The Princess Passes Volume 56 by Alice Muriel Williamson, Charles Norris Williamson (great book club books .txt) 📕

There Had Not Been A Great Difference Between The Two Long-Dead Prime

Ministers?

"How Do You Mean?" I Enquired. "A Difference In Politics Or

Disposition?"

"They Would Not Like The Same Things," He Explained. "The Lord

Beaconsfield, _Par Exemple_, He Would Not Have Enjoyed To Come Such A

Tour Like This, That Will Take You High In Icy Mountains. He Would

Want The Sunshine, And Sitting Still In A Beautiful _Chaise_ With

People To Listen While He Talked, But Monsieur Gladstone, I Think He

Would Love The Mountains With The Snow, As If They Were His Brothers."

"You Are Right," I Said. "They Were His Brothers. One Can Fancy

Edelweiss Growing Freely On Mr. Gladstone. His Nature Was Of The White

North. You Have Hit It, Joseph."

"But I Do Not See A Thing That I Have Hit," He Replied, Bewildered,

Glancing At The Stout Staff In His Hand, And Then At Finois, Who Had

Evidently Not Been Brought Up On Blows. It Was Then My Turn To

Explain; And So We Tossed Back And Forth The Conversational

Shuttlecock, Until I Found Myself Losing Straw By Straw My Load Of

Homesickness, And Becoming More Buoyant Of Spirit In The Muleteer's

Society.

After The Splendours Of The Simplon It Seemed To Rue, As The Windings

Of The Great St. Bernard Pass Shut Us Farther And Farther Away From

Martigny, That This Was In Comparison But A Peaceful Valley. It Was A

Cosey Cleft Among The Mountains, With Just Room For The River To Be

Frilled With Green Between Its Walls. There Was A Look Of Homeliness

About The Sloping Pastures, Which Slept In The Sunshine, Lulled By The

Song Of The Swift-Flowing Dranse.

The Name "Great St. Bernard" Had Conjured Up Hopes Of Rugged

Grandeur, Which Did Not Seem Destined To Be Fulfilled, And At Last I

Confided My Disappointment To Joseph. "If Monsieur Will Wait An All

Little Hour, Perhaps He Will Yet Be Surprised," He Answered, Breaking

Into French. "We Have A Long Way To Go, Before We Come To The Best."

We Walked Briskly, Lunched At The Dull Village Of Orsières; And

Delaying As Short A Time As Possible, Pushed On--Indeed, We Pushed On

Much Farther Than Joseph Had Expected, When He Suggested Our Sleeping

At Bourg St. Pierre. "We Might Go Higher," Said He, "Before Dark, But

It Would Be Late Before We Could Reach The Hospice, And There Is No

Place Where We Could Rest For The Night After St. Pierre, Unless

Monsieur Would Care To Stop At The Cantine De Proz."

"What Is The Cantine De Proz?" I Asked, Trudging Along The Stony

Road, With My Eyes Held By A Huge Snow Mountain Which Had Suddenly

Loomed Above The Green Shoulders Of Lesser Hills, Like A Great White

Barrier Across The World.

"The Cantine De Proz Is But A House, Nothing More, Monsieur, In The

Loneliest And Wildest Part Of The Pass--How Lonely, And How Wild, You

Cannot Guess Yet By What You Have Seen. The People Who Keep The House

Are Good Folk, And They Live There All The Year Round, Even In Winter,

When The Snow Is At The Second-Story Windows, And They Must Cut Narrow

Paths, With Tall White Walls, Before They Can Feed Their Cattle. These

People Sell You A Cup Of Coffee, Or A Glass Of Beer, Or Of Liqueur,

And They Have A Spare Room, Which Is Very Clean. If Any Traveller

Wishes To Spend A Night, They Will Make Him As Comfortable As They

Can. One English Gentleman Came, And Liked The Place So Well, That He

Stayed For Months, And Wrote A Book, I Have Been Told. But It Is

Desolate. Perhaps Monsieur Would Think It Too _Triste_ Even For A

Night. At St. Pierre There Is At Least A Little Life. And The Hotel

'Au Déjeuner De Napoléon,' I Think It Will Amuse Monsieur."

"That Is An Odd Name For A Hotel," Said I.

"You See, Monsieur, It Was Made Famous Because Of The _Déjeuner_ Which

Napoléon Took There On His March With His Army Of 30,000 Across The

Pass In The Month Of May, 1800, And That Is The Reason Of The Name.

The Madame Who Has The House Now, Is A Grand-Daughter Of The Innkeeper

Of That Day; And She Will Show You The Room Where Napoléon

Breakfasted, With All The Furniture Just As It Was Then, And On The

Wall The Portraits Of Her Grand-Parents, Who Waited On The Great Man."

"At All Events, We Will Rest And Have Something To Eat There," I Said.

"Then, If It Be Not Too Late, We Might Push On Further. I Like The

Idea Of The Lonely Cantine De Proz."

My Opinion Of The Pass Was Changing For The Better, Before We Reached

The Straggling Town Of Stony Pavements, Which Could Not Have A More

Appropriate Patron Than St. Pierre. True, Our Road Was Always Narrow,

And Poorly Kept For A Great Mountain Highway; So Far, None Of The

Magnificent Engineering Which Impressed One On The Simplon. But Here

And There Dazzling White Peaks Glistened Like Frozen Tidal Waves

Against The Blue, And The Dranse Had A Particular Charm Of Its Own.

Joseph Said Little When I Patronised The Pass With A Few Grudging

Words Of Commendation. He Had The Secretive Smile Of A Man Who Hides

Something Up His Sleeve.

It Was Five O'clock When We Arrived At Bourg St. Pierre, And Having

Climbed A Dark And Hilly Street, Closely Shut In With Houses Which Age

Had Not Made Beautiful, Joseph Pointed Out A Neat, White Inn, Standing

At The Left Of The Road.

"That Is The 'Déjeuner De Napoléon,'" Said He, "And Near By Are Some

Roman Remains Which Will Interest Monsieur If----"

"By Jove, Two Donkeys!" I Broke In, Heedless Of Antiquities, In My

Surprise At Seeing Two Of Those Animals Which Experience Had Taught Me

To Look Upon As More Rare Than Joseph's "Seldom Plant." "Two Donkeys

In Front Of The Inn. Where On Earth Can They Have Sprung From? I Would

Have Given A Good Deal For That Sight A Few Days Ago, But Now"--And I

Glanced At The Dignified Finois--"I Can Regard Them Simply With

Curiosity."

"I Have Been Over This Pass More Than Twenty Times," Said Joseph (Who

Was A Native Of Chamounix, I Had Learned), "Yet Rarely Have I Met With

_Ânes_. And See, Monsieur, The Woman Who Is With Them. She Is Not Of

The Country, Nor Of That Part Of Italy Which We Enter Below The Pass,

At Aosta. It Is A Strange Costume. I Do Not Know From What Valley It

Comes."

"Well," Said I, As We Drew Near To The Group In The Road Outside The

Hotel, "If That Girl, Or At Any Rate Her Hat, Did Not Come From The

Riviera Somewhere, I Will Eat My Panama."

Involuntarily I Hastened My Steps, And Joseph Politely Followed Suit,

Dragging After Him Finois, Who Seemed To Be Walking In His Sleep. I

Felt It Almost As A Personal Injury From The Hand Of Fate, That After

My Unavailing Search For Donkeys In A Land Where I Had Thought To Be

Forced To Beat Them Off With Sticks, I Should Find Other Persons

Provided With Not One But Two Of The Creatures.

[Illustration: "That Is The Déjeuner Of Napoléon".]

They Were Charming Little Beasts, One Mouse-Colour, One Dark-Brown

With Large, Grey-Rimmed Spectacles, And Both Animals Were Of The

Texture Of Uncut Velvet. The Former Carried An Excellent Pack, Which

Put Mine To Shame; The Latter Bore A Boy's Saddle, And The Two Were

Being Fed With Great Bread Crusts By A Bewitching Young Woman Of About

Twenty-Six Or -Eight, Wearing One Of The Toad-Stool Hats Affected By

The Donkey-Women Of Mentone. She Looked Up At Our Approach, And Having

Surveyed The Pack And Proportions Of Finois With Cold Scorn, Her

Interest In Our Procession Incontestably Focused Upon Joseph. She

Tossed Her Head A Little On One Side, Shot At The Muleteer An

Arrow-Gleam, Half Defiant, Half Coquettish, From A Pair Of Big Grey

Eyes Fringed Heavily With Jet. She Moistened Full Red Lips, While A

Faint Colour Lit Her Cheeks, Under The Deep Stain Of Tan And A

Tiger-Lily Powdering Of Freckles. Then, Having Seen The Weary Joseph

Visibly Rejuvenate In The Brief Sunshine Of Her Glance, She Turned

Away, And Gave Her Whole Attention To The Donkeys.

"Hungry, Joseph?" I Asked.

He Had To Bethink Himself Before He Could Answer. Then He Replied That

He Had Food In His Pocket, Bread And Cheese, And That Finois Carried

His Own Dinner. They Would Be Ready To Go On, If I Chose, Or To

Remain, If That Were My Pleasure. "It Is Too Early For A Final Stop,

At A Place Where There Can No Amusement For The Evening," Said I. "We

Had Better Go On. If You Intend To Stay Outside With Finois, I'll Send

You A Bottle Of Beer, And You Can, If You Will, Drink My Health."

With This I Went In, Feeling Sure That The Time Of My Absence Would

Not Pass Heavily For Joseph.

This Was The Hour At Which, In England, We Would Sip A Cup Of Tea As

An Excuse For Talk With A Pretty Woman In Her Drawing-Room; But Having

Tramped Steadily For Some Hours In Mountain Air, I Was In A Mood To

Understand The Tastes Of That Class Who Like An Egg Or A Kipper For "A

Relish To Their Tea." I Looked For The Landlady With The Illustrious

Ancestors, And Could Not Find Her; But Voices On The Floor Above Led

Me To The Stairway. I Mounted, Passed A Doorway, And Found Myself In A

Room Which Instinct Told Me Had Been The Scene Of The Historic

_Déjeuner_.

It Was A Low-Ceilinged Room With Wainscoted Walls, And At First Glance

One Received An Impression Of The Past. There Was A Soft Lustre Of

Much-Polished Mahogany, And A Glitter Of Old Silver Candelabra; I

Thought That