A Sentimental Journey Through France and Italy

by Лоренс Стерн

  He had had the honour, he said, to be at the bombardment of it last war; - that it was finely situated, pour cela, - and full of noblesse when the Imperialists were driven out by the French (the lady made a slight courtesy) - so giving her an account of the affair, and of the share he had had in it, - he begg’d the honour to know her name, - so made his bow.

  - Et Madame a son Mari? - said he, looking back when he had made two steps, - and, without staying for an answer - danced down the street.

  Had I served seven years apprenticeship to good breeding, I could not have done as much.

  THE REMISE. CALAIS.

  As the little French captain left us, Mons. Dessein came up with the key of the Remise in his hand, and forthwith let us into his magazine of chaises.

  The first object which caught my eye, as Mons. Dessein open’d the door of the Remise, was another old tatter’d désobligeant; and notwithstanding it was the exact picture of that which had hit my fancy so much in the coach-yard but an hour before, - the very sight of it stirr’d up a disagreeable sensation within me now; and I thought ’twas a churlish beast into whose heart the idea could first enter, to construct such a machine; nor had I much more charity for the man who could think of using it.

  I observed the lady was as little taken with it as myself: so Mons. Dessein led us on to a couple of chaises which stood abreast, telling us, as he recommended them, that they had been purchased by my lord A. and B. to go the grand tour, but had gone no further than Paris, so were in all respects as good as new. - They were too good; - so I pass’d on to a third, which stood behind, and forthwith begun to chaffer for the price. - But ’twill scarce hold two, said I, opening the door and getting in. - Have the goodness, Madame, said Mons. Dessein, offering his arm, to step in. - The lady hesitated half a second, and stepped in; and the waiter that moment beckoning to speak to Mon. Dessein, he shut the door of the chaise upon us, and left us.

  THE REMISE. CALAIS.

  C’est bien comique, ’tis very droll, said the lady, smiling, from the reflection that this was the second time we a had been left together by a parcel of nonsensical contingencies, - c’est bien comique, said she. -

  - There wants nothing, said I, to make it so but the comic use which the gallantry of a Frenchman would put it to, - to make love the first moment, and an offer of his person the second.

  ’Tis their fort, replied the lady.

  It is supposed so at least; - and how it has come to pass, continued I, I know not; but they have certainly got the credit of understanding more of love, and making it better than any other nation upon earth; but, for my own part, I think them arrant bunglers, and in truth the worst set of marksmen that ever tried Cupid’s patience.

  - To think of making love by sentiments!

  I should as soon think of making a genteel suit of clothes out of remnants: - and to do it - pop - at first sight, by declaration - is submitting the offer, and themselves with it, to be sifted with all their pours and contres, by an unheated mind.

  The lady attended as if she expected I should go on.

  Consider then, Madame, continued I, laying my hand upon hers:-

  That grave people hate love for the name’s sake; -

  That selfish people hate it for their own; -

  Hypocrites for heaven’s; -

  And that all of us, both old and young, being ten times worse frightened than hurt by the very report, - what a want of knowledge in this branch of commence a man betrays, whoever lets the word come out of his lips, till an hour or two, at least, after the time that his silence upon it becomes tormenting. A course of small, quiet attentions, not so pointed as to alarm, - nor so vague as to be misunderstood - with now and then a look of kindness, and little or nothing said upon it, - leaves nature for your mistress, and she fashions it to her mind. -

  Then I solemnly declare, said the lady, blushing, you have been making love to me all this while.

  THE REMISE. CALAIS.

  Monsieur Dessein came back to let us out of the chaise, and acquaint the lady, the count de L-, her brother, was just arrived at the hotel. Though I had infinite good will for the lady, I cannot say that I rejoiced in my heart at the event - and could not help telling her so; - for it is fatal to a proposal, Madame, said I, that I was going to make to you -

  - You need not tell me what the proposal was, said she, laying her hand upon both mine, as she interrupted me. - A man my good Sir, has seldom an offer of kindness to make to a woman, but she has a presentiment of it some moments before. -

  Nature arms her with it, said I, for immediate preservation. - But I think, said she, looking in my face, I had no evil to apprehend, - and, to deal frankly with you, had determined to accept it. - If I had - (she stopped a moment) - I believe your good will would have drawn a story from me, which would have made pity the only dangerous thing in the journey.

  In saying this, she suffered me to kiss her hand twice, and with a look of sensibility mixed with concern, she got out of the chaise, - and bid adieu.

  IN THE STREET. CALAIS.

  I never finished a twelve guinea bargain so expeditiously in my life: my time seemed heavy, upon the loss of the lady, and knowing every moment of it would be as two, till I put myself into motion, - I ordered post horses directly, and walked towards the hotel.

  Lord! said I, hearing the town clock strike four, and recollecting that I had been little more than a single hour in Calais, -

  - What a large volume of adventures may be grasped within this little span of life by him who interests his heart in every thing, and who, having eyes to see what time and chance are perpetually holding out to him as he journeyeth on his way, misses nothing he can fairly lay his hands on!

  - If this won’t turn out something, - another will; - no matter, - ’tis an assay upon human nature - I get my labour for my pains, - ’tis enough; - the pleasure of the experiment has kept my senses and the best part of my blood awake, and laid the gross to sleep.

  I pity the man who can travel from Dan to Beersheba, and cry, ’Tis all barren; - and so it is: and so is all the world to him who will not cultivate the fruits it offers. I declare, said I, clapping my hands cheerily together, that were I in a desert, I would find out wherewith in it to call forth my affections: - if I could not do better, I would fasten them upon some sweet myrtle, or seek some melancholy cypress to connect myself to; - I would court their shade, and greet them kindly for their protection. - I would cut my name upon them, and swear they were the loveliest trees throughout the desert: if their leaves wither’d, I would teach myself to mourn; and, when they rejoiced, I would rejoice along with them.

  The learned Smelfungus travelled from Boulogne to Paris, - from Paris to Rome, - and so on; - but he set out with the spleen and jaundice, and every object he pass’d by was discoloured or distorted. - He wrote an account of them, but ’twas nothing but the account of his miserable feelings.

  I met Smelfungus in the grand portico of the Pantheon: - he was just coming out of it. - ’Tis nothing but a huge cockpit, said he: - I wish you had said nothing worse of the Venus of Medicis, replied I; - for in passing through Florence, I had heard he had fallen foul upon the goddess, and used her worse than a common strumpet, without the least provocation in nature.

  I popp’d upon Smelfungus again at Turin, in his return home; and a sad tale of sorrowful adventures had he to tell, “wherein he spoke of moving accidents by flood and field, and of the cannibals that each other eat: the Anthropophagi:” - he had been flayed alive, and bedevil’d, and used worse than St. Bartholomew, at every stage he had come at. -

  - I’ll tell it, cried Smelfungus, to the world. You had better tell it, said I, to your physician.

  Mundungus, with an immense fortune, made the whole tour; going on from Rome to Naples, - from Naples to Venice, - from Venice to Vienna, - to Dresden, to Berlin, without one generous connection or pleasurable anecdote to tell of; but he had travell’d straight on, looking neither to his right hand nor his left, lest Love o
r Pity should seduce him out of his road.

  Peace be to them! if it is to be found; but heaven itself, were it possible to get there with such tempers, would want objects to give it; every gentle spirit would come flying upon the wings of Love to hail their arrival. - Nothing would the souls of Smelfungus and Mundungus hear of, but fresh anthems of joy, fresh raptures of love, and fresh congratulations of their common felicity. - I heartily pity them; they have brought up no faculties for this work; and, were the happiest mansion in heaven to be allotted to Smelfungus and Mundungus, they would be so far from being happy, that the souls of Smelfungus and Mundungus would do penance there to all eternity!

  MONTREUIL.

  I had once lost my portmanteau from behind my chaise, and twice got out in the rain, and one of the times up to the knees in dirt, to help the postilion to tie it on, without being able to find out what was wanting. - Nor was it till I got to Montreuil, upon the landlord’s asking me if I wanted not a servant, that it occurred to me, that that was the very thing.

  A servant! That I do most sadly, quoth I. - Because, Monsieur, said the landlord, there is a clever young fellow, who would be very proud of the honour to serve an Englishman. - But why an English one, more than any other? - They are so generous, said the landlord. - I’ll be shot if this is not a livre out of my pocket, quoth I to myself, this very night. - But they have wherewithal to be so, Monsieur, added he. - Set down one livre more for that, quoth I. - It was but last night, said the landlord, qu’un milord Anglois présentoit un écu à la fille de chambre. - Tant pis pour Mademoiselle Janatone, said I.

  Now Janatone, being the landlord’s daughter, and the landlord supposing I was young in French, took the liberty to inform me, I should not have said tant pis - but, tant mieux. Tant mieux, toujours, Monsieur, said he, when there is any thing to be got - tant pis, when there is nothing. It comes to the same thing, said I. Pardonnez-moi, said the landlord.

  I cannot take a fitter opportunity to observe, once for all, that tant pis and tant mieux, being two of the great hinges in French conversation, a stranger would do well to set himself right in the use of them, before he gets to Paris.

  A prompt French marquis at our ambassador’s table demanded of Mr. H-, if he was H-the poet? No, said Mr. H-, mildly. - Tant pis, replied the marquis.

  It is H-the historian, said another, - Tant mieux, said the marquis. And Mr. H-, who is a man of an excellent heart, return’d thanks for both.

  When the landlord had set me right in this matter, he called in La Fleur, which was the name of the young man he had spoke of, - saying only first, That as for his talents he would presume to say nothing, - Monsieur was the best judge what would suit him; but for the fidelity of La Fleur he would stand responsible in all he was worth.

  The landlord deliver’d this in a manner which instantly set my mind to the business I was upon; - and La Fleur, who stood waiting without, in that breathless expectation which every son of nature of us have felt in our turns, came in.

  MONTREUIL.

  I am apt to be taken with all kinds of people at first sight; but never more so than when a poor devil comes to offer his service to so poor a devil as myself; and as I know this weakness, I always suffer my judgment to draw back something on that very account, - and this more or less, according to the mood I am in, and the case; - and I may add, the gender too, of the person I am to govern.

  When La Fleur entered the room, after every discount I could make for my soul, the genuine look and air of the fellow determined the matter at once in his favour; so I hired him first, - and then began to enquire what he could do: But I shall find out his talents, quoth I, as I want them, - besides, a Frenchman can do every thing.

  Now poor La Fleur could do nothing in the world but beat a drum, and play a march or two upon the fife. I was determined to make his talents do; and can’t say my weakness was ever so insulted by my wisdom as in the attempt.

  La Fleur had set out early in life, as gallantly as most Frenchmen do, with serving for a few years; at the end of which, having satisfied the sentiment, and found, moreover, That the honour of beating a drum was likely to be its own reward, as it open’d no further track of glory to him, - he retired à ses terres, and lived comme il plaisoit à Dieu; - that is to say, upon nothing.

  - And so, quoth Wisdom, you have hired a drummer to attend you in this tour of yours through France and Italy! - Psha! said I, and do not one half of our gentry go with a humdrum compagnon du voyage the same round, and have the piper and the devil and all to pay besides? When man can extricate himself with an équivoque in such an unequal match, - he is not ill off. - But you can do something else, La Fleur? said I. - O qu’oui! he could make spatterdashes, and play a little upon the fiddle. - Bravo! said Wisdom. - Why, I play a bass myself, said I; - we shall do very well. You can shave, and dress a wig a little, La Fleur? - He had all the dispositions in the world. - It is enough for heaven! said I, interrupting him, - and ought to be enough for me. - So, supper coming in, and having a frisky English spaniel on one side of my chair, and a French valet, with as much hilarity in his countenance as ever Nature painted in one, on the other, - I was satisfied to my heart’s content with my empire; and if monarchs knew what they would be at, they might be as satisfied as I was.

  MONTREUIL.

  As La Fleur went the whole tour of France and Italy with me, and will be often upon the stage, I must interest the reader a little further in his behalf, by saying, that I had never less reason to repent of the impulses which generally do determine me, than in regard to this fellow; - he was a faithful, affectionate, simple soul as ever trudged after the heels of a philosopher; and, notwithstanding his talents of drum beating and spatterdash-making, which, though very good in themselves, happened to be of no great service to me, yet was I hourly recompensed by the festivity of his temper; - it supplied all defects: - I had a constant resource in his looks in all difficulties and distresses of my own - I was going to have added of his too; but La Fleur was out of the reach of every thing; for, whether ’twas hunger or thirst, or cold or nakedness, or watchings, or whatever stripes of ill luck La Fleur met with in our journeyings, there was no index in his physiognomy to point them out by, - he was eternally the same; so that if I am a piece of a philosopher, which Satan now and then puts it into my head I am, - it always mortifies the pride of the conceit, by reflecting how much I owe to the complexional philosophy of this poor fellow, for shaming me into one of a better kind. With all this, La Fleur had a small cast of the coxcomb, - but he seemed at first sight to be more a coxcomb of nature than of art; and, before I had been three days in Paris with him, - he seemed to be no coxcomb at all.

  MONTREUIL.

  The next morning, La Fleur entering upon his employment, I delivered to him the key of my portmanteau, with an inventory of my half a dozen shirts and silk pair of breeches, and bid him fasten all upon the chaise, - get the horses put to, - and desire the landlord to come in with his bill.

  C’est un garcon de bonne fortune, said the landlord, pointing through the window to half a dozen wenches who had got round about La Fleur, and were most kindly taking their leave of him, as the postilion was leading out the horses. La Fleur kissed all their hands round and round again, and thrice he wiped his eyes, and thrice he promised he would bring them all pardons from Rome.

  - The young fellow, said the landlord, is beloved by all the town, and there is scarce a corner in Montreuil where the want of him will not be felt: he has but one misfortune in the world, continued he, “he is always in love.” - I am heartily glad of it, said I, - ’twill save me the trouble every night of putting my breeches under my head. In saying this, I was making not so much La Fleur’s eloge as my own, having been in love with one princess or another almost all my life, and I hope I shall go on so till I die, being firmly persuaded, that if ever I do a mean action, it must be in some interval betwixt one passion and another: whilst this interregnum lasts, I always perceive my heart locked up, - I can scarce find in it to
give Misery a sixpence; and therefore I always get out of it as fast as I can - and the moment I am rekindled, I am all generosity and good-will again; and would do anything in the world, either for or with any one, if they will but satisfy me there is no sin in it.

  - But in saying this, - sure I am commanding the passion, - not myself.

  A FRAGMENT.

  - The town of Abdera, notwithstanding Democritus lived there, trying all the powers of irony and laughter to reclaim it, was the vilest and most profligate town in all Thrace. What for poisons, conspiracies, and assassinations, - libels, pasquinades, and tumults, there was no going there by day - ’twas worse by night.

  Now, when things were at the worst, it came to pass that the Andromeda of Euripides being represented at Abdera, the whole orchestra was delighted with it: but of all the passages which delighted them, nothing operated more upon their imaginations than the tender strokes of nature which the poet had wrought up in that pathetic speech of Perseus, O Cupid, prince of gods and men! &c. Every man almost spoke pure iambics the next day, and talked of nothing but Perseus his pathetic address, - “O Cupid! prince of gods and men!” - in every street of Abdera, in every house, “O Cupid! Cupid!” - in every mouth, like the natural notes of some sweet melody which drop from it, whether it will or no, - nothing but “Cupid! Cupid! prince of gods and men!” - The fire caught - and the whole city, like the heart of one man, open’d itself to Love.

  No pharmacopolist could sell one grain of hellebore, - not a single armourer had a heart to forge one instrument of death; - Friendship and Virtue met together, and kiss’d each other in the street; the golden age returned, and hung over the town of Abdera - every Abderite took his eaten pipe, and every Abderitish woman left her purple web, and chastely sat her down and listened to the song.