A little French _débonnaire_ captain, who came dancing down the street,showed me it was the easiest thing in the world: for, popping in betwixtus, just as the lady was returning back to the door of the Remise, heintroduced himself to my acquaintance, and before he had well gotannounced, begg’d I would do him the honour to present him to the lady.—Ihad not been presented myself;—so turning about to her, he did it just aswell, by asking her if she had come from Paris? No: she was going thatroute, she said.—_Vous n’êtes pas de Londres_?—She was not, shereplied.—Then Madame must have come through Flanders.—_Apparemment vousêtes Flammande_? said the French captain.—The lady answered, shewas.—_Peut être de Lisle_? added he.—She said, she was not of Lisle.—NorArras?—nor Cambray?—nor Ghent?—nor Brussels?—She answered, she was ofBrussels.
He had had the honour, he said, to be at the bombardment of it lastwar;—that it was finely situated, _pour cela_,—and full of noblesse whenthe Imperialists were driven out by the French (the lady made a slightcourtesy)—so giving her an account of the affair, and of the share he hadhad in it,—he begg’d the honour to know her name,—so made his bow.
—_Et Madame a son Mari_?—said he, looking back when he had made twosteps,—and, without staying for an answer—danced down the street.
Had I served seven years apprenticeship to good breeding, I could nothave done as much.
THE REMISE.CALAIS.
As the little French captain left us, Mons. Dessein came up with the keyof the Remise in his hand, and forthwith let us into his magazine ofchaises.
The first object which caught my eye, as Mons. Dessein open’d the door ofthe Remise, was another old tatter’d _désobligeant_; and notwithstandingit was the exact picture of that which had hit my fancy so much in thecoach-yard but an hour before,—the very sight of it stirr’d up adisagreeable sensation within me now; and I thought ’twas a churlishbeast into whose heart the idea could first enter, to construct such amachine; nor had I much more charity for the man who could think of usingit.
I observed the lady was as little taken with it as myself: so Mons.Dessein led us on to a couple of chaises which stood abreast, telling us,as he recommended them, that they had been purchased by my lord A. and B.to go the grand tour, but had gone no further than Paris, so were in allrespects as good as new.—They were too good;—so I pass’d on to a third,which stood behind, and forthwith begun to chaffer for the price.—But’twill scarce hold two, said I, opening the door and getting in.—Have thegoodness, Madame, said Mons. Dessein, offering his arm, to step in.—Thelady hesitated half a second, and stepped in; and the waiter that momentbeckoning to speak to Mon. Dessein, he shut the door of the chaise uponus, and left us.
THE REMISE.CALAIS.
_C’EST bien comique_, ’tis very droll, said the lady, smiling, from thereflection that this was the second time we had been left together by aparcel of nonsensical contingencies,—_c’est bien comique_, said she.—
—There wants nothing, said I, to make it so but the comic use which thegallantry of a Frenchman would put it to,—to make love the first moment,and an offer of his person the second.
’Tis their _fort_, replied the lady.
It is supposed so at least;—and how it has come to pass, continued I, Iknow not; but they have certainly got the credit of understanding more oflove, and making it better than any other nation upon earth; but, for myown part, I think them arrant bunglers, and in truth the worst set ofmarksmen that ever tried Cupid’s patience.
—To think of making love by _sentiments_!
I should as soon think of making a genteel suit of clothes out ofremnants:—and to do it—pop—at first sight, by declaration—is submittingthe offer, and themselves with it, to be sifted with all their _pours_and _contres_, by an unheated mind.
The lady attended as if she expected I should go on.
Consider then, Madame, continued I, laying my hand upon hers:—
That grave people hate love for the name’s sake;—
That selfish people hate it for their own;—
Hypocrites for heaven’s;—
And that all of us, both old and young, being ten times worse frightenedthan hurt by the very _report_,—what a want of knowledge in this branchof commence a man betrays, whoever lets the word come out of his lips,till an hour or two, at least, after the time that his silence upon itbecomes tormenting. A course of small, quiet attentions, not so pointedas to alarm,—nor so vague as to be misunderstood—with now and then a lookof kindness, and little or nothing said upon it,—leaves nature for yourmistress, and she fashions it to her mind.—
Then I solemnly declare, said the lady, blushing, you have been makinglove to me all this while.
THE REMISE.CALAIS.
MONSIEUR DESSEIN came back to let us out of the chaise, and acquaint thelady, the count de L—, her brother, was just arrived at the hotel.Though I had infinite good will for the lady, I cannot say that Irejoiced in my heart at the event—and could not help telling her so;—forit is fatal to a proposal, Madame, said I, that I was going to make toyou—
—You need not tell me what the proposal was, said she, laying her handupon both mine, as she interrupted me.—A man my good Sir, has seldom anoffer of kindness to make to a woman, but she has a presentiment of itsome moments before.—
Nature arms her with it, said I, for immediate preservation.—But I think,said she, looking in my face, I had no evil to apprehend,—and, to dealfrankly with you, had determined to accept it.—If I had—(she stopped amoment)—I believe your good will would have drawn a story from me, whichwould have made pity the only dangerous thing in the journey.
In saying this, she suffered me to kiss her hand twice, and with a lookof sensibility mixed with concern, she got out of the chaise,—and bidadieu.
IN THE STREET.CALAIS.
I NEVER finished a twelve guinea bargain so expeditiously in my life: mytime seemed heavy, upon the loss of the lady, and knowing every moment ofit would be as two, till I put myself into motion,—I ordered post horsesdirectly, and walked towards the hotel.
Lord! said I, hearing the town clock strike four, and recollecting that Ihad been little more than a single hour in Calais,—
—What a large volume of adventures may be grasped within this little spanof life by him who interests his heart in every thing, and who, havingeyes to see what time and chance are perpetually holding out to him as hejourneyeth on his way, misses nothing he can _fairly_ lay his hands on!
—If this won’t turn out something,—another will;—no matter,—’tis an assayupon human nature—I get my labour for my pains,—’tis enough;—the pleasureof the experiment has kept my senses and the best part of my blood awake,and laid the gross to sleep.
I pity the man who can travel from Dan to Beersheba, and cry, ’Tis allbarren;—and so it is: and so is all the world to him who will notcultivate the fruits it offers. I declare, said I, clapping my handscheerily together, that were I in a desert, I would find out wherewith init to call forth my affections:—if I could not do better, I would fastenthem upon some sweet myrtle, or seek some melancholy cypress to connectmyself to;—I would court their shade, and greet them kindly for theirprotection.—I would cut my name upon them, and swear they were theloveliest trees throughout the desert: if their leaves wither’d, I wouldteach myself to mourn; and, when they rejoiced, I would rejoice alongwith them.
The learned Smelfungus travelled from Boulogne to Paris,—from Paris toRome,—and so on;—but he set out with the spleen and jaundice, and everyobject he pass’d by was discoloured or distorted.—He wrote an account ofthem, but ’twas nothing but the account of his miserable feelings.
I met Smelfungus in the grand portico of the Pantheon:—he was just comingout of it.—’_Tis nothing but a huge cockpit_, {580} said he:—I wish youhad said nothing worse of the Venus of Medicis, replied I;—for in passingthrough Florence, I had heard he had fallen foul upon the goddess, andused her worse than a common strumpet, without the least provoc
ation innature.
I popp’d upon Smelfungus again at Turin, in his return home; and a sadtale of sorrowful adventures had he to tell, “wherein he spoke of movingaccidents by flood and field, and of the cannibals that each other eat:the Anthropophagi:”—he had been flayed alive, and bedevil’d, and usedworse than St. Bartholomew, at every stage he had come at.—
—I’ll tell it, cried Smelfungus, to the world. You had better tell it,said I, to your physician.
Mundungus, with an immense fortune, made the whole tour; going on fromRome to Naples,—from Naples to Venice,—from Venice to Vienna,—to Dresden,to Berlin, without one generous connection or pleasurable anecdote totell of; but he had travell’d straight on, looking neither to his righthand nor his left, lest Love or Pity should seduce him out of his road.
Peace be to them! if it is to be found; but heaven itself, were itpossible to get there with such tempers, would want objects to give it;every gentle spirit would come flying upon the wings of Love to hailtheir arrival.—Nothing would the souls of Smelfungus and Mundungus hearof, but fresh anthems of joy, fresh raptures of love, and freshcongratulations of their common felicity.—I heartily pity them; they havebrought up no faculties for this work; and, were the happiest mansion inheaven to be allotted to Smelfungus and Mundungus, they would be so farfrom being happy, that the souls of Smelfungus and Mundungus would dopenance there to all eternity!
MONTREUIL.
I HAD once lost my portmanteau from behind my chaise, and twice got outin the rain, and one of the times up to the knees in dirt, to help thepostilion to tie it on, without being able to find out what waswanting.—Nor was it till I got to Montreuil, upon the landlord’s askingme if I wanted not a servant, that it occurred to me, that that was thevery thing.
A servant! That I do most sadly, quoth I.—Because, Monsieur, said thelandlord, there is a clever young fellow, who would be very proud of thehonour to serve an Englishman.—But why an English one, more than anyother?—They are so generous, said the landlord.—I’ll be shot if this isnot a livre out of my pocket, quoth I to myself, this very night.—Butthey have wherewithal to be so, Monsieur, added he.—Set down one livremore for that, quoth I.—It was but last night, said the landlord, _qu’unmilord Anglois présentoit un écu à la fille de chambre_.—_Tant pis pourMademoiselle Janatone_, said I.
Now Janatone, being the landlord’s daughter, and the landlord supposing Iwas young in French, took the liberty to inform me, I should not havesaid _tant pis_—but, _tant mieux_. _Tant mieux_, _toujours_, _Monsieur_,said he, when there is any thing to be got—_tant pis_, when there isnothing. It comes to the same thing, said I. _Pardonnez-moi_, said thelandlord.
I cannot take a fitter opportunity to observe, once for all, that _tantpis_ and _tant mieux_, being two of the great hinges in Frenchconversation, a stranger would do well to set himself right in the use ofthem, before he gets to Paris.
A prompt French marquis at our ambassador’s table demanded of Mr. H—, ifhe was H— the poet? No, said Mr. H—, mildly.—_Tant pis_, replied themarquis.
It is H— the historian, said another,—_Tant mieux_, said the marquis.And Mr. H—, who is a man of an excellent heart, return’d thanks for both.
When the landlord had set me right in this matter, he called in La Fleur,which was the name of the young man he had spoke of,—saying only first,That as for his talents he would presume to say nothing,—Monsieur was thebest judge what would suit him; but for the fidelity of La Fleur he wouldstand responsible in all he was worth.
The landlord deliver’d this in a manner which instantly set my mind tothe business I was upon;—and La Fleur, who stood waiting without, in thatbreathless expectation which every son of nature of us have felt in ourturns, came in.
MONTREUIL.
I AM apt to be taken with all kinds of people at first sight; but nevermore so than when a poor devil comes to offer his service to so poor adevil as myself; and as I know this weakness, I always suffer my judgmentto draw back something on that very account,—and this more or less,according to the mood I am in, and the case;—and I may add, the gendertoo, of the person I am to govern.
When La Fleur entered the room, after every discount I could make for mysoul, the genuine look and air of the fellow determined the matter atonce in his favour; so I hired him first,—and then began to enquire whathe could do: But I shall find out his talents, quoth I, as I wantthem,—besides, a Frenchman can do every thing.
Now poor La Fleur could do nothing in the world but beat a drum, and playa march or two upon the fife. I was determined to make his talents do;and can’t say my weakness was ever so insulted by my wisdom as in theattempt.
La Fleur had set out early in life, as gallantly as most Frenchmen do,with _serving_ for a few years; at the end of which, having satisfied thesentiment, and found, moreover, That the honour of beating a drum waslikely to be its own reward, as it open’d no further track of glory tohim,—he retired _à ses terres_, and lived _comme il plaisoit àDieu_;—that is to say, upon nothing.
—And so, quoth Wisdom, you have hired a drummer to attend you in thistour of yours through France and Italy!—Psha! said I, and do not one halfof our gentry go with a humdrum _compagnon du voyage_ the same round, andhave the piper and the devil and all to pay besides? When man canextricate himself with an _équivoque_ in such an unequal match,—he is notill off.—But you can do something else, La Fleur? said I.—_O qu’oui_! hecould make spatterdashes, and play a little upon the fiddle.—Bravo! saidWisdom.—Why, I play a bass myself, said I;—we shall do very well. Youcan shave, and dress a wig a little, La Fleur?—He had all thedispositions in the world.—It is enough for heaven! said I, interruptinghim,—and ought to be enough for me.—So, supper coming in, and having afrisky English spaniel on one side of my chair, and a French valet, withas much hilarity in his countenance as ever Nature painted in one, on theother,—I was satisfied to my heart’s content with my empire; and ifmonarchs knew what they would be at, they might be as satisfied as I was.
MONTREUIL.
AS La Fleur went the whole tour of France and Italy with me, and will beoften upon the stage, I must interest the reader a little further in hisbehalf, by saying, that I had never less reason to repent of the impulseswhich generally do determine me, than in regard to this fellow;—he was afaithful, affectionate, simple soul as ever trudged after the heels of aphilosopher; and, notwithstanding his talents of drum beating andspatterdash-making, which, though very good in themselves, happened to beof no great service to me, yet was I hourly recompensed by the festivityof his temper;—it supplied all defects:—I had a constant resource in hislooks in all difficulties and distresses of my own—I was going to haveadded of his too; but La Fleur was out of the reach of every thing; for,whether ’twas hunger or thirst, or cold or nakedness, or watchings, orwhatever stripes of ill luck La Fleur met with in our journeyings, therewas no index in his physiognomy to point them out by,—he was eternallythe same; so that if I am a piece of a philosopher, which Satan now andthen puts it into my head I am,—it always mortifies the pride of theconceit, by reflecting how much I owe to the complexional philosophy ofthis poor fellow, for shaming me into one of a better kind. With allthis, La Fleur had a small cast of the coxcomb,—but he seemed at firstsight to be more a coxcomb of nature than of art; and, before I had beenthree days in Paris with him,—he seemed to be no coxcomb at all.
MONTREUIL.
THE next morning, La Fleur entering upon his employment, I delivered tohim the key of my portmanteau, with an inventory of my half a dozenshirts and silk pair of breeches, and bid him fasten all upon thechaise,—get the horses put to,—and desire the landlord to come in withhis bill.
_C’est un garcon de bonne fortune_, said the landlord, pointing throughthe window to half a dozen wenches who had got round about La Fleur, andwere most kindly taking their leave of him, as the postilion was leadingout the horses. La Fleur kissed all their hands round and round again,and thrice he wiped his eyes, and thrice he
promised he would bring themall pardons from Rome.
—The young fellow, said the landlord, is beloved by all the town, andthere is scarce a corner in Montreuil where the want of him will not befelt: he has but one misfortune in the world, continued he, “he is alwaysin love.”—I am heartily glad of it, said I,—’twill save me the troubleevery night of putting my breeches under my head. In saying this, I wasmaking not so much La Fleur’s eloge as my own, having been in love withone princess or another almost all my life, and I hope I shall go on sotill I die, being firmly persuaded, that if ever I do a mean action, itmust be in some interval betwixt one passion and another: whilst thisinterregnum lasts, I always perceive my heart locked up,—I can scarcefind in it to give Misery a sixpence; and therefore I always get out ofit as fast as I can—and the moment I am rekindled, I am all generosityand good-will again; and would do anything in the world, either for orwith any one, if they will but satisfy me there is no sin in it.
—But in saying this,—sure I am commanding the passion,—not myself.
A FRAGMENT.
—THE town of Abdera, notwithstanding Democritus lived there, trying allthe powers of irony and laughter to reclaim it, was the vilest and mostprofligate town in all Thrace. What for poisons, conspiracies, andassassinations,—libels, pasquinades, and tumults, there was no goingthere by day—’twas worse by night.