"Oh, well," sighed Miss Randolph, "I suppose we can't do better than
take your advice, but this isn't a nice adventure. I do hate feeling
guilty--like an escaping criminal, with every hand against me. And I
_loathe_ suspense; I always want to know the worst. When shall we be
sure what the peasants have made up their minds to do?"
"Well," I said, "in less than an hour, if all goes well, we ought to be
at the _octroi_ station outside Carcassonne, and if we are 'wanted' by
the police we shall know it fast enough, because they will--er--try to
stop us there."
"Then I hope all _won't_ go well," moaned Miss Randolph. She who had
been so brave when forty peasants threatened us with words, stones, and
even knives, was crushed under the vague menace of the law. "If only we
could arrive after dark we might flash through before the _octroi_
people knew. _Let's_ arrive after dark," she exclaimed eagerly. "It's
getting on towards four now. Let's stop--since we've been perfectly
certain for ages that no one was attempting to follow us--and--and
deliberately have tea by the roadside. If we do that we can easily pass
the time, so as not to arrive at the _octroi_ until half-past five, when
it will be dark. It's moonlight, but the moon doesn't rise now till six
or after."
"We could do that certainly" I said, "and we might get through without
being nabbed. If we succeed, we might rush on through Carcassonne,
instead of stopping there to-night; for the farther away we get and the
more towns we can say we've passed through without being detained, the
better for our chances of ultimate escape."
"But I don't want to miss Carcassonne," she objected. "You've told me so
much about the place that I've been looking forward to it more than to
almost anything else."
So had I, if the truth were known, but I had looked forward to visiting
Carcassonne with her before I had "drunk and seen the spider." In other
words, before Mr. Payne had joined our party. However, I couldn't bear
to have her disappointed, for his fault, too; besides, I'm vain enough
to like hearing from her lips the flattering words, "Brown, you are so
resourceful!" Therefore I stirred up my brains in the effort to be
resourceful now.
"We might hide the car in Carcassonne if we could once get in," I
mysteriously suggested; "then you could steal up on foot to the _cite_
by moonlight, and when you'd had your fill of sight-seeing steal back to
the car again and make a rush for it."
"Splendid!" cried Miss Randolph, clapping her hands. Behold, I had made
a hit!
The car was stopped, the tea-basket got out, and who so indispensable as
the late despised Brown? Brown it was who went to a cottage hard by and
procured drinking-water, since, not expecting to stop, we had come out
unprovided. Brown it was who saved the methylated spirit from upsetting,
and Brown was rewarded presently with an excellent cup of tea, into
which Miss Randolph had dropped two lumps of sugar with her own blessed
little pink-tipped fingers. As a matter of fact, in ordinary
circumstances sugar in tea is medicinal to my taste; but when that angel
sat with a lump between her fingers asking how many I would have, though
she had just let Jimmy Sherlock put in his own, I would have said half a
dozen, if that would have left any over for her. And if the taste was
medicinal, why, it had a curative effect on my injured feelings.
Refreshed, invigorated by more than tea, I felt ready for anything.
Darkness was falling, but I didn't light the lamps. The road was empty,
a torch of dusky red blazing along the west. We started, going
cautiously; our tongues silent, our eyes alert. By-and-by, from afar
off, we caught the twinkle of low-set, yellow lights. We were coming to
the neighbourhood of the _octroi_. Luckily it was cold; the door and
windows of the house would certainly be shut, unless the men were
engaged in transacting business in the road. I now hurriedly explained
to Miss Randolph the exact method I meant to adopt, and the word was
passed round to be "mum." While the tea-things were being packed away, a
short time ago, I had well oiled the wheels and chains; the car moved as
silently as a bat, except for the chuff! chuff! of the motor. About a
hundred yards from the lights I put on speed, and when we had begun to
scud along like a ship with all sails set, I took out the clutch and let
the motor run free. By this time we were within thirty yards of a
building which I now felt certain was the _octroi_. The car, which had
been going extremely fast, dashed on, coasting past the little lighted
house by its own impetus. Not a sound, not a creak of a wheel, not the
grating of a chain.
On we sped for full forty yards past the _octroi_ before we lost speed,
and I had to slip in the clutch.
"Oh, _Brown_!" breathed my Goddess ecstatically. Just that, and no more.
But if I had been Jack Winston and asked her to marry me at this moment,
I believe she would have said "yes," in sheer exuberance of grateful
bliss.
So far, so good, but we were not yet out of the wood. We drove quietly
on into the town, expecting every moment to be challenged for not
lighting our lamps, though we were within our rights, really, dark as it
was, for it was not yet an hour after sunset. But nothing happened; not
even a dog barked. We crossed the high bridge spanning the Aude, and the
old _cite_, which we had come to see, loomed black against the dusky
sky. No one molested us; no fiery _gendarme_ leaped from the shadows
commanding us to stop. My small trumps were taking all the tricks, but I
had a big one still in my hand. We were now--having crossed the bridge
and left the new town behind us--in a comparatively deserted region.
"My idea," I said quietly to Miss Randolph, "is to drive the car into
some dark, back street, far from the ken of the _gendarme_. It is six
o'clock. People are sitting down to dinner. That is in our favour. I
shall, if possible, find a place where the car may stand for several
hours without being remarked, while your visit is paid to the _cite_.
Here, now, is the very place!" I broke short my disquisition to remark;
for as I elaborated my plan, driving very slowly, we had arrived before
a dingy mews with a waggon standing, shafts down, on the cobbles. I
turned in and stopped both car and motor.
"This shelter might have been made for us," I said, beginning to find a
good deal of pleasure in the situation. "The only difficulty is" (out
with my big trump) "that of course someone must stay with the car. It is
my place, miss, to do so. But, unfortunately, it is after hours for
showing the ramparts, the interior of the towers, the dungeons, and so
on, which are really the attractions of the wonderful, old restored
mediaeval city. I have been here before. I know the _gardien_, and might,
if I were in the party, induce him to make an exception in your favour.
Still, as it is, the best I can do will be to write a note and ask him
to take you through."
Jimmy laughed, or I should say, chortled. "I should think a _banknote_
would appeal to the _gardien's_ intelligence better than any other
kind," said he, "and I will see that he gets it."
"I advise you not to do that, sir," I remarked quietly. "The _gardien_
here isn't that sort of man at all. He would be mortally offended if you
tried to bribe him, and would certainly refuse to do anything for you."
"I'm sure a letter would be of very little use," said Miss Randolph. "I
think we must manage to have you with us somehow, Brown. Couldn't we
hire a man to look after the car?"
"I shouldn't like to take the risk," said I. "And remember, miss, we are
in hiding."
"_I_ don't want to see the old thing," protested Aunt Mary. "I've gone
through so much to-day I feel a thousand years old. I'm not going to
climb any hills or see any sights. I want my dinner."
"I think we'd better get on," advised Sherlock. "Not much fun poking
about in a lot of old ruins in the dark."
"They're not ruins, and it isn't dark," said Miss Randolph. "Look at the
sky! The moon's coming up this minute. If you don't want to see the
_cite_, Jimmy, you might just as well sit here in the car while the rest
of us go."
"I shall sit with him," announced Aunt Mary. "And if you _must_ go on
this wild goose chase, do for pity's sake hurry back, or we shall be
frozen."
I began to fear that the scheme would fall through, with so much against
it, but Miss Randolph kept to her resolution despite the moving picture
of her relative's suffering.
"Oh yes, we will hurry back. We shan't be long," she said cheerfully,
"we" meaning herself and her courier _mecanicien_. "You can't be cold in
your furs; it's very early yet; you had a good tea; and Brown and I will
whisk you off to some dear little village inn in time for an eight
o'clock dinner."
I knew we should do nothing of the kind, but mine not to reason why,
mine but to do or die--with her.
I daresay, my dear Montie, that even to you "Carcassonne" expresses
nothing in particular. To those who have been there the name must, I
think, always bring with it an imperishable recollection. Carcassonne is
one of the unique places of the world. Years ago--as far back as the
Romans, probably much further--there was a fortress on this hill, which
commanded one of the chief roads into Spain. Afterwards it was used by
the Visigoths, and in the Middle Ages it reached its highest importance
under St. Louis. Then gradually it sank again into insignificance, and
early last century there was a proposal that the ruins should be
destroyed. By this time hardly anyone lived in the old city on the hill,
a new and flourishing modern town (laid out in parallelograms) having
sprung up in the plain. The demolition of the ancient ruins was
prevented by one Cros-Mayrevieille, a native of Carcassonne, who
succeeded in whipping up such enthusiasm on behalf of his birthplace
that the city was made into a _monument historique_, and money was
granted for its complete reconstruction by Viollet le Duc. A large sum
has been spent, great works have been carried out, and the result is one
of the most extraordinary feats of restoration in the history of the
world.
From afar off this city upon a hill makes a vivid appeal to the
imagination. Its great assemblage of towers, walls, and battlements,
rising clear-cut and majestic against the sky, suggests at the first
glimpse one of those imaginary mediaeval cities that Dore loved to draw
as illustrations to the _Contes Drolatiques_. So extraordinary is the
apparition of this ancient, silent, fortified city existing in the midst
of the railway epoch that one is tempted to think it a mirage, some
strange trick of the senses, which, on rubbing the eyes, must disappear.
And the nearer one draws, the more vivid does this impression become.
Everything perfect, marvellously perfect, yet with no jarring hint of
newness. It is well-nigh impossible at any time to tell where the
original structure ends and where Viollet le Duc's restoration begins,
and on what a grand scale it all is.
By moonlight the effect was really glorious. My Goddess and I walked
over a drawbridge and entered the silent, grass-grown streets of the
old, old city, where quaint and ancient houses, given up now to the
poor, huddle under the protecting walls of the great fortress. We were
in a perfect mediaeval city, just as it existed in the time of the
Crusades. In thus exactly realising the life of a garrisoned fortress of
those stirring days, I found much the same dramatic interest I feel on
stepping into the silent streets of Pompeii, where the ghosts seem more
real than I.
We stopped at the house of the _gardien_, and I made an excuse for
leaving Miss Randolph at a little distance, as I talked to him, reminded
him of my last visit, and begged that, as a favour, he would show us
about, although it was now "after hours." He is a very good fellow,
courteous and intelligent, speaking with the noticeably distinct
enunciation which seems to be the mark of all these guardians of
_monuments historiques_ in France; and when he understood that there was
a lady in the case, he readily consented to oblige, though I suspect he
left his supper in the midst. He took off his cap to Miss Randolph's
beauty, etherealised by the moon's magic, and we all three started on
our expedition. We were conducted into huge, round towers and out upon
lofty, commanding battlements, whence we could gaze through a haze of
moonlight over a great sweep of country, with here and there the sparkle
of a winding river, like a diamond necklace flung down carelessly on a
purple cushion. Our guide conscientiously pointed out the stations of
the sentries and the guards, the disposition of the towers for mutual
defence (each a bowshot from the other), the sally-ports, the secret
passages communicating with underground tunnels for revictualling the
city in time of siege; and so realistic were our surroundings that I
fancied Miss Randolph once or twice actually caught herself listening in
vain for the tramp of mailed feet, the hoarse word of command. At all
events, I'm sure she forgot for the time being all about Aunt Mary and
Jimmy Payne waiting in the car, and I didn't think it incumbent upon me
to remind her of their existence or necessities. We lingered long enough
in the splendid region of towers, battlements, and ramparts to do them
full justice. Then, when I had slipped something of no importance into
the _gardien's_ hand, we reluctantly departed, often looking back as we
went down the hill. As we left the old city we did not leave it alone. A
group of young men and women of a humble class were hurrying down just
before us on their way to the new town. We were so near that we couldn't
help over-hearing their eager talk of a spectacle they were on their way
to see, and judging from the fragments we caught, this was to be a kind
of Passion Play. Although I had been at Carcassonne before, I didn't
know that such a thing existed in France, or, indeed, outside
Oberammergau and a few villages in the Tyrol. Miss Randolph questioned
me about it, but I could tell her nothing, and she exclaimed rather
shamefacedly, "Oh, _how_ I should love to go!"
"Would you let me take you there, just to look on for a few minutes,
miss?" I doubtfully asked.
"I should like it above anything," said she. "Only--we've already kept
those poor people waiting too long, I'm afraid."
"This needn't keep them very much longer," said I, "and it may be the
last chance you will ever have of seeing such a thing."
"Oh, well, I can't resist," she cried. "We'll go--and I'll take the
scolding afterwards."
We did go, following our leaders until we came to a good-sized booth
with a crowd round it. The admission was twopence each, but the best
seats cost a franc. We went in and found ourselves in a long, canvas
room, with sloping seats and a small stage at one end lighted by oil
lamps.
The place was dreadfully hot, and smelled strongly of humanity.
Presently a bell rang; there was solemn music on a tinkling piano and a
young actor, bare-faced and dressed in a white classical dress, took his
place near the stage, beginning to recite in a clear, sympathetic voice.
He was the choragus, explaining to us what was to happen in the play.
The curtain went up, to reveal a tableau of Adam and Eve in very
palpable flesh tights, with garlands of fig leaves festooned about their
bodies.
Adam, with an elaborate false beard, slept under a tree. Then to the
accompaniment of the choragus' explanation a mechanical snake appeared
in the branches with an apple in its mouth. An unseen person off the
stage made the snake twist and writhe. Eve put out her hand, took the
apple, and ate a bit. Adam waking, she pointed to the tree and to the
fruit, offering him a piece. He demurred in pantomime, but accepted and
swallowed what was left of the apple. Instantly there appeared at the
wing an angel with a long, flaxen wig, who threatened the guilty pair
with a tinsel sword. They cowered, and then shading their eyes with
their hands, were walking sadly away when the curtain fell. It was
tableau number one, showing the fall of man.
The audience on the whole received the exhibition with devotional
reverence, but a knot of young men openly tittered and jeered,
commenting satirically upon the deficiencies in the stage management.
Then, with more music, began the scenes from the New Testament. One was
rather pretty, introducing the woman at the well, Christ being
impersonated by a sweet-faced young man in white, with a light brown wig
and beard. The girl who played the Virgin was not more than twenty, and
had a serene prettiness, with an air of grave modesty, which were very
attractive. She wore her own long hair falling like a mantle over her
dark dress, as far down as the knees.
Each scene lasted perhaps five minutes, the characters on the stage
speaking no word, but opening their mouths and moving their bodies in
time with the recitation of the choragus. We had the betrayal in the
garden, the trial before Pilate, the scourging, the crucifixion, and the
resurrection, all given with feeling and surprising dignity, and in the
crucifixion scene, with pathos. Most of the women in the audience were
in tears, their compassion spending itself noticeably more upon the
Virgin's sorrow than upon her Son's agony; and all through the
representation the same irreverent knot of scoffers continued to laugh,
to whistle, to mimic. From many parts of the tent there were indignant
cries of "Shame!" and "Silence!" but the disturbers went on to the end,
quite regardless of good taste and the pious feelings of the majority.
I heard whispers which informed us that this company of players had no
repertoire; such a thing they would have considered sacrilegious, but
they travelled all over France in caravans, carrying their own scenery
and costumes. We dared not stay till the very end of the performance,
but had to get up and steal quietly out, with Aunt Mary heavy on our
consciences.
I believe poor little Miss Randolph really was afraid of that scolding
she had prophesied. But behold, vice was its own reward, and the enemy
was delivered into our hands. We arrived at the mews, and there was the
car; but there was not Aunt Mary nor yet Sherlock-Fauntleroy. In their
place, curled up in the _tonneau_, reclined a callow French youth,
comfortably snoozing, with his coat-collar turned up to his ears. We
roused him, learned that he had been caught _en passant_ and hired at
the rate of two francs an hour to await the return of a lady and
gentleman; also that he had been in his present position for nearly an
hour. One lady and gentleman seemed to his mind as good as another, for
when offered a five-franc piece he showed no hesitation in delivering up
his charge to us, although, for all he could tell, we might have been
the rankest of rank impostors. After the departure of this faithless
guardian, Miss Randolph and I sat enthroned in the car for some twenty
minutes before Aunt Mary and Jimmy came speeding round the corner of the
mews. They brought with them an atmosphere of warmth and good cheer, and
at first sniff it was evident that they had dined where dining in both
solid and liquid branches was a fine art.
In my part of servant I was not "on" in the ensuing comedy; but I
listened "in the wings," and chuckled inwardly. Well did Miss Randolph
fill the role of injured virtue which she had taken up at such short
notice. Her surprise that Aunt Mary and Jimmy could have been capable of
betraying her trust in them, that they should have gone off and left a
valuable car, which wasn't even hers, to the tender mercies of a stupid
little boy, a perfect stranger, was bravely done. It was represented as
a miracle that the Napier and everything in it had not been stolen
during their absence; and the good dinner the culprits had enjoyed at
the neighbouring hotel could not fortify them against the blighting
sense of their own depravity so vividly brought home.
Not a reproach for us; all the wind had been taken out of their sails.
A sadder and wiser Jimmy and Aunt Mary meekly allowed themselves to be
driven on through the cold moonlight, with distant gleams of towered
towns, to Narbonne, where I am writing to you, after having dined and
cleaned the car. Our hotel is not an ideal one; yet on my hard pillow my
head, I ween, will lie easier than on a downy one last night. We arrived
late, and will leave early, to lessen the chances of being pounced upon
by the clutches of the law. But I begin to hope that, after all, those
peasants decided to let well alone, and that we shall escape scatheless.
When I was a little boy we used to have honey in red-brown earthenware
pots labelled "Finest Narbonne Honey," and for years the place figured
in my imagination as a smiling region of brilliant flowers. But the
disillusioning reality is a dusty, rather noisy, very commercial town,
paved with stones the most abominable; and between Carcassonne and here
the roads grow more abominable with every kilometre. I am tired, but not
unhappy; and so, good night.
Your fraudulent friend,
Brown-Winston.