As the poor fellow could not present himself empty, he had loaded himselfin going up stairs with a thousand compliments to Madame de L—, on thepart of his master,—added a long apocrypha of inquiries after Madame deL—’s health,—told her, that Monsieur his master was _au désespoire_ forher re-establishment from the fatigues of her journey,—and, to close all,that Monsieur had received the letter which Madame had done him thehonour—And he has done me the honour, said Madame de L—, interrupting LaFleur, to send a billet in return.
Madame de L— had said this with such a tone of reliance upon the fact,that La Fleur had not power to disappoint her expectations;—he trembledfor my honour,—and possibly might not altogether be unconcerned for hisown, as a man capable of being attached to a master who could be wanting_en égards vis à vis d’une femme_! so that when Madame de L— asked LaFleur if he had brought a letter,—_O qu’oui_, said La Fleur: so layingdown his hat upon the ground, and taking hold of the flap of his rightside pocket with his left hand, he began to search for the letter withhis right;—then contrariwise.—_Diable_! then sought every pocket—pocketby pocket, round, not forgetting his fob:—_Peste_!—then La Fleur emptiedthem upon the floor,—pulled out a dirty cravat,—a handkerchief,—a comb,—awhip lash,—a nightcap,—then gave a peep into his hat,—_Quelleétourderie_! He had left the letter upon the table in the auberge;—hewould run for it, and be back with it in three minutes.
I had just finished my supper when La Fleur came in to give me an accountof his adventure: he told the whole story simply as it was: and onlyadded that if Monsieur had forgot (_par hazard_) to answer Madame’sletter, the arrangement gave him an opportunity to recover the _fauxpas_;—and if not, that things were only as they were.
Now I was not altogether sure of my _étiquette_, whether I ought to havewrote or no;—but if I had,—a devil himself could not have been angry:’twas but the officious zeal of a well meaning creature for my honour;and, however he might have mistook the road,—or embarrassed me in sodoing,—his heart was in no fault,—I was under no necessity to write;—and,what weighed more than all,—he did not look as if he had done amiss.
—’Tis all very well, La Fleur, said I.—’Twas sufficient. La Fleur flewout of the room like lightning, and returned with pen, ink, and paper, inhis hand; and, coming up to the table, laid them close before me, withsuch a delight in his countenance, that I could not help taking up thepen.
I began and began again; and, though I had nothing to say, and thatnothing might have been expressed in half a dozen lines, I made half adozen different beginnings, and could no way please myself.
In short, I was in no mood to write.
La Fleur stepp’d out and brought a little water in a glass to dilute myink,—then fetch’d sand and seal-wax.—It was all one; I wrote, andblotted, and tore off, and burnt, and wrote again.—_Le diable l’emporte_!said I, half to myself,—I cannot write this self-same letter, throwingthe pen down despairingly as I said it.
As soon as I had cast down my pen, La Fleur advanced with the mostrespectful carriage up to the table, and making a thousand apologies forthe liberty he was going to take, told me he had a letter in his pocketwrote by a drummer in his regiment to a corporal’s wife, which he durstsay would suit the occasion.
I had a mind to let the poor fellow have his humour.—Then prithee, saidI, let me see it.
La Fleur instantly pulled out a little dirty pocket book cramm’d full ofsmall letters and billet-doux in a sad condition, and laying it upon thetable, and then untying the string which held them all together, run themover, one by one, till he came to the letter in question,—_La voila_!said he, clapping his hands: so, unfolding it first, he laid it openbefore me, and retired three steps from the table whilst I read it.
THE LETTER.
Madame,
Je suis pénétré de la douleur la plus vive, et réduit en même temps audésespoir par ce retour imprévù du Caporal qui rend notre entrevûe de cesoir la chose du monde la plus impossible.
Mais vive la joie! et toute la mienne sera de penser à vous.
L’amour n’est _rien_ sans sentiment.
Et le sentiment est encore _moins_ sans amour.
On dit qu’on ne doit jamais se désesperér.
On dit aussi que Monsieur le Caporal monte la garde Mercredi: alors cecera mon tour.
_Chacun à son tour_.
En attendant—Vive l’amour! et vive la bagatelle!
Je suis, Madame, Avec tous les sentimens les plus respectueux et les plus tendres, tout à vous, JAQUES ROQUE.
It was but changing the Corporal into the Count,—and saying nothing aboutmounting guard on Wednesday,—and the letter was neither right norwrong:—so, to gratify the poor fellow, who stood trembling for my honour,his own, and the honour of his letter,—I took the cream gently off it,and whipping it up in my own way, I seal’d it up and sent him with it toMadame de L—;—and the next morning we pursued our journey to Paris.
PARIS.
WHEN a man can contest the point by dint of equipage, and carry all onfloundering before him with half a dozen of lackies and a couple ofcooks—’tis very well in such a place as Paris,—he may drive in at whichend of a street he will.
A poor prince who is weak in cavalry, and whose whole infantry does notexceed a single man, had best quit the field, and signalize himself inthe cabinet, if he can get up into it;—I say _up into it_—for there is nodescending perpendicular amongst ’em with a “_Me voici_! _mesenfans_”—here I am—whatever many may think.
I own my first sensations, as soon as I was left solitary and alone in myown chamber in the hotel, were far from being so flattering as I hadprefigured them. I walked up gravely to the window in my dusty blackcoat, and looking through the glass saw all the world in yellow, blue,and green, running at the ring of pleasure.—The old with broken lances,and in helmets which had lost their vizards;—the young in armour brightwhich shone like gold, beplumed with each gay feather of theeast,—all,—all, tilting at it like fascinated knights in tournaments ofyore for fame and love.—
Alas, poor Yorick! cried I, what art thou doing here? On the very firstonset of all this glittering clatter thou art reduced to anatom;—seek,—seek some winding alley, with a tourniquet at the end of it,where chariot never rolled or flambeau shot its rays;—there thou mayestsolace thy soul in converse sweet with some kind grisette of a barber’swife, and get into such coteries!—
—May I perish! if I do, said I, pulling out the letter which I had topresent to Madame de R—.—I’ll wait upon this lady, the very first thing Ido. So I called La Fleur to go seek me a barber directly,—and come backand brush my coat.
THE WIG.PARIS.
WHEN the barber came, he absolutely refused to have any thing to do withmy wig: ’twas either above or below his art: I had nothing to do but totake one ready made of his own recommendation.
—But I fear, friend! said I, this buckle won’t stand.—You may emerge it,replied he, into the ocean, and it will stand.—
What a great scale is every thing upon in this city thought I.—The utmoststretch of an English periwig-maker’s ideas could have gone no furtherthan to have “dipped it into a pail of water.”—What difference! ’tis likeTime to Eternity!
I confess I do hate all cold conceptions, as I do the puny ideas whichengender them; and am generally so struck with the great works of nature,that for my own part, if I could help it, I never would make a comparisonless than a mountain at least. All that can be said against the Frenchsublime, in this instance of it, is this:—That the grandeur is _more_ inthe _word_, and _less_ in the _thing_. No doubt, the ocean fills themind with vast ideas; but Paris being so far inland, it was not likely Ishould run post a hundred miles out of it,
to try the experiment;—theParisian barber meant nothing.—
The pail of water standing beside the great deep, makes, certainly, but asorry figure in speech;—but, ’twill be said,—it has one advantage—’tis inthe next room, and the truth of the buckle may be tried in it, withoutmore ado, in a single moment.
In honest truth, and upon a more candid revision of the matter, _TheFrench expression professes more than it performs_.
I think I can see the precise and distinguishing marks of nationalcharacters more in these nonsensical _minutiæ_ than in the most importantmatters of state; where great men of all nations talk and stalk so muchalike, that I would not give ninepence to choose amongst them.
I was so long in getting from under my barber’s hands, that it was toolate to think of going with my letter to Madame R— that night: but when aman is once dressed at all points for going out, his reflections turn tolittle account; so taking down the name of the Hôtel de Modene, where Ilodged, I walked forth without any determination where to go;—I shallconsider of that, said I, as I walk along.
THE PULSE.PARIS.
HAIL, ye small sweet courtesies of life, for smooth do ye make the roadof it! like grace and beauty, which beget inclinations to love at firstsight: ’tis ye who open this door and let the stranger in.
—Pray, Madame, said I, have the goodness to tell me which way I must turnto go to the Opéra Comique?—Most willingly, Monsieur, said she, layingaside her work.—
I had given a cast with my eye into half a dozen shops, as I came along,in search of a face not likely to be disordered by such an interruption:till at last, this, hitting my fancy, I had walked in.
She was working a pair of ruffles, as she sat in a low chair, on the farside of the shop, facing the door.
—_Tres volontiers_, most willingly, said she, laying her work down upon achair next her, and rising up from the low chair she was sitting in, withso cheerful a movement, and so cheerful a look, that had I been layingout fifty louis d’ors with her, I should have said—“This woman isgrateful.”
You must turn, Monsieur, said she, going with me to the door of the shop,and pointing the way down the street I was to take,—you must turn firstto your left hand,—_mais prenez garde_—there are two turns; and be sogood as to take the second—then go down a little way and you’ll see achurch: and, when you are past it, give yourself the trouble to turndirectly to the right, and that will lead you to the foot of the PontNeuf, which you must cross—and there any one will do himself the pleasureto show you.—
She repeated her instructions three times over to me, with the samegoodnatur’d patience the third time as the first;—and if _tones andmanners_ have a meaning, which certainly they have, unless to heartswhich shut them out,—she seemed really interested that I should not losemyself.
I will not suppose it was the woman’s beauty, notwithstanding she was thehandsomest grisette, I think, I ever saw, which had much to do with thesense I had of her courtesy; only I remember, when I told her how much Iwas obliged to her, that I looked very full in her eyes,—and that Irepeated my thanks as often as she had done her instructions.
I had not got ten paces from the door, before I found I had forgot everytittle of what she had said;—so looking back, and seeing her stillstanding in the door of the shop, as if to look whether I went right ornot,—I returned back to ask her, whether the first turn was to my rightor left,—for that I had absolutely forgot.—Is it possible! said she, halflaughing. ’Tis very possible, replied I, when a man is thinking more ofa woman than of her good advice.
As this was the real truth—she took it, as every woman takes a matter ofright, with a slight curtsey.
—_Attendez_! said she, laying her hand upon my arm to detain me, whilstshe called a lad out of the back shop to get ready a parcel of gloves. Iam just going to send him, said she, with a packet into that quarter, andif you will have the complaisance to step in, it will be ready in amoment, and he shall attend you to the place.—So I walk’d in with her tothe far side of the shop: and taking up the ruffle in my hand which shelaid upon the chair, as if I had a mind to sit, she sat down herself inher low chair, and I instantly sat myself down beside her.
—He will be ready, Monsieur, said she, in a moment.—And in that moment,replied I, most willingly would I say something very civil to you for allthese courtesies. Any one may do a casual act of good nature, but acontinuation of them shows it is a part of the temperature; andcertainly, added I, if it is the same blood which comes from the heartwhich descends to the extremes (touching her wrist) I am sure you musthave one of the best pulses of any woman in the world.—Feel it, said she,holding out her arm. So laying down my hat, I took hold of her fingersin one hand, and applied the two forefingers of my other to the artery.—
—Would to heaven! my dear Eugenius, thou hadst passed by, and beheld mesitting in my black coat, and in my lack-a-day-sical manner, counting thethrobs of it, one by one, with as much true devotion as if I had beenwatching the critical ebb or flow of her fever.—How wouldst thou havelaugh’d and moralized upon my new profession!—and thou shouldst havelaugh’d and moralized on.—Trust me, my dear Eugenius, I should have said,“There are worse occupations in this world _than feeling a woman’spulse_.”—But a grisette’s! thou wouldst have said,—and in an open shop!Yorick—
—So much the better: for when my views are direct, Eugenius, I care notif all the world saw me feel it.
THE HUSBAND.PARIS.
I HAD counted twenty pulsations, and was going on fast towards thefortieth, when her husband, coming unexpected from a back parlour intothe shop, put me a little out of my reckoning.—’Twas nobody but herhusband, she said;—so I began a fresh score.—Monsieur is so good, quothshe, as he pass’d by us, as to give himself the trouble of feeling mypulse.—The husband took off his hat, and making me a bow, said, I did himtoo much honour—and having said that, he put on his hat and walk’d out.
Good God! said I to myself, as he went out,—and can this man be thehusband of this woman!
Let it not torment the few who know what must have been the grounds ofthis exclamation, if I explain it to those who do not.
In London a shopkeeper and a shopkeeper’s wife seem to be one bone andone flesh: in the several endowments of mind and body, sometimes the one,sometimes the other has it, so as, in general, to be upon a par, andtotally with each other as nearly as man and wife need to do.
In Paris, there are scarce two orders of beings more different: for thelegislative and executive powers of the shop not resting in the husband,he seldom comes there:—in some dark and dismal room behind, he sitscommerce-less, in his thrum nightcap, the same rough son of Nature thatNature left him.
The genius of a people, where nothing but the monarchy is _salique_,having ceded this department, with sundry others, totally to thewomen,—by a continual higgling with customers of all ranks and sizes frommorning to night, like so many rough pebbles shook long together in abag, by amicable collisions they have worn down their asperities andsharp angles, and not only become round and smooth, but will receive,some of them, a polish like a brilliant:—Monsieur _le Mari_ is littlebetter than the stone under your foot.
—Surely,—surely, man! it is not good for thee to sit alone:—thou wastmade for social intercourse and gentle greetings; and this improvement ofour natures from it I appeal to as my evidence.
—And how does it beat, Monsieur? said she.—With all the benignity, saidI, looking quietly in her eyes, that I expected.—She was going to saysomething civil in return—but the lad came into the shop with thegloves.—_Á propos_, said I, I want a couple of pairs myself.
THE GLOVES.PARIS.
THE beautiful grisette rose up when I said this, and going behind thecounter, reach’d down a parcel and untied it: I advanced to the side overagainst her: they were all too large. The beautiful grisette measuredthem one by one across my hand.—It would not alter their dimensions.—Shebegg’d I would try a single pair, which seemed to be the least.??
?She heldit open;—my hand slipped into it at once.—It will not do, said I, shakingmy head a little.—No, said she, doing the same thing.
There are certain combined looks of simple subtlety,—where whim, andsense, and seriousness, and nonsense, are so blended, that all thelanguages of Babel set loose together, could not express them;—they arecommunicated and caught so instantaneously, that you can scarce say whichparty is the infector. I leave it to your men of words to swell pagesabout it—it is enough in the present to say again, the gloves would notdo; so, folding our hands within our arms, we both lolled upon thecounter—it was narrow, and there was just room for the parcel to laybetween us.
The beautiful grisette looked sometimes at the gloves, then sideways tothe window, then at the gloves,—and then at me. I was not disposed tobreak silence:—I followed her example: so, I looked at the gloves, thento the window, then at the gloves, and then at her,—and so onalternately.
I found I lost considerably in every attack:—she had a quick black eye,and shot through two such long and silken eyelashes with suchpenetration, that she look’d into my very heart and reins.—It may seemstrange, but I could actually feel she did.—
It is no matter, said I, taking up a couple of the pairs next me, andputting them into my pocket.
I was sensible the beautiful grisette had not asked above a single livreabove the price.—I wish’d she had asked a livre more, and was puzzling mybrains how to bring the matter about.—Do you think, my dear Sir, saidshe, mistaking my embarrassment, that I could ask a sous too much of astranger—and of a stranger whose politeness, more than his want ofgloves, has done me the honour to lay himself at my mercy?—_M’en croyezcapable_?—Faith! not I, said I; and if you were, you are welcome. Socounting the money into her hand, and with a lower bow than one generallymakes to a shopkeeper’s wife, I went out, and her lad with his parcelfollowed me.