‘I will walk to the cathedral,’ said I, ‘and see the wonderful mechanism of this great clock of Lippius.’
Now, of all things in the world, I understand the least of mechanism. I was never yet able to comprehend the principles of a squirrel cage, or a knife-grinder’s wheel.
‘First I’ll see the surprising movements of this great clock,’ said I; ‘and then I will visit the great library of the Jesuits, and get a sight of the thirty volumes of the history of China, wrote in the Chinese language.’
Now I know as little of the Chinese language as I do of the mechanism of Lippius’s clock-work; so why these two should have jostled themselves into my mind, I know not.
‘When these curiosities are seen,’ quoth I to my valet, ‘we will go to the church of St. Ireneus, and see the pillar to which Christ was tied, and then the house where Pontius Pilate lived.’
‘’Twas at the next town,’ said he, ‘at Vienne.’
‘I am glad,’ said I, rising briskly, and striding across the room– ‘for so much the sooner shall I be at the Tomb of the two lovers.’
Why I took long strides in uttering this, I will explain.
CHAPTER 31
O there is a sweet era in the life of man, when (the brain being tender as pap) a story of two fond lovers, separated by cruel parents, and by crueller destiny–
Amandus – He
Amanda – She
each ignorant of the other’s course,
He – east
She – west
– Amandus taken captive by the Turks, and carried to the emperor of Morocco’s court, where the princess of Morocco falls in love with him and keeps him twenty years in prison for the love of his Amanda–
– she (Amanda) all the time wandering barefoot o’er rocks and mountains, calling Amandus! Amandus! – making every hill echo back his name–
– at every town, sitting down forlorn at the gate – ‘Has my Amandus entered?’ – till going round and round the world – chance bringing them at the same moment to the gate of Lyons, their native city, and calling out aloud,
‘Is Amandus–
‘Is my Amanda–
‘–still alive?
– they fly into each other’s arms, and both drop down dead for joy–
There is a soft era in every gentle mortal’s life, where such a story entertains the brain more than all the Crusts and Rusts of antiquity.
’Twas all that stuck in my own brain from my reading of Lyons; in finding, moreover, that a tomb dedicated to Amandus and Amanda was built outside the gates, where lovers call upon them – I never could get into an amorous scrape, without that tomb, somehow or other, coming into my mind at the close.
– Nay, such an empire had it established over me, that I could not think of Lyons without it entering my fancy; and I have often said in my wild irreverent way, ‘I thought this neglected shrine as valuable as that of Mecca, and the Santa Casa, and that some time or other, I would go on a pilgrimage to it.’
In my list of sights, therefore, this, though last, was not, you see, the least; so taking longer strides than usual, I walked down calmly; and had paid my bill – and had moreover given the maid ten sous, and was receiving the wishes of my host for a pleasant voyage down the Rhône – when I was stopped at the gate.
CHAPTER 32
–’Twas by a poor ass, who had just turned in with a couple of large panniers upon his back, for turnip-tops and cabbage-leaves; and stood dubious, with his two fore-feet on the inside of the threshold, and with his two hind feet on the street, not knowing whether he was to go in or no.
Now, I cannot bear to strike an ass – there is such a patient endurance of sufferings in his looks that it always disarms me; and I do not even like to speak unkindly to him. On the contrary, wherever I meet an ass, I have always something civil to say to him; and as one word begets another, I generally fall into conversation with him: imagining his responses from the expression on his face – or from looking into his heart, and seeing what is natural for an ass to think.
In truth, it is the only creature with whom I can do this: for parrots, jackdaws, &c. – I never exchange a word with them – nor with apes; for they act by rote, as parrots speak by it, and both make me silent. Even my dog and my cat, though I value them both (and my dog would speak if he could) – yet neither of them has the talents for conversation – I can make nothing of a discourse with them, beyond the proposition, the reply, and rejoinder, which ended my father’s and mother’s conversations in his beds of justice.
– But with an ass, I can commune for ever.
‘Come, Honesty!’ said I, seeing it was impossible to get past him – ‘art thou coming in, or going out?’
The ass twisted his head round to look up the street.
‘Well,’ replied I, ‘we’ll wait a minute for thy driver.’
He turned his head and looked wistfully the opposite way.
‘I understand thee perfectly,’ answered I. ‘If thou takest a wrong step, he will cudgel thee to death. – Well! a minute is but a minute, and if it saves a fellow-creature a beating, it is not ill spent.’
He was eating the stem of an artichoke as this went on, and had dropped it out of his mouth half a dozen times, and picked it up again.
‘God help thee, Jack!’ said I, ‘thou hast a bitter breakfast – and a bitter day’s labour, and many a bitter blow, I fear, for wages. – And now thy mouth is as bitter, I dare say, as soot’ (for he had cast aside the stem) ‘and thou hast not a friend in all this world, that will give thee a macaroon.’
In saying this, I pulled out a bag of ’em, which I had just purchased, and gave him one – and my heart smites me, that I did this more to see how an ass would eat a macaroon than out of kindness.
When the ass had eaten his macaroon, I pressed him to come in. The poor beast was heavily loaded – his legs seemed to tremble – and as I pulled at his halter, it broke in my hand. He looked up pensive as if to say, ‘Don’t thrash me with it.’
‘If I do,’ said I, ‘I’ll be d__d.’ The word was but half pronounced, like the abbess of Andoüillets’s (so there was no sin in it) – when a person coming in, let fall a thundering blow upon the poor devil’s crupper.
‘Out upon it!’ cried I – but the interjection was equivocal – for the end of an willow branch in the ass’s pannier had caught hold of my breeches pocket as he rushed past me, and rent it in the most disastrous direction you can imagine – so that the
‘Out upon it!’ in my opinion, should have come here.
But this I leave to be settled by
THE
REVIEWERS
OF
MY BREECHES,
which I have brought along with me for that purpose.
CHAPTER 33
When all was set to rights, I came downstairs again with my valet, in order to go out towards the tomb of the two lovers – and was a second time stopped at the gate – not by the ass – but by the person who struck him; standing on the very spot where the ass had stood.
It was a messenger from the post-office, with a bill in his hand for the payment of some six livres.
‘Upon what account?’ said I.
‘’The king’s,’ replied he with a shrug.
‘My good friend,’ quoth I, ‘as sure as I am I – and you are you–’
‘And who are you?’ said he.
‘Don’t puzzle me,’ said I.
CHAPTER 34
‘But it is true,’ continued I, ‘that I owe the king of France nothing but my good-will.’
‘Pardonnez moi,’ replied the messenger, ‘you owe him six livres four sous, for the next post-stage from here to St. Fons, in your route to Avignon. Since it is a post royal, you pay double for the horses and postillion – otherwise ’twould have been three livres two sous.’
‘But I don’t go by land,’ said I.
‘You may if you please,’ replied he.
‘Your most obedient servant,’ said I, making
him a bow – he bowed as low in return. – I was never more disconcerted with a bow in my life.
‘The devil take the serious character of these people!’ quoth I (aside). ‘They understand no more of Irony than this–’
The comparison was standing close by with his panniers – but I could not say his name.
‘Sir,’ said I, collecting myself, ‘it is not my intention to take the post-stage.’
‘But you may,’ said he, ‘if you choose.’
‘And I may take salt on my pickled herring,’ said I, ‘if I choose – but I do not choose.’
‘But you must pay for the post-stage, whether you do or no.’
‘Defend me!’ I cried. ‘I travel by water – I am going down the Rhône this very afternoon – my baggage is in the boat – and I have actually paid nine livres for my passage.’
‘’Tis all one,’ said he.
‘Mon Dieu! what, pay for the way I go! and for the way I do not go!’
‘’Tis all one.’
‘The devil it is!’ said I – ‘but I will go to ten thousand Bastilles first – O England! England! thou land of liberty and good sense, thou tenderest of mothers and gentlest of nurses,’ cried I, falling upon one knee.
The priest coming in at that instant, and seeing a person in black, kneeling, with a face as pale as ashes, asked if I needed the aid of the church–
‘I go by Water,’ said I; ‘–and here’s another wants to make me pay for going by Oil.’
CHAPTER XXXV
As I perceived the messenger would have his six livres four sous, I had nothing else for it, but to say some smart thing worth the money:
And so I set off thus:
‘Pray, sir, why is a defenceless stranger to be used just the reverse from how you use a Frenchman in this matter?’
‘By no means,’ said he.
‘Excuse me,’ said I; ‘for you have begun by tearing off my breeches – and now you want my pocket. Whereas – if you had first taken my pocket, as you do with your own people – and then left me bare a__’d, – I would have been a beast to have complained.
‘As it is– ‘’tis contrary to the law of nature.
‘’Tis contrary to reason.
‘’Tis contrary to the Gospel.’
‘But not to this,’ said he, putting a printed paper into my hand:
PAR LE ROY.
------‘’Tis a pithy beginning,’ quoth I; and so read on
---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----
‘By which it appears,’ quoth I, having read it over a little too rapidly, ‘that if a man sets out in a post-chaise from Paris – he must go on travelling in one, all the days of his life – or pay for it.’
‘Excuse me,’ said he, ‘it means this: that if you set out with an intention of going post from Paris to Avignon, you shall not change that intention or mode of travelling, without first satisfying the fermiers for two posts further than the place you repent at. The Revenues are not to fall short through your fickleness.’
‘O, by heavens!’ cried I, ‘if fickleness is taxable in France – we have nothing to do but to make the best peace with you we can–’
And so the Peace was made–
And if it is a bad one – as Tristram Shandy laid the corner-stone of it, nobody but Tristram Shandy ought to be hanged.
CHAPTER 36
Though I was aware I had said only six livres’ worth of clever things, yet I was determined to note them down before I left; so putting my hand into my coat-pocket for my journal of remarks – my remarks were stolen!
‘Heaven! earth! sea! fire!’ cried I. ‘My remarks are stolen! what shall I do? Pray, did I drop any remarks, as I stood beside you?’
‘You dropped a good many,’ said he.
‘Pugh!’ said I, ‘those were worth six livres – but these are a large parcel.’
He shook his head.
‘Monsieur Le Blanc! did you see any papers of mine? Did your housemaid? Run upstairs, François! I must have my remarks – they were the best that ever were made,’ cried I, ‘the wisest – the wittiest. – What shall I do?’
Sancho Panza, when he lost his ass’s furniture, did not exclaim more bitterly.
CHAPTER 37
When my brain began to get out of the confusion into which this jumble of accidents had cast me, it soon occurred to me that I had left my remarks in the chaise – and that in selling my chaise, I had sold my remarks along with it. I leave this empty space so that the reader may swear into it any oath he wishes. If ever I swore in my life, it was then–
‘*********!’ said I – ‘and so my remarks on France, which were full of wit and worth, have I sold to a chaise-renovator for four Louis, giving him a post-chaise worth six into the bargain. Had it been to a bookseller, I could have borne it – but to a chaise-vamper! Take me to him this moment, François.’
The valet led the way.
CHAPTER 38
When we arrived at the Chaise-vamper’s house, it was shut up; it was the eighth of September, the nativity of the blessed Virgin Mary.
Tantarra-ra-tan-tivi – the whole world was gone out a Maypoling – frisking here – capering there – nobody cared a button for me or my remarks; so I sat down upon a bench by the door, philosophating upon my condition.
I had not waited half an hour, when the mistress came in to take the curling-papers from her hair, before she went to the Maypoles–
The French women, by the bye, love Maypoles, at any time of year – give ’em but a Maypole, down it goes – ’tis meat, drink, washing, and lodging to ’em – and if we but had the policy to send plenty of Maypoles to France, the women would dance round them (with the men for company) till they were all blind.
The wife of the chaise-vamper came in, and jerked off her cap, to begin removing her curling-papers from her hair. One of them fell upon the ground – I instantly saw it was my writing–
‘O! you have got my remarks upon your head, Madam!’ cried I.
‘J’en suis bien mortifiée,’ said she.
’Twas as well they stuck there – for if they had gone deeper, they would have made such confusion in a Frenchwoman’s noddle that she would have been better off unfrizzled.
‘Tenez,’ said she – and taking them from her curls, she put them gravely one by one into my hat – one twisted this way – and one that–
‘By my faith,’ quoth I, ‘when they are published, they will be worse twisted still.’
CHAPTER 39
‘And now for Lippius’s clock!’ said I – ‘nothing can prevent us seeing that, and the Chinese history.’
‘Except the time,’ said François, ‘for ’tis almost eleven.’
‘Then we must speed the faster,’ said I, striding away to the cathedral.
I cannot say, in my heart, that it gave me any concern in being told, as I was entering the west door, that Lippius’s great clock had not worked for some years.
‘It will give me more time,’ thought I, ‘to peruse the Chinese history; and besides, I shall be able to give the world an account of the clock in its decay.’
–And so away I hurried to the Jesuit college.
Now, like many projects, the wish of getting a peep at the history of China in Chinese, struck the fancy only at a distance; – for as I came nearer to the point, my wish cooled, till at length I would not have given a cherrystone to have it gratified. My time was short, and my heart was at the Tomb of the Lovers.
‘I wish to God,’ said I, as I knocked, ‘that the key of the library may be lost.’
It ended just as well–
For all the Jesuits had got the colic.
CHAPTER 40
As I knew that the Tomb of the Lovers was just outside the gate leading to the Fauxbourg de Vaise, I sent François to the boat, so that I might pay homage to it with
out a witness of my weakness.
I walked with joy towards the place – when I saw the gate, my heart glowed within me–
‘Tender and faithful spirits!’ cried I, addressing myself to Amandus and Amanda – ‘long have I waited to drop this tear upon your tomb – I come – I come–’
When I came – there was no tomb to drop it upon.
What would I have given for my uncle Toby, to have whistled Lillabullero!
CHAPTER 41
I flew from the tomb of the lovers – or rather I did not (for it did not exist) and just reached the boat in time to save my passage. Before I had sailed a hundred yards, the Rhône and the Saône met, and carried me down merrily betwixt them.
But I have described this voyage down the Rhône before I made it–
So now I am at Avignon, and as there is nothing to stop me but a short remark upon the place, in three minutes you will see me crossing the bridge on a mule, with François upon a horse, and the owner of both striding before us with a long gun upon his shoulder, and a sword under his arm, lest we should run away with his animals. Had you seen my breeches, you would not have thought the precaution amiss.
Before I go further, let me get rid of my remark upon Avignon, which is this:
That I think it wrong, merely because a man’s hat has been blown off his head the first night he comes to Avignon, that he should therefore say, ‘Avignon is the windiest town in all France.’
This is why I laid no stress upon the accident till I had enquired of the inn-keeper about it. When I was told seriously it was so – and hearing, moreover, the windiness of Avignon spoke of as a proverb – I set it down, merely to ask the learned what can be the cause. The consequence I saw – for they are all Dukes, Marquisses, and Counts in Avignon – so that there is scarce any talking to them on a windy day.
‘Prithee, friend,’ said I, ‘hold my mule for a moment,’ – for I wanted to pull off one of my jack-boots, which hurt my heel. The man was standing quite idle outside the door of the inn, and I assumed he was in some way concerned with the house or stable; so I put the bridle into his hand and begun with the boot.