DOI article:
Le Gallienne, Richard: Four Prose Francies
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.26392#0258
Four Prose Fancies
254
But here again we burst out laughing.
cc Dear goose of the golden eggs,” I said, “ pray leave to dis-
course on geese to-night—though lovely and pleasant would the
discourse be—to-night I am all agog for donkeys.”
“ So be it,” said my friend, “ and if that be so, I cannot do
better than tell you the story of the donkey that loved a star—
keeping for another day the no less fascinating story of the goose
that loved an angel.”
By this time I was, appropriately, all ears.
“ Well,” he once more began, “ there was once a donkey, quite
an intimate friend of mine, and I have no friend of whom I am
prouder, who was unpractically fond of looking up at the stars.
He could go a whole day without thistles, if night would only
bring him stars. Of course he suffered no little from his fellow-
donkeys for this curious passion of his. They said well that it
did not become him, for indeed it was no little laughable to see
him gazing so sentimentally at the remote and pitiless heavens.
Donkeys who belonged to Shakespeare Societies recalled the fate
of Bottom, the donkey who had loved a fairy, but our donkey
paid little heed. There is perhaps only one advantage in being a
donkey—namely, a hide impervious to criticism. In our donkey’s
case it was rather a dream that made him forget his hide—a
dream that drew up all the sensitiveness from every part, from
hoof, and hide, and ears, so that all the feeling in his whole body
was centred in his eyes and brain, and those, as we have said, were
centred on a star. He took it for granted that his fellows should
sneer and kick-out at him, it was ever so with genius among the
donkeys, and he had very soon grown used to these attentions of
his brethren, which were powerless to withdraw his gaze from the
star he loved. For though he loved all the stars, as every indivi-
dual man loves all women, there was one star he loved more than
any
254
But here again we burst out laughing.
cc Dear goose of the golden eggs,” I said, “ pray leave to dis-
course on geese to-night—though lovely and pleasant would the
discourse be—to-night I am all agog for donkeys.”
“ So be it,” said my friend, “ and if that be so, I cannot do
better than tell you the story of the donkey that loved a star—
keeping for another day the no less fascinating story of the goose
that loved an angel.”
By this time I was, appropriately, all ears.
“ Well,” he once more began, “ there was once a donkey, quite
an intimate friend of mine, and I have no friend of whom I am
prouder, who was unpractically fond of looking up at the stars.
He could go a whole day without thistles, if night would only
bring him stars. Of course he suffered no little from his fellow-
donkeys for this curious passion of his. They said well that it
did not become him, for indeed it was no little laughable to see
him gazing so sentimentally at the remote and pitiless heavens.
Donkeys who belonged to Shakespeare Societies recalled the fate
of Bottom, the donkey who had loved a fairy, but our donkey
paid little heed. There is perhaps only one advantage in being a
donkey—namely, a hide impervious to criticism. In our donkey’s
case it was rather a dream that made him forget his hide—a
dream that drew up all the sensitiveness from every part, from
hoof, and hide, and ears, so that all the feeling in his whole body
was centred in his eyes and brain, and those, as we have said, were
centred on a star. He took it for granted that his fellows should
sneer and kick-out at him, it was ever so with genius among the
donkeys, and he had very soon grown used to these attentions of
his brethren, which were powerless to withdraw his gaze from the
star he loved. For though he loved all the stars, as every indivi-
dual man loves all women, there was one star he loved more than
any