lady baltimore-第8部分

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；　I　hadn't　known　Aunt　Carola　for　nothing！　But　we；　as　I　have　said；　were　not　destined　to　dance　any　minuet。

We　had　been　moving；　very　gradually；　and　without　any　attention　to　our　surroundings；　to　and　fro　in　the　beautiful　sweet　churchyard。　Flowers　were　everywhere；　growing；　budding；　blooming；　color　and　perfume　were　parts　of　the　very　air；　and　beneath　these　pretty　and　ancient　tombs；　graven　with　old　dates　and　honorable　names；　slept　the　men　and　women　who　had　given　Kings　Port　her　high　place　is；　in　our　history。　I　have　never；　in　this　country；　seen　any　churchyard　comparable　to　this　one；　happy；　serene　dead；　to　sleep　amid　such　blossoms　and　consecration！　Good　taste　prevailed　here；　distin…　guished　men　lay　beneath　memorial　stones　that　came　no　higher　than　your　waist　or　shoulder；　there　was　a　total　absence　of　obscure　grocers　reposing　under　gigantic　obelisks；　to　earn　a　monument　here　you　must　win　a　battle；　or　do；　at　any　rate；　something　more　than　adulterate　sugar　and　oil。　The　particular　monument　by　which　young　John　Mayrant　and　I　found　ourselves　standing；　when　we　reached　the　point　about　the　ladies　and　the　thorns；　had　a　look　of　importance　and　it　caught　his　eye；　bringing　him　back　to　where　we　were。　Upon　his　pointing　to　it；　and　before　we　had　spoken　or　I　had　seen　the　name；　I　inquired　eagerly：　〃Not　the　lieutenant　of　the　Bon　Homme　Richard？〃　and　then　saw　that　Mayrant　was　not　the　name　upon　it。

My　knowledge　of　his　gallant　sea…fighting　namesake　visibly　gratified　him。　〃I　wish　it　were；〃　he　said；　〃but　I　am　descended　from　this　man；　too。　He　was　a　statesman；　and　some　of　his　brilliant　powers　were　inherited　by　his　childrenbut　they　have　not　come　so　far　down　as　me。　In　1840；　his　daughter；　Miss　Beaufain〃

I　laid　my　hand　right　on　his　shoulder。　〃Don't　you　do　it；　John　Mayrant！〃　I　cried。　〃Don't　you　tell　me　that。　Last　night　I　caught　myself　saying　that　instead　of　my　prayers。〃

Well；　it　killed　the　minuet　dead；　he　sat　flat　down　on　the　low　stone　coping　that　bordered　the　path　to　which　we　had　wandered　backand　I　sat　flat　down　opposite　him。　The　venerable　custodian；　passing　along　a　neighboring　path；　turned　his　head　and　stared　at　our　noise。

〃Lawd；　see　those　chillun　goin'　on！〃　he　muttered。　〃Mas'　John；　don't　you　get　too　scandalous；　tellin'　strangers　'bout　the　old　famblies。〃

Mayrant　pointed　to　me。　〃He's　responsible；　Daddy　Ben。　I'm　being　just　as　good　as　gold。　Honest　injun！〃

The　custodian　marched　slowly　on　his　way；　shaking　his　head。　〃Mas'　John　he　do　go　on；〃　he　repeated。　His　office　was　not　alone　the　care　and　the　showing　off　of　the　graveyard；　but　another　duty；　too；　as　native　and　peculiar　to　the　soil　as　the　very　cotton　and　the　rice：　this　loyal　servitor　cherished　the　honor　of　the　〃old　famblies；〃　and　chide　their　young　descendants　whenever　he　considered　that　they　needed　it。

Mayrant　now　sat　revived　after　his　collapse　of　mirth；　and　he　addressed　me　from　his　gravestone。　〃Yes；　I　ought　to　have　foreseen　it。〃

〃Foreseen？〃　I　didn't　at　once　catch　the　inference。

〃All　my　aunts　and　cousins　have　been　talking　to　you。〃

〃Oh；　Miss　Beaufain　and　the　Earl　of　Mainridge！　Well；　but　it's　quite　worth〃

〃Knowing　by　heart！〃　he　broke　in　with　new　merriment。

I　kept　on。　〃Why　not？　They　tell　those　things　everywherewhere　they're　so　lucky　as　to　possess　them！　It's　a　flawless　specimen。〃

〃Of　1840　repartee？〃　He　spoke　with　increasing　pauses。　〃Yes。　We　do　at　least　possess　that。　And　some　wine　of　about　the　same　dateand　even　considerably　older。〃

〃All　the　better　for　age；〃　I　exclaimed。

But　the　blue　eyes　of　Mayrant　were　far　away　and　full　of　shadow。　〃Poor　Kings　Port；〃　he　said　very　slowly　and　quietly。　Then　he　looked　at　me　with　the　steady　look　and　the　smile　that　one　sometimes　has　when　giving　voice　to　a　sorrowful　conviction　against　which　one　has　tried　to　struggle。　〃Poor　Kings　Port；〃　he　affectionately　repeated。　His　hand　tapped　lightly　two　or　three　times　upon　the　gravestone　upon　which　he　was　seated。　〃Be　honest　and　say　that　you　think　so；　too；〃　he　demanded；　always　with　his　smile。

But　how　was　I　to　agree　aloud　with　what　his　silent　hand　had　expressed？　Those　inaudible　taps　on　the　stone　spoke　clearly　enough；　they　said：　〃Here　lies　Kings　Port；　here　lives　Kings　Port。　Outside　of　this　is　our　true　death；　on　the　vacant　wharves；　in　the　empty　streets。　All　that　we　have　left　is　the　immortality　which　these　historic　names　have　won。〃　How　could　I　tell　him　that　I　thought　so；　too？　Nor　was　I　as　sure　of　it　then　as　he　was。　And　besides；　this　was　a　young　man　whose　spirit　was　almost　surely；　in　suffering；　ill　fortune　both　material　and　of　the　heart；　I　seemed　to　suspect；　had　made　him　wounded　and　bitter　in　these　immediate　days；　and　the　very　suppression　he　was　exercising　hurt　him　the　more　deeply。　So　I　replied；　honestly；　as　he　had　asked：　〃I　hope　you　are　mistaken。〃

〃That's　because　you　haven't　been　here　long　enough；〃　he　declared。

Over　us；　gently；　from　somewhere　across　the　gardens　and　the　walls；　came　a　noiseless　water　breeze；　to　which　the　roses　moved　and　nodded　among　the　tombs。　They　gave　him　a　fanciful　thought。　〃Look　at　them！　They　belong　to　us；　and　they　know　it。　They're　saying；　'Yes；　yes；　yes；'　all　day　long。　I　don't　know　why　on　earth　I'm　talking　in　this　way　to　you！〃　he　broke　off　with　vivacity。　〃But　you　made　me　laugh　so。〃



VI：　In　the　Churchyard

Then　it　was　a　good　laugh；　indeed！〃　I　cried　heartily。

〃Oh；　don't　let's　go　back　to　our　fine　manners！〃　he　begged　comically。　〃We've　satisfied　each　other　that　we　have　them！　I　feel　so　lonely；　and　my　aunt　just　nowwell；　never　mind　about　that。　But　you　really　must　excuse　us　about　Miss　Beaufain；　and　all　that　sort　of　thing。　I　see　it；　because　I'm　of　the　new　generation；　since　the　war；　andwell；　I've　been　to　other　places；　too。　But　Aunt　Eliza；　and　all　of　them；　you　know；　can't　see　it。　And　I　wouldn't　have　them；　either！　So　I　don't　ever　attempt　to　explain　to　them　that　the　world　has　to　go　on。　They'd　say；　'We　don't　see　the　necessity！'　When　slavery　stopped；　they　stopped；　you　see；　just　like　a　clock。　Their　hand　points　to　1865it　has　never　moved　a　minute　since。　And　some　day〃　his　voice　grew　suddenly　tender〃they'll　go；　one　by　one；　to　join　the　still　older　ones。　And　I　shall　miss　them　very　much。〃

For　a　moment　I　did　not　speak；　but　watched　the　roses　nodding　and　moving。　Then　I　said：　〃May　I　say　that　I　shall　miss　them；　too？〃

He　looked　at　me。　〃Miss　our　old　Kings　Port　people？〃　He　didn't　invite　outsiders　to　do　that！

〃Don't　you　see　how　it　is？〃　I　murmured。　〃It　was　the　same　thing　once　with　us。〃

〃The　same　thingin　the　North？〃　His　tone　still　held　me　off。

〃The　same　sort　of　dear　old　peopleI　mean　charming；　peppery；　refined；　courageous　people；　in　Salem；　in　Boston；　in　New　York；　in　every　place　that　has　been　colonial；　and　has　taken　a　hand　in　the　game。〃　And；　as　certain　beloved　memories　of　men　and　women　rose　in　my　mind；　I　continued：　〃If　you　knew　some　of　the　Boston　elder　people　as　I　have　known　them；　you　would　warm　with　the　same　admiration　that　is　filling　me　as　I　see　your　people　of　Kings　Port。〃

〃But　politics？〃　the　young　Southerner　slowly　suggested。

〃Oh；　hang　slavery！　Hang　the　war！〃　I　exclaimed。　〃Of　course；　we　had　a　family　quarrel。　But　we　were　a　family　once；　and　a　fine　one；　too！　We　knew　each　other；　we　visited　each　other；　we　wrote　letters；　sent　presents；　kept　up　relations；　we；　in　short；　coherently　joined　hands　from　one　generation　to　another；　the　fibres　of　the　sons　tingled　with　the　current　from　their　fathers；　back　and　back　to　the　old　beginnings；　to　Plymouth　and　Roanoke　and　Rip　Van　Winkle！　It's　all　gone；　all　done；　all　over。　You　have　to　be　a　small；　well…knit　country　for　that　sort　of　exquisite　personal　unitedness。　There's　nothing　united　about　these　States　any　more；　except　Standard　Oil　and　discontent。　We're　no　longer　a　small　people　living　and　dying　for　a　great　idea；　we're　a　big　people　living　and　dying　for　money。　And　these　ladies　of　yourswell；　they　have　made　me　homesick　for　a　national　and　a　social　past　which　I　never　saw；　but　which　my　old　people　knew。　They're　like　legends；　still　living；　still　warm　and　with　us。　In　their　quiet　clean…cut　faces　I　seem　to　see　a　reflection　of　the　old　serene　candlelight　we　all　once　talked　and　danced　insconces；　tall　mirrors；　candles　burning　inside　glass　globes　to　keep　them　from　the　moths　and　the　draft　that；　of　a　warm　evening；　blew　in　through　handsome　mahogany　doors；　the　good　bright　silver；　the　portraits　by　Copley　and　Gilbert　Stuart；　a　young　girl　at　a　square　piano；　singing　Moore's　melodiesand　Mr。　Pinckney　or　Commodore　Perry；　perhaps；　dropping　in　for　a　hot　supper！〃

John　Mayrant　was　smiling　and　looking　at　the　graves。　〃Yes；　that's　it；　that's　all　it；〃　he　mused。　You　do　understand。〃

But　I　had　to　finish　my　flight。　〃Such　quiet　faces　are　gone　now　in　the　breathless；　competing　North：　ground　into　oblivion　between　the　clashing　trades　of　the　competing　men　and　the　clashing　jewels　and　chandeliers　of　their　competing　wiveswhile　yours　have　lingered　on；　spared　by　your　very　adversity。　And　that's　why　I　shall　miss　your　old　people　when　they　follow　minebecause　they're　the　last　of　their　kind；　the　end　of　the　chain；　the　bold　original　stock；　the　great　race　that　made　our　glory　grow　and　saw　that　it　did　grow　through　thick　and　thin：　the　good　old　native　blood　of　independence。〃

I　spoke　as　a　man　can　always　speak　when　he　means　it；　and　my　listener's　face　showed　that　my　words　had　gone　where　meant　words　always　gohome　to　the　heart。　But　he　merely　nodded　at　me。　His　nod；　however；　telling　as　it　did　of　a　quickly　established　accord　between　us；　caused　me　to　bring　out　to　this　new　acquaintance　still　more　of　those　thoughts　which　I　condescend　to　expose　to　very　few　old　ones。

〃Haven't　you　noticed；〃　I　said；　〃or　don't　you　feel　it；　away　down　here　in　your　untainted　isolation；　the　change；　the　great　change；　that　has　come　over　the　American　people？〃

He　wasn't　sure。

〃They've　lost　their　grip　on　patriotism。〃

He　smiled。　〃We　did　that　here　in　1861。〃

〃Oh；　no！　You　left　the　Union；　but　you　loved　what　you　considered　was　your　country；　and　you　love　it　still。　That's　just　my　point；　just　my　strange　discovery　in　Kings　Port。　You　retain　the　thing　we've　lost。　Our　big　men　fifty　years　ago　thought　of　the　country；　and　what　they　could　make　it；　our　big　men　to…day　think　of　the　country　and　what　they　can　make　out　of　it。　Rather　different；　don't　you　see？　When　I　walk　about　in　the　North；　I　merely　meet　members　of　trusts　or　unionsaccording　to　the　length　of　the　individual's　purse；　when　I　walk　about