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

upon his lawful occasions? do stop that death-looking, long-striding scoundrel of a scare-sinner, who is posting after me⁠⸺⁠he never would have followed me but for you⁠⸺⁠if it be but for a stage or two, just to give me start of him, I beseech you, madam⁠⸺⁠do, dear lady⁠⸺⁠

⸺⁠Now, in troth, ’tis a great pity, quoth mine Irish host, that all this good courtship should be lost; for the young gentlewoman has been after going out of hearing of it all along.⁠⸺⁠

⸺⁠Simpleton! quoth I.

⸺⁠So you have nothing else in Boulogne worth seeing?

—By Jasus! there is the finest Seminary for the Humanities⁠⸺⁠

—There cannot be a finer; quoth I.

VIII

When the precipitancy of a man’s wishes hurries on his ideas ninety times faster than the vehicle he rides in⁠—woe be to truth! and woe be to the vehicle and its tackling (let ’em be made of what stuff you will) upon which he breathes forth the disappointment of his soul!

As I never give general characters either of men or things in choler, “the most haste the worst speed,” was all the reflection I made upon the affair, the first time it happen’d;⁠—the second, third, fourth, and fifth time, I confined it respectively to those times, and accordingly blamed only the second, third, fourth, and fifth post-boy for it, without carrying my reflections further; but the event continuing to befal me from the fifth, to the sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth time, and without one exception, I then could not avoid making a national reflection of it, which I do in these words;

That something is always wrong in a French post-chaise, upon first setting out.

Or the proposition may stand thus:

A French postilion has always to alight before he has got three hundred yards out of town.

What’s wrong now?⁠⸺⁠Diable!⁠⸺⁠a rope’s broke!⁠⸺⁠a knot has slipt!⁠⸺⁠a staple’s drawn!⁠⸺⁠a bolt’s to whittle!⁠⸺⁠a tag, a rag, a jag, a strap, a buckle, or a buckle’s tongue, want altering.

Now true as all this is, I never think myself impowered to excommunicate thereupon either the post-chaise, or its driver⁠⸺⁠nor do I take it into my head to swear by the living G⁠⸺, I would rather go afoot ten thousand times⁠⸺⁠or that I will be damn’d, if ever I get into another⁠⸺⁠but I take the matter coolly before me, and consider, that some tag, or rag, or jag, or bolt, or buckle, or buckle’s tongue, will ever be a wanting, or want altering, travel where I will⁠—so I never chaff, but take the good and the bad as they fall in my road, and get on:⁠⸺⁠Do so, my lad! said I; he had lost five minutes already, in alighting in order to get at a luncheon of black bread, which he had cramm’d into the chaise-pocket, and was remounted, and going leisurely on, to relish it the better⁠⸺⁠Get on, my lad, said I, briskly⁠—but in the most persuasive tone imaginable, for I jingled a four-and-twenty sous piece against the glass, taking care to hold the flat side towards him, as he look’d back: the dog grinn’d intelligence from his right ear to his left, and behind his sooty muzzle discovered such a pearly row of teeth, that Sovereignty would have pawn’d her jewels for them.⁠⸺⁠

Just heaven! { What masticators!⁠— What bread!⁠—

and so as he finished the last mouthful of it, we entered the town of Montreuil.

IX

There is not a town in all France, which, in my opinion, looks better in the map, than Montreuil;⁠⸺⁠I own, it does not look so well in the book of post-roads; but when you come to see it⁠—to be sure it looks most pitifully.

There is one thing, however, in it at present very handsome; and that is, the innkeeper’s daughter: She has been eighteen months at Amiens, and six at Paris, in going through her classes; so knits, and sews, and dances, and does the little coquetries very well.⁠⸺⁠

—A slut! in running them over within these five minutes that I have stood looking at her, she has let fall at least a dozen loops in a white thread stocking⁠⸺⁠yes, yes⁠—I see, you cunning gipsy!⁠—’tis long and taper⁠—you need not pin it to your knee⁠—and that ’tis your own⁠—and fits you exactly.⁠⸺⁠

⸺⁠That Nature should have told this creature a word about a statue’s thumb!

—But as this sample is worth all their thumbs⁠⸺⁠besides, I have her thumbs and fingers in at the bargain, if they can be any guide to me,⁠—and as Janatone withal (for that is her name) stands so well for a drawing⁠⸺⁠may I never draw more, or rather may I draw like a draught-horse, by main strength all the days of my life,⁠—if I do not draw her in all her proportions, and with as determined a pencil, as if I had her in the wettest drapery.⁠⸺⁠

—But your worships choose rather that I give you the length, breadth, and perpendicular height of the great parish-church, or drawing of the façade of the abbey of Saint Austerberte which has been transported from Artois hither⁠—everything is just I suppose as the masons and carpenters left them,⁠—and if the belief in Christ continues so long, will be so these fifty years to come⁠—so your worships and reverences may all measure them at your leisures⁠⸺⁠but he who measures thee, Janatone, must do it now⁠—thou carriest the principles of change within thy frame; and considering the chances of a transitory life, I would not answer for thee a moment; ere twice twelve months are passed and gone, thou mayest grow out like a pumpkin, and lose thy shapes⁠⸺⁠or thou mayest go off like a flower, and lose thy beauty⁠—nay, thou mayest go off like a hussy⁠—and lose thyself.⁠—I would not answer for my aunt Dinah, was she alive⁠⸺’faith, scarce for her picture⁠⸺⁠were it but painted by Reynolds⁠—

But if I go on with my drawing, after naming that son of Apollo, I’ll be shot⁠⸺⁠

So you must e’en be content with the original; which, if the evening is fine in passing thro’ Montreuil, you will see at your chaise-door, as you change horses: but unless you have as bad a reason for haste as I have⁠—you