ELIZABETH AND HER GERMAN GARDEN

Another treasure unearthed at the library bookstore. Not only is it a lovely old little blue hardcover (for some reason it has no copyright date, but it looks to be from the 1920s or 30s) that cost just $1 (it does have one page where the corner’s torn away, but I was able to find the missing text online and write it in the margin), but finding it cracked me up because I’ve been wanting to read this book ever since I discovered Elizabeth von Arnim, but my library doesn’t have it. Yes, the same library where I bought it. I almost took it right over to the circulation desk to see if I could donate it to the collection, but greed prevailed and I whisked it home with me instead.

This was von Arnim’s first and most famous book; in fact, her given name was Mary Annette Beauchamp (she married Count von Arnim-Schlagenthin), but such was its popularity that after its publication in 1898 she became known to her readers and eventually even her friends and family as Elizabeth. Her subsequent books were credited either to “the author of Elizabeth and Her German Garden” or simply “Elizabeth” (she is still listed that way in my library’s catalog). Like von Arnim, Elizabeth is an Englishwoman married to a rather cynical Prussian count (she refers to him as “The Man of Wrath,” which would be an adorable nickname if given with affection—like Rumpole’s “She Who Must Be Obeyed”—if the historical record didn’t show that von Arnim was indeed a domineering asshat and their marriage an unhappy one) who finds refuge in her beloved country house and, specifically, its garden. Very little happens in the story, which is written in diary format, other than Elizabeth’s lovely descriptions of the landscape throughout the seasons and witty tales of her domestic dramas (most notably, her eccentric houseguests). Here’s a sample from the opening paragraphs:

I love my garden. I am writing in it now in the late afternoon loveliness, much interrupted by the mosquitoes and the temptation to look at all the glories of the new green leaves washed half an hour ago in a cold shower. Two owls are perched near me, and are carrying on a long conversation that I enjoy as much as any warbling of nightingales….They say the same thing over and over again so emphatically that I think it must be something nasty about me; but I shall not let myself be frightened away by the sarcasm of owls….

I am always happy (out of doors be it understood, for indoors there are servants and furniture) but in quite different ways, and my spring happiness bears no resemblance to my summer or autumn happiness, though it is not more intense, and there were days last winter when I danced for sheer joy out in my frost-bound garden, in spite of my years and children. But I did it behind a bush, having a due regard for the decencies.

I know I overuse it, but “charming” is the adjective that best applies to this quiet, meditative book. I didn’t find it as amusing and outright lovable as The Enchanted April or Christopher and Columbus, but I thoroughly enjoyed it, especially—as a shy and retiring type myself—Elizabeth’s passionate devotion to her home life and insistence upon her solitude. (I’ll definitely check out the sequel, The Solitary Summer, which my library does actually have on the shelf.) Recommended this for fans of the era, gardeners, nature lovers, introverts, and homebodies.