AFTER Italy and Switzerland the scenery of the Rhine seemed very mild and unpretentious to me, yet it was very beautiful. The Hudson from Albany to New York is far more imposing1. A score of American rivers such as the Penobscot, the New in West Virginia, the James above Lynchburg, the Rio Grande, and others would make the Rhine seem simple by comparison; yet it has an individuality so distinct that it is unforgetable. I always marvel2 over this thing—personality. Nothing under the sun explains it. So, often you can say “this is finer,” “that is more imposing,” “by comparison this is nothing,” but when you have said all this, the thing with personality rises up and triumphs. So it is with the Rhine. Like millions before me and millions yet to come, I watched its slopes, its castles, its islands, its pretty little German towns passing in review before the windows of this excellent train and decided4 that in its way nothing could be finer. It had personality. A snatch of old wall, with peach trees in blossom; a long thin side-wheel steamer, one smokestack fore3 and another aft, labeled “William Egan Gesellschaft”; a dismantled5 castle tower, with a flock of crows flying about it and hills laid out in ordered squares of vines gave it all the charm it needed.
When Coblenz was reached, I bustled6 out, ready to inspect Mayen at once. Another disappointment. Mayen was not at Coblenz but fifteen or eighteen miles438 away on a small branch road, the trains of which ran just four times a day, but I did not learn this until, as usual, I had done considerable investigating. According to my map Mayen appeared to be exactly at the junction7 of the Rhine and the Moselle, which was here, but when I asked a small boy dancing along a Coblenz street where the Moselle was, he informed me, “If you walk fast you will get there in half an hour!”
When I reached the actual juncture8 of the Rhine and the Moselle, however, I found I was mistaken; I was entertained at first by a fine view of the two rivers, darkly walled by hills and a very massive and, in a way, impressive equestrian9 statue of Emperor William I, armed in the most flamboyant10 and aggressive military manner and looking sternly down on the fast-traveling and uniting waters of the two rivers. Idling about the base of this monument, to catch sightseers, was a young picture-post-card seller with a box of views of the Rhine, Coblenz, Cologne and other cities, for sale. He was a very humble-looking youth,—a bit doleful,—who kept following me about until I bought some post-cards. “Where is Mayen?” I asked, as I began to select a few pictures of things I had and had not seen, for future reference.
“Mayence?” he asked doubtfully. “Mayence? Oh, that is a great way from here. Mayence is up the river near Frankfort.”
“No, no,” I replied irritably12. (This matter was getting to be a sore point with me.) “I have just come from Mayence. I am looking for Mayen. Isn’t it over there somewhere?” I pointed13 to the fields over the river.
He shook his head. “Mayen!” he said. “I don’t think there is such a place.”
“Good heavens!” I exclaimed, “what are you talking439 about? Here it is on the map. What is that? Do you live here in Coblenz?”
“Gewiss!” he replied. “I live here.”
“Very good, then. Where is Mayen?”
“I have never heard of it,” he replied.
“My God!” I exclaimed to myself, “perhaps it was destroyed in the Franco-Prussian War. Maybe there isn’t any Mayen.”
“You have lived here all your life,” I said, turning to my informant, “and you have never heard of Mayen?”
“Mayen, no. Mayence, yes. It is up the river near Frankfort.”
“Don’t tell me that again!” I said peevishly14, and walked off. The elusiveness15 of my father’s birthplace was getting on my nerves. Finally I found a car-line which ended at the river and a landing wharf16 and hailed the conductor and motorman who were idling together for a moment.
“Where is Mayen?” I asked.
“No, no. M-a-y-e-n, Mayen—not Mayence. It’s a small town around here somewhere.”
“Mayen! Mayen!” they repeated. “Mayen!” And then frowned.
“Oh, God!” I sighed. I got out my map. “Mayen—see?” I said.
“Oh, yes,” one of them replied brightly, putting up a finger. “That is so. There is a place called Mayen! It is out that way. You must take the train.”
“How many miles?” I asked.
“About fifteen. It will take you about an hour and a half.”
I went back to the station and found I must wait another two hours before my train left. I had reached the point where I didn’t care a picayune whether I ever440 got to my father’s town or not. Only a dogged determination not to be beaten kept me at it.
It was at Coblenz, while waiting for my train, that I had my first real taste of the German army. Around a corner a full regiment18 suddenly came into view. They swung past me and crossed a bridge over the Rhine, their brass19 helmets glittering. Their trousers were gray and their jackets red, and they marched with a slap, slap, slap of their feet that was positively20 ominous21. Every man’s body was as erect22 as a poker23; every man’s gun was carried with almost loving grace over his shoulder. They were all big men, stolid24 and broad-chested. As they filed over the bridge, four abreast25, they looked, at that distance, like a fine scarlet26 ribbon with a streak27 of gold in it. They eventually disappeared between the green hills on the other side.
In another part of the city I came upon a company of perhaps fifty, marching in loose formation and talking cheerfully to one another. Behind me, coming toward the soldiers, was an officer, one of those band-box gentlemen in the long gray, military coat of the Germans, the high-crowned, low-visored cap, and lacquered boots. I learned before I was out of Germany to listen for the clank of their swords. The moment the sergeant29 in charge of the men saw this officer in the distance, he gave vent28 to a low command which brought the men four by four instantly. In the next breath their guns, previously30 swinging loosely in their hands, were over their shoulders and as the officer drew alongside a sharp “Vorwärts!” produced that wonderful jack-knife motion “the goose-step”—each leg brought rigidly31 to a level with the abdomen32 as they went slap—slap—slapping by, until the officer was gone. Then, at a word, they fell into their old easy formation again and were human beings once more.
It was to me a most vivid glimpse of extreme military efficiency. All the while I was in Germany I never saw a lounging soldier. The officers, all men of fine stature33, were so showily tailored as to leave a sharp impression. They walked briskly, smartly, defiantly34, with a tremendous air of assurance but not of vain-glory. They were so superior to anything else in Germany that for me they made it. But to continue.
At half-past two my train departed and I entered a fourth-class compartment—the only class one could book for on this branch road. They were hard, wooden-seated little cars, as stiff and heavy as cars could possibly be. My mind was full of my father’s ancestral heath and the quaint35 type of life that must have been lived here a hundred years before. This was a French border country. My father, when he ran away, had escaped into Alsace, near by. He told me once of being whipped for stealing cherries, because his father’s house adjoined the priest’s yard and a cherry-tree belonging to that holy man had spread its branches, cherry-laden, over the walls, and he had secretly feasted upon the fruit at night. His stepmother, informed by the priest, whipped him. I wondered if I could find that stone wall.
The train was now running through a very typical section of old-time Germany. Solid, healthy men and buxom36 women got leisurely37 on and off at the various small but well-built stations. You could feel distinctly a strong note of commercial development here. Some small new factory buildings were visible at one place and another. An occasional real-estate sign, after the American fashion, was in evidence. The fields looked well and fully11 tilled. Hills were always in the distance somewhere.
As the train pulled into one small station, Metternich by name, I saw a tall, raw-boned yokel38, lounging on the442 platform. He was a mere39 boy, nineteen or twenty, six feet tall, broad-shouldered, horny-handed, and with as vacuous40 a face as it is possible for an individual to possess. A cheap, wide-brimmed, soft hat, offensively new, and of a dusty mud color, sat low over one ear; and around it, to my astonishment41, was twined a slim garland of flowers and leaves which, interwoven and chained, hung ridiculously down his back. He was all alone, gazing sheepishly about him and yet doing his best to wear his astounding43 honors with an air of bravado44. I was looking at his collarless shirt, his big feet and hands and his bow legs, when I heard a German in the next seat remark to his neighbor, “He won’t look like that long.”
“Three months—he’ll be fine.”
They went on reading their papers and I fell to wondering what they could mean.
At the next station were five more yokels45, all similarly crowned, and around them a bevy46 of rosy47, healthy village girls. These five, constituting at once a crowd and a center of attention, were somewhat more assured—more swaggering—than the lone42 youth we had seen.
“What is that?” I asked the man over the seat. “What are they doing?”
“They’ve been drawn48 for the army,” he replied. “All over Germany the young men are being drawn like this.”
“Do they begin to serve at once?”
“At once.”
I paused in amazement49 at this trick of statecraft which could make of the drawing for so difficult and compulsory50 a thing as service in the army a gala occasion. For scarcely any compensation—a few cents a day—these yokels and village men are seized upon and made to do almost heroic duty for two years, whether they will or443 no. I did not know then, quite, how intensely proud Germany is of her army, how perfectly51 willing the vast majority are to serve, how certain the great majority of Germans are that Germany is called of God to rule—beherrschen is their vigorous word—the world. Before I was out of Frankfort and Berlin, I could well realize how intensely proud the average boy is to be drawn. He is really a man then; he is permitted to wear a uniform and carry a gun; the citizens from then on, at least so long as he is in service, respect him as a soldier. By good fortune or ability he may become a petty officer. So they crown him with flowers, and the girls gather round him in admiring groups. What a clever custom thus to sugar-coat the compulsory pill. And, in a way, what a travesty52.
The climax53 of my quest was reached when, after traveling all this distance and finally reaching the “Mayen” on the railroad, I didn’t really reach it after all! It proved to be “West Mayen”—a new section of the old town—or rather a new rival of it—and from West Mayen I had to walk to Mayen proper, or what might now be called East Mayen—a distance of over a mile. I first shook my head in disgust, and then laughed. For there, in the valley below me, after I had walked a little way, I could actually see the town my father had described, a small walled city of now perhaps seven or eight thousand population, with an old Gothic church in the center containing a twisted spire54, a true castle or Schloss of ancient date, on the high ground to the right, a towered gate or two, of that medieval conical aspect so beloved of the painters of romance, and a cluster or clutter55 of quaint, many-gabled, sharp-roofed and sharp-pointed houses which speak invariably of days and nations and emotions and tastes now almost entirely56 superseded57. West Mayen was being built in modern style.444 Some coal mines had been discovered there and manufactories were coming in. At Mayen all was quite as my father left it. I am sure, some seventy years before.
Those who think this world would be best if we could have peace and quiet, should visit Mayen. Here is a town that has existed in a more or less peaceful state for all of six hundred years. The single Catholic church, the largest structure outside of the adjacent castle, was begun in the twelfth century. Frankish princes and Teuton lords have by turns occupied its site. But Mayen has remained quite peacefully a small, German, walled city, doing—in part at least—many of the things its ancestors did. Nowhere in Europe, not even in Italy, did I feel more keenly the seeming out-of-placeness of the modern implements58 of progress. When, after a pause at the local graveyard59, in search of ancestral Dreisers, I wandered down into the town proper, crossed over the ancient stone bridge that gives into an easily defended, towered gate, and saw the presence of such things as the Singer Sewing Machine Company, a thoroughly60 up-to-date bookstore, an evening newspaper office and a moving-picture show, I shook my head in real despair. “Nothing is really old” I sighed, “nothing!”
Like all the places that were highly individual and different, Mayen made a deep impression on me. It was like entering the shell of some great mollusc that had long since died, to enter this walled town and find it occupied by another type of life from that which originally existed there. Because it was raining now and soon to grow dark, I sauntered into the first shelter I saw—a four-story, rather presentable brick inn, located outside the gate known as the Brückentor (bridge-gate) and took a room here for the night. It was a dull445 affair, run by as absurd a creature as I have ever encountered. He was a little man, sandy-haired, wool-witted, inquisitive61, idle, in a silly way drunken, who was so astonished by the onslaught of a total stranger in this unexpected manner that he scarcely knew how to conduct himself.
“I want a room for the night,” I suggested.
“Certainly,” I said. “A room. You rent rooms, don’t you?”
“Oh, certainly, certainly. To be sure. A room. Certainly. Wait. I will call my wife.”
He went into a back chamber63, leaving me to face several curious natives who went over me from head to toe with their eyes.
“Mah-ree-ah!” I heard my landlord calling quite loudly in the rear portion of the house. “There is one here who wants a room. Have we a room ready?”
I heard no reply.
Presently he came back, however, and said in a high-flown, deliberate way, “Be seated. Are you from Frankfort?”
“Yes, and no. I come from America.”
“O-o-oh! America. What part of America?”
“New York.”
“O-o-oh—New York. That is a great place. I have a brother in America. Since six years now he is out there. I forget the place.” He put his hand to his foolish, frizzled head and looked at the floor.
His wife now appeared, a stout64, dull woman, one of the hard-working potato specimens65 of the race. A whispered conference between them followed, after which they announced my room would soon be ready.
“Let me leave my bag here,” I said, anxious to escape,446 “and then I will come back later. I want to look around for awhile.”
He accepted this valid66 excuse and I departed, glad to get out into the rain and the strange town, anxious to find a better-looking place to eat and to see what I could see.
My search for dead or living Dreisers, which I have purposely skipped in order to introduce the town, led me first, as I have said, to the local graveyard—the old “Kirchhof.” It was lowering to a rain as I entered, and the clouds hung in rich black masses over the valley below. It was half-after four by my watch. I made up my mind that I would examine the inscription67 of every tombstone as quickly as possible, in order to locate all the dead Dreisers, and then get down into the town before the night and the rain fell, and locate the live ones—if any. With that idea in view I began at an upper row, near the church, to work down. Time was when the mere wandering in a graveyard after this fashion would have produced the profoundest melancholy68 in me. It was so in Paris; it made me morbidly69 weary and ineffably70 sad. I saw too many great names—Chopin, Balzac, Daudet, Rachel—solemnly chiseled71 in stone. And I hurried out, finally, quite agonized72 and unspeakably lonely.
Here in Mayen it was a simpler feeling that was gradually coming over me—an amused sentimental73 interest in the simple lives that had had, too often, their beginning and their end in this little village. It was a lovely afternoon for such a search. Spring was already here in South Germany, that faint, tentative suggestion of budding life; all the wind-blown leaves of the preceding fall were on the ground, but in between them new grass was springing and, one might readily suspect, windflowers and crocuses, the first faint green points of lilies and the pulsing tendrils of harebells. It was beginning to sprinkle, the faintest447 suggestion of a light rain; and in the west, over the roofs and towers of Mayen, a gleam of sunlight broke through the mass of heavy clouds and touched the valley with one last lingering ray.
“Hier ruht im Gott” (Here rests in God), or “Hier sanft ruht” (Here softly rests), was too often the beginning. I had made my way through the sixth or seventh row from the top, pushing away grass at times from in front of faded inscriptions74, rubbing other lichen-covered letters clean with a stick and standing75 interested before recent tombstones. All smart with a very recently developed local idea of setting a black piece of glass into the gray of the marble and on that lettering the names of the departed in gold! It was to me a very thick-witted, truly Teutonic idea, dull and heavy in its mistakes but certainly it was no worse than the Italian idea of putting the photograph of the late beloved in the head of the slab76, behind glass in a stone-cut frame and of further ornamenting77 the graves with ghastly iron-shafted lamps with globes of yellow, pink and green glass. That was the worst of all.
As I was meditating78 how, oysterlike, little villages reproduce themselves from generation to generation, a few coming and a few going but the majority leading a narrow simple round of existence. I came suddenly, so it seemed to me, upon one grave which gave me a real shock. It was a comparatively recent slab of gray granite80 with the modern plate of black glass set in it and a Gothic cross surmounting81 it all at the top. On the glass plate was lettered:
Here Rests
Theodor Dreiser,
Born 16—Feb—1820.
Died 28—Feb—1882.
R. I. P.
I think as clear a notion as I ever had of how my grave will look after I am gone and how utterly82 unimportant both life and death are, anyhow, came to me then. Something about this old graveyard, the suggestion of the new life of spring, a robin83 trilling its customary evening song on a near-by twig84, the smoke curling upward from the chimneys in the old houses below, the spire of the medieval church and the walls of the medieval castle standing out in the softening85 light—one or all of them served to give me a sense of the long past that is back of every individual in the race of life and the long future that the race has before it, regardless of the individual. Religion offers no consolation86 to me. Psychic87 research and metaphysics, however meditated88 upon, are in vain. There is in my judgment89 no death; the universe is composed of life; but, nevertheless, I cannot see any continuous life for any individual. And it would be so unimportant if true. Imagine an eternity90 of life for a leaf, a fish-worm, an oyster79! The best that can be said is that ideas of types survive somewhere in the creative consciousness. That is all. The rest is silence.
Besides this, there were the graves of my father’s brother John, and some other Dreisers; but none of them dated earlier than 1800.
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1
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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5
dismantled
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| 拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 )； 拆卸； 废除； 取消 | |
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bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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7
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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9
equestrian
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| adj.骑马的；n.马术 | |
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flamboyant
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| adj.火焰般的，华丽的，炫耀的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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peevishly
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| adv．暴躁地 | |
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elusiveness
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| 狡诈 | |
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wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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abdomen
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| n.腹，下腹(胸部到腿部的部分) | |
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stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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yokel
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| n.乡下人；农夫 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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vacuous
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| adj.空的，漫散的，无聊的，愚蠢的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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42
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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43
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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44
bravado
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| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
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45
yokels
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| n.乡下佬，土包子( yokel的名词复数 ) | |
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46
bevy
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| n.一群 | |
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47
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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48
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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49
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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50
compulsory
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| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
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51
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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52
travesty
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| n.歪曲，嘲弄，滑稽化 | |
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53
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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54
spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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55
clutter
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| n.零乱，杂乱；vt.弄乱，把…弄得杂乱 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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valid
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| adj.有确实根据的；有效的；正当的，合法的 | |
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inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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morbidly
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| adv.病态地 | |
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ineffably
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| adv.难以言喻地，因神圣而不容称呼地 | |
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chiseled
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| adj.凿刻的，轮廓分明的v.凿，雕，镌( chisel的过去式 ) | |
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agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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ornamenting
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| v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的现在分词 ) | |
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meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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surmounting
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| 战胜( surmount的现在分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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psychic
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| n.对超自然力敏感的人；adj.有超自然力的 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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