A Sentimental Journey Through France and Italy
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Title: A Sentimental Journey
Author: Laurence Sterne
Release Date: February, 1997 [EBook #804]
[This file was first posted on February 12, 1997]
[Most recently updated: September 25, 2002]
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
Transcribed from the 1892 George Bell and Son edition by David
Price, email [email protected]
A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY THROUGH FRANCE AND ITALY
They order, said I, this matter better in France. - You have
been in France? said my gentleman, turning quick upon me, with the
most civil triumph in the world. - Strange! quoth I, debating the
matter with myself, That one and twenty miles sailing, for ’tis
absolutely no further from Dover to Calais, should give a man these
rights: - I’ll look into them: so, giving up the argument, - I went
straight to my lodgings, put up half a dozen shirts and a black
pair of silk breeches, - “the coat I have on,” said I, looking at
the sleeve, “will do;” - took a place in the Dover stage; and the
packet sailing at nine the next morning, - by three I had got sat
down to my dinner upon a fricaseed chicken, so incontestably in
France, that had I died that night of an indigestion, the whole
world could not have suspended the effects of the droits
d’aubaine; - my shirts, and black pair of silk breeches, -
portmanteau and all, must have gone to the King of France; - even
the little picture which I have so long worn, and so often have
told thee, Eliza, I would carry with me into my grave, would have
been torn from my neck! - Ungenerous! to seize upon the wreck of an
unwary passenger, whom your subjects had beckoned to their coast! -
By heaven! Sire, it is not well done; and much does it grieve
me, ’tis the monarch of a people so civilized and courteous, and so
renowned for sentiment and fine feelings, that I have to reason
with! -
But I have scarce set a foot in your dominions. -
CALAIS.
When I had fished my dinner, and drank the King of France’s
health, to satisfy my mind that I bore him no spleen, but, on the
contrary, high honour for the humanity of his temper, - I rose up
an inch taller for the accommodation.
- No - said I - the Bourbon is by no means a cruel race: they
may be misled, like other people; but there is a mildness in their
blood. As I acknowledged this, I felt a suffusion of a finer
kind upon my cheek - more warm and friendly to man, than what
Burgundy (at least of two livres a bottle, which was such as I had
been drinking) could have produced.
- Just God! said I, kicking my portmanteau aside, what is there
in this world’s goods which should sharpen our spirits, and make so
many kind-hearted brethren of us fall out so cruelly as we do by
the way?
When man is at peace with man, how much lighter than a feather
is the heaviest of metals in his hand! he pulls out his purse, and
holding it airily and uncompressed, looks round him, as if he
sought for an object to share it with. - In doing this, I felt
every vessel in my frame dilate, - the arteries beat all cheerily
together, and every power which sustained life, performed it with
so little friction, that ’twould have confounded the most
physical précieuse in France; with all her materialism, she
could scarce have called me a machine. -
I’m confident, said I to myself, I should have overset her
creed.
The accession of that idea carried nature, at that time, as high
as she could go; - I was at peace with the world before, and this
finish’d the treaty with myself. -
- Now, was I King of France, cried I - what a moment for an
orphan to have begg’d his father’s portmanteau of me!
THE MONK. CALAIS.
I had scarce uttered the words, when a poor monk of the order of
St. Francis came into the room to beg something for a his
convent. No man cares to have his virtues the sport of
contingencies - or one man may be generous, as another is puissant;
- sed non quoad hanc - or be it as it may, - for there is no
regular reasoning upon the ebbs and flows of our humours; they may
depend upon the same causes, for aught I know, which influence the
tides themselves: ’twould oft be no discredit to us, to suppose it
was so: I’m sure at least for myself, that in many a case I should
be more highly satisfied, to have it said by the world, “I had had
an affair with the moon, in which there was neither sin nor shame,”
than have it pass altogether as my own act and deed, wherein there
was so much of both.
- But, be this as it may, - the moment I cast my eyes upon him,
I was predetermined not to give him a single sous; and,
accordingly, I put my purse into my pocket - buttoned it - set
myself a little more upon my centre, and advanced up gravely to
him; there was something, I fear, forbidding in my look: I have his
figure this moment before my eyes, and think there was that in it
which deserved better.
The monk, as I judged by the break in his tonsure, a few
scattered white hairs upon his temples, being all that remained of
it, might be about seventy; - but from his eyes, and that sort of
fire which was in them, which seemed more temper’d by courtesy than
years, could be no more than sixty: - Truth might lie between - He
was certainly sixty-five; and the general air of his countenance,
notwithstanding something seem’d to have been planting-wrinkles in
it before their time, agreed to the account.
It was one of those heads which Guido has often painted, - mild,
pale - penetrating, free from all commonplace ideas of fat
contented ignorance looking downwards upon the earth; - it look’d
forwards; but look’d as if it look’d at something beyond this
world. - How one of his order came by it, heaven above, who let it
fall upon a monk’s shoulders best knows: but it would have suited a
Bramin, and had I met it upon the plains of Indostan, I had
reverenced it.
The rest of his outline may be given in a few strokes; one might
put it into the hands of any one to design, for ’twas neither
elegant nor otherwise, but as character and expression made it so:
it was a thin, spare form, something above the common size, if it
lost not the distinction by a bend forward in the figure, - but it
was the attitude of Intreaty; and, as it now stands presented to my
imagination, it gained more than it lost by it.
When he had entered the room three paces, he stood still; and
laying his left hand upon his breast (a slender white staff with
which he journey’d being in his right) - when I had got close up to
him, he introduced himself with the little story of the wants of
his convent, and the poverty of his order; - and did it with so
simple a grace, - and such an air of deprecation was there in the
whole cast of his look and figure, - I was bewitch’d not to have
been struck with it.
- A better reason was, I had predetermined not to give him a
single sous.
THE MONK. CALAIS.
- ’Tis very true, said I, replying to a cast upwards with his
eyes, with which he had concluded his address; - ’tis very true, -
and heaven be their resource who have no other but the charity of
the world, the stock of which, I fear, is no way sufficient for the
many great claims which are hourly made upon it.
As I pronounced the words great claims, he gave a slight
glance with his eye downwards upon the sleeve of his tunic: - I
felt the full force of the appeal - I acknowledge it, said I: - a
coarse habit, and that but once in three years with meagre diet, -
are no great matters; and the true point of pity is, as they can be
earn’d in the world with so little industry, that your order should
wish to procure them by pressing upon a fund which is the property
of the lame, the blind, the aged and the infirm; - the captive who
lies down counting over and over again the days of his afflictions,
languishes also for his share of it; and had you been of the
order of mercy, instead of the order of St. Francis, poor as
I am, continued I, pointing at my portmanteau, full cheerfully
should it have been open’d to you, for the ransom of the
unfortunate. - The monk made me a bow. - But of all others, resumed
I, the unfortunate of our own country, surely, have the first
rights; and I have left thousands in distress upon our own shore. -
The monk gave a cordial wave with his head, - as much as to say, No
doubt there is misery enough in every corner of the world, as well
as within our convent - But we distinguish, said I, laying my hand
upon the sleeve of his tunic, in return for his appeal - we
distinguish, my good father! betwixt those who wish only to eat the
bread of their own labour - and those who eat the bread of other
people’s, and have no other plan in life, but to get through it in
sloth and ignorance, for the love of God.
The poor Franciscan made no reply: a hectic of a moment pass’d
across his cheek, but could not tarry - Nature seemed to have done
with her resentments in him; - he showed none: - but letting his
staff fall within his arms, he pressed both his hands with
resignation upon his breast, and retired.
THE MONK. CALAIS.
My heart smote me the moment he shut the door - Psha! said I,
with an air of carelessness, three several times - but it would not
do: every ungracious syllable I had utter’d crowded back into my
imagination: I reflected, I had no right over the poor Franciscan,
but to deny him; and that the punishment of that was enough to the
disappointed, without the addition of unkind language. - I
consider’d his gray hairs - his courteous figure seem’d to re-enter
and gently ask me what injury he had done me? - and why I could use
him thus? - I would have given twenty livres for an advocate. - I
have behaved very ill, said I within myself; but I have only just
set out upon my travels; and shall learn better manners as I get
along.
THE DESOBLIGEANT. CALAIS.
When a man is discontented with himself, it has one advantage
however, that it puts him into an excellent frame of mind for
making a bargain. Now there being no travelling through
France and Italy without a chaise, - and nature generally prompting
us to the thing we are fittest for, I walk’d out into the
coach-yard to buy or hire something of that kind to my purpose: an
old désobligeant in the furthest corner of the court, hit my
fancy at first sight, so I instantly got into it, and finding it in
tolerable harmony with my feelings, I ordered the waiter to call
Monsieur Dessein, the master of the hotel: - but Monsieur Dessein
being gone to vespers, and not caring to face the Franciscan, whom
I saw on the opposite side of the court, in conference with a lady
just arrived at the inn, - I drew the taffeta curtain betwixt us,
and being determined to write my journey, I took out my pen and ink
and wrote the preface to it in the désobligeant.
PREFACE. IN THE DESOBLIGEANT.
It must have been observed by many a peripatetic philosopher,
That nature has set up by her own unquestionable authority certain
boundaries and fences to circumscribe the discontent of man; she
has effected her purpose in the quietest and easiest manner by
laying him under almost insuperable obligations to work out his
ease, and to sustain his sufferings at home. It is there only
that she has provided him with the most suitable objects to partake
of his happiness, and bear a part of that burden which in all
countries and ages has ever been too heavy for one pair of
shoulders. ’Tis true, we are endued with an imperfect power
of spreading our happiness sometimes beyond her limits, but
’tis so ordered, that, from the want of languages, connections, and
dependencies, and from the difference in education, customs, and
habits, we lie under so many impediments in communicating our
sensations out of our own sphere, as often amount to a total
impossibility.
It will always follow from hence, that the balance of
sentimental commerce is always against the expatriated adventurer:
he must buy what he has little occasion for, at their own price; -
his conversation will seldom be taken in exchange for theirs
without a large discount, - and this, by the by, eternally driving
him into the hands of more equitable brokers, for such conversation
as he can find, it requires no great spirit of divination to guess
at his party -
This brings me to my point; and naturally leads me (if the
see-saw of this désobligeant will but let me get on) into
the efficient as well as final causes of travelling -
Your idle people that leave their native country, and go abroad
for some reason or reasons which may be derived from one of these
general causes:-
Infirmity of body,
Imbecility of mind, or
Inevitable necessity.
The first two include all those who travel by land or by water,
labouring with pride, curiosity, vanity, or spleen, subdivided and
combined ad infinitum.
The third class includes the whole army of peregrine martyrs;
more especially those travellers who set out upon their travels
with the benefit of the clergy, either as delinquents travelling
under the direction of governors recommended by the magistrate; -
or young gentlemen transported by the cruelty of parents and
guardians, and travelling under the direction of governors
recommended by Oxford, Aberdeen, and Glasgow.
There is a fourth class, but their number is so small that they
would not deserve a distinction, were it not necessary in a work of
this nature to observe the greatest precision and nicety, to avoid
a confusion of character. And these men I speak of, are such
as cross the seas and sojourn in a land of strangers, with a view
of saving money for various reasons and upon various pretences: but
as they might also save themselves and others a great deal of
unnecessary trouble by saving their money at home, - and as their
reasons for travelling are the least complex of any other species
of emigrants, I shall distinguish these gentlemen by the name
of
Simple Travellers.
Thus the whole circle of travellers may be reduced to the
following heads:-
Idle Travellers,
Inquisitive Travellers,
Lying Travellers,
Proud Travellers,
Vain Travellers,
Splenetic Travellers.
Then follow:
The Travellers of Necessity,
The Delinquent and Felonious Traveller,
The Unfortunate and Innocent Traveller,
The Simple Traveller,
And last of all (if you please) The Sentimental Traveller,
(meaning thereby myself) who have travell’d, and of which I am now
sitting down to give an account, - as much out of Necessity,
and the besoin de Voyager, as any one in the class.
I am well aware, at the same time, as both my travels and
observations will be altogether of a different cast from any of my
forerunners, that I might have insisted upon a whole nitch entirely
to myself; - but I should break in upon the confines of the
Vain Traveller, in wishing to draw attention towards me,
till I have some better grounds for it than the mere Novelty of
my Vehicle.
It is sufficient for my reader, if he has been a traveller
himself, that with study and reflection hereupon he may be able to
determine his own place and rank in the catalogue; - it will be one
step towards knowing himself; as it is great odds but he retains
some tincture and resemblance, of what he imbibed or carried out,
to the present hour.
The man who first transplanted the grape of Burgundy to the Cape
of Good Hope (observe he was a Dutchman) never dreamt of drinking
the same wine at the Cape, that the same grape produced upon the
French mountains, - he was too phlegmatic for that - but
undoubtedly he expected to drink some sort of vinous liquor; but
whether good or bad, or indifferent, - he knew enough of this world
to know, that it did not depend upon his choice, but that what is
generally called choice, was to decide his success: however,
he hoped for the best; and in these hopes, by an intemperate
confidence in the fortitude of his head, and the depth of his
discretion, Mynheer might possibly oversee both in his new
vineyard; and by discovering his nakedness, become a laughing stock
to his people.
Even so it fares with the Poor Traveller, sailing and posting
through the politer kingdoms of the globe, in pursuit of knowledge
and improvements.
Knowledge and improvements are to be got by sailing and posting
for that purpose; but whether useful knowledge and real
improvements is all a lottery; - and even where the adventurer is
successful, the acquired stock must be used with caution and
sobriety, to turn to any profit: - but, as the chances run
prodigiously the other way, both as to the acquisition and
application, I am of opinion, That a man would act as wisely, if he
could prevail upon himself to live contented without foreign
knowledge or foreign improvements, especially if he lives in a
country that has no absolute want of either; - and indeed, much
grief of heart has it oft and many a time cost me, when I have
observed how many a foul step the Inquisitive Traveller has
measured to see sights and look into discoveries; all which, as
Sancho Panza said to Don Quixote, they might have seen dry-shod at
home. It is an age so full of light, that there is scarce a
country or corner in Europe whose beams are not crossed and
interchanged with others. - Knowledge in most of its branches, and
in most affairs, is like music in an Italian street, whereof those
may partake who pay nothing. - But there is no nation under heaven
- and God is my record (before whose tribunal I must one day come
and give an account of this work) - that I do not speak it
vauntingly, - but there is no nation under heaven abounding with
more variety of learning, - where the sciences may be more fitly
woo’d, or more surely won, than here, - where art is encouraged,
and will so soon rise high, - where Nature (take her altogether)
has so little to answer for, - and, to close all, where there is
more wit and variety of character to feed the mind with: - Where
then, my dear countrymen, are you going? -
We are only looking at this chaise, said they. - Your most
obedient servant, said I, skipping out of it, and pulling off my
hat. - We were wondering, said one of them, who, I found was an
Inquisitive Traveller, - what could occasion its motion. -
’Twas the agitation, said I, coolly, of writing a preface. - I
never heard, said the other, who was a Simple Traveller, of
a preface wrote in a désobligeant. - It would have been
better, said I, in a vis-a-vis.
- As an Englishman does not travel to see Englishmen, I
retired to my room.
CALAIS.
I perceived that something darken’d the passage more than
myself, as I stepp’d along it to my room; it was effectually Mons.
Dessein, the master of the hôtel, who had just returned from
vespers, and with his hat under his arm, was most complaisantly
following me, to put me in mind of my wants. I had wrote
myself pretty well out of conceit with the désobligeant, and
Mons. Dessein speaking of it, with a shrug, as if it would no way
suit me, it immediately struck my fancy that it belong’d to some
Innocent Traveller, who, on his return home, had left it to
Mons. Dessein’s honour to make the most of. Four months had
elapsed since it had finished its career of Europe in the corner of
Mons. Dessein’s coach-yard; and having sallied out from thence but
a vampt-up business at the first, though it had been twice taken to
pieces on Mount Sennis, it had not profited much by its adventures,
- but by none so little as the standing so many months unpitied in
the corner of Mons.
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