Part 26 (1/2)
I'll take you there, and if he sees that you're interested in things, he'll talk to you.”
”Oh, how glorious!” I breathed, quite awed at the prospect. ”But if he should find out that we're only lady's-maid and chauffeur?”
”Do you think it would matter to him _who_ we were--a great genius like that? He wouldn't care if we were beggars, if we had souls and brains and hearts.”
”Well, we have got _some_ of those things,” I said. ”Do let's hurry, and get to the museum before our betters. They can always be counted upon to spend an hour and a half at lunch if there's a good excuse, such as there's sure to be in this place, famous for rich Provencal cooking.
Whereas Monsieur Mistral looks as if he would grudge more than half an hour on an occupation so prosaic as eating.”
”Nothing could be prosaic to him,” said Mr. Dane. ”And that's the secret of life, isn't it? I think you have it, too, and I'm trying to take daily lessons from you. By the time we part I hope I shan't be quite such a sulky, discontented brute as I am now.”
”By the time we part!” The words gave me a queer, horrid little p.r.i.c.k, with just that nasty ache that comes when you jab a hatpin into your head instead of into your hat, and have got to pull it out again. I have grown so used to being constantly with him, and having him look after me and order me about in his dictatorial but curiously nice way, that I suppose I shall rather miss him for a week or two when this odd a.s.sociation of ours comes to an end.
It is strange how one ancient town can differ utterly from its neighbour, and what an extraordinary, unforgettable individuality each can have.
The whole effect of Avignon is mediaeval. In Arles your mind flies back at once to Rome, and then pushes away from Rome to find Greece. All among the red, pink, and yellow houses, huddled picturesquely together round the great arena, you see Rome in the carved columns and dark piles of brick built into mediaeval walls. The glow and colour of the shops and houses seem only to intensify the grimness and grayness of that Roman background, the immense wall of the arena. Greece you see in the eyes of the beautiful, stately women, young and old, in their cla.s.sic features, and the moulding of their n.o.ble figures. (No wonder Epistemon urged his giant to let the beautiful girls of Arles alone!) You feel Greece, too, in the soft charm of the atmosphere, the dreamy blue of the sky, and the suns.h.i.+ne, which is not quite garish golden, not quite pale silver; a special sky and special suns.h.i.+ne, which seem to belong to Arles alone, enclosing the city in a dream of vanished days. The very gaiety which must have sparkled there for happy Greek youths and maidens gives a strange, fascinating sadness to it now, as if one felt the weight of Roman rule which came and dimmed the sunlight.
It was delightful to walk the streets, to look at the lovely women in their becoming head-dresses, and to stare into the windows of curiosity shops. But there was the danger of committing _lese-majeste_ by running into the arms of the bride and groom at the museum, so ”my brother”
hurried me along faster than I liked, until the fascination of the museum had enthralled me; then I thanked him, for Mistral was there, for the moment all alone.
Mr. Dane hadn't told me that they had met before, but Monsieur Mistral greeted him at once as an acquaintance, smiling one of his illuminating smiles. He even remembered certain treasures of the museum which the chauffeur--in unchauffeur days--had liked best. These were pointed out and their interest explained to me, best of all to my romantic, Latin side being the ”Cabelladuro d'Or,” the lovely golden hair of the dead Beauty of Les Baux, that enchanted princess whose magic sleep was so rudely broken. We all talked together of the exquisite Venus of Arles, agreeing that it was wicked to have transplanted her to the Louvre; and Mistral's eyes rested upon me with something like interest for a moment as I said that I had seen and loved her there. I felt flattered and happy, forgetting that I was only a servant, who ought scarcely to have dared speak in the presence of this great genius.
”She seems to understand something of the charm of Provence, which makes our country different from any other in the world, does she not?”
the poet said at last to my companion. ”She would enjoy an August fete at Arles. Some day you ought to bring her.”
Mr. Dane did not answer or look at me; and I was thankful for that, because I was being silly enough to blush. It was too easy so see what Monsieur Mistral thought!
”Why didn't you tell me you knew him already?” I asked, when we had reluctantly left the museum (which might be invaded by the Philistines at any minute) and were on our way to the famous Church of St. Trophime.
That we meant to see first, saving the theatre for sunset.
”Oh,” answered the chauffeur evasively, ”I wasn't at all sure he'd remember me. He has so many admirers, and sees so many people.”
”I have a sort of idea that your last visit to this part of the world was paid _en prince_, all the same!” I was impertinent enough to say.
He laughed. ”Well, it was rather different from this one, anyhow,” he admitted. ”A little while ago it made me pretty sick to compare the past with the present, but I don't feel like that now.”
”Why have you changed?” I asked.
”Partly the influence of your cheerful mind.”
”Thank you. And the other part?”
”Another influence, even more powerful.”
”I should like to know what it is, so that I might try to come under it, too, if it's beneficent,” that ever-lively curiosity of mine prompted me to say.
”I am inclined to think it is not beneficent,” he answered, smiling mysteriously. ”Anyhow, I'm not going to tell you what it is.”