The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman Laurence Sterne (short novels to read .txt) 📖

I moved in through my first, second, third, and fourth volumes.⁠—In the fifth volume I have been very good,⁠⸺⁠the precise line I have described in it being this:

By which it appears, that except at the curve, marked A, where I took a trip to Navarre,⁠—and the indented curve B, which is the short airing when I was there with the Lady Baussiere and her page,⁠—I have not taken the least frisk of a digression, till John de la Casse’s devils led me the round you see marked D.⁠—for as for c c c c c they are nothing but parentheses, and the common ins and outs incident to the lives of the greatest ministers of state; and when compared with what men have done,⁠—or with my own transgressions at the letters A B D⁠—they vanish into nothing.

In this last volume I have done better still⁠—for from the end of Le Fever’s episode, to the beginning of my uncle Toby’s campaigns,⁠—I have scarce stepped a yard out of my way.

If I mend at this rate, it is not impossible⁠⸺⁠by the good leave of his grace of Benevento’s devils⁠⸺⁠but I may arrive hereafter at the excellency of going on even thus:

which is a line drawn as straight as I could draw it, by a writing-master’s ruler (borrowed for that purpose), turning neither to the right hand or to the left.

This right line,⁠—the pathway for Christians to walk in! say divines⁠⸺⁠

⸺⁠The emblem of moral rectitude! says Cicero⁠⸺⁠

⸺⁠The best line! say cabbage planters⁠⸺⁠is the shortest line, says Archimedes, which can be drawn from one given point to another.⁠⸺⁠

I wish your ladyships would lay this matter to heart, in your next birthday suits!

⸺⁠What a journey!

Pray can you tell me,⁠—that is, without anger, before I write my chapter upon straight lines⁠⸺⁠by what mistake⁠⸺⁠who told them so⁠⸺⁠or how it has come to pass, that your men of wit and genius have all along confounded this line, with the line of gravitation?

Book VII I

No⁠⸺⁠I think, I said, I would write two volumes every year, provided the vile cough which then tormented me, and which to this hour I dread worse than the devil, would but give me leave⁠—and in another place⁠—(but where, I can’t recollect now) speaking of my book as a machine, and laying my pen and ruler down crosswise upon the table, in order to gain the greater credit to it⁠—I swore it should be kept a going at that rate these forty years, if it pleased but the fountain of life to bless me so long with health and good spirits.

Now as for my spirits, little have I to lay to their charge⁠—nay so very little (unless the mounting me upon a long stick and playing the fool with me nineteen hours out of the twenty-four, be accusations) that on the contrary, I have much⁠—much to thank ’em for: cheerily have ye made me tread the path of life with all the burdens of it (except its cares) upon my back; in no one moment of my existence, that I remember, have ye once deserted me, or tinged the objects which came in my way, either with sable, or with a sickly green; in dangers ye gilded my horizon with hope, and when Death himself knocked at my door⁠—ye bad him come again; and in so gay a tone of careless indifference did ye do it, that he doubted of his commission⁠⸺⁠

“⁠—There must certainly be some mistake in this matter,” quoth he.

Now there is nothing in this world I abominate worse, than to be interrupted in a story⁠⸺⁠and I was that moment telling Eugenius a most tawdry one in my way, of a nun who fancied herself a shellfish, and of a monk damn’d for eating a muscle, and was showing him the grounds and justice of the procedure⁠⸺⁠

“⁠—Did ever so grave a personage get into so vile a scrape?” quoth Death. Thou hast had a narrow escape, Tristram, said Eugenius, taking hold of my hand as I finished my story⁠⸺⁠

But there is no living, Eugenius, replied I, at this rate; for as this son of a whore has found out my lodgings⁠⸺⁠

—You call him rightly, said Eugenius,⁠—for by sin, we are told, he enter’d the world⁠⸺⁠I care not which way he enter’d, quoth I, provided he be not in such a hurry to take me out with him⁠—for I have forty volumes to write, and forty thousand things to say and do which no body in the world will say and do for me, except thyself; and as thou seest he has got me by the throat (for Eugenius could scarce hear me speak across the table), and that I am no match for him in the open field, had I not better, whilst these few scatter’d spirits remain, and these two spider legs of mine (holding one of them up to him) are able to support me⁠—had I not better, Eugenius, fly for my life? ’Tis my advice, my dear Tristram, said Eugenius⁠—Then by heaven! I will lead him a dance he little thinks of⁠⸺⁠for I will gallop, quoth I, without looking once behind me, to the banks of the Garonne; and if I hear him clattering at my heels⁠⸺⁠I’ll scamper away to mount Vesuvius⁠⸺⁠from thence to Joppa, and from Joppa to the world’s end; where, if he follows me, I pray God he may break his neck⁠⸺⁠

—He runs more risk there, said Eugenius, than thou.

Eugenius’s wit and affection brought blood into the cheek from whence it had been some months banish’d⁠⸺’twas a vile moment to bid adieu in; he led me to my chaise⁠⸺⁠Allons! said I; the postboy gave a crack with his whip⁠⸺⁠off I went like a cannon, and in half a dozen bounds got into Dover.

II

Now hang it! quoth I, as I look’d towards the French coast⁠—a man should know something of his own country