by powerful struggles between diametrically opposed modes of thought. As I have already mentioned, some philosophers believed that what exists is at bottom spiritual in nature. This standpoint is called idealism. The opposite viewpoint is called materialism. By this is meant a philosophy which holds that all real things derive from concrete material substances. Materialism also had many advocates in the seventeenth century. Perhaps the most influential was the English philosopher Thomas Hobbes. He believed that all phenomena, including man and animals, consist exclusively of particles of matter. Even human consciousness -- or the soul -- derives from the movement of tiny particles in the brain."

"So he agreed with what Democritus said two thousand years before?"

"Both idealism and materialism are themes you will find all through the history of philosophy. But seldom have both views been so clearly present at the same time as in the Baroque. Materialism was constantly nourished by the new sciences. Newton showed that the same laws of motion applied to the whole universe, and that all changes in the natural world -- both on earth and in space -- were explained by the principles of universal gravitation and the motion of bodies. Everything was thus governed by the same unbreakable laws -- or by the same mechanisms. It is therefore possible in principle to calculate every natural change with mathematical precision. And thus Newton completed what we call the mechanistic world view."

"He did indeed. The word 'mechanic' comes from the Greek word 'mechane,' which means machine. It is remarkable that neither Hobbes nor Newton saw any contradiction between the mechanistic world picture and belief in God. But this was not the case for all eighteenth- and nineteenth-century materialists. The French physician and philosopher La Mettrie wrote a book in the eighteenth century called L 'homme machine, which means 'Man -- the machine.' Just as the leg has muscles to walk with, so has the brain 'muscles' to think with. Later on, the French mathematician Laplace expressed an extreme mechanistic view with this idea: If an intelligence at a given time had known the position of all particles of matter, 'nothing would be unknown, and both future and past would lie open before their eyes.' The idea here was that everything that happens is predetermined. 'It's written in the stars' that something will happen. This view is called determinism."

"Did he imagine the world as one big machine?"

"But urine and gall are material. Thoughts aren't."

"So there was no such thing as free will."

"You've got hold of something central there. I can tell you a story about the same thing. A Russian astronaut and a Russian brain surgeon were once discussing religion. The brain surgeon was a Christian but the astronaut was not. The astronaut said, 'I've been out in space many times but I've never seen God or angels.' And the brain surgeon said, 'And I've operated on many clever brains but I've never seen a single thought.'"

"No, but it does underline the fact that thoughts are not things that can be operated on or broken down into ever smaller parts. It is not easy, for example, to surgically remove a delusion. It grows too deep, as it were, for surgery. An important seventeenth-century philosopher named Leibniz pointed out that the difference between the material and the spiritual is precisely that the material can be broken up into smaller and smaller bits, but the soul cannot even be divided into two."

"But that doesn't prove that thoughts don't exist."

"No, everything was a product of mechanical processes -- also our thoughts and dreams. German materialists in the nineteenth century claimed that the relationship of thought to the brain was like the relationship of urine to the kidneys and gall to the liver."

"No, what kind of scalpel would you use for that?"

"Go ahead. But I'm supposed to be home by seven."

Alberto simply shook his head. After a while he pointed down at the table between them and said: "The two greatest philosophers in the seventeenth century were Descartes and Spinoza. They too struggled with questions like the relationship between 'soul' and 'body,' and we are now going to study them more closely."