he had in his pocket, he placed them before him; and dipping his
pen in his ink, and leaning his breast over the table, he disposed
everything to make the gentleman's last will and testament
Alas! Monsieur le Notaire, said the gentleman, raising himself up
a little, I have nothing to
bequeath, which will pay the expense of
bequeathing, except the history of myself, which I could not die in
peace, unless I left it as a
legacy to the world: the profits
arising out of it I
bequeath to you for the pains of
taking it from
me. - It is a story so
uncommon, it must be read by all mankind; -
it will make the fortunes of your house. - The notary dipp'd his
pen into his inkhorn. - Almighty Director of every event in my
life! said the old gentleman, looking up
earnestly, and raising his
hands towards heaven, - Thou, whose hand has led me on through such
a
labyrinth of strange passages down into this scene of desolation,
assist the decaying memory of an old, infirm, and broken-hearted
man; - direct my tongue by the spirit of thy
eternal truth, that
this stranger may set down
nought but what is written in that BOOK,
from whose records, said he, clasping his hands together, I am to
be condemn'd or acquitted! - the notary held up the point of his
pen betwixt the taper and his eye. -
It is a story, Monsieur le Notaire, said the gentleman, which will
rouse up every
affection in nature; - it will kill the
humane, and
touch the heart of Cruelty herself with pity. -
- The notary was inflamed with a desire to begin, and put his pen a
third time into his ink-horn - and the old gentleman, turning a
little more towards the notary, began to
dictate his story in these
words: -
- And where is the rest of it, La Fleur? said I, as he just then
enter'd the room.
THE FRAGMENT, AND THE BOUQUET. (1) PARIS.
When La Fleur came up close to the table, and was made to
comprehend what I wanted, he told me there were only two other
sheets of it, which he had wrapped round the stalks of a
bouquet to
keep it together, which he had presented to the demoiselle upon the
boulevards. - Then prithee, La Fleur, said I, step back to her to
the Count de B-'s hotel, and see if thou canst get it. - There is
no doubt of it, said La Fleur; - and away he flew.
In a very little time the poor fellow came back quite out of
breath, with deeper marks of
disappointment in his looks than could
arise from the simple irreparability of the
fragment. Juste Ciel!
in less than two minutes that the poor fellow had taken his last
tender
farewell of her - his
faithlessmistress had given his gage
d'amour to one of the Count's footmen, - the
footman to a young
sempstress, - and the sempstress to a fiddler, with my
fragment at
the end of it. - Our misfortunes were involved together: - I gave a
sigh, - and La Fleur echoed it back again to my ear.
- How perfidious! cried La Fleur. - How unlucky! said I.
- I should not have been mortified, Monsieur, quoth La Fleur, if
she had lost it. - Nor I, La Fleur, said I, had I found it.
Whether I did or no will be seen hereafter.
THE ACT OF CHARITY. PARIS.
The man who either disdains or fears to walk up a dark entry may be
an excellent good man, and fit for a hundred things, but he will
not do to make a good Sentimental Traveller. - I count little of
the many things I see pass at broad
noonday, in large and open
streets. - Nature is shy, and hates to act before spectators; but
in such an
unobserved corner you sometimes see a single short scene
of hers worth all the sentiments of a dozen French plays compounded
together, - and yet they are
absolutely fine; - and
whenever I have
a more
brilliant affair upon my hands than common, as they suit a
preacher just as well as a hero, I generally make my
sermon out of
'em; - and for the text, - "Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia
and Pamphylia," - is as good as any one in the Bible.
There is a long dark passage issuing out from the Opera Comique
into a narrow street; 'tis trod by a few who
humbly wait for a
fiacre, (2) or wish to get off quietly o'foot when the opera is
done. At the end of it, towards the theatre, 'tis lighted by a
small candle, the light of which is almost lost before you get
half-way down, but near the door - 'tis more for
ornament than use:
you see it as a fixed star of the least
magnitude; it burns, - but
does little good to the world, that we know of.
In returning along this passage, I discerned, as I approached
within five or six paces of the door, two ladies
standing arm-in-
arm with their backs against the wall,
waiting, as I imagined, for
a fiacre; - as they were next the door, I thought they had a prior
right; so edged myself up within a yard or little more of them, and
quietly took my stand. - I was in black, and
scarce seen.
The lady next me was a tall lean figure of a woman, of about
thirty-six; the other of the same size and make, of about forty:
there was no mark of wife or widow in any one part of either of
them; - they seem'd to be two
upright vestal sisters, unsapped by
caresses, unbroke in upon by tender salutations. - I could have
wish'd to have made them happy: - their happiness was destin'd that
night, to come from another quarter.
A low voice, with a good turn of expression, and sweet
cadence at
the end of it, begg'd for a twelve-sous piece betwixt them, for the
love of heaven. I thought it
singular that a
beggar should fix the
quota of an alms - and that the sum should be twelve times as much
as what is usually given in the dark. - They both seemed astonished
at it as much as myself. - Twelve sous! said one. - A twelve-sous
piece! said the other, - and made no reply.
The poor man said, he knew not how to ask less of ladies of their
rank; and bow'd down his head to the ground.
Poo! said they, - we have no money.
The
beggar remained silent for a moment or two, and renew'd his
supplication.
- Do not, my fair young ladies, said he, stop your good ears
against me. - Upon my word, honest man! said the younger, we have
no change. - Then God bless you, said the poor man, and multiply
those joys which you can give to others without change! - I
observed the elder sister put her hand into her pocket. - I'll see,
said she, if I have a sous. A sous! give twelve, said the
supplicant; Nature has been bountiful to you, be bountiful to a
poor man.
- I would friend, with all my heart, said the younger, if I had it.
My fair charitable! said he, addressing himself to the elder, -
what is it but your
goodness and
humanity which makes your bright
eyes so sweet, that they outshine the morning even in this dark
passage? and what was it which made the Marquis de Santerre and his
brother say so much of you both as they just passed by?
The two ladies seemed much
affected; and impulsively, at the same
time they both put their hands into their pocket, and each took out
a twelve-sous piece.
The
contest betwixt them and the poor supplicant was no more; - it
was continued betwixt themselves, which of the two should give the
twelve-sous piece in
charity; - and, to end the
dispute, they both
gave it together, and the man went away.
THE RIDDLE EXPLAINED. PARIS.
I stepped
hastily after him: it was the very man whose success in
asking
charity of the women before the door of the hotel had so
puzzled me; - and I found at once his secret, or at least the basis
of it: - 'twas flattery.
Delicious essence! how
refreshing art thou to Nature! how strongly
are all its powers and all its weaknesses on thy side! how sweetly
dost thou mix with the blood, and help it through the most
difficult and tortuous passages to the heart!
The poor man, as he was not straiten'd for time, had given it here
in a larger dose: 'tis certain he had a way of bringing it into a
less form, for the many sudden cases he had to do with in the
streets: but how he contrived to correct,
sweeten, concentre, and
qualify it, - I vex not my spirit with the enquiry; - it is enough
the
beggar gained two twelve-sous pieces - and they can best tell
the rest, who have gained much greater matters by it.
PARIS.
We get forwards in the world, not so much by doing services, as
receiving them; you take a withering twig, and put it in the
ground; and then you water it, because you have planted it.
Monsieur le Count de B-, merely because he had done me one kindness
in the affair of my
passport, would go on and do me another, the
few days he was at Paris, in making me known to a few people of
rank; and they were to present me to others, and so on.
I had got master of my SECRET just in time to turn these honours to
some little
account;
otherwise, as is
commonly the case, I should
have dined or supp'd a single time or two round, and then, by
TRANSLATING French looks and attitudes into plain English, I should
presently have seen, that I had hold of the couvert (3) of some
more entertaining guest; and in course should have resigned all my
places one after another, merely upon the principle that I could
not keep them. - As it was, things did not go much amiss.
I had the honour of being introduced to the old Marquis de B-: in
days of yore he had signalized himself by some small feats of
chivalry in the Cour d'Amour, and had dress'd himself out to the
idea of tilts and tournaments ever since. - The Marquis de B-
wish'd to have it thought the affair was somewhere else than in his
brain. "He could like to take a trip to England," and asked much
of the English ladies. - Stay where you are, I
beseech you,
Monsieur le Marquis, said I. - Les Messieurs Anglois can
scarce get
a kind look from them as it is. - The Marquis invited me to supper.
Monsieur P-, the farmer-general, was just as
inquisitive about our
taxes. They were very
considerable, he heard. - If we knew but how
to collect them, said I, making him a low bow.
I could never have been invited to Mons. P-'s concerts upon any
other terms.
I had been misrepresented to Madame de Q- as an esprit. - Madame de
Q- was an esprit herself: she burnt with
impatience to see me, and
hear me talk. I had not taken my seat, before I saw she did not
care a sous whether I had any wit or no; - I was let in, to be
convinced she had. I call heaven to
witness I never once opened
the door of my lips.
Madame de V- vow'd to every creature she met - "She had never had a
more improving conversation with a man in her life."
There are three epochas in the empire of a French woman. - She is
coquette, - then deist, -then devote: the empire during these is
never lost, - she only changes her subjects when thirty-five years
and more have unpeopled her
dominion of the slaves of love, she re-
peoples it with slaves of infidelity, - and then with the slaves of
the church.
Madame de V- was vibrating betwixt the first of those epochas: the
colour of the rose was fading fast away; - she ought to have been a
deist five years before the time I had the honour to pay my first
visit.
She placed me upon the same sofa with her, for the sake of
disputing the point of religion more closely. - In short Madame de
V- told me she believed nothing. - I told Madame de V- it might be
her principle, but I was sure it could not be her interest to level
the outworks, without which I could not
conceive how such a citadel
as hers could be defended; - that there was not a more dangerous
thing in the world than for a beauty to be a deist; - that it was a
debt I owed my creed not to
conceal it from her; - that I had not
been five minutes sat upon the sofa beside her, but I had begun to
form designs; - and what is it, but the sentiments of religion, and
the
persuasion they had excited in her breast, which could have
check'd them as they rose up?
We are not adamant, said I,
taking hold of her hand; - and there is
need of all restraints, till age in her own time steals in and lays
them on us. - But my dear lady, said I, kissing her hand, - 'tis
too - too soon.
I declare I had the credit all over Paris of unperverting Madame de
V-. - She affirmed to Monsieur D- and the Abbe M-, that in one half
hour I had said more for revealed religion, than all their
Encyclopaedia had said against it. - I was listed directly into