[Illustration: 0249]
Here, too, was a fine kneeling statue of Philip of Castile, dated 1627.
But the great point of attraction for the stranger at Meaux was the
bridge and the old timbered mills which overhung it, and the curious
greeny water of the river Marne.
I could not ascertain what gave the water its green color; it did not
seem natural, yet there were apparently no dye works near at hand--none
of the inhabitants whom I questioned seemed able to answer my question;
they had never noticed it, they said.
The morning upon which I made my sketches of the ancient mills and the
old bridges, there were two of them over the river, the sky suddenly
darkened, and a heavy shower of rain fell. I took refuge in the open
doorway of one of the old mills, and sat on the lower step of a ruinous
dusty steep stairway leading upwards into mysterious deep shadows.
Somewhere in the interior sounded the rhythmic beating of heavy
machinery, but save for this, the "drumming fingers of the rain," and an
occasional tinkle of a bell high up in the tower of the cathedral, there
were no signs or sounds of life. Meaux is not a large town, neither is
it a very lively one, but it is charmingly situated. Were it farther
away from Paris, I doubt not that it might attract the tourist, for it
has a most delightful public promenade along the river Marne which is
entered immediately before the railway station. But up to the time of
the outbreak of the great world war, Meaux was comparatively unknown to
the foreigner tourist, and were it not for the old mills of which I had
heard, I should not have stopped there. The cathedral treasury possessed
copies of nine of Raphaël's cartoons, and included two of the three
"lost" ones, described as "Martyrdom of St. Stephen and Conversion
of St. Paul." There were also copies of frescoes by Guido Reni and
Dominichino, an "Adoration of the Magi" after Champaigne and an
"Annunciation" after Stella. I had made notes concerning these in my
pocket diary and as I sat on the step in the old doorway of the dusty
mill, I mused over the pages while the raindrops fell outside.
All at once the door swung to slowly, and when I tried to open it, I
found that it was fast and would not yield. There was no sort of knob
visible in the gloom, nor was there any aperture in the door through
which light could come. There seemed to be light somewhere above, so
I mounted the steps, which stopped abruptly before another closed door
which, however, was not fastened, for it yielded at once to my touch.
There was a small window here of four panes thick with dust, through
which some feeble light came. More steep steps led upward, and I
continued to mount, judging that I should soon come to some sort of room
where there were men at work.
But at the top of these stairs was a similar door and more steps, and
still another flight brought me into an immense empty room with an
uneven floor, the planks of which were loose here and there and gave
alarmingly to my weight. Overhead huge beams crossed and recrossed the
dimness, and on these beams perched countless numbers of rooks, who
uneasily regarded my intrusion. The windows--there were five of them--I
could not reach from the floor, nor could I by jumping up, try as I
might, reach the sills, so that I might see out. Backwards and forwards
I passed, and then along the blank wall which I judged adjoined the
neighboring mill, seeking a doorway. I could find none. Finally I found
a small door, not more than three feet from the floor in the blank wall.
This was fastened by a hasp and opened readily. I got down on my hands
and knees in the dust which lay thickly, and crept through it into a
second large dim room, almost the counterpart of that which I had just
left, save that it was lighted by only one window and this without
glass. It, too, was high up in the wall like the others.
In the very middle of the uneven floor was an unguarded opening through
which the heavy ropes of a pulley hung. I lost no time in feeling my way
carefully down the steps at one side which were without any rail to hold
on to. I found that there was a ladder here by which I might descend,
which I did at once, but with some misgivings as to where it might land
me.
Now I heard voices from below and, reassured, I put foot to the ladder.
In a few moments I was on the floor below, but as I was about to walk
away from the ladder in the darkness towards an opening on the farther
end, I bethought me to put out a foot carefully to try the floor. To my
horror there was no floor there, and retreating I lighted a match and
threw it before me. The feeble flame was enough to show a great black
chasm where I had thought to step a moment before, and the hair on my
scalp rose in fright at my escape. I shouted aloud for help--I heard
running footsteps--and right beside me a door opened letting in a flood
of daylight and the figure of one of the millers, who regarded me with
openmouthed astonishment, as well he might.
When I had explained my predicament, he and the other men who gathered
about were loud in their expressions of wonder at my escape from a
terrible death, for had I but stepped a foot farther, I had fallen forty
or fifty feet into a sluiceway from which they vowed I never could have
escaped alive. I invited all hands over to the café, and there I gave
offerings to Bacchus in honor of my escape which were eagerly consumed
by the millers of Meaux.