their silver wedding journey v3- 第29部分

〃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　place。　　They　dismounted；　and　crossed　to　the
butcher　shop　where　the　provision　man　corroborated　the　tablet；　but　could
not　understand　their　wish　to　go　up　stairs。　　He　did　not　try　to　prevent
them；　however；　and　they　climbed　to　the　first　floor　above；　where　a　placard
on　the　door　declared　it　private　and　implored　them　not　to　knock。　　Was　this
the　outcome　of　the　inmate's　despair　from　the　intrusion　of　other　pilgrims
who　had　wised　to　see　the　Heine　dwelling…rooms？　　They　durst　not　knock　and
ask　so　much；　and　they　sadly　descended　to　the　ground…floor；　where　they
found　a　butcher　boy　of　much　greater　apparent　intelligence　than　the
butcher　himself；　who　told　them　that　the　building　in　front　was　as　new　as
it　looked；　and　the　house　where　Heine　was　really　born　was　the　old　house　in
the　rear。　　He　showed　them　this　house；　across　a　little　court　patched　with
mangy　grass　and　lilac…bushes；　and　when　they　wished　to　visit　it　he　led　the
way。　　The　place　was　strewn　both　underfoot　and　overhead　with　feathers；　it
had　once　been　all　a　garden　out　to　the　street；　the　boy　said；　but　from
these　feathers；　as　well　as　the　odor　which　prevailed；　and　the　anxious
behavior　of　a　few　hens　left　in　the　high　coop　at　one　side；　it　was　plain
that　what　remained　of　the　garden　was　now　a　chicken　slaughteryard。　　There
was　one　well…grown　tree；　and　the　boy　said　it　was　of　the　poet's　time；　but
when　he　let　them　into　the　house；　he　became　vague　as　to　the　room　where
Heine　was　born；　it　was　certain　only　that　it　was　somewhere　upstairs　and
that　it　could　not　be　seen。　　The　room　where　they　stood　was　the　frame…
maker's　shop；　and　they　bought　of　him　a　small　frame　for　a　memorial。　　They
bought　of　the　butcher's　boy；　not　so　commercially；　a　branch　of　lilac；　and
they　came　away；　thinking　how　much　amused　Heine　himself　would　have　been
with　their　visit；　how　sadly；　how　merrily　he　would　have　mocked　at　their
effort　to　revere　his　birthplace。

They　were　too　old　if　not　too　wise　to　be　daunted　by　their　defeat；　and　they
drove　next　to　the　old　court　garden　beside　the　Rhine　where　the　poet　says
he　used　to　play　with　the　little　Veronika；　and　probably　did　not。　　At　any
rate；　the　garden　is　gone；　the　Schloss　was　burned　down　long　ago；　and
nothing　remains　but　a　detached　tower　in　which　the　good　Elector　Jan
Wilhelm；　of　Heine's　time；　amused　himself　with　his　many　mechanical
inventions。　　The　tower　seemed　to　be　in　process　of　demolition；　but　an
intelligent　workman　who　came　down　out　of　it；　was　interested　in　the
strangers'　curiosity；　and　directed　them　to　a　place　behind　the　Historical
Museum　where　they　could　find　a　bit　of　the　old　garden。　　It　consisted　of
two　or　three　low　trees；　and　under　them　the　statue　of　the　Elector　by　which
Heine　sat　with　the　little　Veronika；　if　he　really　did。　　Afresh　gale
blowing　through　the　trees　stirred　the　bushes　that　backed　the　statue；　but
not　the　laurel　wreathing　the　Elector's　head；　and　meeting　in　a　neat　point
over　his　forehead。　　The　laurel　wreath　is　stone；　like　the　rest　of　the
Elector；　who　stands　there　smirking　in　marble　ermine　and　armor；　and
resting　his　baton　on　the　nose　of　a　very　small　lion；　who；　in　the
exigencies　of　foreshortening；　obligingly　goes　to　nothing　but　a　tail　under
the　Elector's　robe。

This　was　a　prince　who　loved　himself　in　effigy　so　much　that　he　raised　an
equestrian　statue　to　his　own　renown　in　the　market…place；　though　he
modestly　refused　the　credit　of　it；　and　ascribed　its　erection　to　the
affection　of　his　subjects。　　You　see　him　therein　a　full…bottomed　wig；
mounted　on　a　rampant　charger　with　a　tail　as　big　round　as　a　barrel；　and
heavy　enough　to　keep　him　from　coming　down　on　his　fore　legs　as　long　as　he
likes　to　hold　them　up。　　It　was　to　this　horse's　back　that　Heine　clambered
when　a　small　boy；　to　see　the　French　take　formal　possession　of　Dusseldorf；
and　he　clung　to　the　waist　of　the　bronze　Elector；　who　had　just　abdicated；
while　the　burgomaster　made　a　long　speech；　from　the　balcony　of　the
Rathhaus；　and　the　Electoral　arms　were　taken　down　from　its　doorway。

The　Rathhaus　is　a　salad…dressing　of　German　gothic　and　French　rococo　as