At breakfast he asked the waiter what it all meant, and he said that
these were conscripts whose service had expired with the late manoeuvres,
and who were now going home. He promised March a translation of the song,
but he never gave it; and perhaps the sense of their joyful home-going
remained the more poetic with him because its utterance remained
inarticulate.
March spent the rainy Sunday, on which they had fallen, in wandering
about the little city alone. His wife said she was tired and would sit by
the fire, and hear about Mayence when he came in. He went to the
cathedral, which has its renown for beauty and antiquity, and he there
added to his stock of useful information the fact that the people of
Mayence seemed very Catholic and very devout. They proved it by
preferring to any of the divine old Gothic shrines in the cathedral, an
ugly baroque altar, which was everywhere hung about with votive
offerings. A fashionably dressed young man and young girl sprinkled
themselves with holy water as reverently as if they had been old and
ragged. Some tourists strolled up and down the aisles with their red
guide-books, and studied the objects of interest. A resplendent beadle in
a cocked hat, and with along staff of authority posed before his own
ecclesiastical consciousness in blue and silver.
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