Speaker 1: 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