This is the Prose Truth of those fifty or eight-and-forty hours in Strasburg, which were so mythic and romantic at that time.
Shall we now apply to the Royal Doggerel again, where we left off, and see the other side of the picture? Once settled in The Raven, within Strasburg's walls, the Doggerel continues:--"You fancy well that there was now something to exercise my curiosity; and what desire I had to know the French Nation in France itself.
There I saw at length those French, Of whom you have sung the glories;A people despised by the English, Whom their sad rationality fills with black bile;Those French, whom our Germans Reckon all to be destitute of sense;Those French, whose History consists of Love-stories, I mean the wandering kind of Love, not the constant;Foolish this People, headlong, high-going, Which sings beyond endurance;Lofty in its good fortune, crawling in its bad;Of an unpitying extent of babble, To hide the vacancy of its ignorant mind.
Of the Trifling it is a tender lover;
The Trifling alone takes possession of its brain.
People flighty, indiscreet, imprudent, Turning like the weathercock to every wind.
Of the ages of the Caesars those of the Louises are the shadow;Paris is the ghost, of Rome, take it how you will.
No, of those vile French you are not one:
You think; they do not think at all.
La je vis enfin ces Francais Dont vous avez chante la gloire;Peuple meprise' des Anglais, Que leur triste raison remplit de bile noire;Ces Francais, que nos Allemands Pensent tous prives de bon sens;Ces Francais, do nt l'amour pourrait dicter l'histoire, Je dis l'amour volage, et non l'amour constant;Ce peuple fou, brusque et galant, Chansonnier insupportable, Superbe en sa fortune, en son malheur rampant, D'un bavardage impitoyable, Pour cacher le creux d'un esprit ignorant, Tendre amant de la bagatelle, Elle entre seule en sa cervelle;Leger, indiscret, imprudent, Comme ume girouette il revire a tout vent.
Des siecles des Cesars ceux des Louis sont l'ombre;Rome efface Paris en tout sens, en tout point.
Non, des vils Francais vous n'etes pas du nombre;Vous pensez, ils ne pensent point.
"Pardon, dear Voltaire, this definition of the French; at worst, it is only of those in Strasburg I speak. To scrape acquaintance, I had to invite some Officers on our arrival, whom of course I did not know.
Three of them came at once, Gayer, more content than Kings;Singing with rusty voice.
In verse, their amorous exploits, Set to a hornpipe.
Trois d'eux s'en vinrent a la fois, Plus gais, plus contents que des rois, Chantant d'une voix enrouee, En vers, leurs amoureux exploits, Ajustes sur une bourree.
"M. de la Crochardiere and M. Malosa [two names from the tablets, third wanting] had just come from a dinner where the wine had not been spared.
Of their hot friendship I saw the flame grow, The Universe would have taken us for perfect friends:
But the instant of good-night blew out the business;Friendship disappeared without regrets, With the games, the wine, the table and the viands.
De leur chaude amitie je vis croitre le flamme, L'univers nous eut pris pour des amis parfaits;Mais l'instant des adieux en detruisit la trame, L'amitie disparut, ssns causer des regrets, Avec le jeu, le vin, et la table, et les mets.
"Next day, Monsieur the Gouverneur of the Town and Province, Marechal of France, Chevalier of the Orders of the King, &c. &c., --Marechal Duc de Broglio, in fact," who was surprised at Secchia in the late War,--This General always surprised.
Whom with regret, young Louis [your King]
Saw without breeches in Italy ["With only one boot," was the milder rumor; which we adopted (supra, vol. vi. p. 472), but this sadder one, too, was current;and "Broglio's breeches," or the vain aspiration after them, like a vanished ghost of breeches, often enough turn up in the old Pamphlets.]
Galloping to hide away his life From the Germans, unpolite fighters;--
Ce general toujours surpris, Qu'a regret le jeune Louis Vit sans culottes en Italie, Courir pour derober sa vie Aux Germains, guerriers impolis.
this General wished to investigate your Comte Dufour,--foreign Count, who the instant he arrives sets about inviting people to supper that are perfect strangers. He took the poor Count for a sharper; and prudently advised M. de la Crochardiere not to be duped by him. It was unluckily the good Marechal that proved to be duped.
He was born for surprise.
His white hair, his gray beard, Formed a reverend exterior.
Outsides are often deceptive:
He that, by the binding, judges Of a Book and its Author May, after a page of reading, Chance to recognize his mistake.
Il etait ne pour la surprise.
Ses cheveux blancs, sa barbe grise, Formaient un sage exterieur.
Le dehors est souvent trompeur;
Qui juge par la reliure D'un ouvrage et de son auteur Dans une page de lecture Peut reconnaitre son erreur.
"That was my own experience; for of wisdom I could find nothing except in his gray hair and decrepit appearance. His first opening betrayed him; no great well of wit this Marechal, Who, drunk with his own grandeur, Informs you of his name and his titles, And authority as good as unlimited.
He cited to me all the records Where his name is registered, Babbled about his immense power, About his valor, his talents So salutary to France;--He forgot that, three years ago [Six to a nearness,--"15th September, 1734," if your Majesty will be exact.]
Men did not praise his prudence.
Qui, de sa grandeur enivre;
Decline son nom et ses titres, Et son pouvoir a rien borne.
Il me cita tous les registres Ou son nom est enregistre;Bavard de son pouvoir immense, De sa valeur, de ces talents Si salutaires a la France:
Il oubliait, passe trois ans, Qu'on ne louait pas sa prudence.
