A Sentimental Journey Through France and Italy

condition, and laying it upon the table, and then untying the string which held them all together, run them over, one by one, till he came to the letter in question, - La voila! said he, clapping his hands: so, unfolding it first, he laid it open before me, and retired three steps from the table whilst I read it.

THE LETTER.

Madame,

Je suis penetre de la douleur la plus vive, et reduit en meme temps au desespoir par ce retour imprevu du Caporal qui rend notre entrevue de ce soir la chose du monde la plus impossible.

Mais vive la joie! et toute la mienne sera de penser a vous.

L’amour n’est rien sans sentiment.

Et le sentiment est encore moins sans amour.

On dit qu’on ne doit jamais se desesperer.

On dit aussi que Monsieur le Caporal monte la garde Mercredi: alors ce cera mon tour.

Chacun a son tour.

En attendant - Vive l’amour! et vive la bagatelle!

Je suis, Madame,

Avec tous les sentimens les plus respectueux et les plus tendres,

tout a vous,

JAQUES ROQUE.

 It was but changing the Corporal into the Count, - and saying nothing about mounting guard on Wednesday, - and the letter was neither right nor wrong: - so, to gratify the poor fellow, who stood trembling for my honour, his own, and the honour of his letter, - I took the cream gently off it, and whipping it up in my own way, I seal’d it up and sent him with it to Madame de L-; - and the next morning we pursued our journey to Paris.

PARIS.

 When a man can contest the point by dint of equipage, and carry all on floundering before him with half a dozen of lackies and a couple of cooks - ’tis very well in such a place as Paris, - he may drive in at which end of a street he will.

A poor prince who is weak in cavalry, and whose whole infantry does not exceed a single man, had best quit the field, and signalize himself in the cabinet, if he can get up into it; - I say up into it - for there is no descending perpendicular amongst ’em with a “Me voici! mes enfans” - here I am - whatever many may think.

I own my first sensations, as soon as I was left solitary and alone in my own chamber in the hotel, were far from being so flattering as I had prefigured them.  I walked up gravely to the window in my dusty black coat, and looking through the glass saw all the world in yellow, blue, and green, running at the ring of pleasure. - The old with broken lances, and in helmets which had lost their vizards; - the young in armour bright which shone like gold, beplumed with each gay feather of the east, - all, - all, tilting at it like fascinated knights in tournaments of yore for fame and love. -

Alas, poor Yorick! cried I, what art thou doing here?  On the very first onset of all this glittering clatter thou art reduced to an atom; - seek, - seek some winding alley, with a tourniquet at the end of it, where chariot never rolled or flambeau shot its rays; - there thou mayest solace thy soul in converse sweet with some kind grisette of a barber’s wife, and get into such coteries! -

- May I perish! if I do, said I, pulling out the letter which I had to present to Madame de R-  - I’ll wait upon this lady, the very first thing I do.  So I called La Fleur to go seek me a barber directly, - and come back and brush my coat.

THE WIG. PARIS.

 When the barber came, he absolutely refused to have any thing to do with my wig: ’twas either above or below his art: I had nothing to do but to take one ready made of his own recommendation.

- But I fear, friend! said I, this buckle won’t stand. - You may emerge it, replied he, into the ocean, and it will stand. -

What a great scale is every thing upon in this city thought I. - The utmost stretch of an English periwig- maker’s ideas could have gone no further than to have “dipped it into a pail of water.” - What difference! ’tis like Time to Eternity!

I confess I do hate all cold conceptions, as I do the puny ideas which engender them; and am generally so struck with the great works of nature, that for my own part, if I could help it, I never would make a comparison less than a mountain at least.  All that can be said against the French sublime, in this instance of it, is this: - That the grandeur is more in the word, and less in the thing.  No doubt, the ocean fills the mind with vast ideas; but Paris being so far inland, it was not likely I should run post a hundred miles out of it, to try the experiment; - the Parisian barber meant nothing. -

The pail of water standing beside the great deep, makes, certainly, but a sorry figure in speech; - but, ’twill