Now, Mr. Shandy being very short, there could be nothing more said of it.
As this is not a work of reasoning, I leave the solution as I found it, and content myself with the truth only of the remark, which is verified in every lane and by-lane of Paris. I was walking down that which leads from the Carousal to the Palais Royal, and observing a little boy in some distress at the side of the gutter which ran down the middle of it, I took hold of his hand and help’d him over. Upon turning up his face to look at him after, I perceived he was about forty. - Never mind, said I, some good body will do as much for me when I am ninety.
I feel some little principles within me which incline me to be merciful towards this poor blighted part of my species, who have neither size nor strength to get on in the world. - I cannot bear to see one of them trod upon; and had scarce got seated beside my old French officer, ere the disgust was exercised, by seeing the very thing happen under the box we sat in.
At the end of the orchestra, and betwixt that and the first side box, there is a small esplanade left, where, when the house is full, numbers of all ranks take sanctuary. Though you stand, as in the parterre, you pay the same price as in the orchestra. A poor defenceless being of this order had got thrust somehow or other into this luckless place; - the night was hot, and he was surrounded by beings two feet and a half higher than himself. The dwarf suffered inexpressibly on all sides; but the thing which incommoded him most, was a tall corpulent German, near seven feet high, who stood directly betwixt him and all possibility of his seeing either the stage or the actors. The poor dwarf did all he could to get a peep at what was going forwards, by seeking for some little opening betwixt the German’s arm and his body, trying first on one side, then the other; but the German stood square in the most unaccommodating posture that can be imagined: - the dwarf might as well have been placed at the bottom of the deepest draw-well in Paris; so he civilly reached up his hand to the German’s sleeve, and told him his distress. - The German turn’d his head back, looked down upon him as Goliah did upon David, - and unfeelingly resumed his posture.
I was just then taking a pinch of snuff out of my monk’s little horn box. - And how would thy meek and courteous spirit, my dear monk! so temper’d to
The old French officer, seeing me lift up my eyes with an emotion, as I made the apostrophe, took the liberty to ask me what was the matter? - I told him the story in three words; and added, how inhuman it was.
By this time the dwarf was driven to extremes, and in his first transports, which are generally unreasonable, had told the German he would cut off his long queue with his knife. - The German look’d back coolly, and told him he was welcome, if he could reach it.
An injury sharpen’d by an insult, be it to whom it will, makes every man of sentiment a party: I could have leap’d out of the box to have redressed it. - The old French officer did it with much less confusion; for leaning a little over, and nodding to a sentinel, and pointing at the same time with his finger at the distress, - the sentinel made his way to it. - There was no occasion to tell the grievance, - the thing told himself; so thrusting back the German instantly with his musket, - he took the poor dwarf by the hand, and placed him before him. - This is noble! said I, clapping my hands together. - And yet you would not permit this, said the old officer, in England.
- In England, dear Sir, said I,
The old French officer would have set me at unity with myself, in case I had been at variance, - by saying it was a
THE ROSE. PARIS.
It was now my turn to ask the old French officer “What was the matter?” for a cry of “
He told me it was some poor Abbe in one of the upper loges, who, he supposed, had got planted perdu behind a couple of grisettes in order to see the opera, and that the parterre espying him, were insisting upon his holding up both his hands during the representation. - And can it be supposed, said I, that an ecclesiastic would pick the grisettes’ pockets? The old French officer smiled, and whispering in my ear, opened a door of knowledge which I had no idea of.
Good God! said I, turning pale with astonishment - is it possible, that a people so smit with sentiment should at the same time be so unclean, and so unlike themselves, -
The French officer told me, it was an illiberal sarcasm at the church, which had begun in the theatre about the time the Tartuffe was given in it by Moliere: but like other remains of Gothic manners, was declining. - Every nation, continued he, have their refinements and
The old French officer delivered this with an air of such candour and good sense, as coincided with my first favourable impressions of his character: - I thought I loved the man; but I fear I mistook the object; - ’twas my own way of thinking - the difference was, I could not have expressed it half so well.
It is alike troublesome to both the rider and his beast, - if the latter goes pricking up his ears, and starting all the way at every object which he never saw before. - I have as little torment of this kind as any creature alive; and yet I honestly confess, that many a thing gave me pain, and that I blush’d at many a word the first month, - which I found inconsequent and perfectly innocent the second.
Madame do Rambouliet, after an acquaintance of about six weeks with her, had done me the honour to take me in her coach about two leagues out of town. - Of all women, Madame de Rambouliet is the most correct; and I never wish to see one of more virtues and purity of heart. - In our return back, Madame de Rambouliet desired me to pull the cord. - I asked her if she wanted anything -
Grieve not, gentle traveller, to let Madame de Rambouliet p-ss on. - And, ye fair mystic nymphs! go each one
THE FILLE DE CHAMBRE. PARIS.
What the old French officer had delivered upon travelling, bringing Polonius’s advice to his son upon the same subject into my head, - and that bringing in Hamlet, and Hamlet the rest of Shakespeare’s works, I stopp’d at the Quai de Conti in my return home, to purchase the whole set.
The bookseller said he had not a set in the world.
- And does the Count de B-, said I, read Shakespeare?