their silver wedding journey v3-第26章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


his　parting　guests　he　says　to　his　conscience；　Well；　they　baked　my　clock。〃




LXXI。

The　morning　was　raw；　but　it　was　something　not　to　have　it　rainy；　and　the
clouds　that　hung　upon　the　hills　and　hid　their　tops　were　at　least　as　fine
as　the　long　board　signs　advertising　chocolate　on　the　river　banks。　　The
smoke　rising　from　the　chimneys　of　the　manufactories　of　Mayence　was　not　so
bad；　either；　when　one　got　them　in　the　distance　a　little；　and　March　liked
the　way　the　river　swam　to　the　stems　of　the　trees　on　the　low　grassy
shores。　　It　was　like　the　Mississippi　between　St。　Louis　and　Cairo　in　that；
and　it　was　yellow　and　thick；　like　the　Mississippi；　though　he　thought　he
remembered　it　blue　and　clear。　　A　friendly　German；　of　those　who　began　to
come　aboard　more　and　more　at　all　the　landings　after　leaving　Mayence；
assured　him　that　be　was　right；　and　that　the　Rhine　was　unusually　turbid
from　the　unusual　rains。　　March　had　his　own　belief　that　whatever　the　color
of　the　Rhine　might　be　the　rains　were　not　unusual；　but　he　could　not
gainsay　the　friendly　German。

Most　of　the　passengers　at　starting　were　English　and　American；　but　they
showed　no　prescience　of　the　international　affinition　which　has　since
realized　itself；　in　their　behavior　toward　one　another。　　They　held
silently　apart；　and　mingled　only　in　the　effect　of　one　young　man　who　kept
the　Marches　in　perpetual　question　whether　he　was　a　Bostonian　or　an
Englishman。　　His　look　was　Bostonian；　but　his　accent　was　English；　and　was
he　a　Bostonian　who　had　been　in　England　long　enough　to　get　the　accent；　or
was　he　an　Englishman　who　had　been　in　Boston　long　enough　to　get　the　look？
He　wore　a　belated　straw　hat；　and　a　thin　sack…coat；　and　in　the　rush　of　the
boat　through　the　raw　air　they　fancied　him　very　cold；　and　longed　to　offer
him　one　of　their　superabundant　wraps。　　At　times　March　actually　lifted　a
shawl　from　his　knees；　feeling　sure　that　the　stranger　was　English　and　that
he　might　make　so　bold　with　him；　then　at　some　glacial　glint　in　the　young
man's　eye；　or　at　some　petrific　expression　of　his　delicate　face；　he　felt
that　he　was　a　Bostonian；　and　lost　courage　and　let　the　shawl　sink　again。
March　tried　to　forget　him　in　the　wonder　of　seeing　the　Germans　begin　to
eat　and　drink；　as　soon　as　they　came　on　boards　either　from　the　baskets
they　had　brought　with　them；　or　from　the　boat's　provision。　　But　he
prevailed；　with　his　smile　that　was　like　a　sneer；　through　all　the　events
of　the　voyage；　and　took　March's　mind　off　the　scenery　with　a　sudden　wrench
when　he　came　unexpectedly　into　view　after　a　momentary　disappearance。　　At
the　table　d'hote；　which　was　served　when　the　landscape　began　to　be　less
interesting；　the　guests　were　expected　to　hand　their　plates　across　the
table　to　the　stewards　but　to　keep　their　knives　and　forks　throughout　the
different　courses；　and　at　each　of　these　partial　changes　March　felt　the
young　man's　chilly　eyes　upon　him；　inculpating　him　for　the　semi…
civilization　of　the　management。　　At　such　times　he　knew　that　he　was　a
Bostonian。

The　weather　cleared；　as　they　descended　the　river；　and　under　a　sky　at　last
cloudless；　the　Marches　had　moments　of　swift　reversion　to　their　former
Rhine　journey；　when　they　were　young　and　the　purple　light　of　love　mantled
the　vineyarded　hills　along　the　shore；　and　flushed　the　castled　steeps。
The　scene　had　lost　nothing　of　the　beauty　they　dimly　remembered；　there
were　certain　features　of　it　which　seemed　even　fairer　and　grander　than
they　remembered。　　The　town　of　Bingen；　where　everybody　who　knows　the　poem
was　more　or　less　born；　was　beautiful　in　spite　of　its　factory　chimneys；
though　there　were　no　compensating　castles　near　it；　and　the　castles　seemed
as　good　as　those　of　the　theatre。　　Here　and　there　some　of　them　had　been
restored　and　were　occupied；　probably　by　robber　barons　who　had　gone　into
trade。　　Others　were　still　ruinous；　and　there　was　now　and　then　such　a　mere
gray　snag　that　March；　at　sight　of　it；　involuntarily　put　his　tongue　to　the
broken　tooth　which　he　was　keeping　for　the　skill　of　the　first　American
dentist。

For　natural　sublimity　the　Rhine　scenery；　as　they　recognized　once　more；
does　not　compare　with　the　Hudson　scenery；　and　they　recalled　one　point　on
the　American　river　where　the　Central　Road　tunnels　a　jutting　cliff；　which
might　very　well　pass　for　the　rock　of　the　Loreley；　where　she　dreams

　　　　　　　　　　Sole　sitting　by　the　shores　of　old　romance。

and　the　trains　run　in　and　out　under　her　knees　unheeded。　　〃Still；　still
you　know；〃　March　argued；　〃this　is　the　Loreley　on　the　Rhine；　and　not　the
Loreley　on　the　Hudson；　and　I　suppose　that　makes　all　the　difference。
Besides；　the　Rhine　doesn't　set　up　to　be　sublime；　it　only　means　to　be
storied　and　dreamy　and　romantic　and　it　does　it。　　And　then　we　have　really
got　no　Mouse　Tower；　we　might　build　one；　to　be　sure。〃

〃Well；　we　have　got　no　denkmal；　either；〃　said　his　wife；　meaning　the
national　monument　to　the　German　reconquest　of　the　Rhine；　which　they　had
just　passed；　〃and　that　is　something　in　our　favor。〃

〃It　was　too　far　off　for　us　to　see　how　ugly　it　was；〃　he　returned。

〃The　denkmal　at　Coblenz　was　so　near　that　the　bronze　Emperor　almost　rode
aboard　the　boat。〃

He　could　not　answer　such　a　piece　of　logic　as　that。　　He　yielded；　and　began
to　praise　the　orcharded　levels　which　now　replaced　the　vine…purpled　slopes
of　the　upper　river。　　He　said　they　put　him　in　mind　of　orchards　that　he　had
known　in　his　boyhood；　and　they；　agreed　that　the　supreme　charm　of　travel；
after　all；　was　not　in　seeing　something　new　and　strange；　but　in　finding
something　familiar　and　dear　in　the　heart　of　the　strangeness。

At　Cologne　they　found　this　in　the　tumult　of　getting　ashore　with　their
baggage　and　driving　from　the　steamboat　landing　to　the　railroad　station；
where　they　were　to　get　their　train　for　Dusseldorf　an　hour　later。　　The
station　swarmed　with　travellers　eating　and　drinking　and　smoking；　but　they
escaped　from　it　for　a　precious　half　of　their　golden　hour；　and　gave　the
time　to　the　great　cathedral；　which　was　built；　a　thousand　years　ago；　just
round　the　corner　from　the　station；　and　is　therefore　very　handy　to　it。
Since　they　saw　the　cathedral　last　it　had　been　finished；　and　now　under　a
cloudless　evening　sky；　it　soared　and　swept　upward　like　a　pale　flame。
Within　it　was　a　bit　over…clean；　a　bit　bare；　but　without　it　was　one　of　the
great　memories　of　the　race；　the　record　of　a　faith　which　wrought　miracles
of　beauty；　at　least；　if　not　piety。

The　train　gave　the　Marches　another；　and　last；　view　of　it　as　they　slowly
drew　out　of　the　city；　and　began　to　run　through　a　level　country　walled
with　far…off　hills；　past　fields　of　buckwheat　showing　their　stems　like
coral　under　their　black　tops；　past　peasant　houses　changing　their　wonted
shape　to　taller　and　narrower　forms；　past　sluggish　streams　from　which　the
mist　rose　and　hung　over　the　meadows；　under　a　red　sunset；　glassy　clear
till　the　manifold　factory　chimneys　of　Dusseldorf　stained　it　with　their
dun　smoke。

This　industrial　greeting　seemed　odd　from　the　town　where　Heinrich　Heine
was　born；　but　when　they　had　eaten　their　supper　in　the　capital　little
hotel　they　found　there；　and　went　out　for　a　stroll；　they　found　nothing　to
remind　them　of　the　factories；　and　much　to　make　them　think　of　the　poet。
The　moon；　beautiful　and　perfect　as　a　stage　moon；　came　up　over　the
shoulder　of　a　church　as　they　passed　down　a　long　street　which　they　had　all
to　themselves。　　Everybody　seemed　to　have　gone　to　bed；　but　at　a　certain
corner　a　girl　opened　a　window　above　them；　and　looked　out　at　the　moon。

When　they　returned　to　their　hotel　they　found　a　highwalled　garden　facing
it；　full　of　black　depths　of　foliage。　　In　the　night　March　woke　and　saw　the
moon　standing　over　the　garden；　and　silvering　its　leafy　tops。　　This　was
really　as　it　should　be　in　the　town　where　the　idolized　poet　of　his　youth
was　born；　the　poet　whom　of　all　others　he　had　adored；　and　who　had　once
seemed　like　a　living　friend；　who　had　been　witness　of　his　first　love；　and
had　helped　him　to　speak　it。　　His　wife　used　to　laugh　at　him　for　his　Heine…
worship　in　those　days；　but　she　had　since　come　to　share　it；　and　she；
even　more　than　he；　had　insisted　upon　this　pilgrimage。　　He　thought　long
thoughts　of　the　past；　as　he　looked　into　the　garden　across　the　way；　with
an　ache　for　his　perished　self　and　the　dead　companionship　of　his　youth；
all　ghosts　together　in　the　silvered　shadow。　　The　trees　shuddered　in　the
night　breeze；　and　its　chill　penetrated　to　him　where　he　stood。

His　wife　called　to　him　from　her　room；　〃What　are　you　doing？〃

〃Oh；　sentimentalizing；〃　he　answered　boldly。

〃Well；　you　will　be　sick；〃　she　said；　and　he　crept　back　into　bed　again。

They　had　sat　up　late；　talking　in　a　glad　excitement。　　But　he　woke　early；
as　an　elderly　man　is　apt　to　do　after　broken　slumbers；　and　left　his　wife
still　sleeping。　　He　was　not　so　eager　for　the　poetic　interests　of　the　town
as　he　had　been　the　night　before；　he　even　deferred　his　curiosity　for
Heine's　birth…house　to　the　instructive　conference　which　he　had　with　his
waiter　at　breakfast。　　After　all；　was　not　it　more　important　to　know
something　of　the　actual　life　of　a　simple　common　class　of　men　than　to
indulge　a　faded　fancy　for　the　memory　of　a　genius；　which　no　amount　of
associations　could　feed　again　to　its　former　bloom？　　The　waiter　said　he
was　a　Nuremberger；　and　had　learned　English　in　London　where　he　had　served
a　year　for　nothing。　　Afterwards；　when　he　could　speak　three　languages　he
got　a　pound　a　week；　which　seemed　low　for　so　many；　though　not　so　low　as
the　one　mark　a　day　which　he　now　received　in　Dusseldorf；　in　Berlin　he　paid
the　hotel　two　marks　a　day。　　March　confided　to　him　his　secret　trouble　as
to　tips；　and　they　tried　vainly　to　enlighten　each　other　as　to　what　a　just
tip　was。

He　went　to　his　banker's；　and　when　he　came　back　he　found　his　wife　with　her
breakfast　eaten；　and　so　eager　for　the　exploration　of　Heine's　birthplace
that　she　heard　with　indifference　of　his　failure　to　get　any　letters。　　It
was　too　soon　to　expect　them；　she　said；　and　then　she　showed　him　her　plan；
which　she　had　been　working　out　ever　since　she　woke。　　It　contained　every
place　which　Heine　had　mentioned；　and　she　was　determined　not　one　should
escape　them。　　She　examined　him　sharply　upon　his　condition；　accusing　him
of　having　taken　cold　when　he　got　up　in　the　night；　and　acquitting　him　with
difficulty。　　She　herself　was　perfectly　well；　but　a　little　fagged；　and
they　must　have　a　carriage。

They　set　out　in　a　lordly　two…spanner；　which　took　up　half　the　little
Bolkerstrasse　where　Heine　was　born；　when　they　stopped　across　the　way　from
his　birthhouse；　so　that　she　might　first　take　it　all　in　from　the　outside
before　they　entered　it。　　It　is　a　simple　street；　and　not　the　cleanest　of
the　streets　in　a　town　where　most　of　them　are　rather　dirty。　　Below　the
houses　are　shops；　and　the　first　story　of　Heine's　house　is　a　butcher　shop；
with　sides　of　pork　and　mutton　hanging　in　the　windows；　above；　where　the
Heine　family　must　once　have　lived；　a　gold…beater　and　a　frame…maker
displayed　their　signs。

But　did　the　Heine　family　really　once　live　there？　　The　house　looked　so
fresh　and　new　that　in　spite　of　the　tablet　in　its　front　affirming　it　the
poet's　birthplace；　they　doubted；　and　they　were　not　reassured　by　the
people　who　half　halted　as　they　passed；　and　stared　at　the　strangers；　so
anomalously　interested　in　the　pla