Chapter M: GIFFARDIER, from the Officer

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“As a strong picture of the difference between French and German manners, the following story will serve: An English officer in Germany during the war kept a girl. She had a great deal of spirit, and for a frolic she would pay a visit to the enemy’s outpost. She first came to a French centinel, who seeing a pretty—nay, elegant lady coming towards him, immediately grounded his arms, pulled off his hat, and with all the politeness in the world saluted her with ‘Ah, madame, je suis charmé,’ &c. She put out her hand, which he kissed with great gallantry. She then went to a German centinel in the French service. When he observed her approaching, he looked stern and shoved her back with his hand; and when she attempted still to advance, he held out his fusil. She ran briskly off, crying, ‘You brute, we have taken Cassel!’”

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“After a defeat of the French in Germany by the Prussians, a French soldier got his back against a tree, and was defending himself against four or five Prussians. The King of Prussia came up himself, and called out to the soldier, ‘Mon ami, croyez-vous que vous êtes invincible?’ He replied, ‘Oui, sire, si j’etois commandé par vous.’”

MR. GIFFARDIER.

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“After another defeat of the French by the Prussians, a French soldier said to his companion while they were running off, ‘Vraiment cet Roi de Prusse est un brave homme. Je crois qu’il a servi en France.’”

MR. GIFFARDIER.

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“After the defeat of the French at Rosbach, there happened a ludicrous enough incident. A little French officer was taken prisoner by a tall, fierce, black hussar. After making him deliver up his sword, his watch, and his money, the hussar made him get up behind him and hold fast, and away he galloped; and all the time, with the greatest _sang froid_, he was eating apples out of his pocket, and now and then, with a humph, threw one over his shoulder to the officer, who, for fear of his displeasure, eat them every one most faithfully.”

MR. GIFFARDIER, from the officer himself.

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“When Boswell was a young, giddy, frolicsome dog in London, a parcel of sarcastical Scots, dining at Almack’s,[148] were enlarging much on his imprudence. ‘I do not know,’ said Dempster, ‘how Boswell may do in this world, but I am sure he would do very well in a better.’”

From MISS DEMPSTER.[149]

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“Boswell complained that he had too good a memory in trifles, which prevented his remembering things of consequence. ‘My head,’ said he, ‘is like a tavern, in which a club of low punch-drinkers have taken up the room that might have been filled with lords who drink Burgundy, but it is not in the landlord’s power to dispossess them.’”

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“A gentleman was complaining that upon a long voyage their provisions were very bad, and, in particular, that their beef turned quite green. ‘Very right, sir,’ said Caleb Whitefoord,[150] ‘you know all flesh is grass, and therefore ought to be green.’”

I was present.

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“Boswell says that a man who sets out on the journey of life with opinions that he has never examined is like a man who goes a-fowling with a gun that has never been proved.”

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“Boswell, who had a good deal of whim, used not only to form wild projects in his imagination, but would sometimes reduce them to practice. In his calm hours he said with great good humour, ‘There have been many people who built castles in the air, but I believe I am the first that ever attempted to live in them.’”

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“A gentleman said of a clumsy wench that she was as hot as fire. ‘Yes,’ said Boswell, ‘but in a very different way. The fire feels nothing, but communicates the heat to other bodies; but this wench leaves all cold around her while she herself is burning.’”

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“A young lady was wishing much to be her _own mistress_. ‘You are mine, miss,’ said her lover, ‘and that is much better.’”

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“Mademoiselle de Zuyl told Boswell one day, ‘Monsieur, cette après-midi j’ai voulee convaincre ma chere mere de quelque chose, mais elle ne vouloit pas m’entendre, et pour m’echaper elle a courue de chambre en chambre. J’ai la suivi pourtant et j’ai raisonnée.’ ‘Eh bien, Mademoiselle,’ replied Boswell, ‘c’etoit un raisonnement suivi.’”

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“A gentleman told Boswell that one of his studious freinds used to have a bottle of wine set upon his desk in the evening, and that generally he caught himself at the end of it. ‘Ay,’ said Boswell, ‘I suppose, sir, he took care not to catch himself before he got to the end of it.’”

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“A forward fellow asked Boswell one day the character of a certain general officer. ‘Sir,’ said Boswell, ‘the gentleman is a general, and I do not choose to enter into particulars.’”

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“When Boswell had the rage of getting into the Guards, he talked of it to John Home,[151] whose poetry breathed a martial spirit, and therefore might approve his desire to be a soldier. ‘Sir,’ said John Home, ‘the Guards are no soldiers; they are just beefeaters, only they don’t eat beef.’”

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“Boswell was at Leyden in the year 1764. The Hon. Charles Gordon[152] said to him with affected diffidence, in order to receive a compliment, ‘Mr. Boswell, I would willingly come and see you for a day at Utrecht, but I am afraid I should tire you.’ ‘Sir,’ replied Boswell, ‘I defy you to tire me for one day.’”

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“When Boswell was passing through Leyden, in the year 1764, he put up at the ‘Golden Ball,’ and was shown into the great parlour, which, as in all the inns in Holland, is a public room. As he was eating a sober bit of supper there entered three roaring West Indians, followed by a large dog. They made a deal of rude noise. The waiter thought it incumbent upon him to make an apology for their roughness. ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘they are very good-natured gentlemen.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ said Boswell, ‘I see they are very good-natured gentlemen, and in my opinion, sir, the dog seems to be as good-natured as any of the three.’”

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“When Mr. de Neitschutz, Grand Ecuyer du Prince d’Anhalt-Dessau was sent to the King of Prussia to treat with him, and to beg that he would not demand such great subsidies, the King used to say, ‘Mon ami, il faut soutenir des armees. Je ne suis pas en etat de la faire. Vous savez que je n’ai rien. Il faut que je vole.’”

M. DE NEITSCHUTZ.

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“When Voltaire was at Berlin he used to be rude to the King of Prussia. The King came into his room one day when he had before him on a table a great parcel of his Majesty’s verses, which he no doubt put in order very freely. The King called to him, ‘Que faites-vous, Voltaire?’ He replied, ‘Sire, j’arrange votre linge sale.’”