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

A negro has a soul? an’ please your honour, said the corporal (doubtingly).

I am not much versed, corporal, quoth my uncle Toby, in things of that kind; but I suppose, God would not leave him without one, any more than thee or me⁠⸺⁠

⸺⁠It would be putting one sadly over the head of another, quoth the corporal.

It would so; said my uncle Toby. Why then, an’ please your honour, is a black wench to be used worse than a white one?

I can give no reason, said my uncle Toby⁠⸻

⸺⁠Only, cried the corporal, shaking his head, because she has no one to stand up for her⁠⸺⁠

⸺’Tis that very thing, Trim, quoth my uncle Toby,⁠⸺⁠which recommends her to protection⁠⸺⁠and her brethren with her; ’tis the fortune of war which has put the whip into our hands now⁠⸺⁠where it may be hereafter, heaven knows!⁠⸺⁠but be it where it will, the brave, Trim! will not use it unkindly.

⸺⁠God forbid, said the corporal.

Amen, responded my uncle Toby, laying his hand upon his heart.

The corporal returned to his story, and went on⁠⸺⁠but with an embarrassment in doing it, which here and there a reader in this world will not be able to comprehend; for by the many sudden transitions all along, from one kind and cordial passion to another, in getting thus far on his way, he had lost the sportable key of his voice, which gave sense and spirit to his tale: he attempted twice to resume it, but could not please himself; so giving a stout hem! to rally back the retreating spirits, and aiding nature at the same time with his left arm akimbo on one side, and with his right a little extended, supporting her on the other⁠—the corporal got as near the note as he could; and in that attitude, continued his story.

As Tom, an’ please your honour, had no business at that time with the Moorish girl, he passed on into the room beyond, to talk to the Jew’s widow about love⁠⸺⁠and this pound of sausages; and being, as I have told your honour, an open cheary-hearted lad, with his character wrote in his looks and carriage, he took a chair, and without much apology, but with great civility at the same time, placed it close to her at the table, and sat down.

There is nothing so awkward, as courting a woman, an’ please your honour, whilst she is making sausages⁠⸺⁠So Tom began a discourse upon them; first, gravely,⁠⸺“as how they were made⁠⸺⁠with what meats, herbs, and spices”⁠—Then a little gayly,⁠—as, “With what skins⁠⸺⁠and if they never burst⁠⸺⁠Whether the largest were not the best?”⁠⸺⁠and so on⁠—taking care only as he went along, to season what he had to say upon sausages, rather under than over;⁠⸺⁠that he might have room to act in⁠⸺⁠

It was owing to the neglect of that very precaution, said my uncle Toby, laying his hand upon Trim’s shoulder, that Count De la Motte lost the battle of Wynendale: he pressed too speedily into the wood; which if he had not done, Lisle had not fallen into our hands, nor Ghent and Bruges, which both followed her example; it was so late in the year, continued my uncle Toby, and so terrible a season came on, that if things had not fallen out as they did, our troops must have perish’d in the open field.⁠⸺⁠

⸺⁠Why, therefore, may not battles, an’ please your honour, as well as marriages, be made in heaven?⁠—My uncle Toby mused⁠⸺⁠

Religion inclined him to say one thing, and his high idea of military skill tempted him to say another; so not being able to frame a reply exactly to his mind⁠⸺⁠my uncle Toby said nothing at all; and the corporal finished his story.

As Tom perceived, an’ please your honour, that he gained ground, and that all he had said upon the subject of sausages was kindly taken, he went on to help her a little in making them.⁠⸺⁠First, by taking hold of the ring of the sausage whilst she stroked the forced meat down with her hand⁠⸺⁠then by cutting the strings into proper lengths, and holding them in his hand, whilst she took them out one by one⁠⸺⁠then, by putting them across her mouth, that she might take them out as she wanted them⁠⸺⁠and so on from little to more, till at last he adventured to tie the sausage himself, whilst she held the snout.⁠⸺⁠

⸺⁠Now a widow, an’ please your honour, always chooses a second husband as unlike the first as she can: so the affair was more than half settled in her mind before Tom mentioned it.

She made a feint however of defending herself, by snatching up a sausage:⁠⸺⁠Tom instantly laid hold of another⁠⸻

But seeing Tom’s had more gristle in it⁠⸻

She signed the capitulation⁠⸺⁠and Tom sealed it; and there was an end of the matter.

All womankind, continued Trim, (commenting upon his story) from the highest to the lowest, an’ please your honour, love jokes; the difficulty is to know how they choose to have them cut; and there is no knowing that, but by trying, as we do with our artillery in the field, by raising or letting down their breeches, till we hit the mark.⁠⸺⁠

⸺⁠I like the comparison, said my uncle Toby, better than the thing itself⁠⸺⁠

⸺⁠Because your honour, quoth the corporal, loves glory, more than pleasure.

I hope, Trim, answered my uncle Toby, I love mankind more than either; and as the knowledge of arms tends so apparently to the good and quiet of the world⁠⸺⁠and particularly that branch of it which we have practised together in our bowling-green, has no object but to shorten the strides of Ambition, and intrench the lives and fortunes of the few, from the plunderings of the many⁠⸺⁠whenever that drum beats in our ears, I trust, corporal, we shall neither of us want so much humanity and fellow-feeling, as to face about and march.

In pronouncing this, my uncle Toby faced about, and march’d firmly as at the