an inland voyage-第22部分

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On　the　whole；　I　was　greatly　solemnised。　　In　the　little　pictorial　　map　of　our　whole　Inland　Voyage；　which　my　fancy　still　preserves；　and　　sometimes　unrolls　for　the　amusement　of　odd　moments；　Noyon　cathedral　　figures　on　a　most　preposterous　scale；　and　must　be　nearly　as　large　　as　a　department。　　I　can　still　see　the　faces　of　the　priests　as　if　　they　were　at　my　elbow；　and　hear　AVE　MARIA；　ORA　PRO　NOBIS；　sounding　　through　the　church。　　All　Noyon　is　blotted　out　for　me　by　these　　superior　memories；　and　I　do　not　care　to　say　more　about　the　place。　　　It　was　but　a　stack　of　brown　roofs　at　the　best；　where　I　believe　　people　live　very　reputably　in　a　quiet　way；　but　the　shadow　of　the　　church　falls　upon　it　when　the　sun　is　low；　and　the　five　bells　are　　heard　in　all　quarters；　telling　that　the　organ　has　begun。　　If　ever　I　　join　the　Church　of　Rome；　I　shall　stipulate　to　be　Bishop　of　Noyon　on　　the　Oise。



DOWN　THE　OISE



TO　COMPIEGNE


THE　most　patient　people　grow　weary　at　last　with　being　continually　　wetted　with　rain；　except　of　course　in　the　Scottish　Highlands；　where　　there　are　not　enough　fine　intervals　to　point　the　difference。　　That　　was　like　to　be　our　case；　the　day　we　left　Noyon。　　I　remember　nothing　　of　the　voyage；　it　was　nothing　but　clay　banks　and　willows；　and　rain；　　incessant；　pitiless；　beating　rain；　until　we　stopped　to　lunch　at　a　　little　inn　at　Pimprez；　where　the　canal　ran　very　near　the　river。　　We　　were　so　sadly　drenched　that　the　landlady　lit　a　few　sticks　in　the　　chimney　for　our　comfort；　there　we　sat　in　a　steam　of　vapour；　　lamenting　our　concerns。　　The　husband　donned　a　game…bag　and　strode　　out　to　shoot；　the　wife　sat　in　a　far　corner　watching　us。　　I　think　we　　were　worth　looking　at。　　We　grumbled　over　the　misfortune　of　La　Fere；　　we　forecast　other　La　Feres　in　the　future；　…　although　things　went　　better　with　the　CIGARETTE　for　spokesman；　he　had　more　aplomb　　altogether　than　I；　and　a　dull；　positive　way　of　approaching　a　　landlady　that　carried　off　the　india…rubber　bags。　　Talking　of　La　　Fere　put　us　talking　of　the　reservists。

'Reservery；'　said　he；　'seems　a　pretty　mean　way　to　spend　ones　autumn　　holiday。'

'About　as　mean；'　returned　I　dejectedly；　'as　canoeing。'

'These　gentlemen　travel　for　their　pleasure？'　asked　the　landlady；　　with　unconscious　irony。

It　was　too　much。　　The　scales　fell　from　our　eyes。　　Another　wet　day；　　it　was　determined；　and　we　put　the　boats　into　the　train。

The　weather　took　the　hint。　　That　was　our　last　wetting。　　The　　afternoon　faired　up：　　grand　clouds　still　voyaged　in　the　sky；　but　　now　singly；　and　with　a　depth　of　blue　around　their　path；　and　a　　sunset　in　the　daintiest　rose　and　gold　inaugurated　a　thick　night　of　　stars　and　a　month　of　unbroken　weather。　　At　the　same　time；　the　river　　began　to　give　us　a　better　outlook　into　the　country。　　The　banks　were　　not　so　high；　the　willows　disappeared　from　along　the　margin；　and　　pleasant　hills　stood　all　along　its　course　and　marked　their　profile　　on　the　sky。

In　a　little　while　the　canal；　coming　to　its　last　lock；　began　to　　discharge　its　water…houses　on　the　Oise；　so　that　we　had　no　lack　of　　company　to　fear。　　Here　were　all　our　old　friends；　the　DEO　GRATIAS　of　　Conde　and　the　FOUR　SONS　OF　AYMON　journeyed　cheerily　down　stream　　along　with　us；　we　exchanged　waterside　pleasantries　with　the　　steersman　perched　among　the　lumber；　or　the　driver　hoarse　with　　bawling　to　his　horses；　and　the　children　came　and　looked　over　the　　side　as　we　paddled　by。　　We　had　never　known　all　this　while　how　much　　we　missed　them；　but　it　gave　us　a　fillip　to　see　the　smoke　from　their　　chimneys。

A　little　below　this　junction　we　made　another　meeting　of　yet　more　　account。　　For　there　we　were　joined　by　the　Aisne；　already　a　far…　travelled　river　and　fresh　out　of　Champagne。　　Here　ended　the　　adolescence　of　the　Oise；　this　was　his　marriage　day；　thenceforward　　he　had　a　stately；　brimming　march；　conscious　of　his　own　dignity　and　　sundry　dams。　　He　became　a　tranquil　feature　in　the　scene。　　The　trees　　and　towns　saw　themselves　in　him；　as　in　a　mirror。　　He　carried　the　　canoes　lightly　on　his　broad　breast；　there　was　no　need　to　work　hard　　against　an　eddy：　　but　idleness　became　the　order　of　the　day；　and　　mere　straightforward　dipping　of　the　paddle；　now　on　this　side；　now　　on　that；　without　intelligence　or　effort。　　Truly　we　were　coming　into　　halcyon　weather　upon　all　accounts；　and　were　floated　towards　the　sea　　like　gentlemen。

We　made　Compiegne　as　the　sun　was　going　down：　　a　fine　profile　of　a　　town　above　the　river。　　Over　the　bridge；　a　regiment　was　parading　to　　the　drum。　　People　loitered　on　the　quay；　some　fishing；　some　looking　　idly　at　the　stream。　　And　as　the　two　boats　shot　in　along　the　water；　　we　could　see　them　pointing　them　out　and　speaking　one　to　another。　　　We　landed　at　a　floating　lavatory；　where　the　washer…women　were　still　　beating　the　clothes。



AT　COMPIEGNE



WE　put　up　at　a　big；　bustling　hotel　in　Compiegne；　where　nobody　　observed　our　presence。

Reservery　and　general　MILITARISMUS　（as　the　Germans　call　it）　were　　rampant。　　A　camp　of　conical　white　tents　without　the　town　looked　　like　a　leaf　out　of　a　picture　Bible；　sword…belts　decorated　the　walls　　of　the　CAFES；　and　the　streets　kept　sounding　all　day　long　with　　military　music。　　It　was　not　possible　to　be　an　Englishman　and　avoid　　a　feeling　of　elation；　for　the　men　who　followed　the　drums　were　　small；　and　walked　shabbily。　　Each　man　inclined　at　his　own　angle；　　and　jolted　to　his　own　convenience；　as　he　went。　　There　was　nothing　　of　the　superb　gait　with　which　a　regiment　of　tall　Highlanders　moves　　behind　its　music；　solemn　and　inevitable；　like　a　natural　phenomenon。　　　Who　that　has　seen　it　can　forget　the　drum…major　pacing　in　front；　the　　drummers'　tiger…skins；　the　pipers'　swinging　plaids；　the　strange　　elastic　rhythm　of　the　whole　regiment　footing　it　in　time　…　and　the　　bang　of　the　drum；　when　the　brasses　cease；　and　the　shrill　pipes　take　　up　the　martial　story　in　their　place？

A　girl；　at　school　in　France；　began　to　describe　one　of　our　regiments　　on　parade　to　her　French　schoolmates；　and　as　she　went　on；　she　told　　me；　the　recollection　grew　so　vivid；　she　became　so　proud　to　be　the　　countrywoman　of　such　soldiers；　and　so　sorry　to　be　in　another　　country；　that　her　voice　failed　her　and　she　burst　into　tears。　　I　　have　never　forgotten　that　girl；　and　I　think　she　very　nearly　　deserves　a　statue。　　To　call　her　a　young　lady；　with　all　its　niminy　　associations；　would　be　to　offer　her　an　insult。　　She　may　rest　　assured　of　one　thing：　　although　she　never　should　marry　a　heroic　　general；　never　see　any　great　or　immediate　result　of　her　life；　she　　will　not　have　lived　in　vain　for　her　native　land。

But　though　French　soldiers　show　to　ill　advantage　on　parade；　on　the　　march　they　are　gay；　alert；　and　willing　like　a　troop　of　fox…hunters。　　　I　remember　once　seeing　a　company　pass　through　the　forest　of　　Fontainebleau；　on　the　Chailly　road；　between　the　Bas　Breau　and　the　　Reine　Blanche。　　One　fellow　walked　a　little　before　the　rest；　and　　sang　a　loud；　audacious　marching　song。　　The　rest　bestirred　their　　feet；　and　even　swung　their　muskets　in　time。　　A　young　officer　on　　horseback　had　hard　ado　to　keep　his　countenance　at　the　words。　　You　　never　saw　anything　so　cheerful　and　spontaneous　as　their　gait；　　schoolboys　do　not　look　more　eagerly　at　hare　and　hounds；　and　you　　would　have　thought　it　imposs