Little Poems in Prose

IV A JESTER THE New Year broke in a chaos of mud and snow, crossed by a thousand carriages, spar- kling with joys and sweetmeats, swarming with greeds and with despairs; the official delirium of a great city in conspiracy to disturb the brain of even the strongest solitary. In the midst of this topsy-turvyness and hubbub an ass was trotting smartly, tormented by a knave with a whip. As the ass was about to turn the corner of a pavement, a fine gentleman gloved and groomed, in a glossy suit, uncomfortably fash- ionable, bowed ceremoniously before the hum- ble animal, and said, taking off his hat, “A happy New Year to you,” then went back to his comrades, whoever they were, with a fatuous air, as if to ask them to ass their approbation to his self-content. The ass did not perceive this would-be wit, and continued to run zealously where his duty called him. As for me, I was seized suddenly with immeasurable rage against this magnifi- cent imbecile, who appeared to me to concen- trate in himself the entire spirit of France.