French livres or francs, into thalers.

What a Strange Creature is Man

A King of France was told by his valet about a man who was seventy-five years of age and had never been outside Paris: he had only heard talk of country lanes, the fields or springtime. You could tell him the world outside had come to an end twenty years ago, he’d have to believe you. The King asked if this man was ill or feeble. ‘No,’ said the valet, ‘he’s as healthy as a fish in water.’ Did he suffer from melancholy? ‘No, he’s as happy as a sandboy.’ Did he have to work to support a large family? ‘No, he’s well-to-do. He simply doesn’t want to see anything else. He’s not curious.’ The King was intrigued and desired to see this man.

A King of France’s desire is soon fulfilled, not every one of them of course, but this one was, and the King talked with the man about this and that and asked if he had always been happy and well. ‘Yes, Sire,’ he replied, ‘all my seventy-five years.’ Was he born in Paris? ‘Yes, Sire! I could scarcely have got in any other way, for I’ve never been out.’ ‘That surprises me,’ replied the King. ‘That’s why I had you summoned. I hear that you are in the habit of taking suspicious walks to one or other of the city gates! Do you know you have been watched for some time?’ The man was astonished by this accusation and said it couldn’t be him, someone of the same name perhaps or something like that. But the King cut him short: ‘Not another word! I trust that in future you will not leave town again without my express permission!’

A real Parisian ordered to do something by the King doesn’t spend long wondering if it’s necessary or whether there isn’t a better way of going about things, he does as he’s told. Our man was a real Parisian, though when the mail coach passed him on his way home he thought, ‘You lucky people in there, you can leave Paris!’ Once home he read the paper as he did every day. But this time he didn’t find much in it. He looked out of the window, but for once there was nothing of interest there. He started to read a book, but suddenly that seemed so pointless. He went for a walk, he went to the theatre, to the inn, but now it was all so dull. So the first quarter of the year passed, and the second, and more than once he said to those sitting next to him in the inn, ‘My friends, it’s a hard verdict, seventy-five years in Paris without a break, and now I am told I’m not allowed to leave town.’

Eventually in the third quarter he couldn’t bear it any longer, and day after day he requested permission, the weather being so glorious, or nice and fresh from the rain. He would gladly pay for a trusty man to escort him, two if necessary. But it was no good. When however one painful year to the day had passed, and he came home that evening and asked his wife with a frown, ‘What’s that new carriage doing outside? Is someone making fun of me?’ she replied, ‘My dear, we’ve been looking for you everywhere! The King has given you the coach and permission to drive in it wherever you like.’ ‘Ma foi!’ the man answered, and his face had relaxed, ‘The King is just!’ ‘But what do you say,’ his wife continued, ‘why don’t we go for a drive in the country tomorrow?’ ‘Well now,’ said the man, and he showed no emotion, ‘we’ll see! If not tomorrow, perhaps another day. And anyway what would we do out there? Paris is nicest from the inside.’

The Silver Spoon

An officer in Vienna was thinking, ‘Just for once I’ll dine at the Red Ox,’ and into the Red Ox he went. There were regulars there and strangers, important and unimportant people, honest men and rascals such as you’ll find anywhere. They were eating and drinking, some a great deal, others little. They talked and argued about this and that, about how it had rained rocks at Stannern in Moravia, for instance, or about Machin who fought the great wolf in France.* When the meal was almost over one or two were drinking a small jug of Tokay to round things off, one man was making little balls from bread crumbs as if he were an apothecary making pills, another was fiddling with his knife or his fork or his silver spoon. It was then the officer happened to notice how a fellow in a green huntsman’s coat was playing with a silver spoon when it suddenly disappeared up his sleeve and stayed there.

Someone else might have thought, ‘It’s no business of mine,’ and said nothing, or have made a great fuss. The officer thought, ‘I don’t know who this green spoon-hunter is and what I might let myself in for,’ and he kept as quiet as a mouse, until the landlord came to collect his money. But when the landlord came to collect his money the officer, too, picked up a silver spoon, and tucked it through two button holes in his coat, in one and out the other as soldiers sometimes do in war when they take their spoons with them, but no soup. As the officer was paying his bill the landlord was looking at his coat and thinking, ‘That’s a funny medal this gentleman’s wearing! He must have distinguished himself battling with a bowl of crayfish soup to have got a silver spoon as a medal! Or could it just be one of mine?’ But when the officer had paid the landlord he said, without a sign of a smile on his face, ‘The spoon’s included, I take it? The bill seems enough to cover it.’ The landlord said, ‘Nobody’s tried that one on me before! If you don’t have a spoon at home I’ll give you a tin one, but you can’t have one of my silver spoons!’ Then the officer stood up, slapped the landlord on the shoulder and laughed. ‘It was only a joke we were having,’ he said, ‘that gentleman over there in the green jacket and me! - My green friend, if you give back that spoon you have up your sleeve I’ll give mine back too.’ When the spoon-hunter saw that he had been caught in the act and that an honest eye had observed his dishonest hand, he thought, ‘Better pretend it was a joke,’ and gave back his spoon. So the landlord got his property back, and the spoon thief smiled too – but not for long. For when the other customers saw what had happened they set about him with curses and hounded him out of the Holy of Holies and the landlord sent the boots after him with a big stick.