Short Fiction - Xavier de Maistre (the unexpected everything .txt) 📗

the sailor on desert seas, and whose rays have oft times restored life and hope to the tempest-tossed mariner. Whenever the riven clouds have shown me the face of the heavens, have not I always sought thee out from among thy peers? Aid me, Celestial Star! Earth abandons me, but be Thou today my counseller and guide, tell me to what quarter of the globe I should wend my way.”

During this invocation the star appeared to twinkle more brightly than ever, and to rejoice in the Heavens, and thus to invite me to place myself under its protection. I do not believe in presentiments, but I believe in a divine Providence, which leads men by unknown paths. Each moment of our life is a new creation, an act of the all-powerful will. The ever-changing order, which is always producing the new shapes and the unaccountable phenomena of the clouds, is regulated every moment, even in the smallest drop of water, of which they are composed. The events of our life can have no other origin, and to attribute them to chance would be the height of folly. I can even declare that sometimes I have been able to see the imperceptible threads by which Providence sets the greatest men in motion, just like marionettes, whilst they themselves think they are managing the affairs of the universe. A slight wave of pride, with which Providence agitates their breast, is sufficient to cause the destruction of whole armies, and to cast a whole nation into complete disorder.

Be that as it may, I believed so strongly in the invocation I had received from the pole star that I made up my mind to go northward, and although I had no particular place in view, and no object at all in going to those far off lands, still, when I set out the following day from Turin, I left by the Palace gate, which is in the north of the City, firmly convinced that the pole star would not forsake me.

XXXII

I had got thus far on my journey when I was obliged to dismount hastily. I should not have drawn attention to this incident if I were not conscientiously bound to inform those people who might like to adopt this mode of travelling, of the little inconveniences connected with it, after having dilated so much on its immense advantages.

Most windows not having been originally invented for the novel purpose to which I have put them, architects fail to give to them the comfortable shape and turn of an English saddle. No furthur explanation will, I hope, be needed to enable the intelligent reader to understand the painful reason which compelled me to dismount. I got off my horse somewhat painfully, and walked round my room several times in order to restore the circulation, and in the meanwhile I reflected on the strange medley of pains and pleasures which strew the path of life, and on the fatality which makes man the slave of the most trivial circumstances.

I hastened to remount my horse, having first provided myself with a cushion of eiderdown. I should not have dared to have done such a thing a few days before for fear of being hooted at by the horse soldiers, but, the night before, having met at the gates of Turin a party of Cossacks, who came in from the borders of Lake Méotides and the Caspian Sea mounted on similar cushions, I thought I might safely adopt the custom without offending against the laws of horsemanship, for which I have the greatest regard. Freed from the painful sensation which I have left to the reader’s imagination, I was able to abandon myself entirely, and without fear of disturbance, to the thoughts of my journey.

One of the difficulties which worried me most, because it touched my conscience, was to decide whether I should be doing right or wrong in leaving my Fatherland, half of which had itself already abandoned me.16 This step appeared to me to be too important to be decided hastily. While reflecting on that word “Fatherland,” I perceived that I had no very clear idea as to its meaning⁠—of what does my Fatherland consist? Is it a collection of houses, of fields, and rivers? I can hardly believe this! Perhaps my family or my friends constitute my Fatherland; but they on the other hand have already left it. I have it! It is the government⁠—but that also is changed. Good Heavens! where then is my Fatherland?

I passed my hand over my brow, in a state of inexplicable perturbation of mind, so ardent is the love of one’s country within us! The regret I felt at the bare thought of leaving mine, brought home its reality to me so strongly that I would have remained on horseback all my life sooner than have given up, before having got to the bottom of the difficulty.

I soon perceived that love of one’s country is made up of various combined factors, such as the attachment from childhood to persons, locality, and forms of government. It only now remains to consider how these three elements, each in its own way, make up the idea of a Fatherland.

The love of our fellow-countrymen generally depends on the government, and is simply the feeling of the power and happiness which it gives us in common; for real affection is limited to the family, and to the small number of individuals by whom we are immediately surrounded. Everything which interferes with custom or facility of intercourse turns men into enemies. The dwellers on either side of a mountain range cherish unfriendly thoughts towards each other; the inhabitants on the right bank of a river fancy themselves much superior to those on the left bank, and the latter, in their turn, feel contempt for their neighbours. We see this disposition even in large towns intersected by rivers, in spite of the bridges which join their banks. Difference of