The Invocation
Gentle Spirit of sweetest humour, who erst did sit upon the easy pen of my beloved Cervantes; Thou who glidedвАЩst daily through his lattice, and turnedвАЩst the twilight of his prison into noonday brightness by thy presenceвБ†вЄЇвБ†tingedвАЩst his little urn of water with heaven-sent nectar, and all the time he wrote of Sancho and his master, didst cast thy mystic mantle oвАЩer his witherвАЩd stump, and wide extended it to all the evils of his lifeвБ†вЄї
вЄЇвБ†Turn in hither, I beseech thee!вБ†вЄЇвБ†behold these breeches!вБ†вЄЇвБ†they are all I have in the worldвБ†вЄЇвБ†that piteous rent was given them at LyonsвБ†вЄї
My shirts! see what a deadly schism has happenвАЩd amongst вАЩemвБ†вАФfor the laps are in Lombardy, and the rest of вАЩem hereвБ†вАФI never had but six, and a cunning gypsey of a laundress at Milan cut me off the fore-laps of fiveвБ†вАФTo do her justice, she did it with some considerationвБ†вАФfor I was returning out of Italy.
And yet, notwithstanding all this, and a pistol tinderbox which was moreover filchвАЩd from me at Sienna, and twice that I payвАЩd five Pauls for two hard eggs, once at Raddicoffini, and a second time at CapuaвБ†вАФI do not think a journey through France and Italy, provided a man keeps his temper all the way, so bad a thing as some people would make you believe: there must be ups and downs, or how the duce should we get into vallies where Nature spreads so many tables of entertainment.вБ†вАФвАЩTis nonsense to imagine they will lend you their voitures to be shaken to pieces for nothing; and unless you pay twelve sous for greasing your wheels, how should the poor peasant get butter to his bread?вБ†вАФWe really expect too muchвБ†вАФand for the livre or two above par for your suppers and bedвБ†вАФat the most they are but one shilling and ninepence halfpennyвБ†вЄЇвБ†who would embroil their philosophy for it? for heavenвАЩs and for your own sake, pay itвБ†вЄЇвБ†pay it with both hands open, rather than leave Disappointment sitting drooping upon the eye of your fair Hostess and her Damsels in the gateway, at your departureвБ†вЄЇвБ†and besides, my dear Sir, you get a sisterly kiss of each of вАЩem worth a poundвБ†вЄЇвБ†at least I didвБ†вЄЇвБ†
вЄЇвБ†For my uncle TobyвАЩs amours running all the way in my head, they had the same effect upon me as if they had been my ownвБ†вЄЇвБ†I was in the most perfect state of bounty and goodwill; and felt the kindliest harmony vibrating within me, with every oscillation of the chaise alike; so that whether the roads were rough or smooth, it made no difference; everything I saw or had to do with, touchвАЩd upon some secret spring either of sentiment or rapture.
вЄЇвБ†They were the sweetest notes I ever heard; and I instantly let down the fore-glass to hear them more distinctlyвБ†вЄЇвАЩTis Maria; said the postillion, observing I was listeningвБ†вЄЇвБ†Poor Maria, continued he (leaning his body on one side to let me see her, for he was in a line betwixt us), is sitting upon a bank playing her vespers upon her pipe, with her little goat beside her.
The young fellow utterвАЩd this with an accent and a look so perfectly in tune to a feeling heart, that I instantly made a vow, I would give him a four-and-twenty sous piece, when I got to MoulinsвБ†вЄЇвБ†
вЄїAnd who is poor Maria? said I.
The love and piety of all the villages around us; said the postillionвБ†вЄЇвБ†it is but three years ago, that the sun did not shine upon so fair, so quick-witted and amiable a maid; and better fate did Maria deserve, than to have her Banns forbid, by the intrigues of the curate of the parish who published themвБ†вЄЇвБ†
He was going on, when Maria, who had made a short pause, put the pipe to her mouth, and began the air againвБ†вЄЇвБ†they were the same notes;вБ†вЄЇвБ†yet were ten times sweeter: It is the evening service to the Virgin, said the young manвБ†вЄЇвБ†but who has taught her to play itвБ†вАФor how she came by her pipe, no one knows; we think that heaven has assisted her in both; for ever since she has been unsettled in her mind, it seems her only consolationвБ†вЄЇвБ†she has never once had the pipe out of her hand, but plays that service upon it almost night and day.
The postillion delivered this with so much discretion and natural eloquence, that I could not help deciphering something in his face above his condition, and should have sifted out his history, had not poor Maria taken such full possession of me.
We had got up by this time almost to the bank where Maria was sitting: she was in a thin white jacket, with her hair, all but two tresses, drawn up into a silk-net, with a few olive leaves twisted a little fantastically on one sideвБ†вЄЇвБ†she was beautiful; and if ever I felt the full force of an honest heartache, it was the moment I saw herвБ†вЄЇвБ†
вЄЇвБ†God help her! poor damsel! above a hundred masses, said the postillion, have been said in the several parish churches and convents around, for her,вБ†вЄЇвБ†but without effect; we have still hopes, as she is sensible for short intervals, that the Virgin at last will restore her to herself; but her parents, who know her best, are hopeless upon that score, and think her senses are lost forever.
As the postillion spoke this, Maria made a cadence so melancholy, so tender and querulous, that I sprung out of the chaise to help her, and found myself sitting betwixt her and her goat before I relapsed from my enthusiasm.
Maria lookвАЩd wistfully for some time at me, and then at her goatвБ†вЄЇвБ†and then at meвБ†вЄЇвБ†and then at her goat again, and so on, alternatelyвБ†вЄЇвБ†
вЄЇвБ†Well, Maria, said I softlyвБ†вЄЇвБ†What resemblance do you find?
I do entreat the candid reader to believe me, that it was from the humblest conviction of what a Beast man is,вБ†вЄЇвБ†that I asked the question; and that I would not have let fallen an unseasonable pleasantry in the venerable presence of Misery, to be entitled to all the wit that ever Rabelais scatterвАЩdвБ†вЄЇвБ†and yet I own my heart smote me, and that I so smarted at the very idea of it, that I swore I would set up for Wisdom, and utter grave sentences the rest of my daysвБ†вЄЇвБ†and neverвБ†вЄЇвБ†never attempt again to commit mirth with man, woman, or child, the longest day I had to live.
As for writing nonsense to themвБ†вЄЇвБ†I believe, there was a reserveвБ†вАФbut that I leave to the world.
Adieu, Maria!вБ†вАФadieu, poor hapless damsel!вБ†вЄЇвБ†some time, but not now, I may hear thy sorrows from thy own lipsвБ†вЄЇвБ†but I was deceived; for that moment she took her pipe and told me such a tale of woe with it, that I rose up, and with broken and irregular steps walkвАЩd softly to my chaise.
вЄїWhat an excellent inn at Moulins!