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

that in half a century, at this rate, we shall have no souls at all; which being the period beyond which I doubt likewise of the existence of the Christian faith, ’twill be one advantage that both of ’em will be exactly worn out together.

Blessed Jupiter! and blessed every other heathen god and goddess! for now ye will all come into play again, and with Priapus at your tails⁠⸺⁠what jovial times!⁠⸺⁠but where am I? and into what a delicious riot of things am I rushing? I⁠⸺⁠I who must be cut short in the midst of my days, and taste no more of ’em than what I borrow from my imagination⁠⸺⁠peace to thee, generous fool! and let me go on.

XV

⸻“So hating, I say, to make mysteries of nothing”⁠⸺⁠I entrusted it with the post-boy, as soon as ever I got off the stones; he gave a crack with his whip to balance the compliment; and with the thill-horse trotting, and a sort of an up and a down of the other, we danced it along to Ailly au clochers, famed in days of yore for the finest chimes in the world; but we danced through it without music⁠—the chimes being greatly out of order⁠—(as in truth they were through all France).

And so making all possible speed, from

Ailly au clochers, I got to Hixcourt,
from Hixcourt, I got to Pequignay, and
from Pequignay, I got to Amiens,
concerning which town I have nothing to inform you, but what I have informed you once before⁠⸺⁠and that was⁠—that Janatone went there to school.

XVI

In the whole catalogue of those whiffling vexations which come puffing across a man’s canvass, there is not one of a more teasing and tormenting nature, than this particular one which I am going to describe⁠⸺⁠and for which (unless you travel with an avance-courier, which numbers do in order to prevent it)⁠⸺⁠there is no help: and it is this.

That be you in never so kindly a propensity to sleep⁠⸺⁠tho’ you are passing perhaps through the finest country⁠—upon the best roads, and in the easiest carriage for doing it in the world⁠⸺⁠nay, was you sure you could sleep fifty miles straight forwards, without once opening your eyes⁠—nay, what is more, was you as demonstratively satisfied as you can be of any truth in Euclid, that you should upon all accounts be full as well asleep as awake⁠⸺⁠nay, perhaps better⁠⸺⁠Yet the incessant returns of paying for the horses at every stage,⁠⸺⁠with the necessity thereupon of putting your hand into your pocket, and counting out from thence three livres fifteen sous (sous by sous), puts an end to so much of the project, that you cannot execute above six miles of it (or supposing it is a post and a half, that is but nine)⁠⸺⁠were it to save your soul from destruction.

—I’ll be even with ’em, quoth I, for I’ll put the precise sum into a piece of paper, and hold it ready in my hand all the way: “Now I shall have nothing to do,” said I (composing myself to rest), “but to drop this gently into the post-boy’s hat, and not say a word.”⁠⸺⁠Then there wants two sous more to drink⁠⸺⁠or there is a twelve sous piece of Louis XIV which will not pass⁠—or a livre and some odd liards to be brought over from the last stage, which Monsieur had forgot; which altercations (as a man cannot dispute very well asleep) rouse him: still is sweet sleep retrievable; and still might the flesh weigh down the spirit, and recover itself of these blows⁠—but then, by heaven! you have paid but for a single post⁠—whereas ’tis a post and a half; and this obliges you to pull out your book of post-roads, the print of which is so very small, it forces you to open your eyes, whether you will or no: Then Monsieur le Curé offers you a pinch of snuff⁠⸺⁠or a poor soldier shows you his leg⁠⸺⁠or a shaveling his box⁠⸺⁠or the priestess of the cistern will water your wheels⁠⸺⁠they do not want it⁠⸺⁠but she swears by her priesthood (throwing it back) that they do:⁠⸺⁠then you have all these points to argue, or consider over in your mind; in doing of which, the rational powers get so thoroughly awakened⁠⸺⁠you may get ’em to sleep again as you can.

It was entirely owing to one of these misfortunes, or I had pass’d clean by the stables of Chantilly⁠⸺⁠

⸺⁠But the postilion first affirming, and then persisting in it to my face, that there was no mark upon the two sous piece, I open’d my eyes to be convinced⁠—and seeing the mark upon it as plain as my nose⁠—I leap’d out of the chaise in a passion, and so saw everything at Chantilly in spite.⁠⸺⁠I tried it but for three posts and a half, but believe ’tis the best principle in the world to travel speedily upon; for as few objects look very inviting in that mood⁠—you have little or nothing to stop you; by which means it was that I passed through St. Dennis, without turning my head so much as on one side towards the Abby⁠⸺⁠

⸺⁠Richness of their treasury! stuff and nonsense!⁠⸺⁠bating their jewels, which are all false, I would not give three sous for any one thing in it, but Jaidas’s lantern⁠⸺⁠nor for that either, only as it grows dark, it might be of use.

XVII

Crack, crack⁠⸺⁠crack, crack⁠⸺⁠crack, crack⁠⸺⁠so this is Paris! quoth I (continuing in the same mood)⁠—and this is Paris!⁠⸺⁠humph!⁠⸺⁠Paris! cried I, repeating the name the third time⁠⸺⁠

The first, the finest, the most brilliant⁠⸺⁠

The streets however are nasty.

But it looks, I suppose, better than it smells⁠⸺⁠crack, crack⁠⸺⁠crack, crack⁠⸺⁠what a fuss thou makest!⁠—as if it concerned the good people to be informed, that a man with pale face and clad in black, had the honour to be driven into Paris at nine o’clock at night, by a postilion in a tawny yellow jerkin, turned up with red calamanco⁠—crack, crack⁠⸺⁠crack, crack⁠⸺⁠crack, crack,⁠⸺⁠I wish thy whip⁠⸺⁠

⸺⁠But ’tis the spirit of thy nation; so crack⁠—crack