- 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 flew out of the room like lightning, and returned with pen,
ink, and paper, in his hand; and, coming up to the table, laid them
close before me, with such a delight in his countenance, that I
could not help taking up the pen.
I began and began again; and, though I had nothing to say, and that
nothing might have been expressed in half a dozen lines, I made
half a dozen 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 my ink, - then fetch'd sand and seal-wax. - It was all one; I
wrote, and blotted, and tore off, and burnt, and wrote again. - Le
diable l'emporte! said I, half to myself, - I cannot write this
self-same letter, throwing the pen down despairingly as I said it.
As soon as I had cast down my pen, La Fleur advanced with the most
respectful carriage up to the table, and making a thousand
apologies for the liberty he was going to take, told me he had a
letter in his pocket wrote by a drummer in his regiment to a
corporal's wife, which he durst say would suit the occasion.
I had a mind to let the poor fellow have his humour. - Then prithee,
said I, let me see it.
La Fleur instantly pulled out a little dirty pocket book cramm'd
full of small letters and billet-doux in a sad condition, and
laying it upon the table, and then untying the string which held
them all together, run them over, 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 open before me, and retired three
steps from the table whilst I read it.
THE LETTER.
Madame,
Je suis penetre de la douleur la plus vive, et reduit en meme temps
au desespoir par ce retour imprevu du Caporal qui rend notre
entrevue de ce soir la chose du monde la plus impossible.
Mais vive la joie! et toute la mienne sera de penser a vous.
L'amour n'est rien sans sentiment.
Et le sentiment est encore moins sans amour.
On dit qu'on ne doit jamais se desesperer.
On dit aussi que Monsieur le Caporal monte la garde Mercredi:
alors ce cera mon tour.
Chacun a 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 a vous,
JAQUES ROQUE.
It was but changing the Corporal into the Count, - and saying
nothing about mounting guard on Wednesday, - and the letter was
neither right nor wrong: - 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 to Madame 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
on floundering before him with half a dozen of lackies and a couple
of cooks - 'tis very well in such a place as Paris, - he may drive in
at which end of a street he will.
A poor prince who is weak in cavalry, and whose whole infantry does
not exceed a single man, had best quit the field, and signalize
himself in the cabinet, if he can get up into it; - I say UP INTO
IT - for there is no descending perpendicular amongst 'em with a "Me
voici! mes enfans" - here I am - whatever many may think.
I own my first sensations, as soon as I was left solitary and alone
in my own chamber in the hotel, were far from being so flattering
as I had prefigured them. I walked up gravely to the window in my
dusty black coat, 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 bright which shone like gold,
beplumed with each gay feather of the east, - all, - all, tilting at
it like fascinated knights in tournaments of yore for fame and
love. -
Alas, poor Yorick! cried I, what art thou doing here? On the very
first onset of all this glittering clatter thou art reduced to an
atom; - seek, - seek some winding alley, with a tourniquet at the end
of it, where chariot never rolled or flambeau shot its rays; - there
thou mayest solace thy soul in converse sweet with some kind
grisette of a barber's wife, and get into such coteries! -
- May I perish! if I do, said I, pulling out the letter which I had
to present to Madame de R- - I'll wait upon this lady, the very
first thing I do. So I called La Fleur to go seek me a barber
directly, - and come back and brush my coat.
THE WIG. PARIS.
When the barber came, he absolutely refused to have any thing to do
with my wig: 'twas either above or below his art: I had nothing
to do but to take 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
utmost stretch of an English periwig-maker's ideas could have gone
no further than to have "dipped it into a pail of water." - What
difference!
