The Princess Passes Volume 56, Alice Muriel Williamson, Charles Norris Williamson [primary phonics txt] 📗

Going To

Make The Walking Expedition To Chambéry; The Landlord Had Advised Them

That The Weather Was Too Bad, And They Had Decided To Return By The

Noon Train To Aix-Les-Bains.

 

I Felt That I Owed The Young Men A Grudge For The Boy's Defection; And

Chapter 25 (The Americans) Pg 194

As There Had Been No Note Or Message From Him, I Was Not In A

Forgiving Mood. Without A Second Glance Towards The Pair, I Walked

Away With Joseph--Alone With Him For The First Time In Many A Day.

 

 

Chapter 26 (The Vanishing Of The Prince) Pg 195

    "Now To My Word:

     It Is, _Adieu, Adieu! Remember Me_."

                           --Shakespeare.

 

 

As We Dipped Down Below The Summit Of The Mountain, We Stepped From

Under The Snow-Fog, As If It Had Been A Great White, Hanging Nightcap.

The Air Smelled Like Early Winter, And Was Vibrant With The Melody Of

Cowbells. On Snow-Covered Eminences Near And Far, Dark, Sentinel

Larches Watched Us, Weeping Slow Tears From Every Naked Spine. So High

Had They Climbed, So Acclimatised To The Mountains Did These

Soldier-Trees Seem, That I Named Them For Myself The Chasseurs Alpins

Of The Forest.

 

"We Shall Have Fine Weather To-Morrow," Said Joseph, As We Left The

Snow And Came To What He Called The "_Terre Grasse_," Which Was Greasy

And Slippery Under Foot. "See, Monsieur, A Worm; He Comes Up Out Of

His Hole, And The Earth Clings To Him As He Walks Abroad. If He Were

Clean, That Would Be A Sign Of Another Bad Day To Follow."

 

"At Least We Are Going Down To Summer Again," I Replied; "Also To The

Young Monsieur; And To Innocentina. But Perhaps You Are Glad Of A Rest

From Her Sharp Tongue."

 

Joseph Shrugged His Shoulders. "I Am Used To It Now, Monsieur," Said

He; And I Turned Away My Face To Hide A Smile. I Knew That He Missed

The Girl, And I Was Still More Keenly Aware That I Missed A Comrade.

My Fleeting Impressions Were Hardly Worth Catching And Taming, Without

Him To Help Cage Them; Without His Vivid Mind To Help Colour The

Thoughts, Which Mine Only Sketched In Black And White, It Was Easier

To Leave The Canvas Blank.

 

We Had Decided Last Night That It Would Not Be Wise To Attempt The

Journey By Way Of The Dent Du Nivolets, As It Was On A Higher Level

Than The Summit Of Mont Revard, And We Should Risk Being Again

Extinguished Under A Nightcap Of Snow. We Descended, Therefore, By The

Simpler And Shorter Route, But It Was Full Of Interest For The

Strangeness Of The Landscape, And The Buildings Which We Reached On

Lower Planes.

 

The Houses Were No Longer Characteristically French, But A Bastard

Swiss. The Heavy, Overhanging Roofs Were Thatched, And Of Enormous

Chapter 26 (The Vanishing Of The Prince) Pg 196

Thickness; The Walls Of Grey Stone, With Roughly Carved, Skeleton

Balconies. The Peasants No Longer Smiled At Us In Good-Natured

Curiosity, But Regarded Us Dourly, Though They Were Gravely Civil If

We Had Questions To Ask.

 

Although I Gave Joseph No Instructions, And He Made No Suggestions, By

Common Consent We Hastened On As If A Prize Were To Be Bestowed For

Our Good Speed, At The End Of The Journey. On Other Days We Had

Sauntered, Allowing The Animals To Snatch Delicious _Hors D'oeuvres_

From The Bushes As They Passed, But To-Day Finois Was In The Depths Of

Gloom. There Was No Grey Souris, No Spectacled Fanny-Anny To Cheer Him

On The Way, And If He Reached Out A Wistful Mouth Towards A Branch, He

Was Hurried Past It. How Would We Feel, I Asked Myself, If, With The

Inner Man Clamouring, We Were Driven Remorselessly Along A Road

Decked On Either Side With Exquisitely Appointed Tables, Set Out With

All Our Favourite Dishes, To Be Had For Nothing--Never Once Allowed To

Stop For A Crumb Of _Pâté De Foie Gras_, Or A Bit Of Chicken In Aspic?

Yet Asking Myself This, I Had No Mercy On Finois.

 

We Stopped For Lunch At A Queer Auberge, In An Abortive Village

Appropriately Named Les Déserts, Where The Highroad For Chambéry

Began. An Outer Room Roughly Flagged With Stone, Was Kitchen, Nursery,

And Family Living-Room In One. It Swarmed With Children, And Was

Presided Over By Two Of Macbeth's Witches, Who Were Not Separated From

Their Cauldrons. I Took Them To Be Rival Mothers-In-Law, And They

Could Have Taught Innocentina Some Choice New Expressions Valuable To

Test Upon Donkeys Or Other Heretics; But They Sent Me A Steaming Bowl

Of Excellent Coffee, When I Half Expected Poison; Fried Me A Couple Of

Eggs With Crisp Brown Lace Round The Edges, And Took For My Benefit,

From One Of The Shelves That Lined The Nursery Wall, The Newest Of A

Hundred Loaves Of Hard Black Bread.

 

I Ventured To Ask A Down-Trodden Daughter-In-Law Of The Ladies Of The

Cauldrons, Whether A Very Young Gentleman, And An Older But Still

All-Young Woman, With Two Donkeys, Had Stopped At The Auberge Some

Hours Earlier.

 

The Spiritless One Shook Her Head. But No. The Only Other Customers Of

The House Thus Far Had Been The Postman And Two Soldiers. The Party

Might Have Passed. She And Her Parents Were Too Busy To Take Note Of

What Went On Outside. A Faint Chill Of Desolation Touched Me. It Would

Have Been Cheering To Have News Of The Boy And His Cavalcade _En

Route_.

 

By Three O'clock Chambéry Was Well In Sight, Lying Far Below Us As We

Wound Down From Mountain Heights, And Looking, From Our Point Of View,

In Position Something Like An Inferior Aosta. It Basked In A Great

Sun-Swept Plain, And Away To The Left A Lateral Valley, Dimly Blue,

Opened Towards Modane And The Mont Cenis. Descending, We Found The

Resemblance Carried On By A Few Ancient Châteaux And Fortified

Farmhouses, And As We Had Now Come Upon A Part Of The Road Which

Joseph Knew, He Pointed Out To Me, In The Far Distance, The Little

Villa, Les Charmettes, Where Rousseau And Madame De Warens Kept House

Chapter 26 (The Vanishing Of The Prince) Pg 197

Together. Again And Again I Thought We Were On The Point Of Arriving

In The Town, And Had Visions Of Exchanging Adventures With The Boy At

The Hôtel De France; But Always The Place Seemed To Recede Before Our

Eyes, Elusive As A Mirage, Alighting Again Five Or Six Miles Away; And

This It Did, Not Once, But Several Times, With Singular Skill And

Accuracy.

 

At Last, However, After A Tedious Tramp Along A Monotonously Level

Road, Upon Which We Had Plunged Suddenly, We Came Into An Old Town,

All Grey, With The Soft Grey Of Storks' Wings. The Place Had A Mild

Dignity Of Its Own--As Befitted The Ancient Capital Of Savoie--And

Might Have Lived, If Necessary, On The Romantic Reputation Of Its

Ancient Château, Standing Up High And Majestic Above A Populous Modern

Street. There Was An Air Of Almost Courtly Refinement That Reminded Me

Of The Wide, Sedate Avenues Of Versailles; And No Doubt This Effect

Was Largely Due To The Fine Statues And Decorative Grouping Of The

Arcaded Streets. One Monument Was So Imposing And So Unique, That I

Forgot For A Moment My Anxiety To Find The Boy And Hear His News. The

Huge Pile Held Me Captive, Staring Up At A Miniature Nelson Column,

Supported On The Backs Of Four Colossal Elephants Sculptured In Grey

Granite Of True Elephant-Colour. These Benevolent Mammoths, Not

Content With The Duty Of Bearing A Tower Of Stone With A More Than

Life-Sized General Balancing On Top Of It, Generously Spent Their

Spare Time In Pouring Volumes Of Water From Wrinkled Trunks Into A

Huge Basin. Joseph Knew That The Balancing General, De Boigne, Had

Used A Vast Fortune Made In The Service Of An Indian Prince, To Shower

Benefits On His Native Town, As His Elephants Showered Water, And That

It Was In Gratitude To Him That Chambéry Had Raised The Monument; But

I Was Disappointed To Learn That The Elephants Had No Prototypes In

Real Life. It Would Have Satisfied My Imagination To Hear That The

Soldier Of Fortune Had Returned From The Orient To His Birthplace,

With The Four Original Elephants Following Him Like Dogs, Having

Refused To Be Left Behind. But Nothing Is Quite Perfect In History,

And One Usually Feels That One Could Have Arranged The Incidents More

Dramatically One's Self; Indeed, Some Historians Seem To Have Found

The Temptation Irresistible.

 

Joseph Promised Other Choice Bits Of Interest In And Near

Mountain-Ringed Chambéry; But I Had Small Appetite For Sightseeing

Without The Boy, And After My Brief Reverence To The Elephants, I

Hurried The Muleteer And Mule To The Hotel.

 

At The Door We Were Met By A Porter, Far Too Polite A Person To Betray

The Surprise Which My Companions Joseph And Finois Invariably Excited

In Civilisation. He Helped To Unfasten The Pack, And As It Disappeared

Into The Vestibule, I Was About To Bid Joseph _Au Revoir_. But His

Face Gave Me Pause. Like The Key To A Cipher, It Told Me All The

Secret Workings Of His Mind.

 

"You Might Wait Here Before Putting Up Finois," I Said, "Until I

Enquire Inside Whether The Young Monsieur And Innocentina Have Arrived

Safely. No Doubt They Have, As We Did Not Catch Them Up On The Road,

And It Would Have Been Difficult To Mistake The Way. Still----"