INTRODUCTION

The thirst of this,

being as a temple; and would rather enter in, and see the original drawings, and loose sketches hung up in it, than the Transfiguration of Raphael itself. continued I, as impatient as that which inflames the breast of the connoisseur, has led me from my own home into France, and from France will lead me through Italy; - 't is a quiet journey of the heart in pursuit of Nature, and those affections which arise out of her, which makes us love each other, and the world, better than we do."

Instead of describing what he sees for its own sake, Yorick portrays first of all his sensations. And no incident or object is trivial to him provided it may serve to evoke a train of feelings. "I declare," he says, *** that

was 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 re

joiced, I would rejoice along with them." The Inquisitive Traveller, on reaching Calais in an afternoon, would have strolled through the Place d'Armes for a view of the Hôtel de Ville and the old Watch Tower, and he might have walked on to the Church of Our Lady to see the great altar of white marble. Not so with the Sentimental Traveller. He goes straight to Monsieur Dessein's inn, and sits down to a fricaseed chicken and a pint of Burgundy. As he begins his dinner, he reflects that should he die that night of an indigestion, his effects — shirts, silk breeches, portmanteau, and the little picture of Eliza—would all go to the King of France in accordance with the ancient droits d'aubaine. In conclusion he drinks a health to the King; his spleen disappears, and the cruel Bourbon becomes a man of mild and humane temper. In this friendly mood, Yorick kicks aside his portmanteau as a symbol of the world's goods, which set at enmity men who should be brothers. He now feels, he says, "every vessel of my frame dilate" and "the arteries beat all cheerily together."

While Yorick is at peace with all the world, and anxious to serve some one in distress, a poor monk of the order of St. Francis appears and

INTRODUCTION

begs an alms for his convent. He is denied, for "no man," says Sterne, "cares to have his virtues the sport of contingencies." As quickly as the blush comes and goes, the sweet state of peace and kindness has given way to a spirit of contention and resentment - but so mild is the new mood that we hardly have a name for it. The door closes; the monk is gone; and Yorick, ashamed of his conduct, conceals himself in the old chaise in the court-yard to write his preface. That finished, he goes towards his room, where he meets in the passage Monsieur Dessein, just returned from vespers. He had hoped to be in a hostile frame of mind at the time, that he might drive a good bargain with his landlord for a chaise suitable for the grand tour. But the ill nature he felt a little while before has been dissipated by reflections on the désobligeante, a poor "vampt-up business at the first" that "had been twice taken to pieces on Mount Cenis," and had now stood for four months in a corner of the court-yard, exposed to every rain. To drag this poor thing over the mountains into Italy once more is out of the question. So Yorick goes down with Monsieur Dessein to look over his magazine of chaises for one that will give no dis

quiet to his nerves. On the way to the remise, he feels the old spirit of hostility between buyer and seller returning he imagines his

host a Jew, then a Turk, and in thought wishes him to the devil. To reverse these base sentiments arising from an ignoble fear of being overreached in a bargain, Yorick suddenly turns about, and is face to face with the beautiful Fleming. Dislike for Monsieur Dessein vanishes, and all the pity Yorick bestowed a few moments before upon a broken-down chaise is transferred to a fair lady of widowed look-it is pity, but pity mingled subtly with the passion of sex, as he takes her by the hand and leads her up to the remise door, or sits by her side in the chaise scarce large enough for two. Each divines the thought and intent of the other by "the pulsations of the arteries along" their " fingers," as they stand or sit, hand in hand. Amid these pleasant sensations, the aged Franciscan reappears, and Yorick atones for his former harshness by presenting him with his horn snuff-box. Blushing red as scarlet at the kindness, the poor monk begs him to accept his in exchange. "I guard this box," says Yorick, "as I would the instrumental parts of my religion,

INTRODUCTION

to help my mind on to something better: in truth, I seldom go abroad without it: and oft and many a time have I called up by it the courteous spirit of its owner to regulate my own, in the justlings of the world." The gentler passions" have run their circuit; and benevolence is exalted as a religion:- and all within two hours after Yorick reached Calais.

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As at Calais, so on the rest of the journey through France. Everywhere there is the same ebb and flow of the emotions; everywhere alternate the blush and the tear. The sentiment is often whimsical. To no one else would the starling in its cage have suggested in all their details the miseries of slavery or of the lone captive in some dungeon of the Bastille.

Probably no other English traveller ever stopped to lament with a poor peasant over the loss of a donkey. It may be that Sterne reached the verge of failure in his attempt to awaken pity for the old désobligeante at Calais. The man who is disturbed by the damp and chill that gather about a vampt-up chaise at night, must be indeed of very acute sensibility. Again, Sterne's sentiment is often excessive. His eyes may well have been moist