- And let the herald's officers twist his neck about if they dare.

THE ADDRESS. VERSAILLES.

I should not like to have my enemy take a view of my mind when I am going to ask protection of any man; for which reason I generally endeavour to protect myself; but this going to Monsieur le Duc de C- was an act of compulsion; had it been an act of choice, I should have done it, I suppose, like other people.

How many mean plans of dirty address, as I went along, did my servile heart form! I deserved the Bastile for every one of them.

Then nothing would serve me when I got within sight of Versailles, but putting words and sentences together, and conceiving att.i.tudes and tones to wreath myself into Monsieur le Duc de C-'s good graces.--This will do, said I.--Just as well, retorted I again, as a coat carried up to him by an adventurous tailor, without taking his measure. Fool! continued I,--see Monsieur le Duc's face first;--observe what character is written in it;--take notice in what posture he stands to hear you;--mark the turns and expressions of his body and limbs;--and for the tone,--the first sound which comes from his lips will give it you; and from all these together you'll compound an address at once upon the spot, which cannot disgust the Duke;--the ingredients are his own, and most likely to go down.

Well! said I, I wish it well over.--Coward again! as if man to man was not equal throughout the whole surface of the globe; and if in the field--why not face to face in the cabinet too? And trust me, Yorick, whenever it is not so, man is false to himself and betrays his own succours ten times where nature does it once. Go to the Duc de C- with the Bastile in thy looks;--my life for it, thou wilt be sent back to Paris in half an hour with an escort.

I believe so, said I.--Then I'll go to the Duke, by heaven! with all the gaiety and debonairness in the world. -

- And there you are wrong again, replied I.--A heart at ease, Yorick, flies into no extremes--'tis ever on its centre.--Well!

well! cried I, as the coachman turn'd in at the gates, I find I shall do very well: and by the time he had wheel'd round the court, and brought me up to the door, I found myself so much the better for my own lecture, that I neither ascended the steps like a victim to justice, who was to part with life upon the top most,-- nor did I mount them with a skip and a couple of strides, as I do when I fly up, Eliza! to thee to meet it.

As I entered the door of the saloon I was met by a person, who possibly might be the maitre d'hotel, but had more the air of one of the under secretaries, who told me the Duc de C- was busy.--I am utterly ignorant, said I, of the forms of obtaining an audience, being an absolute stranger, and what is worse in the present conjuncture of affairs, being an Englishman too.--He replied, that did not increase the difficulty.--I made him a slight bow, and told him, I had something of importance to say to Monsieur le Duc. The secretary look'd towards the stairs, as if he was about to leave me to carry up this account to some one.--But I must not mislead you, said I,--for what I have to say is of no manner of importance to Monsieur le Duc de C---but of great importance to myself.--C'est une autre affaire, replied he.--Not at all, said I, to a man of gallantry.--But pray, good sir, continued I, when can a stranger hope to have access?--In not less than two hours, said he, looking at his watch. The number of equipages in the court-yard seemed to justify the calculation, that I could have no nearer a prospect;-- and as walking backwards and forwards in the saloon, without a soul to commune with, was for the time as bad as being in the Bastile itself, I instantly went back to my remise, and bid the coachman drive me to the Cordon Bleu, which was the nearest hotel.

I think there is a fatality in it;--I seldom go to the place I set out for.

LE PATISSIER. VERSAILLES.

Before I had got half way down the street I changed my mind: as I am at Versailles, thought I, I might as well take a view of the town; so I pull'd the cord, and ordered the coachman to drive round some of the princ.i.p.al streets.--I suppose the town is not very large, said I.--The coachman begg'd pardon for setting me right, and told me it was very superb, and that numbers of the first dukes and marquises and counts had hotels.--The Count de B-, of whom the bookseller at the Quai de Conti had spoke so handsomely the night before, came instantly into my mind.--And why should I not go, thought I, to the Count de B-, who has so high an idea of English books and English men--and tell him my story? so I changed my mind a second time.--In truth it was the third; for I had intended that day for Madame de R-, in the Rue St. Pierre, and had devoutly sent her word by her fille de chambre that I would a.s.suredly wait upon her;--but I am governed by circ.u.mstances;--I cannot govern them: so seeing a man standing with a basket on the other side of the street, as if he had something to sell, I bid La Fleur go up to him, and enquire for the Count's hotel.

La Fleur returned a little pale; and told me it was a Chevalier de St. Louis selling pates.--It is impossible, La Fleur, said I.--La Fleur could no more account for the phenomenon than myself; but persisted in his story: he had seen the croix set in gold, with its red riband, he said, tied to his b.u.t.tonhole--and had looked into the basket and seen the pates which the Chevalier was selling; so could not be mistaken in that.

Such a reverse in man's life awakens a better principle than curiosity: I could not help looking for some time at him as I sat in the remise: --the more I look'd at him, his croix, and his basket, the stronger they wove themselves into my brain.--I got out of the remise, and went towards him.

He was begirt with a clean linen ap.r.o.n which fell below his knees, and with a sort of a bib that went half way up his breast; upon the top of this, but a little below the hem, hung his croix. His basket of little pates was covered over with a white damask napkin; another of the same kind was spread at the bottom; and there was a look of proprete and neatness throughout, that one might have bought his pates of him, as much from appet.i.te as sentiment.

He made an offer of them to neither; but stood still with them at the corner of an hotel, for those to buy who chose it without solicitation.

He was about forty-eight;--of a sedate look, something approaching to gravity. I did not wonder.--I went up rather to the basket than him, and having lifted up the napkin, and taking one of his pates into my hand,--I begg'd he would explain the appearance which affected me.

He told me in a few words, that the best part of his life had pa.s.sed in the service, in which, after spending a small patrimony, he had obtained a company and the croix with it; but that, at the conclusion of the last peace, his regiment being reformed, and the whole corps, with those of some other regiments, left without any provision, he found himself in a wide world without friends, without a livre,--and indeed, said he, without anything but this,-- (pointing, as he said it, to his croix).--The poor Chevalier won my pity, and he finished the scene with winning my esteem too.

The king, he said, was the most generous of princes, but his generosity could neither relieve nor reward everyone, and it was only his misfortune to be amongst the number. He had a little wife, he said, whom he loved, who did the patisserie; and added, he felt no dishonour in defending her and himself from want in this way--unless Providence had offer'd him a better.

It would be wicked to withhold a pleasure from the good, in pa.s.sing over what happen'd to this poor Chevalier of St. Louis about nine months after.

It seems he usually took his stand near the iron gates which lead up to the palace, and as his croix had caught the eyes of numbers, numbers had made the same enquiry which I had done.--He had told them the same story, and always with so much modesty and good sense, that it had reach'd at last the king's ears;--who, hearing the Chevalier had been a gallant officer, and respected by the whole regiment as a man of honour and integrity,--he broke up his little trade by a pension of fifteen hundred livres a year.

As I have told this to please the reader, I beg he will allow me to relate another, out of its order, to please myself: --the two stories reflect light upon each other,--and 'tis a pity they should be parted.

THE SWORD. RENNES.

When states and empires have their periods of declension, and feel in their turns what distress and poverty is,--I stop not to tell the causes which gradually brought the house d'E-, in Brittany, into decay. The Marquis d'E- had fought up against his condition with great firmness; wishing to preserve, and still show to the world, some little fragments of what his ancestors had been;--their indiscretions had put it out of his power. There was enough left for the little exigencies of OBSCURITY.--But he had two boys who looked up to him for LIGHT;--he thought they deserved it. He had tried his sword--it could not open the way,--the MOUNTING was too expensive,--and simple economy was not a match for it: --there was no resource but commerce.

In any other province in France, save Brittany, this was smiting the root for ever of the little tree his pride and affection wish'd to see re-blossom.--But in Brittany, there being a provision for this, he avail'd himself of it; and, taking an occasion when the states were a.s.sembled at Rennes, the Marquis, attended with his two boys, entered the court; and having pleaded the right of an ancient law of the duchy, which, though seldom claim'd, he said, was no less in force, he took his sword from his side: --Here, said he, take it; and be trusty guardians of it, till better times put me in condition to reclaim it.

The president accepted the Marquis's sword: he staid a few minutes to see it deposited in the archives of his house--and departed.

The Marquis and his whole family embarked the next clay for Martinico, and in about nineteen or twenty years of successful application to business, with some unlook'd for bequests from distant branches of his house, return home to reclaim his n.o.bility, and to support it.

It was an incident of good fortune which will never happen to any traveller but a Sentimental one, that I should be at Rennes at the very time of this solemn requisition: I call it solemn;--it was so to me.

The Marquis entered the court with his whole family: he supported his lady,--his eldest son supported his sister, and his youngest was at the other extreme of the line next his mother;--he put his handkerchief to his face twice. -

- There was a dead silence. When the Marquis had approached within six paces of the tribunal, he gave the Marchioness to his youngest son, and advancing three steps before his family,--he reclaim'd his sword. His sword was given him, and the moment he got it into his hand he drew it almost out of the scabbard: --'twas the shining face of a friend he had once given up--he look'd attentively along it, beginning at the hilt, as if to see whether it was the same,-- when, observing a little rust which it had contracted near the point, he brought it near his eye, and bending his head down over it,--I think--I saw a tear fall upon the place. I could not be deceived by what followed.

"I shall find," said he, "some OTHER WAY to get it off."

When the Marquis had said this, he returned his sword into its scabbard, made a bow to the guardians of it,--and, with his wife and daughter, and his two sons following him, walk'd out.

O, how I envied him his feelings!

THE Pa.s.sPORT. VERSAILLES.

I found no difficulty in getting admittance to Monsieur le Count de B-. The set of Shakespeares was laid upon the table, and he was tumbling them over. I walk'd up close to the table, and giving first such a look at the books as to make him conceive I knew what they were,--I told him I had come without any one to present me, knowing I should meet with a friend in his apartment, who, I trusted, would do it for me: --it is my countryman, the great Shakespeare, said I, pointing to his works--et ayez la boute, mon cher ami, apostrophizing his spirit, added I, de me faire cet honneur-la. -

The Count smiled at the singularity of the introduction; and seeing I look'd a little pale and sickly, insisted upon my taking an arm- chair; so I sat down; and to save him conjectures upon a visit so out of all rule, I told him simply of the incident in the bookseller's shop, and how that had impelled me rather to go to him with the story of a little embarra.s.sment I was under, than to any other man in France.--And what is your embarra.s.sment? let me hear it, said the Count. So I told him the story just as I have told it the reader.

- And the master of my hotel, said I, as I concluded it, will needs have it, Monsieur le Count, that I shall be sent to the Bastile;-- but I have no apprehensions, continued I;--for, in falling into the hands of the most polish'd people in the world, and being conscious I was a true man, and not come to spy the nakedness of the land, I scarce thought I lay at their mercy.--It does not suit the gallantry of the French, Monsieur le Count, said I, to show it against invalids.

An animated blush came into the Count de B-'s cheeks as I spoke this.--Ne craignez rien--Don't fear, said he.--Indeed, I don't, replied I again.--Besides, continued I, a little sportingly, I have come laughing all the way from London to Paris, and I do not think Monsieur le Duc de Choiseul is such an enemy to mirth as to send me back crying for my pains.

- My application to you, Monsieur le Count de B- (making him a low bow), is to desire he will not.

The Count heard me with great good nature, or I had not said half as much,--and once or twice said,--C'est bien dit. So I rested my cause there--and determined to say no more about it.

The Count led the discourse: we talk'd of indifferent things,--of books, and politics, and men;--and then of women.--G.o.d bless them all! said I, after much discourse about them--there is not a man upon earth who loves them so much as I do: after all the foibles I have seen, and all the satires I have read against them, still I love them; being firmly persuaded that a man, who has not a sort of affection for the whole s.e.x, is incapable of ever loving a single one as he ought.

Eh bien! Monsieur l'Anglois, said the Count, gaily;--you are not come to spy the nakedness of the land;--I believe you;--ni encore, I dare say, THAT of our women!--But permit me to conjecture,--if, par hazard, they fell into your way, that the prospect would not affect you.

I have something within me which cannot bear the shock of the least indecent insinuation: in the sportability of chit-chat I have often endeavoured to conquer it, and with infinite pain have hazarded a thousand things to a dozen of the s.e.x together,--the least of which I could not venture to a single one to gain heaven.

Excuse me, Monsieur le Count, said I;--as for the nakedness of your land, if I saw it, I should cast my eyes over it with tears in them;--and for that of your women (blushing at the idea he had excited in me) I am so evangelical in this, and have such a fellow- feeling for whatever is weak about them, that I would cover it with a garment if I knew how to throw it on: --But I could wish, continued I, to spy the nakedness of their hearts, and through the different disguises of customs, climates, and religion, find out what is good in them to fashion my own by: --and therefore am I come.

It is for this reason, Monsieur le Count, continued I, that I have not seen the Palais Royal,--nor the Luxembourg,--nor the Facade of the Louvre,--nor have attempted to swell the catalogues we have of pictures, statues, and churches.--I conceive every fair being as a temple, and would rather enter in, and see the original drawings and loose sketches hung up in it, than the Transfiguration of Raphael itself.