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such he felt it； to tear the portrait of his ancestor from his
native walls。 He paused and listened：〃There was no voice； nor
any that answered；〃but as the wrinkled and torn canvas fell to
the floor； its undulations gave the portrait the appearance of
smiling。 Melmoth felt horror indescribable at this transient and
imaginary resuscitation of the figure。 He caught it up； rushed
into the next room； tore； cut； and hacked it in every direction；
and eagerly watched the fragments that burned like tinder in the
turf fire which had been lit in his room。 As Melmoth saw the last
blaze； he threw himself into bed； in hope of a deep and intense
sleep。 He had done what was required of him； and felt exhausted
both in mind and body； but his slumber was not so sound as he had
hoped for。 The sullen light of the turf fire； burning but never
blazing； disturbed him every moment。 He turned and turned； but
still there was the same red light glaring on； but not
illuminating； the dusky furniture of the apartment。 The wind was
high that night； and as the creaking door swung on its hinges；
every noise seemed like the sound of a hand struggling with the
lock； or of a foot pausing on the threshold。 But （for Melmoth
never could decide） was it in a dream or not； that he saw the
figure of his ancestor appear at the door？hesitatingly as he saw
him at first on the night of his uncle's death；saw him enter the
room； approach his bed； and heard him whisper； 〃You have burned me；
then； but those are flames I can survive。I am alive；I am beside
you。〃 Melmoth started； sprung from his bed；it was broad
daylight。 He looked round；there was no human being in the room
but himself。 He felt a slight pain in the wrist of his right arm。
He looked at it； it was black and blue； as from the recent gripe of
a strong hand。
Balzac's tale； Melmoth Reconciled； in Vol。 IV。； furnishes a
solution to the terrible problem which Maturin has stated in this
story。EDITOR'S NOTE。
Introduction to 〃A Mystery with a Moral〃
The next Mystery Story is like no other in these volumes。 The
editor's defense lies in the plea that Laurence Sterne 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 unconventionality； are enough to account
for the neglect。 Even the easy mannered England of 1760 opened its
eyes in horror when 〃Tristram Shandy〃 appeared。 〃A most unclerical
clergyman；〃 the public pronounced the rector of Sutton and
prebendary 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
〃Sentimental Journey〃 that follow in these pages。 He used to
declare that he never intended anythinghe never knew whither his
pen was leadingthe rash implement； once in hand； was likely to
fly with him from Yorkshire to Italyor to Parisor across the
road to Uncle Toby's； and what could the helpless author do but
improve each occasion？
So here is one such 〃occasion〃 thus 〃improved〃 by disjointed
sequelsheedless； 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 critic than the severe Hazlitt 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
wisdom； and a 〃Contrast〃 in Sterne's best vein of quiet happiness
they have felt emboldened to ascribe the passage 〃A Mystery with a
Moral。〃
As regards the 〃Application〃： Sterne knew whereof he wrote。 He
sought the South of France for health in 1762； and was run after
and feted by the most brilliant circles of Parisian litterateurs。
This foreign sojourn failed to cure his lung complaint； but
suggested the idea to him of the rambling and charming 〃Sentimental
Journey。〃 Only three weeks after its publication； on March 18；
1768； Sterne died alone in his London lodgings。
Spite of all that marred his genius； his work has lived and wil1
live； if only for the exquisite literary art which ever made great
things out of little。The EDITOR。
Laurence Sterne
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
everyone who passed by； and forming conjectures upon them； till my
attention got fixed upon a single object； which confounded all kind
of reasoning upon him。
It was a 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 years' service。 They were still clean； and there
was a little air of frugal propriete throughout him。 By his
pulling off his hat； and his attitude of accosting a good many in
his way； I saw he was asking charity； so I got a sous or 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 successfulhe 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 noonday； 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 sentiments 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； 〃Cappadocia； Pontus 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* or wish to get off quietly o' foot 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 halfway
down； but near the doorit is more for ornament than useyou see
it as a fixed star of the least magnitude； it burns； but does
little good to the world that we know of。
*Hackney coach。
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
caresses； unbroke in 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 cadence 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
quota of an alms； and that the sum should b