Hesperus; or, Forty-Five Dog-Post-Days: A Biography. Vol. II.Jean Paul
General
Hesperus; or, Forty-Five Dog-Post-Days: A Biography. Vol. II.
Jean Paul
Fiction
keelhaul ourselves, that is to say, fall in love, which in my poor
opinion is a slight foretaste of hell, as well as of heaven. Let the
best peeress in this department write to me, and enclose it post-paid
to the publishing office in Berlin, and give me her name, if she was
capable of not flaying and impaling her poor _pastor fido_, nor
persecuting him with backbitings, nor filling his heart full of bruises
with the compression-machines of her hands, his head full of fissures
with the bastinado of the fan, his breast full of blisters with her
eyes, nor of giving him, as they do to tobacco, a mellowing with her
tears.... At least I myself at this present moment come straight from
such a house of correction and baiting-house, and my skin looks as
pitiably as if I had a scalped one over my limbs.
We will say no more of this. My intention in all this is to brace up
the reader, because a wholly new rainy-constellation (Pleiad) which I
have not at all named is rising in his horizon, to snow upon him.
This will rage worse than all that has gone before. What I mean is
this: An imperial citizen may be just giving the finishing touch to
everything,--his coffers[48] and his enemies may have been already
overturned, and his labors right well received by the public or the
board,--his pleas for delay have been allowed, and the quinquenniats[49]
of his debtors refused,--his youngest daughter, who, like the eldest
of the French king's brother, is called Mademoiselle, may already have
got through with the measles and her betrothal afterward; it avails him
nothing, the worst of all, a whole Gehenna still awaits him on his
book-shelves; for there may the fair spirits (let him have swallowed as
he may all bitter salt of fate) have sliced for him, under the name of
romance-manna, a hard tear-bread, which I, for my part, should be glad
neither to bake nor to chew,--truly they may (to use another metaphor)
have composed and placed in readiness for him dead-marches and funeral
cantatas, which shall utterly upset him and make him so warm that his
eyes shall run over.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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