Friday 26 August 2022

30

 

 



THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF

TRISTRAM SHANDY, GENTLEMAN

 

PART 30

 

C H A P.   XI

 

O! THERE is a sweet æra in the life of man, when (the brain being tender and fibrillous, and more like pap than any thing else)——a story read of two fond lovers, separated from each other by cruel parents, and by still more cruel destiny——

 

     Amandus——He
     Amanda——She——
each ignorant of the other’s course,
     He——east
     She——west
Amandus taken captive by the Turks, and carried to the emperor of Morocco’s court, where the princess of Morocco falling in love with him, keeps him twenty years in prison for the love of his Amanda.——

 

She—(Amanda) all the time wandering barefoot, and with dishevell’d hair, o’er rocks and mountains, enquiring for Amandus!——Amandus! Amandus!—making every hill and valley to echo back his name——

 

Amandus! Amandus!

 

at every town and city, sitting down forlorn at the gate——Has Amandus!—has my Amandus enter’d?——till,——going round, and round, and round the world——chance unexpected bringing them at the same moment of the night, though by different ways, to the gate of Lyons, their native city, and each in well-known accents calling out aloud,

 

 

 

Is Amandus    

 

                       still alive?

 

Is my Amanda

 

they fly into each other’s arms, and both drop down dead for joy.

 

There is a soft æra in every gentle mortal’s life, where such a story affords more pabulum to the brain, than all the Frusts, and Crusts, and Rusts of antiquity, which travellers can cook up for it.

 

——’Twas all that stuck on the right side of the cullender in my own, of what Spon and others, in their accounts of Lyons, had strained into it; and finding, moreover, in some Itinerary, but in what God knows——That sacred to the fidelity of Amandus and Amanda, a tomb was built without the gates, where, to this hour, lovers called upon them to attest their truths——I never could get into a scrape of that kind in my life, but this tomb of the lovers would, somehow or other, come in at the close —nay such a kind of empire had it establish’d over me, that I could seldom think or speak of Lyons—and sometimes not so much as see even a Lyons-waistcoat, but this remnant of antiquity would present itself to my fancy; and I have often said in my wild way of running on——tho’ I fear with some irreverence——“I thought this shrine (neglected as it was) as valuable as that of Mecca, and so little short, except in wealth, of the Santa Casa itself, that some time or other, I would go a pilgrimage (though I had no other business at Lyons) on purpose to pay it a visit.”

 

In my list, therefore, of Videnda at Lyons, this, tho’ last,—was not, you see, least ; so taking a dozen or two of longer strides than usual cross my room, just whilst it passed my brain, I walked down calmly into the basse cour, in order to sally forth; and having called for my bill—as it was uncertain whether I should return to my inn, I had paid it——had moreover given the maid ten sous, and was just receiving the dernier compliments of Monsieur Le Blanc, for a pleasant voyage down the Rhône——when I was stopped at the gate——

 

C H A P.   XIII

 

——’TWAS by a poor ass, who had just turned in with a couple of large panniers upon his back, to collect eleemosynary turnip-tops and cabbage-leaves; and stood dubious, with his two fore-feet on the inside of the threshold, and with his two hinder feet towards the street, as not knowing very well whether he was to go in or no.

 

Now, ’tis an animal (be in what hurry I may) I cannot bear to strike——there is a patient endurance of sufferings, wrote so unaffectedly in his looks and carriage, which pleads so mightily for him, that it always disarms me; and to that degree, that I do not like to speak unkindly to him: on the contrary, meet him where I will—whether in town or country—in cart or under panniers—whether in liberty or bondage——I have ever something civil to say to him on my part; and as one word begets another (if he has as little to do as I)——I generally fall into conversation with him; and surely never is my imagination so busy as in framing his responses from the etchings of his countenance—and where those carry me not deep enough—in flying from my own heart into his, and seeing what is natural for an ass to think—as well as a man, upon the occasion. In truth, it is the only creature of all the classes of beings below me, with whom I can do this: for parrots, jackdaws, &c.——I never exchange a word with them——nor with the apes, &c. for pretty near the same reason; they act by rote, as the others speak by it, and equally make me silent: nay my dog and my cat, though I value them both——(and for my dog he would speak if he could)—yet somehow or other, they neither of them possess the talents for conversation——I can make nothing of a discourse with them, beyond the proposition, the reply, and rejoinder, which terminated my father’s and my mother’s conversations, in his beds of justice——and those utter’d——there’s an end of the dialogue——

 

—But with an ass, I can commune for ever.

 

Come, Honesty! said I,——seeing it was impracticable to pass betwixt him and the gate——art thou for coming in, or going out?

 

The ass twisted his head round to look up the street——

 

Well—replied I—we’ll wait a minute for thy driver:

 

——He turned his head thoughtful about, and looked wistfully the opposite way——

 

I understand thee perfectly, answered I——If thou takest a wrong step in this affair, he will cudgel thee to death——Well! a minute is but a minute, and if it saves a fellow-creature a drubbing, it shall not be set down as ill-spent.

 

He was eating the stem of an artichoke as this discourse went on, and in the little peevish contentions of nature betwixt hunger and unsavouriness, had dropt it out of his mouth half a dozen times, and pick’d it up again——God help thee, Jack! said I, thou hast a bitter breakfast on’t—and many a bitter day’s labour,—and many a bitter blow, I fear, for its wages——’tis all—all bitterness to thee, whatever life is to others.——And now thy mouth, if one knew the truth of it, is as bitter, I dare say, as soot—(for he had cast aside the stem) and thou hast not a friend perhaps in all this world, that will give thee a macaroon.——In saying this, I pull’d out a paper of ’em, which I had just purchased, and gave him one—and at this moment that I am telling it, my heart smites me, that there was more of pleasantry in the conceit, of seeing how an ass would eat a macaroon——than of benevolence in giving him one, which presided in the act.

 

When the ass had eaten his macaroon, I press’d him to come in——the poor beast was heavy loaded——his legs seem’d to tremble under him——he hung rather backwards, and as I pull’d at his halter, it broke short in my hand——he look’d up pensive in my face—“Don’t thrash me with it—but if you will, you may”——If I do, said I, I’ll be d——d.

 

The word was but one-half of it pronounced, like the abbess of Andoüillet’s—(so there was no sin in it)—when a person coming in, let fall a thundering bastinado upon the poor devil’s crupper, which put an end to the ceremony.

 

      Out upon it!

 

cried I——but the interjection was equivocal——and, I think, wrong placed too—for the end of an osier which had started out from the contexture of the ass’s panier, had caught hold of my breeches pocket, as he rush’d by me, and rent it in the most disastrous direction you can imagine——so that the

 

Out upon it! in my opinion, should have come in here——but this I leave to be settled by

 

The
REVIEWERS
of
MY BREECHES,

 

which I have brought over along with me for that purpose.

 

C H A P.   XIV

 

WHEN all was set to rights, I came down stairs again into the basse cour with my valet de place, in order to sally out towards the tomb of the two lovers, &c.—and was a second time stopp’d at the gate——not by the ass—but by the person who struck him; and who, by that time, had taken possession (as is not uncommon after a defeat) of the very spot of ground where the ass stood.

 

It was a commissary sent to me from the post-office, with a rescript in his hand for the payment of some six livres odd sous.

 

Upon what account? said I.——’Tis upon the part of the king, replied the commissary, heaving up both his shoulders——

 

——My good friend, quoth I——as sure as I am I—and you are you——

 

——And who are you? said he.——

 

——Don’t puzzle me; said I.

 

C H A P.   XV

 

——But it is an indubitable verity, continued I, addressing myself to the commissary, changing only the form of my asseveration——that I owe the king of France nothing but my good will; for he is a very honest man, and I wish him all health and pastime in the world——

 

Pardonnez moi—replied the commissary, you are indebted to him six livres four sous, for the next post from hence to St. Fons, in your route to Avignon—which being a post royal, you pay double for the horses and postillion—otherwise ’twould have amounted to no more than three livres two sous——

 

——But I don’t go by land; said I.

 

——You may if you please; replied the commissary——

 

Your most obedient servant——said I, making him a low bow——

 

The commissary, with all the sincerity of grave good breeding—made me one, as low again.——I never was more disconcerted with a bow in my life.

 

——The devil take the serious character of these people! quoth I—(aside) they understand no more of Irony than this——

 

The comparison was standing close by with his panniers—but something seal’d up my lips—I could not pronounce the name—

 

Sir, said I, collecting myself—it is not my intention to take post——

 

—But you may—said he, persisting in his first reply—you may take post if you chuse——

 

—And I may take salt to my pickled herring, said I, if I chuse—

 

—But I do not chuse—

 

—But you must pay for it, whether you do or no.

 

Aye! for the salt; said I (I know)——

 

—And for the post too; added he. Defend me! cried I——

 

I travel by water—I am going down the Rhône this very afternoon—my baggage is in the boat—and I have actually paid nine livres for my passage——

 

C’est tout egal—’tis all one; said he.

 

Bon Dieu! what, pay for the way I go! and for the way I do not go!

 

——C’est tout egal; replied the commissary——

 

——The devil it is! said I—but I will go to ten thousand Bastiles first——

 

O England! England! thou land of liberty, and climate of good sense, thou tenderest of mothers—and gentlest of nurses, cried I, kneeling upon one knee, as I was beginning my apostrophè.

 

When the director of Madam Le Blanc’s conscience coming in at that instant, and seeing a person in black, with a face as pale as ashes, at his devotions—looking still paler by the contrast and distress of his drapery—ask’d, if I stood in want of the aids of the church——

 

I go by WATER—said I—and here’s another will be for making me pay for going by OIL.

 

C H A P.   XVI

 

AS I perceived the commissary of the post-office would have his six livres four sous, I had nothing else for it, but to say some smart thing upon the occasion, worth the money:

 

And so I set off thus:——

 

——And pray, Mr. Commissary, by what law of courtesy is a defenceless stranger to be used just the reverse from what you use a Frenchman in this matter?

 

By no means; said he.

 

Excuse me; said I—for you have begun, Sir, with first tearing off my breeches—and now you want my pocket——

 

Whereas—had you first taken my pocket, as you do with your own people—and then left me bare a—’d after—I had been a beast to have complain’d——

 

As it is——

 

——’Tis contrary to the law of nature.

 

——’Tis contrary to reason.

 

——’Tis contrary to the GOSPEL.

 

But not to this——said he—putting a printed paper into my hand,

 

PAR le ROY.

 

———’Tis a pithy prolegomenon, quoth I—and so read on — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

 

——By all which it appears, quoth I, having read it over, a little too rapidly, that if a man sets out in a post-chaise from Paris—he must go on travelling in one, all the days of his life—or pay for it.—Excuse me, said the commissary, the spirit of the ordinance is this—That if you set out with an intention of running post from Paris to Avignon, &c. you shall not change that intention or mode of travelling, without first satisfying the fermiers for two posts further than the place you repent at—and ’tis founded, continued he, upon this, that the REVENUES are not to fall short through your fickleness——

 

——O by heavens! cried I—if fickleness is taxable in France—we have nothing to do but to make the best peace with you we can——

 

AND SO THE PEACE WAS MADE;

 

——And if it is a bad one—as Tristram Shandy laid the corner-stone of it—nobody but Tristram Shandy ought to be hanged.

 

C H A P.   XVII

 

THOUGH I was sensible I had said as many clever things to the commissary as came to six livres four sous, yet I was determined to note down the imposition amongst my remarks before I retired from the place; so putting my hand into my coat-pocket for my remarks—(which, by the bye, may be a caution to travellers to take a little more care of their remarks for the future) “my remarks were stolen”——Never did sorry traveller make such a pother and racket about his remarks as I did about mine, upon the occasion.

 

Heaven! earth! sea! fire! cried I, calling in every thing to my aid but what I should——My remarks are stolen!—what shall I do?——Mr. Commissary! pray did I drop any remarks, as I stood besides you?——

 

You dropp’d a good many very singular ones; replied he——Pugh! said I, those were but a few, not worth above six livres two sous—but these are a large parcel——He shook his head——Monsieur Le Blanc! Madam Le Blanc! did you see any papers of mine?—you maid of the house! run up stairs—François! run up after her——

 

—I must have my remarks——they were the best remarks, cried I, that ever were made—the wisest—the wittiest—What shall I do?—which way shall I turn myself?

 

Sancho Pança, when he lost his ass’s FURNITURE, did not exclaim more bitterly.

 

C H A P.   XVIII

 

WHEN the first transport was over, and the registers of the brain were beginning to get a little out of the confusion into which this jumble of cross accidents had cast them—it then presently occurr’d to me, that I had left my remarks in the pocket of the chaise—and that in selling my chaise, I had sold my remarks along with it, to the chaise-vamper.         I leave this void space that the reader may swear into it any oath that he is most accustomed to——For my own part, if ever I swore a whole oath into a vacancy in my life, I think it was into that—— * * * * * * * * *, said I—and so my remarks through France, which were as full of wit, as an egg is full of meat, and as well worth four hundred guineas, as the said egg is worth a penny—have I been selling here to a chaise-vamper—for four Louis d’Ors—and giving him a post-chaise (by heaven) worth six into the bargain; had it been to Dodsley, or Becket, or any creditable bookseller, who was either leaving off business, and wanted a post-chaise—or who was beginning it—and wanted my remarks, and two or three guineas along with them—I could have borne it——but to a chaise-vamper!—shew me to him this moment, François,—said I—The valet de place put on his hat, and led the way—and I pull’d off mine, as I pass’d the commissary, and followed him.

 

C H A P.   XIX

 

WHEN we arrived at the chaise-vamper’s house, both the house and the shop were shut up; it was the eighth of September, the nativity of the blessed Virgin Mary, mother of God—

 

——Tantarra - ra - tan - tivi——the whole world was gone out a May-poling—frisking here—capering there——no body cared a button for me or my remarks; so I sat me down upon a bench by the door, philosophating upon my condition: by a better fate than usually attends me, I had not waited half an hour, when the mistress came in to take the papilliotes from off her hair, before she went to the May-poles——

 

The French women, by the bye, love May-poles, à la folie—that is, as much as their matins——give ’em but a May-pole, whether in May, June, July or September—they never count the times——down it goes——’tis meat, drink, washing, and lodging to ’em——and had we but the policy, an’ please your worships (as wood is a little scarce in France), to send them but plenty of May-poles——

 

The women would set them up; and when they had done, they would dance round them (and the men for company) till they were all blind.

 

The wife of the chaise-vamper stepp’d in, I told you, to take the papilliotes from off her hair——the toilet stands still for no man——so she jerk’d off her cap, to begin with them as she open’d the door, in doing which, one of them fell upon the ground—I instantly saw it was my own writing——

 

O Seigneur! cried I—you have got all my remarks upon your head, Madam!——J’en suis bien mortifiée, said she——’tis well, thinks I, they have stuck there—for could they have gone deeper, they would have made such confusion in a French woman’s noddle—She had better have gone with it unfrizled, to the day of eternity.

 

Tenez—said she—so without any idea of the nature of my suffering, she took them from her curls, and put them gravely one by one into my hat——one was twisted this way——another twisted that——ey! by my faith; and when they are published, quoth I,——

 

They will be worse twisted still.

 

C H A P.   XX

 

ANS now for Lippius’s clock! said I, with the air of a man, who had got thro’ all his difficulties——nothing can prevent us seeing that, and the Chinese history, &c. except the time, said François——for ’tis almost eleven—then we must speed the faster, said I, striding it away to the cathedral.

 

I cannot say, in my heart, that it gave me any concern in being told by one of the minor canons, as I was entering the west door,—That Lippius’s great clock was all out of joints, and had not gone for some years——It will give me the more time, thought I, to peruse the Chinese history; and besides I shall be able to give the world a better account of the clock in its decay, than I could have done in its flourishing condition——

 

——And so away I posted to the college of the Jesuits.

 

Now it is with the project of getting a peep at the history of China in Chinese characters—as with many others I could mention, which strike the fancy only at a distance; for as I came nearer and nearer to the point—my blood cool’d—the freak gradually went off, till at length I would not have given a cherry-stone to have it gratified——The truth was, my time was short, and my heart was at the Tomb of the Lovers——I wish to God, said I, as I got the rapper in my hand, that the key of the library may be but lost; it fell out as well——

 

For all the JESUITS had got the cholic—and to that degree, as never was known in the memory of the oldest practitioner.

 

C H A P.   XXI

 

AS I knew the geography of the Tomb of the Lovers, as well as if I had lived twenty years in Lyons, namely, that it was upon the turning of my right hand, just without the gate, leading to the Fauxbourg de Vaise——I dispatched François to the boat, that I might pay the homage I so long ow’d it, without a witness of my weakness—I walk’d with all imaginable joy towards the place——when I saw the gate which intercepted the tomb, my heart glowed within me——

 

—Tender and faithful spirits! cried I, addressing myself to Amandus and Amanda—long—long have I tarried to drop this tear upon your tomb——I come——I come——

 

When I came—there was no tomb to drop it upon.

 

What would I have given for my uncle Toby, to have whistled Lillo bullero!

 

C H A P.   XXII

 

NO matter how, or in what mood—but I flew from the tomb of the lovers—or rather I did not fly from it—(for there was no such thing existing) and just got time enough to the boat to save my passage;—and ere I had sailed a hundred yards, the Rhône and the Saôn met together, and carried me down merrily betwixt them.

 

But I have described this voyage down the Rhône, before I made it——

 

——So now I am at Avignon, and as there is nothing to see but the old house, in which the duke of Ormond resided, and nothing to stop me but a short remark upon the place, in three minutes you will see me crossing the bridge upon a mule, with François upon a horse with my portmanteau behind him, and the owner of both, striding the way before us, with a long gun upon his shoulder, and a sword under his arm, lest peradventure we should run away with his cattle. Had you seen my breeches in entering Avignon,——Though you’d have seen them better, I think, as I mounted—you would not have thought the precaution amiss, or found in your heart to have taken it in dudgeon; for my own part, I took it most kindly; and determined to make him a present of them, when we got to the end of our journey, for the trouble they had put him to, of arming himself at all points against them.

 

Before I go further, let me get rid of my remark upon Avignon, which is this: That I think it wrong, merely because a man’s hat has been blown off his head by chance the first night he comes to Avignon,——that he should therefore say, “Avignon is more subject to high winds than any town in all France:” for which reason I laid no stress upon the accident till I had enquired of the master of the inn about it, who telling me seriously it was so——and hearing, moreover, the windiness of Avignon spoke of in the country about as a proverb——I set it down, merely to ask the learned what can be the cause——the consequence I saw—for they are all Dukes, Marquisses, and Counts, there——the duce a Baron, in all Avignon——so that there is scarce any talking to them on a windy day.

 

Prithee, friend, said I, take hold of my mule for a moment——for I wanted to pull off one of my jack-boots, which hurt my heel—the man was standing quite idle at the door of the inn, and as I had taken it into my head, he was someway concerned about the house or stable, I put the bridle into his hand—so begun with the boot:—when I had finished the affair, I turned about to take the mule from the man, and thank him——

 

——But Monsieur le Marquis had walked in——

 

C H A P.   XXIII

 

I HAD now the whole south of France, from the banks of the Rhône to those of the Garonne, to traverse upon my mule at my own leisure—at my own leisure——for I had left Death, the Lord knows——and He only—how far behind me——“I have followed many a man thro’ France, quoth he—but never at this mettlesome rate.”——Still he followed,——and still I fled him——but I fled him cheerfully——still he pursued——but, like one who pursued his prey without hope——as he lagg’d, every step he lost, softened his looks——why should I fly him at this rate?

 

So notwithstanding all the commissary of the post-office had said, I changed the mode of my travelling once more; and, after so precipitate and rattling a course as I had run, I flattered my fancy with thinking of my mule, and that I should traverse the rich plains of Languedoc upon his back, as slowly as foot could fall.

 

There is nothing more pleasing to a traveller——or more terrible to travel-writers, than a large rich plain; especially if it is without great rivers or bridges; and presents nothing to the eye, but one unvaried picture of plenty: for after they have once told you, that ’tis delicious! or delightful! (as the case happens)—that the soil was grateful, and that nature pours out all her abundance, &c. . . . they have then a large plain upon their hands, which they know not what to do with—and which is of little or no use to them but to carry them to some town; and that town, perhaps of little more, but a new place to start from to the next plain——and so on.

 

—This is most terrible work; judge if I don’t manage my plains better.

 

C H A P.   XXIV

 

I HAD not gone above two leagues and a half, before the man with his gun began to look at his priming.

 

I had three several times loiter’d terribly behind; half a mile at least every time; once, in deep conference with a drum-maker, who was making drums for the fairs of Baucaira and Tarascone—I did not understand the principles——

 

The second time, I cannot so properly say, I stopp’d——for meeting a couple of Franciscans straitened more for time than myself, and not being able to get to the bottom of what I was about——I had turn’d back with them——

 

The third, was an affair of trade with a gossip, for a hand-basket of Provence figs for four sous; this would have been transacted at once; but for a case of conscience at the close of it; for when the figs were paid for, it turn’d out, that there were two dozen of eggs covered over with vine-leaves at the bottom of the basket—as I had no intention of buying eggs—I made no sort of claim of them—as for the space they had occupied—what signified it? I had figs enow for my money——

 

—But it was my intention to have the basket—it was the gossip’s intention to keep it, without which, she could do nothing with her eggs——and unless I had the basket, I could do as little with my figs, which were too ripe already, and most of ’em burst at the side: this brought on a short contention, which terminated in sundry proposals, what we should both do——

 

——How we disposed of our eggs and figs, I defy you, or the Devil himself, had he not been there (which I am persuaded he was), to form the least probable conjecture: You will read the whole of it——not this year, for I am hastening to the story of my uncle Toby’s amours—but you will read it in the collection of those which have arose out of the journey across this plain—and which, therefore, I call my

 

PLAIN STORIES.

 

How far my pen has been fatigued, like those of other travellers, in this journey of it, over so barren a track—the world must judge—but the traces of it, which are now all set o’ vibrating together this moment, tell me ’tis the most fruitful and busy period of my life; for as I had made no convention with my man with the gun, as to time—by stopping and talking to every soul I met, who was not in a full trot—joining all parties before me—waiting for every soul behind—hailing all those who were coming through cross-roads—arresting all kinds of beggars, pilgrims, fiddlers, friars—not passing by a woman in a mulberry-tree without commending her legs, and tempting her into conversation with a pinch of snuff——In short, by seizing every handle, of what size or shape soever, which chance held out to me in this journey—I turned my plain into a city—I was always in company, and with great variety too; and as my mule loved society as much as myself, and had some proposals always on his part to offer to every beast he met—I am confident we could have passed through Pall-Mall, or St. James’s-Street, for a month together, with fewer adventures—and seen less of human nature.

 

O! there is that sprightly frankness, which at once unpins every plait of a Languedocian’s dress—that whatever is beneath it, it looks so like the simplicity which poets sing of in better days—I will delude my fancy, and believe it is so.

 

’Twas in the road betwixt Nismes and Lunel, where there is the best Muscatto wine in all France, and which by the bye belongs to the honest canons of MONTPELLIER—and foul befal the man who has drunk it at their table, who grudges them a drop of it.

 

——The sun was set—they had done their work; the nymphs had tied up their hair afresh—and the swains were preparing for a carousal—my mule made a dead point——’Tis the fife and tabourin, said I——I’m frighten’d to death, quoth he——They are running at the ring of pleasure, said I, giving him a prick——By saint Boogar, and all the saints at the backside of the door of purgatory, said he—(making the same resolution with the abbesse of Andoüillets) I’ll not go a step further——’Tis very well, sir, said I——I never will argue a point with one of your family, as long as I live; so leaping off his back, and kicking off one boot into this ditch, and t’other into that—I’ll take a dance, said I—so stay you here.

 

A sun-burnt daughter of Labour rose up from the groupe to meet me, as I advanced towards them; her hair, which was a dark chesnut approaching rather to a black, was tied up in a knot, all but a single tress.

 

We want a cavalier, said she, holding out both her hands, as if to offer them—And a cavalier ye shall have; said I, taking hold of both of them.

 

Hadst thou, Nannette, been array’d like a duchesse!

 

——But that cursed slit in thy petticoat!

 

Nannette cared not for it.

 

We could not have done without you, said she, letting go one hand, with self-taught politeness, leading me up with the other.

 

A lame youth, whom Apollo had recompensed with a pipe, and to which he had added a tabourin of his own accord, ran sweetly over the prelude, as he sat upon the bank——Tie me up this tress instantly, said Nannette, putting a piece of string into my hand—It taught me to forget I was a stranger—— The whole knot fell down——We had been seven years acquainted.

 

The youth struck the note upon the tabourin—his pipe followed, and off we bounded——“the duce take that slit!”

 

The sister of the youth, who had stolen her voice from heaven, sung alternately with her brother——’twas a Gascoigne roundelay.

 

VIVA LA JOIA!

 

FIDON LA TRISTESSA!

 

The nymphs join’d in unison, and their swains an octave below them——

 

I would have given a crown to have it sew’d up—Nannette would not have given a sous—Viva la joia! was in her lips—Viva la joia! was in her eyes. A transient spark of amity shot across the space betwixt us——She look’d amiable!——Why could I not live, and end my days thus? Just Disposer of our joys and sorrows, cried I, why could not a man sit down in the lap of content here——and dance, and sing, and say his prayers, and go to heaven with this nut-brown maid? Capriciously did she bend her head on one side, and dance up insidious——Then ’tis time to dance off, quoth I; so changing only partners and tunes, I danced it away from Lunel to Montpellier——from thence to Pesçnas, Beziers——I danced it along through Narbonne, Carcasson, and Castle Naudairy, till at last I danced myself into Perdrillo’s pavillion, where pulling out a paper of black lines, that I might go on straight forwards, without digression or parenthesis, in my uncle Toby’s amours——

 

I begun thus——

 

C H A P.   XXV

 

——BUT softly——for in these sportive plains, and under this genial sun, where at this instant all flesh is running out piping, fiddling, and dancing to the vintage, and every step that’s taken, the judgment is surprised by the imagination, I defy, notwithstanding all that has been said upon straight lines37 in sundry pages of my book—I defy the best cabbage planter that ever existed, whether he plants backwards or forwards, it makes little difference in the account (except that he will have more to answer for in the one case than in the other)—I defy him to go on coolly, critically, and canonically, planting his cabbages one by one, in straight lines, and stoical distances, especially if slits in petticoats are unsew’d up—without ever and anon straddling out, or sidling into some bastardly digression——In Freeze-land, Fog-land, and some other lands I wot of—it may be done——

 

But in this clear climate of fantasy and perspiration, where every idea, sensible and insensible, gets vent—in this land, my dear Eugenius—in this fertile land of chivalry and romance, where I now sit, unskrewing my ink-horn to write my uncle Toby’s amours, and with all the meanders of JULIA’s track in quest of her DIEGO, in full view of my study window—if thou comest not and takest me by the hand——

 

What a work it is likely to turn out!

 

Let us begin it.

 

37 Vid. Vol. III. p. 243.

 

C H A P.   XXVI

 

IT is with LOVE as with CUCKOLDOM——

 

But now I am talking of beginning a book, and have long had a thing upon my mind to be imparted to the reader, which, if not imparted now, can never be imparted to him as long as I live (whereas the COMPARISON may be imparted to him any hour in the day)——I’ll just mention it, and begin in good earnest.

 

The thing is this.

 

That of all the several ways of beginning a book which are now in practice throughout the known world, I am confident my own way of doing it is the best——I’m sure it is the most religious——for I begin with writing the first sentence——and trusting to Almighty God for the second.

 

’Twould cure an author for ever of the fuss and folly of opening his street-door, and calling in his neighbours and friends, and kinsfolk, with the devil and all his imps, with their hammers and engines, &c. only to observe how one sentence of mine follows another, and how the plan follows the whole.

 

I wish you saw me half starting out of my chair, with what confidence, as I grasp the elbow of it, I look up——catching the idea, even sometimes before it half way reaches me——

 

I believe in my conscience I intercept many a thought which heaven intended for another man.

 

Pope and his Portrait38 are fools to me——no martyr is ever so full of faith or fire——I wish I could say of good works too——but I have no

 

Zeal or Anger——or

 

Anger or Zeal——

 

And till gods and men agree together to call it by the same name——the errantest TARTUFFE, in science——in politics—or in religion, shall never kindle a spark within me, or have a worse word, or a more unkind greeting, than what he will read in the next chapter.

 

 


To be continued

34

    THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF TRISTRAM SHANDY, GENTLEMAN PART 34         C H A P.   LXXV   WHEN my uncle Toby and the corporal...