This coachman had his head bent forward and was letting the reins hang loose so that the horses appeared to be driving him rather than him driving them. Before long our two travellers found themselves alongside the funeral carriage. At that moment Jacques cried out and fell rather than got off his horse, tore out his hair and started rolling around on the ground, shouting: ‘My Captain! My poor Captain! It is him, there’s no mistaking it. Those are his arms…’

In the carriage there was, indeed, a long coffin under a funeral shroud. On top of this shroud was a sword with a cordon. Next to the coffin sat a priest intoning the office from an open breviary in his hand. Jacques followed behind, still lamenting. His master followed Jacques, swearing, and the servants assured Jacques that the cortège was that of his Captain, who had died in a neighbouring town whence he was being transported to the tomb of his ancestors. Ever since he had, by the death of his friend, a captain in the same regiment, been deprived of the satisfaction of fighting at least once a week, he had fallen into a profound melancholy which, after a few months, had eventually killed him.

Jacques, having paid his Captain the tribute of praise, regret and tears which he owed him, begged his master’s forgiveness, got back on his horse and then they carried on their way in silence.

But you are asking me, Reader, where in God’s name were they going? And I reply, Reader, in God’s name, does anybody ever really know where they are going? What about you? Where are you going? Do I have to remind you of the story of Aesop?

His master, Xanthippus,15 said to him one summer’s evening, or it may have been a winter’s evening for that matter because the Greeks used to have baths whatever the season: ‘Aesop, go to the baths. If there are not too many people there we’ll take a bath.’

Aesop set off. On the way he met the town guard of Athens.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Where am I going?’ replied Aesop. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know? Then you’re coming with us to prison.’

‘There you are,’ said Aesop, ‘Didn’t I tell you I didn’t know where I was going? I wanted to go to the baths, and here I am going to prison.’

Jacques followed his master like you follow yours. His master followed his as Jacques followed him.

– But who was the master of Jacques’ master?

All right. Is anyone ever short of a master in this world? Jacques’ master, like you, had a hundred masters if he had one. But among all the many masters of Jacques’ master, it seems that there wasn’t one satisfactory one since from one day to the next he used to change master.

– He was a man.

A passionate man like you, Reader. A curious man like you, Reader. A questioning man like you, Reader. A nuisance like you, Reader.

– And why did he ask questions?

What a question! He asked questions so that he could learn and quibble like you, Reader. The master said to Jacques: ‘You don’t seem to be in the mood to carry on with the story of your loves.’

JACQUES: My poor Captain! He’s going where we are all going, and the only extraordinary thing is that he hasn’t gone there sooner. Ahi!… Ahi!…

MASTER: But Jacques! I do believe you’re crying!

Cry without restraint because you may cry without shame. His death has set you free from the scrupulous propriety which oppressed you during his life. You no longer have the same reasons to hide your grief as you had to hide your happiness. The same conclusion will not be drawn from your tears as from your joy. People forgive misfortune. And then in this moment one must show either feeling or ingratitude, and all things considered it is better to reveal a weakness than to allow oneself to be suspected of a vice. I would wish your grief to be unrestrained so that it might be less painful. I would wish it to be violent so that it might be less long. Remember him as he was and exaggerate even. Remember his acuity in getting to the bottom of the most profound matters, his subtlety in speaking of the most delicate, his sound good taste which made him value the most important, the fertility which he would bring to the most sterile matters. Remember the skill with which he would defend the accused.