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Lady Baltimore-Part32_Owen Wister(1860-1938)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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love their country. The passing traveller may gaze up at certain windows



there, and see History herself looking out at him, even as she looks out

of the windows of Independence Hall in Philadelphia. There are also other



ancient buildings in Kings Port, where History is shut up, as in a

strong-box,--such as that stubborn old octagon, the powder-magazine of



Revolutionary times, which is a chest holding proud memories of blood and

war. And then there are the three churches. Not strong-boxes, these, but



shrines, where burn the venerable lamps of faith. And of these three

houses of God, that one holds the most precious flame, the purest light,



which treasures the holy fire that came from France. The English

colonists, who sat in the other two congregations, came to Carolina's



soil to better their estate; but it was for liberty of soul, to lift

their ardent and exalted prayer to God as their own conscience bade them,



and not as any man dictated, that those French colonists sought the New

World. No Puritan splendor of independence and indomitable courage



outshines theirs. They preached a word as burning as any that Plymouth or

Salem ever heard. They were but a handful, yet so fecund was their



marvelous zeal that they became the spiritualleaven of their whole

community. They are less known than Plymouth and Salem, because men of



action, rather than men of letters, have sprung from the loins of the

South; but there they stand, a beautiful beacon, shining upon the coasts



of our early history. Into their church, then, into the shrine where

their small lamp still burns, their devoutdescendant, Mrs. Weguelin St.



Michael led our party, because in her eyes Kings Port could show nothing

more precious and significant. There had been nothing to warn her that



Bohm and Charley were Americans who neither knew nor loved their country,

but merely Americans who knew their country's wealth and loved to acquire



every penny of it that they could.

And so, following the steps of our delicate and courteous guide, we



entered into the dimness of the little building; and Mrs. Weguelin's

voice, lowered to suit the sanctity which the place had for her, began to



tell us very quietly and clearly the story of its early days.

I knew it, or something of it, from books; but from this little lady's



lips it took on a charm and graciousness which made it fresh to me. I

listened attentively, until I felt, without at first seeing the cause,



that dulling of enjoyment, that interference with the receptive

attention, which comes at times to one during the performance of music



when untimely people come in or go out. Next, I knew that our group of

listeners was less compact; and then, as we moved from the first point in



the church to a new one, I saw that Bohm and Charley were dropping

behind, and I lingered, with the intention of bringing them closer.



"But there was nothing in it," I heard Charley's slow monologue

continuing behind me to the silent Bohm. "We could have bought the



Parsons road at that time. 'Gentlemen,' I said to them, 'what is there

for us in tide-water at Kings Port? '"



It was not to be done, and I rejoined Mrs. Weguelin and those of the

party who were making some show of attention to her quiet little



histories and explanations; and Kitty's was the next voice which I heard

ring out--



"Oh, you must never let it fall to pieces! It's the cunningest little

fossil I've seen in the South."



"So," said Charley behind me, "we let the other crowd buy their strategic

point; and I guess they know they got a gold brick."



I moved away from the financiers, I endeavored not to hear their words;

and in this much I was successful; but their inappropriate presence had



got, I suppose upon my nerves; at any rate, go where I would in the

little church, or attend as I might and did to what Mrs. Weguelin St.



Michael said about the tablets, and whatever traditions their

inscriptions suggested to her, that quiet, low, persistent banker's voice



of Charley's pervaded the building like a draft of cold air. Once,

indeed, he addressed Mrs. Weguelin a question. She was telling Beverly



(who followed her throughout, protectingly and charmingly, with his most

devoted attention and his best manner) the honorable deeds of certain



older generations of a family belonging to this congregation, some of

whose tombs outside had borne French inscriptions.



"My mother's family," said Mrs. Weguelin.

"And nowadays," inquired Beverly, "what do they find instead of military



careers?"

"There are no more of us nowadays; they--they were killed in the war."



And immediately she smiled, and with her hand she made a light gesture,




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