Diary of a Pilgrimage(朝圣路日记)

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Diary of a Pilgrimage

By Jerome K. Jerome

Diary of a Pilgrimage

PREFACE

Said a friend of mine to me some months ago: "Well now, why don't

you write a SENSIBLE book? I should like to see you make people

think."

"Do you believe it can be done, then?" I asked.

"Well, try," he replied.

Accordingly, I have tried. This is a sensible book. I want you to

understand that. This is a book to improve your mind. In this book I

tell you all about Germany--at all events, all I know about Germany--and

the Ober-Ammergau Passion Play. I also tell you about other things. I

do not tell you all I know about all these other things, because I do not

want to swamp you with knowledge. I wish to lead you gradually.

When you have learnt this book, you can come again, and I will tell you

some more. I should only be defeating my own object did I, by making

you think too much at first, give you a perhaps, lasting dislike to the

exercise. I have purposely put the matter in a light and attractive form,

so that I may secure the attention of the young and the frivolous. I do not

want them to notice, as they go on, that they are being instructed; and I

have, therefore, endeavoured to disguise from them, so far as is practicable,

that this is either an exceptionally clever or an exceptionally useful work.

I want to do them good without their knowing it. I want to do you all

good--to improve your minds and to make you think, if I can.

WHAT you will think after you have read the book, I do not want to

know; indeed, I would rather not know. It will be sufficient reward for

me to feel that I have done my duty, and to receive a percentage on the

gross sales.

LONDON, March, 1891.

Diary of a Pilgrimage

MONDAY, 19TH

My Friend B.--Invitation to the Theatre.--A Most Unpleasant

Regulation.--Yearnings of the Embryo Traveller.--How to Make the Most

of One's Own Country.--Friday, a Lucky Day.--The Pilgrimage Decided

On.

My friend B. called on me this morning and asked me if I would go to

a theatre with him on Monday next.

"Oh, yes! certainly, old man," I replied. "Have you got an order,

then?"

He said:

"No; they don't give orders. We shall have to pay."

"Pay! Pay to go into a theatre!" I answered, in astonishment. "Oh,

nonsense! You are joking."

"My dear fellow," he rejoined, "do you think I should suggest paying if

it were possible to get in by any other means? But the people who run

this theatre would not even understand what was meant by a 'free list,' the

uncivilised barbarians! It is of no use pretending to them that you are on

the Press, because they don't want the Press; they don't think anything of

the Press. It is no good writing to the acting manager, because there is no

acting manager. It would be a waste of time offering to exhibit bills,

because they don't have any bills--not of that sort. If you want to go in to

see the show, you've got to pay. If you don't pay, you stop outside; that's

their brutal rule."

"Dear me," I said, "what a very unpleasant arrangement! And

whereabouts is this extraordinary theatre? I don't think I can ever have

been inside it."

"I don't think you have," he replied; "it is at Ober-Ammergau--first

turning on the left after you leave Ober railway-station, fifty miles from

Munich."

"Um! rather out of the way for a theatre," I said. "I should not have

thought an outlying house like that could have afforded to give itself airs."

"The house holds seven thousand people," answered my friend B.,

Diary of a Pilgrimage

"and money is turned away at each performance. The first production is

on Monday next. Will you come?"

I pondered for a moment, looked at my diary, and saw that Aunt Emma

was coming to spend Saturday to Wednesday next with us, calculated that

if I went I should miss her, and might not see her again for years, and

decided that I would go.

To tell the truth, it was the journey more than the play that tempted me.

To be a great traveller has always been one of my cherished ambitions. I

yearn to be able to write in this sort of strain:-

"I have smoked my fragrant Havana in the sunny streets of old Madrid,

and I have puffed the rude and not sweet-smelling calumet of peace in the

draughty wigwam of the Wild West; I have sipped my evening coffee in

the silent tent, while the tethered camel browsed without upon the desert

grass, and I have quaffed the fiery brandy of the North while the reindeer

munched his fodder beside me in the hut, and the pale light of the

midnight sun threw the shadows of the pines across the snow; I have felt

the stab of lustrous eyes that, ghostlike, looked at me from out veil-

covered faces in Byzantium's narrow ways, and I have laughed back

(though it was wrong of me to do so) at the saucy, wanton glances of the

black-eyed girls of Jedo; I have wandered where 'good'--but not too good--

Haroun Alraschid crept disguised at nightfall, with his faithful Mesrour by

his side; I have stood upon the bridge where Dante watched the sainted

Beatrice pass by; I have floated on the waters that once bore the barge of

Cleopatra; I have stood where Caesar fell; I have heard the soft rustle of

rich, rare robes in the drawing-rooms of Mayfair, and I have heard the

teeth-necklaces rattle around the ebony throats of the belles of Tongataboo;

I have panted beneath the sun's fierce rays in India, and frozen under the

icy blasts of Greenland; I have mingled with the teeming hordes of old

Cathay, and, deep in the great pine forests of the Western World, I have

lain, wrapped in my blanket, a thousand miles beyond the shores of human

life."

B., to whom I explained my leaning towards this style of diction, said

that exactly the same effect could be produced by writing about places

quite handy. He said:-

Diary of a Pilgrimage

"I could go on like that without having been outside England at all. I

should say:

"I have smoked my fourpenny shag in the sanded bars of Fleet Street,

and I have puffed my twopenny Manilla in the gilded balls of the Criterion;

I have quaffed my foaming beer of Burton where Islington's famed Angel

gathers the little thirsty ones beneath her shadowing wings, and I have

sipped my tenpenny ordinaire in many a garlic-scented salon of Soho.

On the back of the strangely-moving ass I have urged--or, to speak more

correctly, the proprietor of the ass, or his agent, from behind has urged--

my wild career across the sandy heaths of Hampstead, and my canoe has

startled the screaming wild-fowl from their lonely haunts amid the sub-

tropical regions of Battersea. Adown the long, steep slope of One Tree

Hill have I rolled from top to foot, while laughing maidens of the East

stood round and clapped their hands and yelled; and, in the old-world

garden of that pleasant Court, where played the fair-haired children of the

ill-starred Stuarts, have I wandered long through many paths, my arm

entwined about the waist of one of Eve's sweet daughters, while her

mother raged around indignantly on the other side of the hedge, and never

seemed to get any nearer to us. I have chased the lodging-house Norfolk

Howard to his watery death by the pale lamp's light; I have, shivering,

followed the leaping flea o'er many a mile of pillow and sheet, by the great

Atlantic's margin. Round and round, till the heart--and not only the

heart--grows sick, and the mad brain whirls and reels, have I ridden the

small, but extremely hard, horse, that may, for a penny, be mounted amid

the plains of Peckham Rye; and high above the heads of the giddy throngs

of Barnet (though it is doubtful if anyone among them was half so giddy

as was I) have I swung in highly-coloured car, worked by a man with a

rope. I have trod in stately measure the floor of Kensington's Town Hall

(the tickets were a guinea each, and included refreshments--when you

could get to them through the crowd), and on the green sward of the forest

that borders eastern Anglia by the oft-sung town of Epping I have

performed quaint ceremonies in a ring; I have mingled with the teeming

hordes of Drury Lane on Boxing Night, and, during the run of a high-class

piece, I have sat in lonely grandeur in the front row of the gallery, and

Diary of a Pilgrimage

wished that I had spent my shilling instead in the Oriental halls of the

Alhambra."

"There you are," said B., "that is just as good as yours; and you can

write like that without going more than a few hours' journey from

London."

"We will discuss the matter no further," I replied. "You cannot, I see,

enter into my feelings. The wild heart of the traveller does not throb

within your breast; you cannot understand his longings. No matter!

Suffice it that I will come this journey with you. I will buy a German

conversation book, and a check-suit, and a blue veil, and a white umbrella,

and suchlike necessities of the English tourist in Germany, this very

afternoon. When do you start?"

"Well," he said, "it is a good two days' journey. I propose to start on

Friday."

"Is not Friday rather an unlucky day to start on?" I suggested.

"Oh, good gracious!" he retorted quite sharply, "what rubbish next? As

if the affairs of Europe were going to be arranged by Providence according

to whether you and I start for an excursion on a Thursday or a Friday!"

He said he was surprised that a man who could be so sensible,

occasionally, as myself, could have patience to even think of such old-

womanish nonsense. He said that years ago, when he was a silly boy, he

used to pay attention to this foolish superstition himself, and would never

upon any consideration start for a trip upon a Friday.

But, one year, he was compelled to do so. It was a case of either

starting on a Friday or not going at all, and he determined to chance it.

He went, prepared for and expecting a series of accidents and

misfortunes. To return home alive was the only bit of pleasure he hoped

for from that trip.

As it turned out, however, he had never had a more enjoyable holiday

in his life before. The whole event was a tremendous success.

And after that, he had made up his mind to ALWAYS start on a Friday;

and he always did, and always had a good time.

He said that he would never, upon any consideration, start for a trip

upon any other day but a Friday now. It was so absurd, this superstition

Diary of a Pilgrimage

about Friday.

So we agreed to start on the Friday, and I am to meet him at Victoria

Station at a quarter to eight in the evening.

Diary of a Pilgrimage

THURSDAY, 22ND

The Question of Luggage.--First Friend's Suggestion.--Second Friend's

Suggestion.--Third Friend's Suggestion.--Mrs. Briggs' Advice.--Our

Vicar's Advice.--His Wife's Advice.--Medical Advice.-- Literary Advice.--

George's Recommendation.--My Sister-in-Law's Help.--Young Smith's

Counsel.--My Own Ideas.--B.'s Idea.

I have been a good deal worried to-day about the question of what

luggage to take with me. I met a man this morning, and he said:

"Oh, if you are going to Ober-Ammergau, mind you take plenty of

warm clothing with you. You'll need all your winter things up there."

He said that a friend of his had gone up there some years ago, and had

not taken enough warm things with him, and had caught a chill there, and

had come home and died. He said:

"You be guided by me, and take plenty of warm things with you."

I met another man later on, and he said:

"I hear you are going abroad. Now, tell me, what part of Europe are

you going to?"

I replied that I thought it was somewhere about the middle. He said:

"Well, now, you take my advice, and get a calico suit and a sunshade.

Never mind the look of the thing. You be comfortable. You've no idea of

the heat on the Continent at this time of the year. English people will

persist in travelling about the Continent in the same stuffy clothes that

they wear at home. That's how so many of them get sunstrokes, and are

ruined for life."

I went into the club, and there I met a friend of mine--a newspaper

correspondent--who has travelled a good deal, and knows Europe pretty

well. I told him what my two other friends had said, and asked him

which I was to believe. He said:

"Well, as a matter of fact, they are both right. You see, up in those

hilly districts, the weather changes very quickly. In the morning it may

be blazing hot, and you will be melting, and in the evening you may be

very glad of a flannel shirt and a fur coat."

Diary of a Pilgrimage

"Why, that is exactly the sort of weather we have in England!" I

exclaimed. "If that's all these foreigners can manage in their own country,

what right have they to come over here, as they do, and grumble about our

weather?"

"Well, as a matter of fact," he replied, "they haven't any right; but you

can't stop them--they will do it. No, you take my advice, and be prepared

for everything. Take a cool suit and some thin things, for if it's hot, and

plenty of warm things in case it is cold."

When I got home I found Mrs. Briggs there, she having looked in to

see how the baby was. She said:-

"Oh! if you're going anywhere near Germany, you take a bit of soap

with you."

She said that Mr. Briggs had been called over to Germany once in a

hurry, on business, and had forgotten to take a piece of soap with him, and

didn't know enough German to ask for any when he got over there, and

didn't see any to ask for even if he had known, and was away for three

weeks, and wasn't able to wash himself all the time, and came home so

dirty that they didn't know him, and mistook him for the man that was to

come to see what was the matter with the kitchen boiler.

Mrs. Briggs also advised me to take some towels with me, as they give

you such small towels to wipe on.

I went out after lunch, and met our Vicar. He said:

"Take a blanket with you."

He said that not only did the German hotel-keepers never give you

sufficient bedclothes to keep you warm of a night, but they never properly

aired their sheets. He said that a young friend of his had gone for a tour

through Germany once, and had slept in a damp bed, and had caught

rheumatic fever, and had come home and died.

His wife joined us at this point. (He was waiting for her outside a

draper's shop when I met him.) He explained to her that I was going to

Germany, and she said:

"Oh! take a pillow with you. They don't give you any pillows--not

like our pillows--and it's SO wretched, you'll never get a decent night's

rest if you don't take a pillow." She said: "You can have a little bag

Diary of a Pilgrimage

made for it, and it doesn't look anything."

I met our doctor a few yards further on. He said:

"Don't forget to take a bottle of brandy with you. It doesn't take up

much room, and, if you're not used to German cooking, you'll find it

handy in the night."

He added that the brandy you get at foreign hotels was mere poison,

and that it was really unsafe to travel abroad without a bottle of brandy.

He said that a simple thing like a bottle of brandy in your bag might often

save your life.

Coming home, I ran against a literary friend of mine. He said:

"You'll have a goodish time in the train old fellow. Are you used to

long railway journeys?"

I said:

"Well, I've travelled down from London into the very heart of Surrey

by a South Eastern express."

"Oh! that's a mere nothing, compared with what you've got before you

now," he answered. "Look here, I'll tell you a very good idea of how to

pass the time. You take a chessboard with you and a set of men. You'll

thank me for telling you that!"

George dropped in during the evening. He said:

"I'll tell you one thing you'll have to take with you, old man, and that's

a box of cigars and some tobacco."

He said that the German cigar--the better class of German cigar--was

of the brand that is technically known over here as the "Penny Pickwick--

Spring Crop;" and he thought that I should not have time, during the short

stay I contemplated making in the country, to acquire a taste for its

flavour.

My sister-in-law came in later on in the evening (she is a thoughtful

girl), and brought a box with her about the size of a tea-chest. She said:

"Now, you slip that in your bag; you'll be glad of that. There's

everything there for making yourself a cup of tea."

She said that they did not understand tea in Germany, but that with that

I should be independent of them.

She opened the case, and explained its contents to me. It certainly

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DiaryofaPilgrimage1DiaryofaPilgrimageByJeromeK.JeromeDiaryofaPilgrimage2PREFACESaidafriendofminetomesomemonthsago:"Wellnow,whydon'tyouwriteaSENSIBLEbook?Ishouldliketoseeyoumakepeoplethink.""Doyoubelieveitcanbedone,then?"Iasked."Well,try,"hereplied.Accordingly,Ihavetried.Thisisasensiblebook.Iwantyout...

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