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

"If I Ever Had Any, I've Forgotten Them," Said I. "Look Here, Little

Pal, Shall We Join Forces As Far As--As Far As----"

"The Turnstile," He Finished My Broken Sentence.

"Where Is The Turnstile?"

"At The Place--Whatever It May Be--Where We Get Tired Of Each Other.

Isn't That What You Meant?"

"According To My Present Views, That Place Might Be At The Other End

Of The World. You Must Remember It Was Never I Who Tried To Get Away

From You. At The Cantine De Proz, I----"

"Don't Let's Remember To That Time. Then, I Didn't Know That You

Were--You. That Makes All The Difference. You Looked As If You Might

Be Nice, But I've Learned Not To Trust First Impressions, Especially

Of Men--Grown-Up Men. There Are Such Lots Of People One Drifts Across,

Who Are Not _Real_ People At All, But Just Shells, With Little

Rattling Nuts Of Dull, Imitation Ideas Inside, Taken From Newspapers,

Or Borrowed From Their Friends. Fancy What It Would Be To See Glorious

Places With Such A Companion! It Would Drive Me Mad. I Determined Not

To Make Aquaintances On This Trip; But You--Why, I Feel Now As If It

Would Be Almost Insulting You To Call You 'An Acquaintance.' We

Are--Oh, I'll Take Your Word! We're 'Pals,' And Something Big That's

Over All Meant Us To Be Pals. I Don't Mind Telling You, Man, That I

Should Miss You, If We Parted Now."

"We Won't Part," I Said Quickly. "We'll Jog Along Together. Have A

Cigarette? I'm Going To Smoke A Pipe, Because I Feel Contented."

Between Puffs Of That Pipe (An Instrument Which I Strongly But Vainly

Recommended To The Boy) I Told Him Of My Night Drive Over The St.

Gothard. As It Was His Whim To Consider Names Of No Importance, I Did

Not Mention That Of Jack And Molly Winston, But Spoke Of Them Merely

As "My Friends."

"Could We Do The St. Bernard At Night?" He Asked Eagerly.

"Yes, We Could, If We Saved Ourselves By Driving Up From Here To St.

Rhémy, After Déjeuner, Otherwise It Would Mean Being On Foot All Day

And All Night Too. We Could Send Joseph, Innocentina, And The Animals

On Very Early To-Morrow Morning, To The Hospice, Where They Might Rest

Till Evening. The Good Monks Would Give Us A Meal Of Some Sort About

Six, And At Seven We Could Leave The Hospice. There Would Be An

Interval Of Starry Darkness, And Then We Should Have The Full Moon."

"Splendid To See The Pass By Moonlight, After Knowing It By Day, And

Sunset, And Dawn! It Would Be Like Finding Out Wonderful New Qualities

In Your Friends, Which You'd Never Guessed They Had."

Thus The Boy; And A Few Moments Later The Details Of Our Journey Were

Arranged. Joseph And Innocentina Were Interrupted In The Midst Of

Ardent Attempts To Convert One Another, To Be Told What Was In Store

For Them. They Did Not Appear Averse To The Arrangement, For A Slight

Pout Of The Young Woman's Hardly Counted; There Was No Doubt That A

Journey _Á Deux_ Would Offer Infinite Opportunities For Religious

Disputation.

As For The Little Pal And Me, We Carried Out The First Part Of Our

Programme To The Letter. Two Barrel-Shaped Nags Instead Of One Took Us

To St. Rhémy, The Little Mountain Village Whose Men Are Exempt From

Conscription, And Called, Poetically Yet Literally, "Soldiers Of The

Snow." Further Up The Jewelled Way, Our Little Victoria Could Not

Venture, And We Trod The Steep Path Side By Side, The Boy Stepping Out

Bravely, The Top Of His Panama On A Level With My Ear.

Some Magnetic Cord Of Communication Between His Brain And Mine

Telegraphed Back And Forth, Without Personal Intervention On Either

Part, My Keen Enjoyment Of The Scene, And His. We Did Not Talk Much,

But Each Knew What The Other Was Feeling. Most People Disappoint You

By Their Lack Of Capacity To Enjoy Nature, In Moments Which Are

Superlative To You--Moments Which Alone Would Repay You For The Whole

Trouble Of Living Through Blank Years. But This Boy's Spirit Responded

To Beauty, Up To An Extreme Point Which Was Highly Satisfactory. I Saw

It In The Exaltation On His Little Sunburned Face.

Joseph And Innocentina Were Ostentatiously Delighted To Greet Us At

The Hospice. They And The Animals Had Had Their Evening Meal, And Were

Ready To Start When We Wished. We Went To The Refectory And Dined In

Company With Many Persons Of Many Nationalities, Who Had Just Arrived

From The Swiss And Italian Valleys. Some Of Them Manipulated Their

Food Strangely, As I Had Noticed Here Before; And Boy Confided To Me

His Opinion That It Was A Pity Human Beings Were Still Obliged To Eat

With Their Mouths, Like The Lower Animals. "It's A Disgrace To One's

Face, Which Ought To Be Exclusively For Better Things. It's Really Too

Primitive, This Penny-In-The-Slot Sort Of Arrangement. There Ought To

Be A Tiny Trap-Door In One's Chest Somewhere, So That One Could Just

Slip Food In Unobtrusively, At A Meal, And Go On Talking And Laughing

As If Nothing Had Happened."

We Were Not Long In Dining, But By The Time We Came Out Again Into The

Biting Cold, Late Afternoon Had Changed To Early Evening.

It Was Sunset. The Great Mountain Shapes Of Glittering, Red Gold Were

Clear As The Profiles Of Goddesses, Against A Sky Of Rose. One--The

Grandest Goddess Of All--Wore On Her Proud Head A Crown Of Snow Which

Sparkled With Diamond Coruscations, Rainbow-Tinted In The Pink Light.

Below Her Golden Forehead Hovered A Thin Cloud-Veil, Of Pale Lilac;

And We Had Gone A Long Way Down The Mountain Before The Ineffable

Colour Burned To Ashes-Of-Rose. Then Darkness Caught And Engulfed Us,

In The Valley Of Death. The Rushing Of The River In Its Ravine Was

Like The Voice Of Night, Not A Separate Sound At All, For Hearing It

Was To Hear The Silence.

By-And-Bye We Grew Conscious Of A Faint, Gradual Revealing Of The

Mountain-Tops, Which For A Time Had Been Black, Jagged Pieces Cut Out

From The Spangled Fabric Of A Starry Sky. A Ripple Of Pearly Light

Wavered Over Them, Like The Reflection Of The Unseen River Mirrored

For The Lady Of Shalott.

It Was A Strange, Living Light, Beating With A Visible Pulse, And It

Slowly Grew Until Its White Radiance Had Extinguished The Individual

Lamps Of The Stars. Waterfalls Flashed Out Of Darkness, Like White,

Laughing Nymphs Flinging Off Black Masks And Dominoes; Silver Goblets

And Diamond Necklaces Were Flung Into The River Bed, And Vanished

Forever With A Mystic Gleam.

"If There's A Heaven, Can There Be Anything In It Better Than This,

Little Pal?" I Asked.

"There Can Be God," He Said. "I'm A Pagan Sometimes In The Sun, But

Never On A Night Like This. Then One _Knows_ Things One Isn't Sure Of

At Other Times. Why, I Suppose There Isn't Really A World At All! God

Is Simply Thinking Of These Things, And Of Us, So We And They Seem To

Be. We Are His Thoughts; The Mountains, And The River, And The

Wild-Flowers Are His Thoughts. It's Just As If An Author Writes A

Story. In The Story, All The People And The Things Which Concern Them

Are Real, But You Close The Volume And They Simply Don't Exist. Only

God Doesn't Close The Volume, I Think, Until The Next Is Ready."

"I Wonder Whether We'll Both Come Into The Next Story?"

"Who Knows? Perhaps You'll Wander Into One Story, And I'll Get Lost In

Another."

A Certain Sadness Fell Upon Me, Born Partly Of Our Talk, Partly Of The

Poignant Beauty Of The Night. We Came To The Cantine De Proz, Fast

Asleep In Its Lonely Valley, And So We Went On And On, Our Souls Tuned

To Music And Poetry By The Song Of The Stars And The Beauty Of The

Night: But Slowly A Change Stole Over Us. For A Long Time I Was Only

Dimly Conscious Of It, In A Puzzled Way, In Myself. Why Was It That My

Spirit Stood No Longer On The Heights? Why Did The Moonlight Look Cold

And Metallic? Why Had The Rushing Sound Of The River Got On My Nerves,

Like The Monotonous Crying Of A Fretful Child? Why Did Our Frequent

Silences No Longer Tingle With A Meaning Which There Was No Need To

Express In Words? Why Was My Brain Empty Of Impressions As A Squeezed

Sponge Of Water? Why, In Fact, Though Everything Was Outwardly The

Same, Why Was All In Reality Different?

"Oh, Man, I'm So Hungry!" Sighed Boy.

"By Jove, That's What's Been The Matter With Me This Last Half-Hour,

And I Didn't Know It!" Said I.

"I Feel As If I Could Form A Hollow Square, All By Myself."

"I Only Wish There Were Something To Form It Round."

"But There Isn't--Except A Few Chocolate Creams I Bought In Aosta

Because I Respected Their Old Age, Poor Things."

"Perhaps Even Decrepid Chocolates Are Better Than Nothing. Let's Give

'Em Honourable Burial--Unless You Want Them All To Yourself, As You

Did The Chicken At The 'Déjeûner,' And The Room At The Cantine De

Proz."

"Oh, You _Must_ Have Thought I Was Selfish! But Truly, I Don't Think I

Am. It Wasn't That. Only--I Can't Explain."

"You Needn't," Said I. "I Was 'Kidding'--A Most Appropriate Treatment

For A Man Of Your Size. What I Want Is Food, Not Explanations."

The Chocolates, Which Proved To Be Eighteen In Number, Were Fairly

Divided, Boy Refusing To Accept More Than His Half. We Each Ate One

With Distaste, Because The Celebrated "Right Spot" Was Not To Be

Pacified By Unsuitable Sacrifices; But Presently It Relented And

Demanded More. Appeased For The Moment, The Spot Allowed Us To

Proceed, But Incredibly Soon It Began Again To Clamour. We Ate Several

More Chocolates, Though Our Gorge Rose Against Them As A Means Of

Refreshment. Still Bourg St. Pierre, Where We Were Sooner Or Later To

Sleep, Was Far Away, And For The Third Time We Were Driven To

Chocolate. It Was A Loathsome Business Eating The Remaining Morsels Of

Our Supply, And We Felt That The Very Name Of The Food Would In

Future Be Abhorrent To Us. The Night Had Become Unfriendly, The Pass A

_Via Dolorosa_, And The Last Drop Was Poured Into Our Cup Of Misery At