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Happy people! that once a-week at least are sure to lay down all your cares together; and dance and sing, and sport away the weights of grievance, which bow down the spirit of other nations to the earth. The Fragment Paris La Fleur had left me something to amuse myself with for the day more than I had bargaind for, or could have enterd either into his head or mine. He had brought the little print of butter upon a currant leaf; and as the morning was warm, and he had beggd a sheet of waste paper to put betwixt the currant leaf and his handAs that was plate sufficient, I bade him lay it upon the table as it was, and as I resolved to stay within all day, I orderd him to call upon the traiteur to bespeak my dinner, and leave me to breakfast by myself. When I had finishd the butter, I threw the currant leaf out of the window, and was going to do the same by the waste paperbut stopping to read a line first, and that drawing me on to a second and thirdI thought it better worth; so I shut the window, and drawing a chair up to it, I sat down to read it. It was the old French of Rabelaiss time, and for ought I know might have been wrote by himit was moreover in a Gothic letter, and that so faded and gone off by damps and length of time, it cost me infinite trouble to make any thing of itI threw it down; and then wrote a letter to Eugeniusthen I took it up again, and embroiled my patience with it afreshand then to cure that, I wrote a letter to ElizaStill it kept hold of me; and the difficulty of understanding it increased but the desire. I got my dinner; and after I had enlightened my mind with a bottle of Burgundy, I at it againand after two or three hours poring upon it, with almost as deep attention as ever Gruter or Jacob Spon1 did upon a nonsensical inscription, I thought I made sense of it; but to make sure of it, the best way, I imagined, was to turn it into English, and see how it would look thenso I went on leisurely, as a trifling man does, sometimes writing a sentencethen taking a turn or twoand then looking how the world went, out of the window; so that it was nine oclock at night before I had done itI then begun and read it as follows: The Fragment Paris Now as the notarys wife disputed the point with the notary with too much heatI wish, said the notary (throwing down the parchment) that there was another notary here only to set down and attest all this And what would you do then, Monsieur? said she, rising hastily upthe notarys wife was a little fume of a woman, and the notary thought it well to avoid a hurricane by a mild replyI would go, answerd he, to bed.You may go to the devil, answerd the notarys wife. Now there happening to be but one bed in the house, the other two rooms being unfurnished, as is the custom at Paris, and the notary not caring to lie in the same bed with a woman who had but that moment sent him pell-mell to the devil, went forth with his hat, and cane, and short cloak, the night being very windy, and walkd out ill at ease towards the Pont Neuf. Of all the bridges which ever were built, the whole world who have passd over the Pont Neuf must own, that it is the noblestthe finestthe grandestthe lightestthe longestthe broadest that ever conjoind land and land together upon the face of the terraqueous globe By this, it seems, as if the author of the fragment had not been a Frenchman. |
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