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

Surprise He Had Kept Up His Sleeve Was Out At Last. St. Bernard Had Me

At His Feet, And Held Me There. The Wild And Gloomy Splendour Of The

Pass Struck At My Heart, And Fired My Imagination. Even The Simplon

Had Nothing Like This To Give. The Simplon At Its Finest Sang A Pæan

To Civilisation; It Glorified The Science Of Engineering, And Told You

That It Was A Triumph Of Modernity. But This Strange, Unkempt Pass,

With Its Inadequate Road,--Now Overhanging A Sheer Precipice, Now

Dipping Down Steeply Towards The Wild Bed Of Its Sombre River,--This

Great St. Bernard, Seemed A Secret Way Back Into Other Centuries,

Savage And Remote. I Felt Shame That I Had Patronised It Earlier, With

Condescending Admiration Of Some Prettinesses. No Wonder That Joseph

Had Smiled And Held His Peace, Knowing What Was To Come. There Was The

Old Road, The Roman Road, Along Which Napoleon Had Led His Staggering

Thousands. There Were His Forts, Scarcely Yet Crumbled Into Ruin. I

Saw The Army, A Straggling Procession Of Haggard Ghosts, Following

Always, And Falling As They Followed, Enacting Again For Me The

Passing Scene Of Death And Anguish. I Was One Of The Men. I Struggled

On, Because Napoleon Needed All His Soldiers. Then Weakness Crushed

Me, Like A Weight Of Iron. A Mist Before My Eyes Shut Out The Opposite

Precipice With Its Sparse Pines, And Flashing Waterfalls, The Mountain

Heights Beyond, And The Merciless Blue Sky. This Was Death. Who Cared?

The Echo Of Thirty Thousand Feet Was In My Ears As They Passed On,

Leaving Me To Die By The Roadside, As I Had Left Others Before.

I Started, And Waked From My Dream. It Was A Joyful Shock To See

Joseph Beside Me, In The Homely Clothes Which Had Replaced His "Sunday

Best"; To See Finois And His Pack Full Of My Friendly Belongings. But

I Clung To The Comfortable Present For A Few Moments Only. The Spell

Of Dead Centuries Had Me In Its Grip. Farther And Farther Back Into

The Land Of Dead Days, I Journeyed With St. Bernard, And Helped Him

Found The Monastery Which The Eyes Of My Flesh Had Not Yet Seen. The

Eyes Of My Spirit Saw The Place, The Nerves Of My Spirit Felt The

Chill Of Its Remoteness. And Even When I Waked Again, I Could Not Be

Sure That I Was Montagu Lane, An Idle Young Man Of The Twentieth

Century, Who Had Come For The Gratification Of A Whim To This

Fastness Where Greater Men Had Ventured In Peril And Self-Sacrifice.

Imagination Is The One Possession Having Which No Man Can Be Poor, Or

Mean, Or Insignificant. He Can Walk With Kings, And He Can See The

High Places Of The World With Seeing Eyes, A Gift Which No Money Can

Give; And Yet He Will Have To Suffer As Those Without Imagination

Never Can Suffer Or Picture Others Suffering.

I Told Myself This, Somewhat Grandiloquently, And With

Self-Gratulation, As I Rubbed Shoulders With Certain Of The World's

Heroes Who Had Passed Along This Way; And There Was Physical Relief

After A Strain, When The Precipitous Valley Widened Into Billowy

Pastures Lying Green At The Rugged Feet Of Mountains. Can Any Sound Be

More Soothing Than The Tinkle Of Cow-Bells In A Mountain Pass, As

Twilight Falls Softly, Like The Wings Of A Brooding Bird? It Is To The

Ear What A Cool Draught Of Spring Water Is To Thirsty Lips. There Are

Verses Of Poetry In It, Only To Be Reset And Rearranged, Like Pearls

Fallen From Their String; There Is A Perfume Of Primroses In It; There

Is The Colour Of Early Dawn, Or Of Fading Sunset, When A Young Moon Is

Rising, Curved And White As A Baby's Arm; There Is Also The Same Voice

That Speaks From The Brook Or The River Running Over Rocks.

Suddenly We Were In The Midst Of A Great Herd Of Cows, Which Blew Out

Volumes Of Clover Breath Upon Us, In Mild Surprise At Our Existence.

They Rubbed Against Us, Or Ambled Away, Lowing To Each Other, And I

Was Surprised To Find That, Instead Of Each Neck Being Provided With A

Bell, As I Had Fancied From The Multitudinous Tinklings, One Cow Only

Was Thus Ornamented.

"How Was The Selection Made?" I Asked Joseph. "Did They Choose The

Most Popular Cow, A Sort Of Stable-Yard Belle, Voted By Her Companions

A Fit Leader Of Her Set; Or Was The Choice Guided By Chance?" Joseph

Could Not Tell Me, And I Suppose That I Shall Never Know.

The Big, Lumbering Forms Crowded So Closely Round Us In The Twilight

Shadows, That Now And Then, To Force A Passage, Joseph Was Obliged To

Pull A Slowly Whisking Tail, Resembling Almost Exactly An

Old-Fashioned Bell-Rope. Presently We Had Made Our Way Past The Herd,

Which Was Shut From Our Sight By The Curtain Of Evening, Though Up On

The Mountain-Tops It Was Still Golden Day.

"There," Said Joseph, Pointing, "Is The Cantine De Proz."

    "You Shall Be Treated To . . . Ironical Smiles And Mockings."

                                              --Walt Whitman.

     "Up The Hillside Yonder, Through The Morning."

                                 --Robert Browning.

I Saw, Standing Desolate In The Basin Of Mountains, An Old House Of

Grey Stone, Very Square, Very Plain, Very Resolute And Staunch Of

Physiognomy. The Windows Were Still Unlighted, And It Looked A Gloomy

Home For Months Of Winter Cold And Snow. Suddenly, As We Approached,

Rather Wearily Now, A Yellow Gleam Flashed Out In An Upper Window.

"That Is The Spare Room For Strangers," Said Joseph, And I Thought

That There Was A Note Of Anxiety In His Voice.

"Perhaps Someone Has Arrived Before Us," I Remarked. "I Hadn't Thought

Of That, As You Said So Few People Ever Stopped At The Cantine Over

Night."

"Had You Noticed, Monsieur, That After All We Never Passed The Party

With The Donkeys?" Asked My Muleteer.

"I Had Forgotten Them."

"I Had Not, But It Was Monsieur's Pleasure To Go Slowly; To Stop For

The Views, To Look At The Ruined Torts, And To Trace The Old Road. We

Gave Them Time To Get Far Ahead. I Was Always Watching, But Never Saw

Them. The _Ânes_ Had More Endurance Than I Thought, And As For That

Innocentina, She Is A Daughter Of Satan; She Would Know No Fatigue."

"It Would Be Like That Little Brat To Gobble Up The One Spare Room Of

The Cantine As He Did The One Chicken Of The 'Déjeûner,'" I Muttered.

"But We Shall See What We Shall See."

We Went On More Rapidly, And Soon Arrived At The Bottom Of A Steep

Flight Of Stone Steps Which Led Up To The Door Of The Cantine. A Man

Came Forward To Greet Us--A Fine Fellow, With The Frank And Lofty

Bearing Of One Whose Life Is Passed In High Altitudes.

"Can We Have Supper And Accommodation For The Night At Your House?" I

Asked.

"Supper, Most Certainly, And With Pleasure," Came The Courteous

Answer, "Though We Have Only Plain Fare To Offer. But The One Spare

Room We Have For Our Occasional Guests, Has Just Been Taken By A Young

English Or American Gentleman. The Woman Who Drives The Two Donkeys

With Which They Travel, Will Have A Bed In The Room Of My Sister, And

We Could Find Sleeping Place Of A Sort For Your Muleteer; But I Fear

We Have No Way Of Making Monsieur Comfortable."

I Was Filled With Rage Against The Wretch Who Had Robbed Me Of A

Decent Meal, And Would Now Filch From Me A Night's Rest.

"We Have Walked A Long Way," I Said, "And Are Tired. We Might Have

Stopped At St. Pierre, But Preferred To Come On To You. It Is Now Too

Dark To Go Back, Or Go On. Surely There Are Two Beds In Your Spare

Room, And As You Keep An Inn, And Pretend To Give Bed And Board To

Travellers, You Are Bound To Arrange For My Accommodation."

"The Young Monsieur Pays For The Two Beds In The Spare Room, In Order

To Secure The Whole For Himself Alone," Replied The Landlord. "Not

Expecting Any Other Guests, We Agreed To This; But The Youth Is

Perhaps A Countryman Of Yours, And Rather Than You Should Go Further,

Or Spend A Night Of Discomfort, He Will Probably Consent To Let You

Share The Room."

"He Shall Consent, Or I Will Know The Reason Why," I Said To Myself

Fiercely; But Aloud I Merely Answered That I Would Be Glad Of A Few

Minutes' Conversation With The Young Gentleman.

My Host Led Me To The House Door, Introduced Me To A Handsome Sister,

Who Was My Hostess, Explained To Her The Situation, With The View Of

It We Had Arrived At, And Descended To Show Joseph Where To Shelter

Finois.

My Landlady Said That She Would Put The Case To The Occupant Of The

Spare Room, Who Was Already In His New Quarters, Preparing For Supper,

But I Persuaded Her That It Would Be Well For Me To Be On The Spot,

And Add My Arguments To Hers. We Went Upstairs, And In A Dark Passage

Plunged Suddenly Into A Pool Of Yellow Light, Gushing From A Half-Open

Door. I Hurried Forward, Step For Step With My Guide, Lest The Door

Should Be Shut In My Face Before I Could Reach It. Over My Hostess'