Short Fiction, Xavier de Maistre [books to read in your 20s txt] 📗

are married, my dear Joanetti,” said I to him, laughing. He had only fortified himself against my anger, so that all his preparations were useless. He fell at once into his ordinary manner, and even a little lower, for he began to weep.

“What would you have me do, sir?” said he, in a flattering tone, “I had given my word.”

“Quite right, my friend, and may you be satisfied with your wife and, above all, with yourself, and may you have children who resemble you. But I suppose we must part!”

“Yes, sir, we intend to settle down at Asti.”

“And when do you want to leave me?”

Here Joanetti cast down his eyes with an embarrassed air, and answered in a lower voice, “My wife has found a carter from her part of the country who is returning with his empty wagon, and he sets out today. This would be a fine opportunity, but, however, that shall be as you please, sir, although a like opportunity may be difficult to find again.”

“What, so soon,” said I to him⁠—a sentiment of regret and affection, strongly mixed with vexation, made me remain silent for a moment. “I will certainly not detain you,” said I, rather coolly. “Go at once, if that suits you best.” Joanetti grew pale. “Yes, go my friend, go and find your wife, and be always as good and honest as you have been with me.” We settled our accounts and I bid him goodbye sadly⁠—he went out.

This man had served me for fifteen years; a moment separated us. I have never seen him since.

While walking in my chamber, I was thinking of this sudden separation. Rose had followed Joanetti without his perceiving her. A quarter of an hour afterwards, the door opened and Rose entered. I saw Joanetti’s hand as he pushed her into the room; the door closed again and I felt a pang at my heart⁠—already there is such a gulf between us, that he is afraid to enter my room. In the course of a few moments, two men, who have been comrades for fifteen years, have become perfect strangers! ’Tis pitiable indeed that one can never find a secure and stable resting place for the smallest part of one’s affections.

IV

Then Rose also went to live far away from me. My dear Marie, you will be surprised to hear that, at the age of fifteen, she still was a most loveable animal; that the same superior intelligence, which distinguished her formerly from the rest of her kind, enabled her to bear up against the burden of age. My desire was never to part with her; but when the happiness of one’s friends is concerned, one ought not to consult one’s own pleasure or interest. Rose was to quit the wandering life that she had passed with me, and to enjoy at last, in her old age, the repose for which her master could never hope. Her great age compelled me to have her carried. I felt I must allow her an invalid’s privileges, and a kind nun agreed to take care of her for the remainder of her days, and I know that, in that retreat, she has enjoyed all the advantages that her qualities, her age, and her good name had so well deserved.

Man’s nature is such, that happiness appears to be a thing unattainable; unconsciously and unintentionally friend offends friend, and even lovers inevitably fall out and quarrel at times. And since all legislators, from Lycurgus down to those of today, in their attempts to bestow happiness on mankind have failed miserably, I can at least comfort myself greatly with the thought of having made even one dog happy.

V

Now that I have told the reader the last of the story of Joanetti and Rose, it only remains for me to say a few words more about the soul and the animal. These two persons, especially the last, will never more play such an interesting part in my journey. A gentle traveller, who has followed in my footsteps, declares that they must be tired. Alas! it is but too true! for although my soul shows no perceptible falling off in vivacity, still her relations with the other14 have changed: the latter has not the same readiness in repartee, she has no longer⁠—how can I explain it? I was going to say the same presence of mind, as if an animal could have any! but, be that as it may, and without going into an embarrassing explanation, I will only say, that drawn on by the close confidence which the young Alexandrine appeared to place in me, I had written her a very tender letter, to which I received a polite but cold reply, which ended up in the most proper way as follows:⁠—“Be assured, Sir, that I shall always feel towards you the most profound esteem.” “Heavens!” cried I, “it is all over.” Since that fatal day I resolved never again to put forward my theory of soul and animal. So without making any distinctions between these two beings, and without separating them, I shall palm them off jointly as some merchants do their goods; and in order to avoid all inconveniences in future I shall travel en bloc.

VI

It would be useless to dwell on the dimensions of my new room. It resembles my former one so closely that, at first sight, it might be mistaken for it, if the architect had not carefully made the ceiling slope downwards on the side towards the road, and thus given that angle to the roof which hydraulics require in order to carry off the rain. It lets in the light by a single window, two feet and a half wide and four feet high, raised from six to seven feet above the floor, which one reaches by a little ladder. The elevation of my window above the floor is one of those