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

Developments Is Creditably Large, But In My Present "Lowness Of Mind,"

As Molly Would Say, A Long Procession Of Cold, Majestic Cathedrals

Would Have Reduced Me To A Limp Pulp. "No," Molly Went On, "I Can't

Help Thinking That The Churches Would Be A Sort Of Anticlimax After

Our Beloved, Warm-Blooded Châteaux. It Would Be Like Being Taken To

See Your Great-Grandmother's Grave When You'd Been Promised A Matinée.

You Know We Engaged To Get Lord Lane Into His Lonely Fastnesses As

Soon As Possible----"

"I Don't Believe Monty's In Any Hurry For Them," Said Jack,

Crestfallen. "You Ask Him If----"

"He'd Be Too Polite To Be Truthful. No, I'm Sure That Edelweiss Will

Do Him More Good Than Rose Windows, And Mountain Air Than Incense."

As She Thus Prescribed For My Symptoms, She Gazed Through Her Talc

Window With Marked Particularity Into Her "Lightning Conductor's"

Un-Goggled Face. It Wore A Puzzled Expression At First, Which Suddenly

Brightened Into Comprehension. "Do They Repent Having Brought Me

Along, And Want To Get Rid Of Me?" I Asked Myself. I Could Scarcely

Believe This. They Were Too Kind And Cordial; Still, Something In That

Look Exchanged Between Them Hinted At A Secret Which Concerned Me, And

My Curiosity Was Pricked. Nevertheless, I Was Grateful To Molly,

Whatever Her Motive Might Be For Hurrying On To Paris. Fond As I Was

Of The Two, Their Happy Love, Constantly Though Inadvertently

Displayed Before My Eyes, Was Not A Panacea For The Wound Which They

Were Trying To Cure, And I Still Longed For High Alpine Solitudes.

I Had Let Myself Drift Into A Gloomy Thought-Land, When It Occurred To

Jack That I Had Better Learn To Drive. No Doubt The Clear Fellow

Fancied That I "Wanted Rousing" And Certainly I Got It. Luckily, As A

Small Boy, I Had Taken An Interest In Mechanics, To The Extent Of

Various Experiments Actively Disapproved Of By My Family, And The Old

Fire Was Easily Relit. I Listened To His Harangue In Mere Civility At

First, Then With A Certain Eagerness. Molly Sat In The Tonneau, Jack

Driving, Full-Petrol Ahead, And I Beside Him. We Talked Motor Talk,

And He Forgot The Churches, Except When They Seemed Actually To Come

Out Of Their Way To Get In Ours. I Listened, And At The Same Time

Gathered Impressions Of Roads--Long, Strange, Curiously Individual

Roads.

Someone Has Written Of The "Long, Long Indian Day." I Should Like To

Write Of The Long, Long Roads Of France. They Had Never Before Had Any

Place In My Thoughts. Paris And The Riviera Had Been France For Me

Till Now. I Had Never Been Intimate, Never Even Got On Terms Of Real

Friendship With Any Country Save My Own; And I Had Sometimes Been

Narrow Enough To Take A Kind Of Pride In This. The Sweet English

Country Had Yielded Up Her Secrets To Me; I Knew Her Spring Whimsies,

Her Soft Summer Moods, Her Autumn Dreams, Her Wintry Tempers, And I

Had Vaunted My Faithfulness And Love. But Here Was France In Prime Of

Summer, Giving Me Of Her Best. My Heart Warmed To Her Loveliness, And

I Sniffed The Perfume Of Her Breath, Mysteriously Characteristic As

The Chosen Perfume Of Some Loved Woman's Laces. It Was Glorious To

Spin On, On, Between The Rows Of Sentinel Poplars, Bound For The

Horizon, Yet Never Reaching It, And Regarding Crowded Haunts Of Men

More As Interruptions Than As Halting Places.

Harfleur Was A Mere Mirage To Me, A Vision Of A Gently Decaying Town

Left Stranded By The Stream Of Civilisation, Flowing Past To Busy

Havre. Some Lines From "Henry The Fifth" Made Elusive Music In My

Brain, Mixed With A Discussion Of Carburetters, Explosion Chambers,

And Sparking-Plugs. At Lillebonne, Winston Deigned To Break Short His

String Of Motor Technicalities And Point Out The Position Of The Roman

Theatre, Almost The Sole Treasure Of The Sort Possessed By Northern

Europe. I Stared Through My Goggles At The Castle Where The Conqueror

Unfolded To The Assembled Barons His Scheme For Invading England; And

I Begged For A Slackening Of Speed At Ancient Caudebec, Which, With

Its Quay And Terrace Overhanging The Seine, And Its Primly Pruned

Elms, Had Such An Air Of Happy Peace That I Wished To Stamp It Firmly

In My Memory. Such Mental Photographs Are Convenient When One Courts

Sleep At Night, And Has Grown Weary Of Counting Uncountable Sheep

Jumping Over A Stile.

Beyond Caudebec We Sailed Along A Road Running High On The Shoulder Of

The Hill, With Wide Views Over The Serpentine Writhings Of The Seine.

Here, Jack Urged A Turning Aside For St. Wandeville Or, At Least, For

The Abbey Of Jumièges, Poetic With Memories Of Agnes Sorel, Whose

Heart Lies In The Keeping Of The Monks, Though Her Body Sleeps At

Loches. But Molly Would Countenance No Loitering. _Her_ Body, She

Said, Should Sleep At Paris That Night.

We Held Straight On, Therefore, Keeping To A Road At The Foot Of White

Cliffs, Sometimes Near The River, Sometimes Leaving It. Quickly Enough

To Please Even This Unaccountably Impatient Molly, We Had Measured

Off The Fifty Miles Separating Havre From Rouen, And Slowed Down For

The Venerable Streets Of The Norman Capital.

"I Suppose Even You Will Want To Give Half An Hour To The Cathedral

Which I Love Best In France?" Jack Inquired, Looking Back At Molly As

He Turned From The Quay Up The Rue Grand Port, And Stopped In The

Mellow Shade Of An Incomparable Pile Which Towered Above Us.

Molly's Mushroom, However, Was Agitated In Dissent. She Has An

American Chin, And An American Chin Spells Determination. We Could Not

See It, But We Knew That It Meant Business. "You And I Will Spend

Hours In The Cathedral Another Time," She Said. "But Now--" She Did

Not Finish Her Sentence, Nevertheless A Look Of Comprehension Again

Lighted Up Jack's Face, Which For The Moment Was Innocent Of Goggles.

"Molly's So Keen On The Maid," Said He, "That She Can't Forgive Rouen

For Not Really Being The Scene Of The Trial And Burning. But Never

Mind, Since She Wills It, We'll Shake The Dust Off Our Michelins, And

When We're Outside, You Will Have Got Far Enough In Your Motoring

Lesson, I Think, To Try Driving."

What The Last Hour Had Not Taught Me (Thanks To Him) In Theory Of

Coils And Accumulators, Electromagnets And Other Things, Was Scarcely

Worth Learning. I Seemed To Have Looked Through Glass Walls Into The

Cylinders, At The Fussy Little Pistons Working Under Control Of The

"Governor,"--A Tyrant, I Felt Sure. I Had Already Formed A Mature

Opinion On The Question Of Mechanically Operated Inlet Valves (Which

Sounded Disagreeably Surgical), And Was Able To Judge What Their

Advantage Ought To Be Over Those Of The Old Type Worked By The Suction

Of The Piston. I Could Imagine That More Than Half The Fun Of Owning A

Motor Car Would Lie In Understanding The Thing Inside And Out; And I

Said So.

"It's A Little Like Controlling The Elements," Jack Answered. "Think

Of The Difference In This Machine, When It's Asleep--Cold And Quiet,

An Engine Mounted On A Frame, A Tank Of Water, A Reservoir Of Cheap

Spirit, A Pump, A Radiator, A Magnet, Some Geared Wheels Fitting

Together, A Lever Or Two. My Man Twists A Handle. On The Instant The

Machine Leaps Into Frenzied Life. The Carburetter Sprays Its Vapour

Into The Explosion Chamber, The Magnet Flashes Its Sparks To Ignite

It, The Cooling Water Bathes The Hot Walls Of The Cylinders--A Thing

Of Nerves, And Ganglions, And Tireless Muscles Is Panting Eagerly At

Your Service. You Move This Lever, You Press Your Foot Lightly On This

Pedal; The Engine Transfers Its Power To The Wheels; You Move. The

Carriage With You And Your Friends Is Borne At Railway Speed Across

Continents. You Can Hurl Yourself At Sixty Miles An Hour Along The

Great Highroads, You Can Crawl Like A Worm Through The Traffic Of

Cities."

By The Time Jack Had Finished This Harangue We Had Climbed The Hill

Out Of Rouen And Were On The Fine But _Accidenté_ Highroad That Leads

Past Boos And Pont St. Pierre. Soon We Would Reach Les Andelys And

Château Gaillard. Still Jack Was Not Quite Ready To Let Me Put My

Newly Acquired Knowledge Into Practice. There Was A Hill Of Some

Consequence Before Mantes, Which We Had To Reach By Way Of La Roche

Guyon And Limay. After That There Would Be Only What The Route Book

Calls "_Fortes Ondulations_"; And Under The Stronghold Of Lion Heart

Himself (An Appropriate Spot, Forsooth!), I Was To Try My Hand At

Dragon-Driving.

Winston Brought The Car To A Standstill At The Foot Of The Mouldering

Ruins Of Richard's "Saucy Castle," And As We Looked Up At The Towering

Battlements, The Huge Flanking Towers, And The Ponderous Citadel, The

Dark Mass On Its Lofty Rock Set In The Sunny Landscape Like A

Bloodstone In A Gold Ring, Seemed To Be An Epitome In Stone Of Life In

The Middle Ages.

I Uttered Every Idea That Came Into My Mind Concerning The Ruin, And

Squeezed My Brain For More, Till My Head Felt Like A Drained Orange;

Not That I Enjoyed Hearing Myself Talk, Or Thought That Jack And Molly

Would Do So, But Because They Could Not Well Interrupt The Flow Of My

Eloquence To Remind Me Of The Reason For Our Stop.

At Last, However, Silence Fell Upon Us. It Was A Shock To Me When

Molly Broke It. "Oh, Lord Lane, Have You Forgotten That This Is Where

You're To Begin Driving? The Road Is Nice And Broad Here."

I Put On