CALAIS.
I PERCEIVED that something darken’d the passage more than myself, as Istepp’d along it to my room; it was effectually Mons. Dessein, the masterof the hôtel, who had just returned from vespers, and with his hat underhis arm, was most complaisantly following me, to put me in mind of mywants. I had wrote myself pretty well out of conceit with the_désobligeant_, and Mons. Dessein speaking of it, with a shrug, as if itwould no way suit me, it immediately struck my fancy that it belong’d tosome _Innocent Traveller_, who, on his return home, had left it to Mons.Dessein’s honour to make the most of. Four months had elapsed since ithad finished its career of Europe in the corner of Mons. Dessein’scoach-yard; and having sallied out from thence but a vampt-up business atthe first, though it had been twice taken to pieces on Mount Sennis, ithad not profited much by its adventures,—but by none so little as thestanding so many months unpitied in the corner of Mons. Dessein’scoach-yard. Much indeed was not to be said for it,—but somethingmight;—and when a few words will rescue misery out of her distress, Ihate the man who can be a churl of them.
—Now was I the master of this hôtel, said I, laying the point of myfore-finger on Mons. Dessein’s breast, I would inevitably make a point ofgetting rid of this unfortunate _désobligeant_;—it stands swingingreproaches at you every time you pass by it.
_Mon Dieu_! said Mons. Dessein,—I have no interest—Except the interest,said I, which men of a certain turn of mind take, Mons. Dessein, in theirown sensations,—I’m persuaded, to a man who feels for others as well asfor himself, every rainy night, disguise it as you will, must cast a dampupon your spirits:—You suffer, Mons. Dessein, as much as the machine—
I have always observed, when there is as much _sour_ as _sweet_ in acompliment, that an Englishman is eternally at a loss within himself,whether to take it, or let it alone: a Frenchman never is: Mons. Desseinmade me a bow.
_C’est bien vrai_, said he.—But in this case I should only exchange onedisquietude for another, and with loss: figure to yourself, my dear Sir,that in giving you a chaise which would fall to pieces before you had gothalf-way to Paris,—figure to yourself how much I should suffer, in givingan ill impression of myself to a man of honour, and lying at the mercy,as I must do, _d’un homme d’esprit_.
The dose was made up exactly after my own prescription; so I could nothelp tasting it,—and, returning Mons. Dessein his bow, without morecasuistry we walk’d together towards his Remise, to take a view of hismagazine of chaises.
IN THE STREET.CALAIS.
IT must needs be a hostile kind of a world, when the buyer (if it be butof a sorry post-chaise) cannot go forth with the seller thereof into thestreet to terminate the difference betwixt them, but he instantly fallsinto the same frame of mind, and views his conventionist with the samesort of eye, as if he was going along with him to Hyde-park corner tofight a duel. For my own part, being but a poor swordsman, and no way amatch for Monsieur Dessein, I felt the rotation of all the movementswithin me, to which the situation is incident;—I looked at MonsieurDessein through and through—eyed him as he walk’d along in profile,—then,_en face_;—thought like a Jew,—then a Turk,—disliked his wig,—cursed himby my gods,—wished him at the devil.—
—And is all this to be lighted up in the heart for a beggarly account ofthree or four louis d’ors, which is the most I can be overreachedin?—Base passion! said I, turning myself about, as a man naturally doesupon a sudden reverse of sentiment,—base, ungentle passion! thy hand isagainst every man, and every man’s hand against thee.—Heaven forbid! saidshe, raising her hand up to her forehead, for I had turned full in frontupon the lady whom I had seen in conference with the monk:—she hadfollowed us unperceived.—Heaven forbid, indeed! said I, offering her myown;—she had a black pair of silk gloves, open only at the thumb and twofore-fingers, so accepted it without reserve,—and I led her up to thedoor of the Remise.
Monsieur Dessein had _diabled_ the key above fifty times before he hadfound out he had come with a wrong one in his hand: we were as impatientas himself to have it opened; and so attentive to the obstacle that Icontinued holding her hand almost without knowing it: so that MonsieurDessein left us together with her hand in mine, and with our faces turnedtowards the door of the Remise, and said he would be back in fiveminutes.
Now a colloquy of five minutes, in such a situation, is worth one of asmany ages, with your faces turned towards the street: in the latter case,’tis drawn from the objects and occurrences without;—when your eyes arefixed upon a dead blank,—you draw purely from yourselves. A silence of asingle moment upon Mons. Dessein’s leaving us, had been fatal to thesituation—she had infallibly turned about;—so I begun the conversationinstantly.—
—But what were the temptations (as I write not to apologize for theweaknesses of my heart in this tour,—but to give an account ofthem)—shall be described with the same simplicity with which I felt them.
THE REMISE DOOR.CALAIS.
WHEN I told the reader that I did not care to get out of the_désobligeant_, because I saw the monk in close conference with a ladyjust arrived at the inn—I told him the truth,—but I did not tell him thewhole truth; for I was as full as much restrained by the appearance andfigure of the lady he was talking to. Suspicion crossed my brain andsaid, he was telling her what had passed: something jarred upon it withinme,—I wished him at his convent.
When the heart flies out before the understanding, it saves the judgmenta world of pains.—I was certain she was of a better order ofbeings;—however, I thought no more of her, but went on and wrote mypreface.
The impression returned upon my encounter with her in the street; aguarded frankness with which she gave me her hand, showed, I thought, hergood education and her good sense; and as I led her on, I felt apleasurable ductility about her, which spread a calmness over all myspirits—
—Good God! how a man might lead such a creature as this round the worldwith him!—
I had not yet seen her face—’twas not material: for the drawing wasinstantly set about, and long before we had got to the door of theRemise, _Fancy_ had finished the whole head, and pleased herself as muchwith its fitting her goddess, as if she had dived into the Tiber forit;—but thou art a seduced, and a seducing slut; and albeit thou cheatestus seven times a day with thy pictures and images, yet with so manycharms dost thou do it, and thou deckest out thy pictures in the shapesof so many angels of light, ’tis a shame to break with thee.
When we had got to the door of the Remise, she withdrew her hand fromacross her forehead, and let me see the original:—it was a face of aboutsix-and-twenty,—of a clear transparent brown, simply set off withoutrouge or powder;—it was not critically handsome, but there was that init, which, in the frame of mind I was in, attached me much more to it,—itwas interesting: I fancied it wore the characters of a widow’d look, andin that state of its declension, which had passed the two first paroxysmsof sorrow, and was quietly beginning to reconcile itself to its loss;—buta thousand other distresses might have traced the same lines; I wish’d toknow what they had been—and was ready to inquire, (had the same _bon ton_of conversation permitted, as in the days of Esdras)—“_What ailelh thee_?_and why art thou disquieted_? _and why is thy understandingtroubled_?”—In a word, I felt benevolence for her; and resolv’d some wayor other to throw in my mite of courtesy,—if not of service.
Such were my temptations;—and in this disposition to give way to them,was I left alone with the lady with her hand in mine, and with our facesboth turned closer to the door of the Remise than what was absolutelynecessary.
THE REMISE DOOR.CALAIS.
THIS certainly, fair lady, said I, raising her hand up little lightly asI began, must be one of Fortune’s whimsical doings; to take two utterstrangers by their hands,—of different sexes, and perhaps from differentcorners of the globe, and in one moment place them together in such acordial situation as Friendship herself could scarce have achieved forthem, had she projected it for a month.
br /> —And your reflection upon it shows how much, Monsieur, she hasembarrassed you by the adventure—
When the situation is what we would wish, nothing is so ill-timed as tohint at the circumstances which make it so: you thank Fortune, continuedshe—you had reason—the heart knew it, and was satisfied; and who but anEnglish philosopher would have sent notice of it to the brain to reversethe judgment?
In saying this, she disengaged her hand with a look which I thought asufficient commentary upon the text.
It is a miserable picture which I am going to give of the weakness of myheart, by owning, that it suffered a pain, which worthier occasions couldnot have inflicted.—I was mortified with the loss of her hand, and themanner in which I had lost it carried neither oil nor wine to the wound:I never felt the pain of a sheepish inferiority so miserably in my life.
The triumphs of a true feminine heart are short upon these discomfitures.In a very few seconds she laid her hand upon the cuff of my coat, inorder to finish her reply; so, some way or other, God knows how, Iregained my situation.
—She had nothing to add.
I forthwith began to model a different conversation for the lady,thinking from the spirit as well as moral of this, that I had beenmistaken in her character; but upon turning her face towards me, thespirit which had animated the reply was fled,—the muscles relaxed, and Ibeheld the same unprotected look of distress which first won me to herinterest:—melancholy! to see such sprightliness the prey of sorrow,—Ipitied her from my soul; and though it may seem ridiculous enough to atorpid heart,—I could have taken her into my arms, and cherished her,though it was in the open street, without brushing.
The pulsations of the arteries along my fingers pressing across hers,told her what was passing within me: she looked down—a silence of somemoments followed.
I fear in this interval, I must have made some slight efforts towards acloser compression of her hand, from a subtle sensation I felt in thepalm of my own,—not as if she was going to withdraw hers—but as if shethought about it;—and I had infallibly lost it a second time, had notinstinct more than reason directed me to the last resource in thesedangers,—to hold it loosely, and in a manner as if I was every momentgoing to release it, of myself; so she let it continue, till MonsieurDessein returned with the key; and in the mean time I set myself toconsider how I should undo the ill impressions which the poor monk’sstory, in case he had told it her, must have planted in her breastagainst me.
THE SNUFF BOX.CALAIS.
THE good old monk was within six paces of us, as the idea of him crossedmy mind; and was advancing towards us a little out of the line, as ifuncertain whether he should break in upon us or no.—He stopp’d, however,as soon as he came up to us, with a world of frankness: and having a hornsnuff box in his hand, he presented it open to me.—You shall tastemine—said I, pulling out my box (which was a small tortoise one) andputting it into his hand.—’Tis most excellent, said the monk. Then do methe favour, I replied, to accept of the box and all, and when you take apinch out of it, sometimes recollect it was the peace offering of a manwho once used you unkindly, but not from his heart.
The poor monk blush’d as red as scarlet. _Mon Dieu_! said he, pressinghis hands together—you never used me unkindly.—I should think, said thelady, he is not likely. I blush’d in my turn; but from what movements, Ileave to the few who feel, to analyze.—Excuse me, Madame, replied I,—Itreated him most unkindly; and from no provocations.—’Tis impossible,said the lady.—My God! cried the monk, with a warmth of asseverationwhich seem’d not to belong to him—the fault was in me, and in theindiscretion of my zeal.—The lady opposed it, and I joined with her inmaintaining it was impossible, that a spirit so regulated as his, couldgive offence to any.
I knew not that contention could be rendered so sweet and pleasurable athing to the nerves as I then felt it.—We remained silent, without anysensation of that foolish pain which takes place, when, in such a circle,you look for ten minutes in one another’s faces without saying a word.Whilst this lasted, the monk rubbed his horn box upon the sleeve of histunic; and as soon as it had acquired a little air of brightness by thefriction—he made me a low bow, and said, ’twas too late to say whether itwas the weakness or goodness of our tempers which had involved us in thiscontest—but be it as it would,—he begg’d we might exchange boxes.—Insaying this, he presented his to me with one hand, as he took mine fromme in the other, and having kissed it,—with a stream of good nature inhis eyes, he put it into his bosom,—and took his leave.
I guard this box, as I would the instrumental parts of my religion, tohelp my mind on to something better: in truth, I seldom go abroad withoutit; and oft and many a time have I called up by it the courteous spiritof its owner to regulate my own, in the justlings of the world: they hadfound full employment for his, as I learnt from his story, till about theforty-fifth year of his age, when upon some military services illrequited, and meeting at the same time with a disappointment in thetenderest of passions, he abandoned the sword and the sex together, andtook sanctuary not so much in his convent as in himself.
I feel a damp upon my spirits, as I am going to add, that in my lastreturn through Calais, upon enquiring after Father Lorenzo, I heard hehad been dead near three months, and was buried, not in his convent, but,according to his desire, in a little cemetery belonging to it, about twoleagues off: I had a strong desire to see where they had laid him,—when,upon pulling out his little horn box, as I sat by his grave, and pluckingup a nettle or two at the head of it, which had no business to growthere, they all struck together so forcibly upon my affections, that Iburst into a flood of tears:—but I am as weak as a woman; and I beg theworld not to smile, but to pity me.
THE REMISE DOOR.CALAIS.
I HAD never quitted the lady’s hand all this time, and had held it solong, that it would have been indecent to have let it go, without firstpressing it to my lips: the blood and spirits, which had suffered arevulsion from her, crowded back to her as I did it.
Now the two travellers, who had spoke to me in the coach-yard, happeningat that crisis to be passing by, and observing our communications,naturally took it into their heads that we must be _man and wife_ atleast; so, stopping as soon as they came up to the door of the Remise,the one of them who was the Inquisitive Traveller, ask’d us, if we setout for Paris the next morning?—I could only answer for myself, I said;and the lady added, she was for Amiens.—We dined there yesterday, saidthe Simple Traveller.—You go directly through the town, added the other,in your road to Paris. I was going to return a thousand thanks for theintelligence, _that Amiens was in the road to Paris_, but, upon pullingout my poor monk’s little horn box to take a pinch of snuff, I made thema quiet bow, and wishing them a good passage to Dover.—They left usalone.—
—Now where would be the harm, said I to myself, if I were to beg of thisdistressed lady to accept of half of my chaise?—and what mighty mischiefcould ensue?
Every dirty passion, and bad propensity in my nature took the alarm, as Istated the proposition.—It will oblige you to have a third horse, saidAvarice, which will put twenty livres out of your pocket;—You know notwhat she is, said Caution;—or what scrapes the affair may draw you into,whisper’d Cowardice.—
Depend upon it, Yorick! said Discretion, ’twill be said you went off witha mistress, and came by assignation to Calais for that purpose;—
—You can never after, cried Hypocrisy aloud, show your face in theworld;—or rise, quoth Meanness, in the church;—or be any thing in it,said Pride, but a lousy prebendary.
But ’tis a civil thing, said I;—and as I generally act from the firstimpulse, and therefore seldom listen to these cabals, which serve nopurpose, that I know of, but to encompass the heart with adamant—I turnedinstantly about to the lady.—
—But she had glided off unperceived, as the cause was pleading, and hadmade ten or a dozen paces down the street, by the time I had made thedetermination; so I set off after her with a long stride, to mak
e her theproposal, with the best address I was master of: but observing she walk’dwith her cheek half resting upon the palm of her hand,—with the slowshort-measur’d step of thoughtfulness,—and with her eyes, as she wentstep by step, fixed upon the ground, it struck me she was trying the samecause herself.—God help her! said I, she has some mother-in-law, ortartufish aunt, or nonsensical old woman, to consult upon the occasion,as well as myself: so not caring to interrupt the process, and deeming itmore gallant to take her at discretion than by surprise, I faced aboutand took a short turn or two before the door of the Remise, whilst shewalk’d musing on one side.
IN THE STREET.CALAIS.
HAVING, on the first sight of the lady, settled the affair in my fancy“that she was of the better order of beings;”—and then laid it down as asecond axiom, as indisputable as the first, that she was a widow, andwore a character of distress,—I went no further; I got ground enough forthe situation which pleased me;—and had she remained close beside myelbow till midnight, I should have held true to my system, and consideredher only under that general idea.
She had scarce got twenty paces distant from me, ere something within mecalled out for a more particular enquiry;—it brought on the idea of afurther separation:—I might possibly never see her more:—The heart is forsaving what it can; and I wanted the traces through which my wishes mightfind their way to her, in case I should never rejoin her myself; in aword, I wished to know her name,—her family’s—her condition; and as Iknew the place to which she was going, I wanted to know from whence shecame: but there was no coming at all this intelligence; a hundred littledelicacies stood in the way. I form’d a score different plans.—There wasno such thing as a man’s asking her directly;—the thing was impossible.