Sentmental journey « Adieu, Maria! – adieu, poor hapless damsel ! – some time, but not now, I may hear thy sorrows from thy own lips– »

The Insane Maria from Sterne's Sentimental Journey by Angelica Kauffman
Angelica Kaufmann was born in Coire, Switzerland on 30 October 1741 + Rome 1807



Moulins--Maria

I never felt what the distress of plenty was in any one shape till now--to travel it through the Bourbonnois, the sweetest part of France--in the heyday of the vintage, when Nature is pouring her abundance into everyone's lap and every eye is lifted up--a journey through each step of which Music beats time to Labour, and all her children are rejoicing as they carry in their clusters--to pass through this with my affections flying out, and kindling at every group before me--and every one of them was pregnant with adventures.
Just Heaven!--it would fill up twenty volumes-- and alas! I have but a few small pages left of this to crown it into--and half of these must be taken up with the poor Maria my friend Mr. Shandy met with near Moulins.

The story he had told of that disorder'd maid affected me not a little in the reading; but when I got within the neighborhood where she lived, it returned so strong into my mind, that I could not resist an impulse which prompted me to go half a league out of the road, to the village, where her parents dwelt, to enquire after her.




Maria by Joseph Wright of Derby

Joseph Wright of Derby (né le 3 septembre 1734 à Derby et décédé le 29 août 1797 dans la même ville) est un peintre britannique de l'époque romantique.
Fils d'avocat, il étudie à Londres auprès de Thomas Hudson — qui fut aussi le maître de Joshua Reynolds — avant de revenir dans sa ville natale de Derby où il s'établit définivement.

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Moulins--Maria

Tho' I hate salutations and greetings in the marketplace, yet when we got into the middle of this, I stopp'd to take my last look and last farewel of Maria.
Maria, though not tall, was nevertheless of the first order of fine forms--affliction had touch'd her looks with something that was scarce earthly--still she was feminine-- and so much was there about her of all that the heart wishes, or the eye looks for in woman, that could the traces ever be worn out of her brain, and those of Eliza out of mine, she should not only eat of my bread and drink of my own cup, but Maria should lie in my bosom, and be unto me a daughter.

Adieu, poor luckless maiden!--Imbibe the oil and wine which the compassion of a stranger, as he journeyeth on his way, now pours into thy wounds--the Being who has twice bruised thee can only bind them up forever.