’Tis as cold and churlish just now, as (if God had not pleased it to be so) it ought to have been in bleak December, and therefore I am glad you are where you are, and where (I repeat it again) I wish I was also — Curse of poverty, and absence from those we love! — they are two great evils which embitter all things — and yet with the first I am not haunted much. — As to matrimony, I should be a beast to rail at it, for my wife is easy — but the world is not — and had I staid from her a second longer it would have been a burning shame — else she declares herself happier without me — but not in anger is this declaration made — but in pure sober good-sense, built on sound experience — she hopes you will be able to strike a bargain for me before this time twelvemonth, to lead a bear round Europe: and from this hopes from you, I verily believe it is, that you are so high in her favour at present — She swears you are a fellow of wit, though humourous; a funny jolly soul, though somewhat splenetic; and (bating the love of women) as honest as gold — how do you like the simile? — Oh, Lord! now are you going to Ranelagh to-night, and I am sitting, sorrowful as the prophet was when the voice cried out to him and said,
“What do’st thou here, Elijah?”
— ’Tis well the spirit does not make the same at Coxwold — for unless for the few sheep left me to take care of, in this wilderness, I might as well, nay better, be at Mecca — When we find we can by a shifting of places, run away from ourselves, what think you of a jaunt there, before we finally pay a visit to the vale of Jehosophat — As ill a fame as we have, I trust I shall one day or other see you face to face — so tell the two colonels, if they love good company, to live righteously and soberly as you do, and then they will have no doubts or dangers within, or without them — present my best and warmest wishes to them, and advise the eldest to prop up his spirits, and get a rich dowager before the conclusion of the peace — why will not the advice suit both, par nobile fratrum?
To-morrow morning, (if Heaven permit) I begin the fifth volume of Shandy — I care not a curse for the critics — I’ll load my vehicle with what goods he sends me, and they may take ‘em off my hands, or let them alone — I am very valourous — and ’tis in proportion as we retire from the world and see it in its true dimensions, that we despise it — no bad rant! — God above bless you! You know I am
Your affectionate Cousin, LAURENCE STERNE.
What few remain of the Demoniacs, greet — and write me a letter, if you are able, as foolish as this.
LETTER XVII. TO D — G — , ESQ.
Paris, Jan. 31, 1762.
My dear Friend,
THINK not that because I have been a fortnight in this metropolis without writing to you, that therefore I have not had you and Mrs. G. a hundred times in my head and heart — heart! yes, yes, say you — but I must not waste paper in badinage this post, whatever I do the next. Well! here I am, my friend, as much improved in my health for the time, as ever your friendship could wish, or at least your faith give credit to — by the bye I am somewhat worse in my intellectuals, for my head is turned round with what I see, and the unexpected honours I have met with here. Tristram was almost as much known here as in London, at least among your men of condition and learning, and has got me introduced into so many circles (’tis comme a Londres.) I have just now a fortnight’s dinners and suppers upon my hands — My application to the Count de Choisuiel goes on swimmingly, for not only Mr. Pelletiere, (who, by the bye, sends ten thousand civilities to you, and Mrs. G.) has undertaken my affair, but the Count de Limbourgh — the Baron d’Holbach, has offered any security for the inoffensiveness of my behaviour in France— ’tis more, you rogue! than you will do — This Baron is one of the most learned noblemen here, the great protector of wits, and the Scavans who are no wits — keeps open house three days a week — his house, is now, as yours was to me, my own — he lives at great expence— ’Twas an odd incident when I was introduced to the Count de Bissie, which I was at his desire — I found him reading Tristram — this grandee does me great honours, and gives me leave to go a private way through his apartments into the palais royal, to view the Duke of Orleans’ collections, every day I have time — I have been at the doctors of Sorbonne — I hope in a fortnight to break through, or rather from the delights of this place, which in the scavoir vivre, exceed all the places, I believe, in this section of the globe —
I am going, when this letter is wrote, with Mr. Fox, and Mr. Maccartny to Versailles — the next morning I wait upon Monsr. Titon, in company with Mr. Maccartny, who is known to him, to deliver your commands. I have bought you the pamphlet upon theatrical, or rather tragical declamation — I have bought another in verse, worth reading, and you will receive them, with what I can pick up this week, by a servant of Mr. Hodges, who he is sending back to England.
I was last night with Mr. Fox to see Madle. Clairon, in Iphigene — she is extremely great — would to God you had one or two like her — what a luxury, to see you with one of such powers in the same interesting scene — but ’tis too much — Ah! Preville! thou art Mercury himself — By virtue of taking a couple of boxes, we have bespoke this week the Frenchman in London, in which Preville is to send us home to supper, all happy — I mean about fifteen or sixteen English of distinction, who are now here, and live well with each other.
I am under great obligations to Mr. Pitt, who has behaved in every respect to me like a man of good breeding, and good nature — In a post or two I will write again — Foley is an honest soul — I could write six volumes of what has passed comically in this great scene, since these last fourteen days — but more of this hereafter — We are all going into mourning; nor you, nor Mrs. G. would know me, if you met me in my remise — bless you both! Service to Mrs. Denis. Adieu, adieu.
L. S.
LETTER XVIII. TO LADY D — .
London, Feb. 1, 1762.
YOUR Ladyship’s kind enquiries after my health is indeed kind, and of a piece with the rest of your character. Indeed I am very ill, having broke a vessel in my lungs — hard writing in the summer, together with preaching, which I have not strength for, is ever fatal to me — but I cannot avoid the latter yet, and the former is too pleasurable to be given up — I believe I shall try if the south of France will not be of service to me — his G. of Y. has most humanely given me the permission for a year of two — I shall set off with great hopes of its efficacy, and shall write to my wife and daughter to come and join me at Paris, else my stay could not be so long —
“Le Fever’s story has beguiled your ladyship of your tears,”
and the thought of the accusing spirit flying up heaven’s chancery with the oath, you are kind enough to say is sublime — my friend, Mr. Garrick, thinks so too, and I am most vain of his approbation — your ladyship’s opinion adds not a little to my vanity.
I wish I had time to take a little excursion to Bath, were it only to thank you for all the obliging things you say in your letter — but ’tis impossible — accept at least my warmest thanks — If I could tempt my friend, Mr. H. to come to France, I should be truly happy — If I can be of any service to you at Paris, command him who is, and ever will be,
Your Ladyship’s faithful, L. STERNE.
LETTER XIX. TO J — H — S — , ESQ.
Coxwould, July 28, 1761.
Dear H — ,
I SYMPATHIZED for, or with you, on the detail you give me of your late agitations — and would willingly have taken my horse, and trotted to the oracle to have enquired into the etymology of all your sufferings, had I not been assured, that all that evacuation of bilious matter, with all that abdomical motion attending it (both which are equal to a month’s purgation and exercise) will have left you better than it found you — Need one go to D — to be told that all kind of mild, (mark, I am going to talk more foolishly than your apothecary) opening, saponacious, dirty-shirt, sud-washing liquors are proper for you, and consequently all styptical potations, death and destruction — if you had not shut up your gall-ducts by these, the glauber salts cou
ld not have hurt — as it was, ’twas like a match to the gunpowder, by raising a fresh combustion, as all physic does at first, so that you have been let off — nitre, brimstone, and charcoal, (which is blackness itself) all at one blast— ’twas well the piece did not burst, for I think it underwent great violence, and, as it is proof, will, I hope, do much service in this militating world — Panty is mistaken, I quarrel with no one. — There was that coxcomb of — in the house, who lost temper with me for no reason upon earth but that I could not fall down and worship a brazen image of learning and eloquence, which he set up to the persecution of all true believers — I sat down upon his altar, and whistled in the time of his divine service — and broke down his carved work, and kicked his incense pot to the D — , so he retreated, sed non sine telle in corde suo. — I have wrote a clerum, whether I shall take my doctor’s degrees or no — I am much in doubt, but I trow not. — I go on with Tristram — I have bought seven hundred books at a purchase dog cheap — and many good — and I have been a week getting them set up in my best room here — why do not you transport yours to town, but I talk like a fool. — This will just catch you at your spaw — I wish you incolumem apud Londinum — do you go there for good and all — or ill? — I am, dear cousin,
Yours affectionately, L. STERNE.
LETTER XX. TO D. G — , ESQ.
Paris, March 19, 1762.
Dear G.
THIS will be put into your hands by Doctor Shippen, a physician, who has been here some time with Miss Poyntz, and is this moment setting off for your metropolis, so I snatch the opportunity of writing to you and my kind friend Mrs. G. — I see nothing like her here, and yet I have been introduced to one half of their best Goddesses, and in a month more shall be admitted to the shrines of the other half — but I neither worship — or fall (much) upon my knees before them; but on the contrary, have converted many unto Shandeism — for be it known I Shandy it away fifty times more than I was ever wont, talk more nonsense than ever you heard me talk in your days — and to all sorts of people. Qui le diable est ce homme là — said Choiseul, t’other day — ce Chevalier Shandy — You’ll think me as vain as a devil, was I to tell you the rest of the dialogue — whether the bearer knows it or no, I know not— ‘Twill serve up after supper, in Southampton-street, amongst other small dishes, after the fatigues of Richard the IIId — O God! they have nothing here, which gives the nerves so smart a blow, as those great characters in the hands of G — ! but I forgot I am writing to the man himself — The devil take (as he will) these transports of enthusiasm! apropos — the whole City of Paris is bewitch’d with the comic opera, and if it was not for the affairs of the Jesuits, which takes up one half of our talk, the comic opera would have it all — It is a tragical nuisance in all companies as it is, and was it not for some sudden starts and dashes — of Shandeism, which now and then either breaks the thread, or entangles it so, that the devil himself would be puzzled in winding it off — I should die a martyr — this by the way I never will —
I send you over some of these comic operas by the bearer, with the Sallon, a satire — The French comedy, I seldom visit it — they act scarce any thing but tragedies — and the Clairon is great, and Madlle. Dumesnil, in some places, still greater than her — yet I cannot bear preaching — I fancy I got a surfeit of it in my younger days. — There is a tragedy to be damn’d tonight — peace be with it, and the gentle brain which made it! I have ten thousand things to tell you, I cannot write — I do a thousand things which cut no figure, but in the doing — and as in London, I have the honour of having done and said a thousand things I never did or dream’d of — and yet I dream abundantly — If the devil stood behind me in the shape of a courier, I could not write faster than I do, having five letters more to dispatch by the same Gentleman; he is going into another section of the globe, and when he has seen you, he will depart in peace.
The Duke of Orleans has suffered my portrait to be added to the number of some odd men in his collection; and a gentleman who lives with him has taken it most expressively, at full length — I purpose to obtain an etching of it, and to send it you — your prayer for me of rosy health, is heard — If I stay here for three or four months, I shall return more than reinstated. My love to Mrs. G.
I am, my dear G. Your most humble Servant, L. STERNE.
LETTER XXI. TO THE SAME.
Paris, April 10, 1762.
My Dear G.
I SNATCH the occasion of Mr. Wilcox (the late Bishop of Rochester’s son) leaving this place for England, to write to you, and I inclose it to Hall, who will put it into your hand, possibly behind the scenes. I hear no news of you, or your empire, I would have said kingdom — but here every thing is hyperbolized — and if a woman is but simply pleased— ’tis Je suis charmeé — and if she is charmed ’tis nothing less, than that she is ravi-sh’d — and when ravi-sh’d, (which may happen) there is nothing left for her but to fly to the other world for a metaphor, and swear, qu’elle etoit toute exiasieé — which mode of speaking, is, by the bye, here creeping into use, and there is scarce a woman who understands the bon ton, but is seven times in a day in downright extasy — that is, the devil’s in her — by a small mistake of one world for the other — Now, where am I got?
I have been these two days reading a tragedy, given me by a lady of talents, to read and conjecture if it would do for you— ’Tis from the plan of Diderot, and possibly half a translation of it — The Natural Son, or, the Triumph Virtue, in five acts — It has too much sentiment in it, (at least for me) the speeches too long, and savour too much of preaching — this may be a second reason, it is not to my taste— ’Tis all love, love, love, throughout, without much separation in the character; so I fear it would not do for your stage, and perhaps for the very reason which recommend it to a French one. — After a vile suspension of three weeks — we are beginning with our comedies and operas again — yours I hear never flourished more — here the comic actors were never so low — the tragedians hold up their heads — in all senses. I have known one little man support the theatrical world, like a David Atlas, upon his shoulders, but Preville can’t do half as much here, though Mad. Clairon stands by him, and sets her back to his — she is very great, however, and highly improved since you saw her — she also supports her dignity at table, and has her public day every Thursday, when she gives to eat, (as they say here) to all that are hungry and dry.
You are much talked of here, and much expected as soon as the peace will let you — these two last days you have happened to engross the whole conversation at two great houses where I was at dinner— ’Tis the greatest problem in nature, in this meridian, that one and the same man should possess such tragic and comic powers, and in such an equilibrio, as to divide the world for which of the two nature intended him.
Crebillion has made a convention with me, which, if he is not too lazy, will be no bad persiflage — as soon as I get to Thoulouse he has agreed to write me an expostulatry letter upon the indecorums of T. Shandy — which is to be answered by recrimination upon the liberties in his own works — these are to be printed together — Crebillion against Sterne — Sterne against Crebillion — the copy to be sold, and the money equally divided — This is good Swiss-policy.
I am recovered greatly, and if I could spend one whole winter at Toulouse, I should be fortified, in my inner man, beyond all danger of relapsing. — A sad asthma my daughter has been martyr’d with these three winters, but mostly this last, makes it, I fear, necessary she should try the last remedy of a warmer and softer air, so I am going this week to Versailles, to wait upon Count Choiseul to solicit passports for them — If this system takes place, they join me here — and after a month’s stay we all decamp for the south of France — if not, I shall see you in June next. Mr. Fox, and Mr. Macartny, having left Paris, I live altogether in French families — I laugh ‘till I cry, and in the same tender moments cry ‘till I laugh. I Shandy it more than ever, and verily do believe, that by mere Shandeism sublimated by a la
ughter-loving people, I fence as much against infirmities, as I do by the benefit of air and climate. Adieu, dear G. present ten thousand of my best respects and wishes to and for my friend Mrs. G. — had she been last night upon the Tulleries, she would have annihilated a thousand French goddesses, in one single turn.
I am most truly, my dear friend, L. STERNE.
LETTER XXII. TO MRS. S — , YORK.
Paris, — 16th 1762.
My Dear,
IT is a thousand to one that this reaches you before you have set out — However I take the chance — you will receive one wrote last night, the moment you get to Mr. E. and to wish you joy of your arrival in town — to that letter which you will find in town, I have nothing to add that I can think on — for I have almost drain’d my brains dry upon the subject. — For God sake rise early and gallop away in the cool — and always see that you have not forgot your baggage in changing post-chaises — You will find good tea upon the road from York to Dover — only bring a little to carry you from Calais to Paris — give the Custom-House officers what I told you — at Calais give more, if you have much Scotch snuff — but as tobacco is good here, you had best bring a Scotch mill and make it yourself, that is, order your valet to manufacture it— ‘twill keep him out of mischief. — I would advise you to take three days in coming up, for fear of heating yourselves — See that they do not give you a bad vehicle, when a better is in the yard, but you will look sharp — drink small Rhenish to keep you cool, (that is if you like it.) Live well and deny yourselves nothing your hearts wish. So God in heav’n prosper and go along with you — kiss my Lydia, and believe me both affectionately,
Complete Works of Laurence Sterne Page 103
