IN the whole catalogue of those whiffling vexations which come puffing
across a man’s canvass, there is not one of a more teasing and
tormenting nature, than this particular one which I am going to
describe——and for which (unless you travel with an avance-courier,
which numbers do in order to prevent it)——there is no help: and it is
this.
That be you in never so kindly a propensity to sleep——though you are
passing perhaps through the finest country—upon the best roads, and in
the easiest carriage for doing it in the world——nay, was you sure you
could sleep fifty miles straight forwards, without once opening your
eyes—nay, what is more, was you as demonstratively satisfied as you can
be of any truth in _Euclid_, that you should upon all accounts be full
as well asleep as awake——nay, perhaps better——Yet the incessant returns
of paying for the horses at every stage,——with the necessity thereupon
of putting your hand into your pocket, and counting out from thence
three livres fifteen sous (sous by sous), puts an end to so much of the
project, that you cannot execute above six miles of it (or supposing it
is a post and a half, that is but nine)——were it to save your soul from
destruction.
—I’ll be even with ’em, quoth I, for I’ll put the precise sum into a
piece of paper, and hold it ready in my hand all the way: “Now I shall
have nothing to do,” said I (composing myself to rest), “but to drop
this gently into the post-boy’s hat, and not say a word.”——Then there
wants two sous more to drink——or there is a twelve sous piece of
_Louis_ XIV. which will not pass—or a livre and some odd liards to be
brought over from the last stage, which Monsieur had forgot; which
altercations (as a man cannot dispute very well asleep) rouse him:
still is sweet sleep retrievable; and still might the flesh weigh down
the spirit, and recover itself of these blows—but then, by heaven! you
have paid but for a single post—whereas ’tis a post and a half; and
this obliges you to pull out your book of post-roads, the print of
which is so very small, it forces you to open your eyes, whether you
will or no: Then Monsieur _le Curé_ offers you a pinch of snuff——or a
poor soldier shews you his leg——or a shaveling his box——or the
priestesse of the cistern will water your wheels——they do not want
it——but she swears by her _priesthood_ (throwing it back) that they
do:——then you have all these points to argue, or consider over in your
mind; in doing of which, the rational powers get so thoroughly
awakened——you may get ’em to sleep again as you can.
It was entirely owing to one of these misfortunes, or I had pass’d
clean by the stables of _Chantilly_——
——But the postillion first affirming, and then persisting in it to my
face, that there was no mark upon the two sous piece, I open’d my eyes
to be convinced—and seeing the mark upon it as plain as my nose—I
leap’d out of the chaise in a passion, and so saw every thing at
_Chantilly_ in spite.——I tried it but for three posts and a half, but
believe ’tis the best principle in the world to travel speedily upon;
for as few objects look very inviting in that mood—you have little or
nothing to stop you; by which means it was that I passed through St.
_Dennis_, without turning my head so much as on one side towards the
Abby——
——Richness of their treasury! stuff and nonsense!——bating their jewels,
which are all false, I would not give three sous for any one thing in
it, but _Jaidas’s lantern_——nor for that either, only as it grows dark,
it might be of use.