- But There Is No Nation Under
Heaven - And God Is My Record (Before Whose Tribunal I Must One Day
Come
And give an account of this work) - that I do not speak it
vauntingly, - but there is no nation under
Heaven abounding with
more variety of learning, - where the sciences may be more fitly
woo'd, or more surely won, than here, - where art is encouraged, and
will so soon rise high, - where Nature (take her altogether) has so
little to answer for, - and, to close all, where there is more wit
and variety of character to feed the mind with: - Where then, my
dear countrymen, are you going? -
We are only looking at this chaise, said they. - Your most obedient
servant, said I, skipping out of it, and pulling off my hat. - We
were wondering, said one of them, who, I found was an Inquisitive
Traveller, - what could occasion its motion. - 'Twas the agitation,
said I, coolly, of writing a preface. - I never heard, said the
other, who was a Simple Traveller, of a preface wrote in a
desobligeant. - It would have been better, said I, in a vis-a-vis.
- As an Englishman does not travel to see Englishmen, I retired to
my room.
CALAIS.
I perceived that something darken'd the passage more than myself,
as I stepp'd along it to my room; it was effectually Mons. Dessein,
the master of the hotel, who had just returned from vespers, and
with his hat under his arm, was most complaisantly following me, to
put me in mind of my wants. I had wrote myself pretty well out of
conceit with the desobligeant, and Mons. Dessein speaking of it,
with a shrug, as if it would no way suit me, it immediately struck
my fancy that it belong'd to some 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 it had finished its career of
Europe in the corner of Mons. Dessein's coach-yard; and having
sallied out from thence but a vampt-up business at the first,
though it had been twice taken to pieces on Mount Sennis, it had
not profited much by its adventures, - but by none so little as the
standing so many months unpitied in the corner of Mons. Dessein's
coach-yard. Much indeed was not to be said for it, - but something
might; - and when a few words will rescue misery out of her
distress, I hate the man who can be a churl of them.
- Now was I the master of this hotel, said I, laying the point of
my fore-finger on Mons. Dessein's breast, I would inevitably make a
point of getting rid of this unfortunate desobligeant; - it stands
swinging reproaches 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 their own sensations, - I'm persuaded, to a man who
feels for others as well as for himself, every rainy night,
disguise it as you will, must cast a damp upon your spirits: - You
suffer, Mons. Dessein, as much as the machine -
I have always observed, when there is as much sour as sweet in a
compliment, that an Englishman is eternally at a loss within
himself, whether to take it, or let it alone: a Frenchman never
is: Mons. Dessein made me a bow.
C'est bien vrai, said he. - But in this case I should only exchange
one disquietude 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 got half-way to Paris, - figure to yourself how much
I should suffer, in giving an 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
not help tasting it, - and, returning Mons. Dessein his bow, without
more casuistry we walk'd together towards his Remise, to take a
view of his magazine of chaises.
IN THE STREET. CALAIS.
It must needs be a hostile kind of a world, when the buyer (if it
be but of a sorry post-chaise) cannot go forth with the seller
thereof into the street to terminate the difference betwixt them,
but he instantly falls into the same frame of mind, and views his
conventionist with the same sort of eye, as if he was going along
with him to Hyde-park corner to fight a duel. For my own part,
being but a poor swordsman, and no way a match for Monsieur
Dessein, I felt the rotation of all the movements within me, to
which the situation is incident; - I looked at Monsieur Dessein
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 him by my gods, - wished him at the devil. -
- And is all this to be lighted up in the heart for a beggarly
account of three or four louis d'ors, which is the most I can be
overreached in? - Base passion! said I, turning myself about, as a
man naturally does upon a sudden reverse of sentiment, - base,
ungentle passion! thy hand is against every man, and every man's
hand against thee. - Heaven forbid! said she, raising her hand up to
her forehead, for I had turned full in front upon the lady whom I
had seen in conference with the monk: - she had followed us
unperceived. - Heaven forbid, indeed! said I, offering her my own; -
she had a black pair of silk gloves, open only at the thumb and two
fore-fingers, so accepted it without reserve, - and I led her up to
the door of the Remise.
Monsieur Dessein had diabled the key above fifty times before he
had found out he had come with a wrong one in his hand:
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