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

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 forever.

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 Andoüillets’⁠—(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 pannier, 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.

XXXIII

When all was set to rights, I came downstairs again into the basse cour with my valet de place, in order to sally out towards the tomb of the two lovers, etc.⁠—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.

XXXIV

⸺⁠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 goodwill; 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 choose⁠⸺⁠

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

—But I do not choose⁠—

—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