their silver wedding journey v3-第35章

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remained　inarticulate。

March　spent　the　rainy　Sunday；　on　which　they　had　fallen；　in　wandering
about　the　little　city　alone。　　His　wife　said　she　was　tired　and　would　sit
by　the　fire；　and　hear　about　Mayence　when　he　came　in。　　He　went　to　the
cathedral；　which　has　its　renown　for　beauty　and　antiquity；　and　he　there
added　to　his　stock　of　useful　information　the　fact　that　the　people　of
Mayence　seemed　very　Catholic　and　very　devout。　　They　proved　it　by
preferring　to　any　of　the　divine　old　Gothic　shrines　in　the　cathedral；　an
ugly　baroque　altar；　which　was　everywhere　hung　about　with　votive
offerings。　　A　fashionably　dressed　young　man　and　young　girl　sprinkled
themselves　with　holy　water　as　reverently　as　if　they　had　been　old　and
ragged。　　Some　tourists　strolled　up　and　down　the　aisles　with　their　red
guide…books；　and　studied　the　objects　of　interest。　　A　resplendent　beadle
in　a　cocked　hat；　and　with　along　staff　of　authority　posed　before　his　own
ecclesiastical　consciousness　in　blue　and　silver。　　At　the　high　altar　a
priest　was　saying　mass；　and　March　wondered　whether　his　consciousness　was
as　wholly　ecclesiastical　as　the　beadle's；　or　whether　somewhere　in　it　he
felt　the　historical　majesty；　the　long　human　consecration　of　the　place。

He　wandered　at　random　in　the　town　through　streets　German　and　quaint　and
old；　and　streets　French　and　fine　and　new；　and　got　back　to　the　river；
which　he　crossed　on　one　of　the　several　handsome　bridges。　　The　rough　river
looked　chill　under　a　sky　of　windy　clouds；　and　he　felt　out　of　season；　both
as　to　the　summer　travel；　and　as　to　the　journey　he　was　making。　　The　summer
of　life　as　well　as　the　summer　of　that　year　was　past。　　Better　return　to
his　own　radiator　in　his　flat　on　Stuyvesant　Square；　to　the　great　ugly
brutal　town　which；　if　it　was　not　home　to　him；　was　as　much　home　to　him　as
to　any　one。　　A　longing　for　New　York　welled　up　his　heart；　which　was
perhaps　really　a　wish　to　be　at　work　again。　　He　said　he　must　keep　this
from　his　wife；　who　seemed　not　very　well；　and　whom　he　must　try　to　cheer　up
when　he　returned　to　the　hotel。

But　they　had　not　a　very　joyous　afternoon；　and　the　evening　was　no　gayer。
They　said　that　if　they　had　not　ordered　their　letters　sent　to　Dusseldorf
they　believed　they　should　push　on　to　Holland　without　stopping；　and　March
would　have　liked　to　ask；　Why　not　push　on　to　America？　　But　he　forbore；　and
he　was　afterwards　glad　that　he　had　done　so。

In　the　morning　their　spirits　rose　with　the　sun；　though　the　sun　got　up
behind　clouds　as　usual；　and　they　were　further　animated　by　the　imposition
which　the　landlord　practised　upon　them。　　After　a　distinct　and　repeated
agreement　as　to　the　price　of　their　rooms　he　charged　them　twice　as　much；
and　then　made　a　merit　of　throwing　off　two　marks　out　of　the　twenty　he　had
plundered　them　of。

〃Now　I　see；〃　said　Mrs。　March；　on　their　way　down　to　the　boat；　〃how
fortunate　it　was　that　we　baked　his　clock。　　You　may　laugh；　but　I　believe
we　were　the　instruments　of　justice。〃

〃Do　you　suppose　that　clock　was　never　baked　before？〃　asked　her　husband。
〃The　landlord　has　his　own　arrangement　with　justice。　　When　he　overcharges
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。〃