CHAPTER IX

nelivingatStettin?” “Never,”saidMrs.Wilcoxgravely,whileherneighbour,ayoungmanlowdownintheEducationOffice,begantodiscusswhatpeoplewholivedatStettinoughttolooklike.WastheresuchathingasStettininity?Margaretswepton. “PeopleatStettindropthingsintoboatsoutofoverhangingwarehouses.Atleast,ourcousinsdo,butaren’tparticularlyrich.Thetownisn’tinteresting,exceptforaclockthatrollsitseyes,andtheviewoftheOder,whichtrulyissomethingspecial.Oh,Mrs.Wilcox,youwouldlovetheOder!Theriver,orratherrivers—thereseemtobedozensofthem—areintenseblue,andtheplaintheyrunthroughanintensestgreen.” “Indeed!Thatsoundslikeamostbeautifulview,MissSchlegel.” “SoIsay,butHelen,whowillmuddlethings,saysno,it’slikemusic.ThecourseoftheOderistobelikemusic.It’sobligedtoremindherofasymphonicpoem.Thepartbythelanding-stageisinBminor,ifIrememberrightly,butlowerdownthingsgetextremelymixed.Thereisaslodgythemeinseveralkeysatonce,meaningmud-banks,andanotherforthenavigablecanal,andtheexitintotheBalticisinCsharpmajor,pianissimo.” “Whatdotheoverhangingwarehousesmakeofthat?”askedtheman,laughing. “Theymakeagreatdealofit,”repliedMargaret,unexpectedlyrushingoffonanewtrack.“Ithinkit’saffectationtocomparetheOdertomusic,andsodoyou,buttheoverhangingwarehousesofStettintakebeautyseriously,whichwedon’t,andtheaverageEnglishmandoesn’t,anddespisesallwhodo.Nowdon’tsay‘Germanshavenotaste,’orIshallscream.Theyhaven’t.But—but—suchatremendousbut!—theytakepoetryseriously.Theydotakepoetryseriously.” “Isanythinggainedbythat?” “Yes,yes.TheGermanisalwaysonthelookoutforbeauty.Hemaymissitthroughstupidity,ormisinterpretit,butheisalwaysaskingbeautytoenterhislife,andIbelievethatinthe