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Es hat viele Vorteile, in Kanada ein Maedchen zu sein. Zum Beispiel, dass man nicht gezwungen ist, tagaus tagein in Cargohosen und Scooby-Doo T-Shirt herumzulaufen. Aber der beste Vorteil ist, dass man, wenn man gross genug ist, Anne of Green Gables lesen kann. Anne of Green Gables, Kanadas ultimatives Maedchenbuch. Ich weiss nicht, ob das heute wirklich noch viel gelesen wird, denn es ist recht fett, da gibt es ja Digestversionen und natuerlich auch den Film zum Buch. Aber was fuer ein kleines Schmuckstueck!

Anne of Green Gables ist dieses Waisenmaedchen, natuerlich, das versehentlich zu diesem rauhen alten Geschwisterpaar auf Prince Edward Island kommt (Prince Edward Island-Tourismus geht zu einem nicht unwesentlichen Anteil auf das Konto von Anne, schaetze ich). Die wollten eigentlich einen Jungen haben, fuer die Feldarbeit. Also soll Anne (�Will you please call me Cordelia?�) wieder weggeschickt werden, aber sie erobert zuerst das Herz von diesem schweigsamen Matthew, der im allgemeinen nur �Well now, I dunno� sagt, aber von Anne und ihren wortreichen, romantischen ways so hingerissen ist wie noch nie von irgendwas in seinem Leben, und dann auch das der trockenen Marilla, natuerlich, und es wird alles ganz fabelhaft. Und diese Anne ist so grossartig, ich weiss garnicht, wie jemand existieren kann, ohne sie und ihre 'kindred spirits' und ihr 'scope for imagination' zu kennen. Aber das ist es ja, man existiert und existiert, und weiss nicht, was einem abgeht. Menschen, was euch fehlt ist Anne!

Und mit welch dringlichem, erwartungsfrohen Draengen ich Karla, sofern sie wieder Erwarten und trotz �Lila loves lions� doch eines Tages Lesen lernen sollte, dieses Buch an ihr kleines Herz legen werde! Arme Karla, arme Mama, hoffentlich geht das nicht schief.

Das hier brauchen wir, um eine meiner Lieblingsstellen vorzubereiten. Anne macht Mrs. Lyndes eine skandaloese, aber durch und durch berechtigte Szene, fuer die sie sich dann spaeter entschuldigen muss.
(Ich war bereit und darauf gefasst, das alles einzuhacken, aber sieheda!, das ganze Ding ist online!!)

"Well, they didn't pick you for your looks, that's sure and certain," was Mrs. Rachel Lynde's emphatic comment. Mrs. Rachel was one of those delightful and popular people who pride themselves on speaking their mind without fear or favor. "She's terrible skinny and homely, Marilla. Come here, child, and let me have a look at you. Lawful heart, did any one ever see such freckles? And hair as red as carrots! Come here, child, I say."
Anne "came there," but not exactly as Mrs. Rachel expected. With one bound she crossed the kitchen floor and stood before Mrs. Rachel, her face scarlet with anger, her lips quivering, and her whole slender form trembling from head to foot.
"I hate you," she cried in a choked voice, stamping her foot on the floor. "I hate you--I hate you--I hate you--" a louder stamp with each assertion of hatred. "How dare you call me skinny and ugly? How dare you say I'm freckled and redheaded? You are a rude, impolite, unfeeling woman!"
"Anne!" exclaimed Marilla in consternation.
But Anne continued to face Mrs. Rachel undauntedly, head up, eyes blazing, hands clenched, passionate indignation exhaling from her like an atmosphere.
"How dare you say such things about me?" she repeated vehemently. "How would you like to have such things said about you? How would you like to be told that you are fat and clumsy and probably hadn't a spark of imagination in you? I don't care if I do hurt your feelings by saying so! I hope I hurt them. You have hurt mine worse than they were ever hurt before even by Mrs. Thomas' intoxicated husband. And I'll NEVER forgive you for it, never, never!"
Stamp! Stamp!
"Did anybody ever see such a temper!" exclaimed the horrified Mrs. Rachel.
"Anne go to your room and stay there until I come up," said Marilla, recovering her powers of speech with difficulty.
Anne, bursting into tears, rushed to the hall door, slammed it until the tins on the porch wall outside rattled in sympathy, and fled through the hall and up the stairs like a whirlwind. A subdued slam above told that the door of the east gable had been shut with equal vehemence.

<���.>

Naechstes Kapitel, Anne�s Apology.

Marilla said nothing to Matthew about the affair that evening; but when Anne proved still refractory the next morning an explanation had to be made to account for her absence from the breakfast table. Marilla told Matthew the whole story, taking pains to impress him with a due sense of the enormity of Anne's behavior.
"It's a good thing Rachel Lynde got a calling down; she's a meddlesome old gossip," was Matthew's consolatory rejoinder.
"Matthew Cuthbert, I'm astonished at you. You know that Anne's behavior was dreadful, and yet you take her part! I suppose you'll be saying next thing that she oughtn't to be punished at all!"
"Well now--no--not exactly," said Matthew uneasily. I reckon she ought to be punished a little. But don't be too hard on her, Marilla. Recollect she hasn't ever had anyone to teach her right. You're--you're going to give her something to eat, aren't you?"
"When did you ever hear of me starving people into good behavior?" demanded Marilla indignantly. "She'll have her meals regular, and I'll carry them up to her myself. But she'll stay up there until she's willing to apologize to Mrs. Lynde, and that's final, Matthew."
Breakfast, dinner, and supper were very silent meals--for Anne still remained obdurate. After each meal Marilla carried a well-filled tray to the east gable and brought it down later on not noticeably depleted. Matthew eyed its last descent with a troubled eye. Had Anne eaten anything at all?
When Marilla went out that evening to bring the cows from the back pasture, Matthew, who had been hanging about the barns and watching, slipped into the house with the air of a burglar and crept upstairs. As a general thing Matthew gravitated between the kitchen and the little bedroom off the hall where he slept; once in a while he ventured uncomfortably into the parlor or sitting room when the minister came to tea. But he had never been upstairs in his own house since the spring he helped Marilla paper the spare bedroom, and that was four years ago.
He tiptoed along the hall and stood for several minutes outside the door of the east gable before he summoned courage to tap on it with his fingers and then open the door to peep in.
Anne was sitting on the yellow chair by the window gazing mournfully out into the garden. Very small and unhappy she looked, and Matthew's heart smote him. He softly closed the door and tiptoed over to her.
"Anne," he whispered, as if afraid of being overheard, "how are you making it, Anne?"
Anne smiled wanly.
"Pretty well. I imagine a good deal, and that helps to pass the time. Of course, it's rather lonesome. But then, I may as well get used to that."
Anne smiled again, bravely facing the long years of solitary imprisonment before her.
Matthew recollected that he must say what he had come to say without loss of time, lest Marilla return prematurely. "Well now, Anne, don't you think you'd better do it and have it over with?" he whispered. "It'll have to be done sooner or later, you know, for Marilla's a dreadful determined woman--dreadful determined, Anne. Do it right off, I say, and have it over."
"Do you mean apologize to Mrs. Lynde?"
"Yes--apologize--that's the very word," said Matthew eagerly. "Just smooth it over so to speak. That's what I was trying to get at."
"I suppose I could do it to oblige you," said Anne thoughtfully. "It would be true enough to say I am sorry, because I AM sorry now. I wasn't a bit sorry last night. I was mad clear through, and I stayed mad all night. I know I did because I woke up three times and I was just furious every time. But this morning it was over. I wasn't in a temper anymore--and it left a dreadful sort of goneness, too. I felt so ashamed of myself. But I just couldn't think of going and telling Mrs. Lynde so. It would be so humiliating. I made up my mind I'd stay shut up here forever rather than do that. But still--I'd do anything for you--if you really want me to--"
"Well now, of course I do. It's terrible lonesome downstairs without you. Just go and smooth things over-- that's a good girl."
"Very well," said Anne resignedly. "I'll tell Marilla as soon as she comes in I've repented."
"That's right--that's right, Anne. But don't tell Marilla I said anything about it. She might think I was putting my oar in and I promised not to do that."
"Wild horses won't drag the secret from me," promised Anne solemnly. "How would wild horses drag a secret from a person anyhow?"
<����.> Accordingly, after milking, behold Marilla and Anne walking down the lane, the former erect and triumphant, the latter drooping and dejected. But halfway down Anne's dejection vanished as if by enchantment. She lifted her head and stepped lightly along, her eyes fixed on the sunset sky and an air of subdued exhilaration about her. Marilla beheld the change disapprovingly. This was no meek penitent such as it behooved her to take into the presence of the offended Mrs. Lynde.
"What are you thinking of, Anne?" she asked sharply.
"I'm imagining out what I must say to Mrs. Lynde," answered Anne dreamily.
This was satisfactory--or should have been so. But Marilla could not rid herself of the notion that something in her scheme of punishment was going askew. Anne had no business to look so rapt and radiant.
Rapt and radiant Anne continued until they were in the very presence of Mrs. Lynde, who was sitting knitting by her kitchen window. Then the radiance vanished. Mournful penitence appeared on every feature. Before a word was spoken Anne suddenly went down on her knees before the astonished Mrs. Rachel and held out her hands beseechingly.
"Oh, Mrs. Lynde, I am so extremely sorry," she said with a quiver in her voice. "I could never express all my sorrow, no, not if I used up a whole dictionary. You must just imagine it. I behaved terribly to you--and I've disgraced the dear friends, Matthew and Marilla, who have let me stay at Green Gables although I'm not a boy. I'm a dreadfully wicked and ungrateful girl, and I deserve to be punished and cast out by respectable people forever. It was very wicked of me to fly into a temper because you told me the truth. It WAS the truth; every word you said was true. My hair is red and I'm freckled and skinny and ugly. What I said to you was true, too, but I shouldn't have said it. Oh, Mrs. Lynde, please, please, forgive me. If you refuse it will be a lifelong sorrow on a poor little orphan girl would you, even if she had a dreadful temper? Oh, I am sure you wouldn't. Please say you forgive me, Mrs. Lynde."
Anne clasped her hands together, bowed her head, and waited for the word of judgment.
There was no mistaking her sincerity--it breathed in every tone of her voice. Both Marilla and Mrs. Lynde recognized its unmistakable ring. But the former under- stood in dismay that Anne was actually enjoying her valley of humiliation--was reveling in the thoroughness of her abasement. Where was the wholesome punishment upon which she, Marilla, had plumed herself? Anne had turned it into a species of positive pleasure.
Good Mrs. Lynde, not being overburdened with perception, did not see this. She only perceived that Anne had made a very thorough apology and all resentment vanished from her kindly, if somewhat officious, heart.
"There, there, get up, child," she said heartily. "Of course I forgive you. I guess I was a little too hard on you, anyway. But I'm such an outspoken person. You just mustn't mind me, that's what. It can't be denied your hair is terrible red; but I knew a girl once--went to school with her, in fact--whose hair was every mite as red as yours when she was young, but when she grew up it darkened to a real handsome auburn. I wouldn't be a mite surprised if yours did, too--not a mite."
"Oh, Mrs. Lynde!" Anne drew a long breath as she rose to her feet. "You have given me a hope. I shall always feel that you are a benefactor. Oh, I could endure anything if I only thought my hair would be a handsome auburn when I grew up. It would be so much easier to be good if one's hair was a handsome auburn, don't you think? And now may I go out into your garden and sit on that bench under the apple-trees while you and Marilla are talking? There is so much more scope for imagination out there."
"Laws, yes, run along, child. And you can pick a bouquet of them white June lilies over in the corner if you like."

Hahaha. Sniff sniff. Anne. �I shall always feel that you are a benefactor.�
Klar, ich kann mir vorstellen, dass diese betulich-menschenfreundliche Ironie (�behold Marilla and Anne walking down the lane�) manche nervt, aber nicht mich alten Freund ruehrender Szenen.
Von der von Mrs. Lynde aufgebrachten Idee, dass ihr rotes Haar sich mit den Jahren in ein �handsome auburn� verwandeln koennte, ist Anne dann uebrigens das ganze Buch ueber besessen, mal mehr, mal weniger hoffnungsfroh.
In den (ungefaehr fuenf oder mehr) Fortsetzungsbuechern ereignet sich das dann auch tatsaechlich, und Anne wird ueberhaupt in jeder Hinsicht prachtvoll und erfolgreich. Das ist dann ziemlich langweilig. Da man ihr natuerlich nicht wuenscht, dass sie vom Bus ueberfahren wird, hat das schon alles so seine Ordnung, aber guten Gewissens direkt empfehlen kann man nur die Original-Anne.

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