I had not gone above two leagues and a half, before the man with his gun began to look at his priming.
I had three several times loiter'd _terribly_ behind; half a mile at least every time; once, in deep conference with a drum-maker, who was making drums for the fairs of _Baucaira_ and _Tarascone_ --I did not understand the principles----
The second time, I cannot so properly say, I stopp'd----for meeting a couple of _Franciscans_ straitened more for time than myself, and not being able to get to the bottom of what I was about ----I had turn'd back with them----
The third, was an affair of trade with a gossip, for a hand-basket of _Provence_ figs for four sous; this would have been transacted at once; but for a case of conscience at the close of it; for when the figs were paid for, it turn'd out, that there were two dozen of eggs cover'd over with vine-leaves at the bottom of the basket--as I had no intention of buying eggs --I made no sort of claim of them--as for the space they had occupied--what signified it? I had figs enow for my money----
--But it was my intention to have the basket--it was the gossip's intention to keep it, without which, she could do nothing with her eggs----and unless I had the basket, I could do as little with my figs, which were too ripe already, and most of 'em burst at the side: this brought on a short contention, which terminated in sundry proposals, what we should both do----
----How we disposed of our eggs and figs, I defy you, or the Devil himself, had he not been there (which I am persuaded he was), to form the least probable conjecture: You will read the whole of it------not this year, for I am hastening to the story of my uncle _Toby's_ amours--but you will read it in the collection of those which have arose out of the journey across this plain--and which, therefore, I call my
PLAIN STORIES.
How far my pen has been fatigued, like those of other travellers, in this journey of it, over so barren a track--the world must judge--but the traces of it, which are now all set o' vibrating together this moment, tell me 'tis the most fruitful and busy period of my life; for as I had made no convention with my man with the gun, as to time--by stopping and talking to every soul I met, who was not in a full trot--joining all parties before me--waiting for every soul behind--hailing all those who were coming through cross-roads--arresting all kinds of beggars, pilgrims, fiddlers, friars----not passing by a woman in a mulberry-tree without commending her legs, and tempting her into conversation with a pinch of snuff ------In short, by seizing every handle, of what size or shape soever, which chance held out to me in this journey --I turned my _plain_ into a _city_ --I was always in company, and with great variety too; and as my mule loved society as much as myself, and had some proposals always on his part to offer to every beast he met --I am confident we could have passed through _Pall-Mall_, or St. _James's_-Street for a month together, with fewer adventures--and seen less of human nature.
O! there is that sprightly frankness, which at once unpins every plait of a _Languedocian's_ dress--that whatever is beneath it, it looks so like the simplicity which poets sing of in better days --I will delude my fancy, and believe it is so.
'Twas in the road betwixt _Nismes_ and _Lunel_, where there is the best _Muscatto_ wine in all _France_, and which by the bye belongs to the honest canons of MONTPELLIER--and foul befal the man who has drank it at their table, who grudges them a drop of it.
----The sun was set--they had done their work; the nymphs had tied up their hair afresh--and the swains were preparing for a carousal----my mule made a dead point----'Tis the fife and tabourin, said I ----I'm frighten'd to death, quoth he ----They are running at the ring of pleasure, said I, giving him a prick ----By saint _Boogar_, and all the saints at the backside of the door of purgatory, said he--(making the same resolution with the abbesse of _Andoillets_) I'll not go a step further------'Tis very well, sir, said I ----I never will argue a point with one of your family, as long as I live; so leaping off his back, and kicking off one boot into this ditch, and t'other into that --I'll take a dance, said I--so stay you here.
A sun-burnt daughter of Labour rose up from the groupe to meet me, as I advanced towards them; her hair, which was a dark chesnut approaching rather to a black, was tied up in a knot, all but a single tress.
We want a cavalier, said she, holding out both her hands, as if to offer them --And a cavalier ye shall have; said I, taking hold of both of them.
Hadst thou, _Nannette_, been array'd like a dutchesse!
----But that cursed slit in thy petticoat!
_Nannette_ cared not for it.
We could not have done without you, said she, letting go one hand, with self-taught politeness, leading me up with the other.
A lame youth, whom _Apollo_ had recompensed with a pipe, and to which he had added a tabourin of his own accord, ran sweetly over the prelude, as he sat upon the bank ----Tie me up this tress instantly, said _Nannette_, putting a piece of string into my hand --It taught me to forget I was a stranger ----The whole knot fell down ----We had been seven years acquainted.
The youth struck the note upon the tabourin--his pipe followed, and off we bounded---- "the duce take that slit!"
The sister of the youth, who had stolen her voice from heaven, sung alternately with her brother----'twas a _Gascoigne_ roundelay.
VIVA LA JOIA! FIDON LA TRISTESSA!
The nymphs join'd in unison, and their swains an octave below them----
I would have given a crown to have it sew'd up--_Nannette_ would not have given a SOUS--_Viva la joia!_ was in her lips--_Viva la joia!_ was in her eyes. A transient spark of amity shot across the space betwixt us ----She look'd amiable! ----Why could I not live, and end my days thus? Just Disposer of our joys and sorrows, cried I, why could not a man sit down in the lap of content here----and dance, and sing, and say his prayers, and go to heaven with this nut-brown maid? Capriciously did she bend her head on one side, and dance up insidious ----Then 'tis time to dance off, quoth I; so changing only partners and tunes, I danced it away from _Lunel_ to _Montpellier_----from thence to _Pesnas_, _Beziers_ ----I danced it along through _Narbonne_, _Carcasson_, and _Castle Naudairy_, till at last I danced myself into _Perdrillo's_ pavillion, where pulling out a paper of black lines, that I might go on straight forwards, without digression or parenthesis, in my uncle _Toby's_ amours----
I begun thus----
I had not gone above two leagues and a half, before the man with his gun began to look at his priming.
I had three times loitered terribly behind, half a mile at least every time; once, talking to a drum-maker - I did not understand his craft-
The second time, I met a couple of Franciscans more short of time than myself, and not being able to get to the bottom of what I was about - I had turned back with them-
The third time was to trade with a gossip, a basket of Provence figs for four sous; but when the figs were paid for, it turned out that there were two dozen eggs covered with vine-leaves at the bottom of the basket. I had no intention of buying eggs-
But I wanted the basket - and the gossip wanted to keep it, or she could do nothing with her eggs - and without it I could do nothing with my figs, which were too ripe already, and most of 'em burst at the side: this brought on a short argument, which ended in different proposals about what we should both do.
- How we disposed of our eggs and figs, I defy you to guess. You will read the whole of it - not this year, for I am hastening to the story of my uncle Toby's amours - but you will read it in the collection of stories which arose out of the journey across this plain - and which, therefore, I call my
PLAIN STORIES.
How fatigued my pen has been in this journey over so barren a track, the world must judge - but the traces of it, which are all vibrating together this moment, tell me 'tis the most fruitful and busy period of my life; for as I had made no agreement with my man with the gun, as to time - by stopping and talking to every soul I met - joining all parties before me - waiting for everyone behind - hailing all kinds of pilgrims, fiddlers and friars - not passing a woman in a mulberry-tree without commending her legs, and tempting her into conversation with a pinch of snuff-
In short, by seizing every handle which chance held out to me in this journey, I turned my plain into a city. - I was always in company, and as my mule loved society as much as myself, and had some proposals to offer to every beast he met - I am confident we could have passed through London for a month with fewer adventures.
O! there is that sprightly frankness in the Languedocians that looks like the simplicity which poets sing of in better days. - I will delude my fancy, and believe it is so.
'Twas in the road betwixt Nismes and Lunel, where there is the best Muscatto wine in France.
The sun was set - work was finished; the nymphs had tied up their hair - the men were preparing for a carousal - my mule stopped dead.
''Tis the fife and tambourine,' said I.
'I'm frightened to death,' quoth he. 'By saint Boogar, I'll not go a step further.'
'Very well, sir,' said I, leaping off his back, and kicking off my boots. 'I'll take a dance, - so stay you here.'
A sun-burnt daughter of Labour rose up from the group to meet me as I advanced; her chestnut hair was tied up in a knot, but for a single tress.
'We want a cavalier,' said she, holding out her hands.
'And a cavalier ye shall have,' said I, taking them.
Hadst thou only, Nannette, been dressed like a duchess! - But that cursed slit in thy petticoat!
Nannette cared not for it. She led me up by the hand.
A lame youth with a pipe and a tambourine ran sweetly over the prelude, as he sat upon the bank.
'Tie me up this tress of hair,' said Nannette, putting a piece of string into my hand . - I forgot I was a stranger. - The knot fell down - we had been seven years acquainted.
The youth played - and off we bounded.
The youth's sister sang like an angel - 'twas a Gascoigne roundelay.
VIVA LA JOIA!
FIDON LA TRISTESSA!
The nymphs joined in, and their swains an octave below them.
'Viva la joia!' was on Nanette's lips - and in her eyes. A spark of amity shot across the space betwixt us.
Why could I not live and end my days thus? why could not a man sit down in the lap of content here - and dance, and sing, and say his prayers, and go to heaven with this nut-brown maid?
''Tis time to dance off,' quoth I; so changing partners and tunes, I danced it away from Lunel to Montpellier - from thence to Beziers - through Narbonne and Carcasson, till at last I danced myself into Perdrillo's pavilion, where pulling out a lined paper, so that I might go straight on, without digression, to my uncle Toby's amours-
I began thus-
Book 7 - Chapter 43