M. de
Villeroy gave me a letter of which I made no use, because I did not go
through Lyons. This letter still remains seated up amongst my
papers. The duke pressed me to sleep at Villeroy, but I preferred
returning to the great road, which I did, arid traveled two more
stages the same evening.
My carriage was inconvenient and uncomfortable, and I was too much
indisposed to go far in a day. My appearance besides was not
sufficiently distinguished for me to be well served, and in France
post-horses feel the whip in proportion to the favorable opinion the
postillion has of his temporary master. By paying the guides
generously I thought I should make up for my shabby appearance: this
was still worse. They took me for a worthless fellow who was
carrying orders, and, for the first time in my life, traveling post.
From that moment I had nothing but worn-out hacks, and I became the
sport of the postillions. I ended as I should have begun by being
patient, holding my tongue, and suffering myself to be driven as my
conductors thought proper.
I had sufficient matter of reflection to prevent me from being weary
on the road, employing myself in the recollection of that which had
just happened; but this was neither my turn of mind nor the
inclination of my heart. The facility with which I forget past
evils, however recent they may be, is astonishing. The remembrance
of them becomes feeble, and, sooner or later, effaced, in the
inverse proportion to the greater degree of fear with which the
approach of them inspires me.
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