A Mystery with a Moral by Laurence Sterne Introduction to a Mystery with a Moral.
The next mystery story is like no other in these volumes. The edito's
defense lies in the plea that Laurence Stern is not like other writers of English.
He is certainly one of the very greatest, yet nowadays he is generally
unknown. His rollicking, frankness, his audacious on conventionality are enough to account
for the neglect. Even the easy manner at England of seventeen sixty opened its
eyes in horror when Tristram Shandy appeared a most unclerical clergyman. The public pronounced
the Rector of Suttin and prependary of York. Besides, his style was rambling
to the last degree. Plot concerned him least of all authors of fiction.
For instance, it is more than doubtful that the whimsical parson really intended a
moral to be read into the adventures of his se tuentimental journey that follow in
these pages. He used to declare that he never intended anything. He never
knew whither his pen was leading. The rash implement, once in hand,
was likely to fly with him from Yorkshire to Italy. Or to Paris,
or across the road to Uncle Tuppy's. And what could the helpless author do
but improve each occasion. So here is one such occasion, thus improved by
disjointed sequels, heedless, one would say, and yet glittering with the unreturnable
thrust of subtle wit, or softening with simple emotion. Like a thousand immortal
passages of this random philosopher. Even the slightest turns of Sterne's pen bear inspiration
no less a critique than the severe haslet was satisfied that his works consist only
of brilliant passages. And because the editors of the present volumes found added to
the mystery not only a solution, but an application of worldly with wisdom and
a contrast in Sterne's best vein of quiet happiness, they have felt emboldened to
ascribe the passage the mystery with a moral as regards the application, stern knew
whereof he wrote he sought the south of France for health in seventeen sixty two,
and was run after and fettered by the most brilliant circles of Parisian literature.
This foreign surgeon failed to cure his long complaint, but suggested the idea
to him of the Rambling and Charming Sentimental Journey. Only three weeks after its
publication, on March eighteenth, seventeen sixty eight, Stern died alone in his
London lodgings. Spite of all that marred his genius, his work has lived
and will live, if only for the exquisite literary art which ever made great
things out of little. The editor A mystery with a moral Parisian experience of
parson Yorick on his Sentimental Journey a Riddle. I remained at the gate of
the hotel for some time, looking at every one who passed by, and
forming conjectures upon them, till my attention got fixed upon a single object which
confounded all kinds of reasoning upon him. It was the tall figure of a
philosophic, serious adult look which passed and repassed sedately along the street, making
a turn of about sixty paces on each side of the gate of the hotel.
The man was about fifty two, had a small cane under his arm,
was dressed in a dark drab colored coat, waistcoat, and breeches which
seemed to have seen some use service. They were still clean, and there
was a little air of frugal PROPRIETI throughout him by his pulling off his hat
and his attitude of accosting a good man in his way. I saw he
was asking charity, so I got a soussor two out of my pocket,
ready to give him as he took me in his turn. He passed by
me without asking anything. And yet he did not go five steps farther before
he asked charity of a little woman. I was much more likely to have
given of the two he had scarce done with the woman. When he pulled
his hat off to another who was coming the same way. An ancient gentleman
came slowly, and after him a young smart one. He let them both
pass and asked nothing. I stood observing him half an hour, in which
time he had made a dozen turns backward and forward, and found that he
invariably pursued the same plan. There were two things very singular in this,
which set my brain to work, and to no purpose. The first was
why the man should only tell his story to the sex, and secondly what
kind of a story it was, and what species of eloquence it could be,
which softened the hearts of the women which he knew it was to no
purpose to practice upon the men. There were two other circumstances which entangled this
mystery. The one was he told every woman what he had to say in
her ear, and in a way which had much more the air of a
secret than a petition. The other was it was always successful. He never
stopped a woman, but she pulled out her purse and immediately gave him something.
I could form no system to explain the phenomenon. I had got a
riddle to amuse me for the rest of the evening. So I walked upstairs
to my chamber overheard the man who either disdains or fears to walk up a
dark entry may be an excellent good man, and fit for a hundred things,
but he will not do to make a sentimental traveler. I count little
of the many things I see pass at broad noon day in large and open
streets. Nature is shy and hates to act before spectators. But in such
an unobservable corner you sometimes see a single short scene of hers worth all the
scenter imans of a dozen French plays compounded together, and yet they are absolutely
fine. And whenever I have a more brilliant affair upon my hands than common.
As they suit a preacher just as well as a hero, I generally
make my sermon out of them, And for the text Cappadoccia, Pontes,
and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphilia is as good as anyone in the Bible.
There is a long, dark passage issuing out from the opera comique into a
narrow street. It is trod by a few who humbly wait for a fiacre
note hackney coach, end of note, or wish to get off quietly of
food when the opera is done. At the end of it, toward the
theater tis lighted by a small candle, the light of which is almost lost
before you get half way down. But near the door it is more for
ornament than use. You see it as a fixed star of the least magnitude.
It burns, but does little good to the world that we know of.
In returning from the opera, along this passage I discerned, as I
approached within five or six paces of the door, two ladies standing arm in
arm with their backs against the wall, waiting, as I imagined, for
a fiacre. As they were next the door, I thought they had a
prior right. So I edged myself up within a yard or little more of
them, and quietly took my stand. I was in black and scarce seen
the lady next me was a tall, lean figure of a woman of about
thirty six, the other of the same size and make of about forty.
There was no mark of wife or widow in any one part of either of
them. They seemed to be two upright vestal sisters, unsapped by carresses,
unbroken upon by tender salutations. I could have wished to have made them happy.
Their happiness was destined that night to come from another quarter. A low
voice, with a good turn of expression, and sweet cattons. At the
end of it, begged for a twelve sous piece between them. For the
love of heaven, I thought it singular that a beggar should fix the quarter
of alms, and that the sum should be twelve times as much as well
is usually given in the dark. They both seemed astonished at it, as
much as myself. Twelve sous, said one. The twelve sou piece,
said the other, and made no reply. The poor man said he knew
not how to ask less of ladies of their rank, and bowed down his
head to the ground. Pooh, said they we have no money. The
beggar remained silent for a moment or two and renewed his supplication. Do not
my fair young ladies, said he. Stop your good ears against me upon
my word. Honest men, said the younger. We have no change.
Then God bless you, said the poor man, and multiply those joys which
you can give to others without change, I observed the older sister put her
hand into her pocket. I will see, said she. If I have
a sou, a sou give twelve, said the suppliant nature has been bountiful
to you, be bountiful to a poor man. I would friend with all
my heart, said the younger if I had it. My fair charitable,
said he, addressing himself to the elder. What is it but your goodness
and humanity which make your bright eyes so sweet that they outshine the morning even
in this dark passage? And what was it which made the Marquis de Santerre
and his brother say so much of you? Both? As they just passed
by, the two ladies seemed much affected and impulsively at the same time.
They put their hands into their pockets, and each took out a twelve sou
piece. The contest between them and the poor suppliant was no more. It
was continued between themselves, which of the two should give the twelve soupiece in
charity, And to end the dispute, they both gave it together, and
the men went away solution. I stepped hastily after him. It was the
very man whose success in asking charity of the woman before the door of the
hotel had so puzzled me, And I found at once his secret, or
at least the basis of it. It was flattery, delicious essence. How
refreshing are though to nature? How strongly are all its powers and all its
weaknesses on thy side? How sweetly dost the mix with the blood and help
it through the most difficult and tortuous passages to the heart. The poor man,
as he was not straitened for time, had given it here in a
larger doos. It is certainly he had a way of bringing it into less
form, for the many certain causes he had to do with in the streets.
But how he contrived to correct, sweeten, consenter, and qualify it.
I vex not my spirit with the inquiry. It is enough the beggar
gained two twelve sou pieces, and they can best tell the rest to have
gained much greater matters by it application. We get forward in the world,
not so much by doing services as receiving them. You take a withering twig
and put it in the ground, and then you water it because you have
planted it. Monsieur le Comte de Bill, merely because he had done me
one kindness in the affair of my passport, would go on and do me
another. A few days he was at Paris in making me known to a
few people of frank and they were to present me to others, and so
on. I had got master of my secret just in time to turn those
harness to some little account. Otherwise, as is commonly the case, I
should have dined or subbed a single time or two round, and then,
by translating French looks and attitudes into plain English, I should presently have seen
that I had got hold of the couvert note, plate, napkin, knife,
fork and spoon, and of note of some more entertaining guests, and
in course of time should have resigned all my places one after another, merely
upon the principle that I could not keep them. As it was, things
did not go much amiss. I had the honor of being introduced to the
old Marquis de b in days of yore. He had signalized himself by some
small feats of chivalry in the Cours des Mours, and had dressed himself out
to the idea of tilts and tournaments. Ever since. The Marquis de b
wished to have it. Thought the affair was somewhere else than in his brain.
He could like to take a trip to England and ask much of the
English ladies. Stay where you are. I beseech you, Monsieur de Marquis,
said I le monsieuroneles can scarce get a kind look from them? As
it is, the Marquis invited me to supper. Monsieur p the Farmer General,
was just as inquisitive about our taxes. They were very considerable, he
heard. If we knew but how to collect them, said I, making
him a low bow. I could never have been invited to Monsieur Pile's concerts
upon any other terms. I had been misrepresented to Madame de Quiux as Aesbrit.
Madame de Cux was an his prit herself she burned with impatience to see
me and hear me talk. I had not taken my seat before I saw
she did not care a soue whether I had any wit or no. I
was led in to be convinced. She had I call heaven to witness.
I never once opened the door of my lips. Madame de Ville vowed to
every creature she met she had never had a more improving conversation with the men
in her life. There are three epochs in the empire of a frenchwoman.
She is coquette than the east, than devout. The empire during these is
never lost. She only changes her subjects when thirty five years and more,
having peopled her dominion of the slaves of love, she rep peoples it with
slaves of infidelity, and then with the slaves of the church. Madame de
v was vibrating between the first of these epochs. The color of the ruse
was fading fast away. She ought to have been a dazed five years before
the time I had the honor to pay my first visit. She placed me
upon the same sofa with her, for the sake of disputing the point of
religion more closely. In short. Madame de Vie told me she believed nothing.
I told Madame de vill it might be her principle, but I was
sure it could not be her interest to level the artworks, without which I
could not conceive how such a citadel as hers could be defended. That there
was not a more dangerous thing in the world than for a beauty to be
a yeast, And it was a tebt. I owed my creed not to
conceal it from her that I had not been five minutes upon the sofa beside
her before I had begun to form designs. And what is it but the
sentiments of religion and the persuasion they had existed in her breast, which could
have checked them as they rose up. We are not adamant, said I,
taking hold of her hand, and there is need of all restraints till
aging her own time steals in and lays them on us. But my dear
lady, said I, kissing her hand. It is too too soon.
I declare I had the credit all over Paris of unperverting Madame de Vie.
She affirmed to Monsieur d and the abbe M that in one half hour I
had said more for revealed religion than all the encyclopedia had said against it.
I was listed directly into Madame de Ville's cattery, and she put off the
epoch of Daism for two years. I remember it was in this cuttery,
in the middle of a discourse in which I was showing the necessity of a
first cause, that the young Count de Fignan took me by the hand to
the farthest corner of the room to tell me that my solitaire was pinned too
straight about my neck. It should be plu badino, said the count,
looking down upon his own But a word, Monsieur euryc to the wise,
and from the wise, Monsieur le Comte replied, I making him a bow
is enough. The Count de Fignan embraced me with more ardor than ever I
was embraced by mortal men. For three weeks together, I was of every
man's opinion. I met Pardi, So Monsieur Eurica wut on ispriqua uzutre irison
bian said another Sitta. Bonovon said a third, And at this price I
could have eaten and drunk and been merry all the days of my life at
Paris. But it was a disonest reckoning. I grew ashamed of it.
It was the gain of a slave. Every sentiment of honor revolted against it.
The higher I got, the more was I forced upon my beggarly system,
the better the colery, the more children of art I languished for those
of nature. And one night, after our most vile prostitution of myself to
half a dozen different people, I grew sick, went to bed, and
ordered horses in the morning to set out for Italy. Contrast, a shoe
coming loose from the forefoot of the thill horse at the beginning of the ascent
of Mount Torriira, the postgion dismounted, twisted the shoe off and put it
in his pocket. As the ascent was of five or six miles, and
that horse our main dependence, I made a point of having the shoe fastened
on again as well as we could. But the postilion had thrown away the
nails and the hammer in the chaise box. Being of no great use without
them, I submitted to go on. He had not mounted half a mile
higher, when coming to a flinty piece of froot, the poor devil lost
a second shoe, and from off his other fore foot. I then got
out of the chaise in good earnest, and, seeing a house about a
quarter of a mile to the left hand, with a great deal to do,
iveiled upon the postilion to turn up to it. The look of the
house and of everything about it, as we drew nearer, soon reconciled me
to the disaster. It was a little farmhouse, surrounded with about twenty acres
of vine yard, about as much corn, and close to the house.
On one side was a potagerie of an acre and a half full of everything
which could make plenty in a French peasant's house. And on the other side
was a little wood which furnished wherewithal to dress it. It was about eight
in the evening when I got to the house, so I left the postinion
to manage his point as he could, and for mine I walked directly into
the house. The family consisted of an old gray headed man and his wife,
with five or six sons and sons in laws, and their several wives,
and a joyous genealogy out of them. They were all sitting down together
to their lentil soup. A large wheaten loaf was in the middle of the
table, and a flaten of wine at each end of it promised joy through
the stages of the repast. It was a feast of love. The old
man rose up to meet me, and with a respectful cordiality, would have
me sit down at the table. My heart was set down the moment I
entered the room. So I sat down at once, like a son of
the family, and to invest myself in the character as speedily as I could,
I instantly burrowed the old man's knife, and taking up the loaf,
cut myself a hearty luncheon. And as I did it, I saw it
testimony in every eye, not only of an honest welcome, but of a
welcome mixed with thanks that I had not seemed to doubt. It was it
this, or tell me nature, what else it was that made this morsel
so sweet? And to what magic? I owe it that the droat I
took of their flagon was so delicious with it that they remained upon my pallet
to this hour. If the supper was to my taste, the grace which
followed it was much more so. When supper was over, the old man
gave a knock upon the table with the haft of his knife to bid them
prepare for the dance. The moment the signal was given, the women and
girls ran all together into a back apartment to tie up their hair, and
the young men to the door to wash their faces and change their seboats.
And in three minutes every soul was ready upon a little esplanade before the house
to begin. The old man and his wife came out last, and,
placing me betwixt them, sat down upon a sofa of turf by the door.
The old man had, some fifty years ago been no mean performer upon
the vielle note a small violin such as was used by the wandering janclars of
the middle aged editor end of note. And at the age he was enough
touched well enough for the purpose. His wife sang now and then a little
to the tune, then intermitted and joined her old men again, as their
children and grandchildren danced before them. It was not till the middle of the
second dance, when, from some poses in the movement wherein they all seemed
to look up, I fancied I could distinguish an elevation of spirit different from
that which is the cause or the effect of simple jollity. In a word,
I thought I beheld religion mixing in the dance. But as I had
never seen her so engaged, I should have looked upon it now as one
of the illusions of an imagination which is eternally misleading me. Had not.
The old man, as soon as the dance ended, said that this was
their constant way, and that all his life long he had made it a
rule after supper was over, to call out his family to dance and rejoice.
Believing. He said that a cheerful and contented mind was the best sort
of things to heaven that an illiterate peasant could pay or learned prelate either,
said I. When you have gained the top of Mount Terira, you run
presently down to lyons Addiere, then to all rapid movements. It is a
journey of caution, and it fares better with sentiments not to be in a
hurry with them. So I contracted with a vulterine to take his time with
a couple of mules and convey me in my own chaise safe to Turin through
savoy, poor, patient, quiet, honest people, fear not your poverty.
The treasury of your simple virtues will not be envied you by the world,
nor will your values be invaded by it nature in the midst of thy
disorders, though art still friendly to the scantiness, Though as created with all
thy great works about thee little hast thou left to give either to the scythe
or to the sickle, But to that little The grandest safety and protection and
sweet are the dwellings which stand so sheltered