—But here my heart is wrung with pity and fellow feeling, when I reflect
what miseries must have been their lot, and how bitterly so refined a
people must have smarted, to have forced them upon the use of it.—
Grant me, O ye powers which touch the tongue with eloquence in
distress!—what ever is my _cast_, grant me but decent words to exclaim
in, and I will give my nature way.
—But as these were not to be had in France, I resolved to take every evil
just as it befell me, without any exclamation at all.
La Fleur, who had made no such covenant with himself, followed the bidet
with his eyes till it was got out of sight,—and then, you may imagine, if
you please, with what word he closed the whole affair.
As there was no hunting down a frightened horse in jack-boots, there
remained no alternative but taking La Fleur either behind the chaise, or
into it.—
I preferred the latter, and in half an hour we got to the post-house at
Nampont.
NAMPONT.
THE DEAD ASS.
—AND this, said he, putting the remains of a crust into his wallet—and
this should have been thy portion, said he, hadst thou been alive to have
shared it with me.—I thought, by the accent, it had been an apostrophe to
his child; but ’twas to his ass, and to the very ass we had seen dead in
the road, which had occasioned La Fleur’s misadventure. The man seemed
to lament it much; and it instantly brought into my mind Sancho’s
lamentation for his; but he did it with more true touches of nature.
The mourner was sitting upon a stone bench at the door, with the ass’s
pannel and its bridle on one side, which he took up from time to
time,—then laid them down,—look’d at them, and shook his head. He then
took his crust of bread out of his wallet again, as if to eat it; held it
some time in his hand,—then laid it upon the bit of his ass’s
bridle,—looked wistfully at the little arrangement he had made—and then
gave a sigh.
The simplicity of his grief drew numbers about him, and La Fleur amongst
the rest, whilst the horses were getting ready; as I continued sitting in
the post-chaise, I could see and hear over their heads.
—He said he had come last from Spain, where he had been from the furthest
borders of Franconia; and had got so far on his return home, when his ass
died. Every one seemed desirous to know what business could have taken
so old and poor a man so far a journey from his own home.
It had pleased heaven, he said, to bless him with three sons, the finest
lads in Germany; but having in one week lost two of the eldest of them by
the small-pox, and the youngest falling ill of the same distemper, he was
afraid of being bereft of them all; and made a vow, if heaven would not
take him from him also, he would go in gratitude to St. Iago in Spain.
When the mourner got thus far on his story, he stopp’d to pay Nature her
tribute,—and wept bitterly.
He said, heaven had accepted the conditions; and that he had set out from
his cottage with this poor creature, who had been a patient partner of
his journey;—that it had eaten the same bread with him all the way, and
was unto him as a friend.
Every body who stood about, heard the poor fellow with concern.—La Fleur
offered him money.—The mourner said he did not want it;—it was not the
value of the ass—but the loss of him.—The ass, he said, he was assured,
loved him;—and upon this told them a long story of a mischance upon their
passage over the Pyrenean mountains, which had separated them from each
other three days; during which time the ass had sought him as much as he
had sought the ass, and that they had scarce either eaten or drank till
they met.
Thou hast one comfort, friend, said I, at least, in the loss of thy poor
beast; I’m sure thou hast been a merciful master to him.—Alas! said the
mourner, I thought so when he was alive;—but now that he is dead, I think
otherwise.—I fear the weight of myself and my afflictions together have
been too much for him,—they have shortened the poor creature’s days, and
I fear I have them to answer for.—Shame on the world! said I to
myself.—Did we but love each other as this poor soul loved his
ass—’twould be something.—
NAMPONT.
THE POSTILION.
THE concern which the poor fellow’s story threw me into required some
attention; the postilion paid not the least to it, but set off upon the
_pavé_ in a full gallop.
The thirstiest soul in the most sandy desert of Arabia could not have
wished more for a cup of cold water, than mine did for grave and quiet
movements; and I should have had an high opinion of the postilion had he
but stolen off with me in something like a pensive pace.—On the contrary,
as the mourner finished his lamentation, the fellow gave an unfeeling
lash to each of his beasts, and set off clattering like a thousand
devils.
I called to him as loud as I could, for heaven’s sake to go slower:—and
the louder I called, the more unmercifully he galloped.—The deuce take
him and his galloping too—said I,—he’ll go on tearing my nerves to pieces
till he has worked me into a foolish passion, and then he’ll go slow that
I may enjoy the sweets of it.
The postilion managed the point to a miracle: by the time he had got to
the foot of a steep hill, about half a league from Nampont,—he had put me
out of temper with him,—and then with myself, for being so.
My case then required a different treatment; and a good rattling gallop
would have been of real service to me.—
—Then, prithee, get on—get on, my good lad, said I.
The postilion pointed to the hill.—I then tried to return back to the
story of the poor German and his ass—but I had broke the clue,—and could
no more get into it again, than the postilion could into a trot.
—The deuce go, said I, with it all! Here am I sitting as candidly
disposed to make the best of the worst, as ever wight was, and all runs
counter.
There is one sweet lenitive at least for evils, which Nature holds out to
us: so I took it kindly at her hands, and fell asleep; and the first word
which roused me was _Amiens_.
—Bless me! said I, rubbing my eyes,—this is the very town where my poor
lady is to come.