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

As Though It Were For You Alone Of All The World, And No One Else

Could Find His Way Down Its Dim Labyrinths. But Even As I Looked,

There Came A Movement Near The House, And I Saw The Stalwart Figure Of

The Landlord Shape Itself From The Shadows. Other Forms Were Stirring

Too, The Stolid Forms Of Cows, And Those Of Two Sturdy Little Ponies,

Which Were Being Turned Into A Pasture.

It Occurred To Me That I Could Not Do Better Than Get Through My

Toilet, And, If Joseph And Finois Were Of The Same Mind, Make An Early

Start. I Thought That If I Could Reach The Hospice Before All The

Gold Of Sunrise Had Boiled Over Night's Brim, I Should Have A Picture

To Frame In Memory.

At Bedtime They Had Given Me A Wooden Tub Such As Laundresses Use, And

Filled It For My Morning Bath. I Had My Own Soap, And A Great, Clean,

Coarse Dish-Towel Of Crash Or Some Such Material. Never Before Was

There A Bath Like It, With The Good Smell Of Pinewood Of Which The Tub

Was Made, And The Tingle Of The Water From A Mountain Spring. I

Revelled In It, And As I Dressed Could Have Sung For Pure Joy Of Life,

Until I Remembered That I Was A Jilted Man, And This Tour A Voyage Of

Consolation.

"You Are Miserable, You Know." I Informed My Reflection In A Small,

Strange-Coloured Glass, Which Allowed Me To Shave My Face In Greenish

Sections. "It Is A Kind Of Madness, This Spurious Gaiety Of Yours."

In Half An Hour I Was Out Of The House, And Found Joseph Feeding

Finois. They Were Both Prepared To Leave At Ten Minutes' Notice, And

When The Two Human Creatures Of The Party Had Been Refreshed With

Crusty Bread And Steaming Coffee, The Procession Of Three Set Forth.

As For The Boy, The Donkeys And Their Guardian, As Far As I Knew They

Were Still Sleeping The Sleep Of The Unjust.

If The Pass Had Been Glorious In Open Day, And By Falling Twilight, It

Was Doubly Wonderful In This Mystic Dawn-Time Before The Lamp Of The

Rising Sun Had Lit The Valley. The Green Alps Where The Cattle Pasture

Were Faintly Musical, Far And Near, With The Ringing Of Unseen Bells,

And The Air Was Vibrant With The Rush And Whisper Of Waters. As The

Shadows Melted In The Crucible Of Dawn, And An Opaline High Trembled

On The Dark Mountain-Tops That Towered Round Us, I Saw Marvels Which

Either Had Not Existed Last Night, Or I Had Been Dull Clod Enough To

Miss Them.

Fairy Wild-Flowers Such As I Had Never Seen Studded The Rocks With

Jewels Of Blue And Gold, And Rose, And Little Silver Stars; And There

Were Some Wonderful, Shining Things Of Creamy Grey Plush, Suggesting

Glorified Thistles.

We Walked Through The Valley Of Death, Where Many Of Napoleon's Men

Had Perished; And The First Rays Of Sunrise Touched The Tragic Rocks

With The Gold Of Hope. Up, Up Beyond The Alps And The Sparse

Pine-Trees We Climbed, Until We Came To The Snowline, And Passed

Beyond The First White Ledge, Carved In Marble By The Cold Hand Of A

Departed Winter. Down Through A Gap In The Mountains Streamed An Icy

Blast, And I Had To Remind Myself, Shivering, That This Was August,

Not December. The Wind Tore Apart The Fabric Of Lacy Cloud Which Had

Been Looped In Folds Across The Rock-Face, Like A Veil Hiding The Worn

Features Of Some Aged Nun, And Showed Jagged Mountain Peaks, Towering

Against A Sky Of Mother-O'-Pearl. Suddenly, After A Steep Ascent, We

Saw Before Us A Tall, Lonely Mass Of Grey Stone, Built Upon The Rock.

Behind It The Sun Had Risen, And Fired To Burnished Gold The Still

Lake Which Mirrored The Hospice And Its Dark Wall Of Mountains, Seamed

With Snow.

The Impression Of High Purity, Of Peace Won Through Privation, And Of

Nearness To Heaven Itself, Was So Strong Upon Me, That I Seemed To

Hear A Voice Speaking A Benediction.

    "This Villain, . . . He Dares--I Know Not Half He Dares--

     But Remove Him--Quick!"

                                       --Robert Browning.

So Early Was It Still, I Feared We Had Come Before The Brotherhood

Were Astir To Receive Visitors; But As I Looked Up At The Great, Grey,

Silent Building, The Noble Head Of A Magnificent St. Bernard Dog

Appeared In The Doorway, At The Top Of Steep Stone Steps. There Could

Not Have Been A More Appropriate Welcome To This Remote Dwelling Of A

Devoted Band; And When The Dog, After Gazing Gravely At The Newcomers,

Vanished Into Darkness, I Knew That He Had Gone In To Tell Of Our

Arrival. I Was Right, Too, For Once Within, He Uttered A Deep

Bell-Note, More Sonorous And More Musical Than Lies In The Throats Of

Common Dogs, And Was Answered By A Distant Baying. One Could Not Say

That These Majestic Animals "Barked." There Was As Indisputable A

Difference Between An Ordinary Bark, And The Sound They Made, As

Between The Barrel Instrument Played In The Streets, And A Grand

Cathedral Organ.

Joseph Had Visited The Hospice Many Times, And Knew The Etiquette For

Strangers. He Bade Me Go In, And Ring The Bell At The _Grille_, Unless

I Should Meet One Of The Monks Before Reaching It. I Mounted The

Steps, Entered The Wide Doorway Which Had Framed The Dog's Head, And

Found Myself In A Vast, Dusky Corridor, Resonant With Strange

Echoings, And Mysterious With Flitting Shadows, Which Might Be Ghosts

Of The Past, Or Live Beings Of The Present. As My Eyes Grew Accustomed

To The Gloom, I Saw That There Were Numerous Persons In This Great

Hall: Tall Monks In Flowing Robes Of Black, Beggars Come To Solicit

Alms Or Breakfast; And Dogs, Many Dogs, Who Crowded Round Me, With A

Waving Of Huge Tails, And A Gleaming Of Brown Jewelled Eyes In The

Dusk. I Did Not Need To Ring The Bell Of The Iron Gate Beyond Which,

According To Joseph, No Woman Has Ever Passed. One Of The Monks Came

To Me--A Tall, Spare Young Man With A Grave Face, Soft In Expression,

Yet Hardened In Outline By A Rigorous Life And Exposure To Extreme

Cold. He Gave Me Welcome In French, With Here And There An

Interpellation Of "Down, Turk," "Be Quiet, Jupiter!" Would I Like

Breakfast, He Asked; And Then--Yes, Certainly--To See The Chapel, The

_Bibliothèque_, The Monastery Museum, And The Alpine Garden? There

Would Be Plenty Of Time For This, And Still To Reach Aosta. Another

Monk Was Called, And An Introduction Effected. I Was Taken Into A

Handsomely Decorated Refectory, Where I Opened My Eyes In Some

Astonishment At Sight Of The Imp, Drinking Coffee From A Shallow Bowl

Nearly As Big As His Childish Head. Innocentina Was No Doubt At This

Moment Shocking Joseph By Some New Depravity, In The _Salle-À-Manger_

Where Humbler Folk Were Entertained With The Same Hospitality As Their

(So Called) Betters.

The Brat Set Down His Bowl, And Saw Me, As I Subsided Into A Chair On

The Opposite Side Of The Long, Narrow Table. His Face Flushed, And The

Brilliant Blue Eyes Clouded, But He Deigned To Acknowledge Our

Acquaintance With A Slight Bow.

[Illustration: "Down, Turk!" "Be Quiet, Jupiter!"]

"I Didn't Suppose You Would Have Started Yet," Said I.

"I Thought The Same Thing About You," He Retorted. "We Got Off Very

Quietly From The Cantine----"

"Ah, You Wished To Steal A March On Me," I Broke In, "But Really, My

Young Friend, You Need Not Have Feared That I Should Impose Myself

Upon You As A Travelling Companion. My One Object In Making This

Excursion Is, If Not To Enjoy My Own Society, At Any Rate To

Experiment With It, Therefore----"

"I Have _Two_ Objects In Making Mine," The Boy Interrupted. "One Is To

Avoid Men; The Other Is To Find Materials For Writing A Book, With No

Men In It--Only Places."

"It Will Not Be Owing To Me, If You Fail In The Former," Said I. "As

For The Latter, Naturally It Will Depend Upon Yourself. What Shall You

Call It--'A Chiel Takkin' Notes' Or 'In Search Of The Grail'?"

He Blushed Vividly. "I Haven't Decided On The Name Yet, But It Can't

Matter To You, As I Do Not Expect You To Buy The Book When It Comes

Out; Nor Need You Be Afraid That You Will Figure In The Pages. If I

Were To Call My Book 'In Search Of--Anything,' It Would Be, 'In Search

Of Peace.'"

With This, The Strange Child Rose From The Table, And Bowing,

Departed, Leaving Me Lost In Wonder At Him. He Was But An Infant, And

An Impertinent Infant At That; Yet Suddenly I Had Had A Glimpse

Through The Great Sea-Blue Eyes, Of A Soul, Weary After Some Tragic

Experience. At Least This Was The Impression Which Flashed Into My

Mind, With The One Look I Surprised Before Lashes Hid Its Secret; But