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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 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 cour