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

“⁠⸺⁠Was it more tolerable in bed?

“⁠⸺⁠Could he lie on both sides alike with it?

“⁠—Was he able to mount a horse?

“⁠—Was motion bad for it?” et cætera, were so tenderly spoke to, and so directed towards my uncle Toby’s heart, that every item of them sunk ten times deeper into it than the evils themselves⁠⸺⁠but when Mrs. Wadman went round about by Namur to get at my uncle Toby’s groin; and engaged him to attack the point of the advanced counterscarp, and pêle mêle with the Dutch to take the counterguard of St. Roch sword in hand⁠—and then with tender notes playing upon his ear, led him all bleeding by the hand out of the trench, wiping her eye, as he was carried to his tent⁠⸺⁠Heaven! Earth! Sea!⁠—all was lifted up⁠—the springs of nature rose above their levels⁠—an angel of mercy sat besides him on the sofa⁠—his heart glow’d with fire⁠—and had he been worth a thousand, he had lost every heart of them to Mrs. Wadman.

—And whereabouts, dear Sir, quoth Mrs. Wadman, a little categorically, did you receive this sad blow?⁠⸺⁠In asking this question, Mrs. Wadman gave a slight glance towards the waistband of my uncle Toby’s red plush breeches, expecting naturally, as the shortest reply to it, that my uncle Toby would lay his forefinger upon the place⁠⸺⁠It fell out otherwise⁠⸺⁠for my uncle Toby having got his wound before the gate of St. Nicolas, in one of the traverses of the trench opposite to the salient angle of the demibastion of St. Roch; he could at any time stick a pin upon the identical spot of ground where he was standing when the stone struck him: this struck instantly upon my uncle Toby’s sensorium⁠⸺⁠and with it, struck his large map of the town and citadel of Namur and its environs, which he had purchased and pasted down upon a board, by the corporal’s aid, during his long illness⁠⸺⁠it had lain with other military lumber in the garret ever since, and accordingly the corporal was detached into the garret to fetch it.

My uncle Toby measured off thirty toises, with Mrs. Wadman’s scissors, from the returning angle before the gate of St. Nicolas; and with such a virgin modesty laid her finger upon the place, that the goddess of Decency, if then in being⁠—if not, ’twas her shade⁠—shook her head, and with a finger wavering across her eyes⁠—forbid her to explain the mistake.

Unhappy Mrs. Wadman!

⸺⁠For nothing can make this chapter go off with spirit but an apostrophe to thee⁠⸺⁠but my heart tells me, that in such a crisis an apostrophe is but an insult in disguise, and ere I would offer one to a woman in distress⁠—let the chapter go to the devil; provided any damn’d critic in keeping will be but at the trouble to take it with him.

My uncle Toby’s Map is carried down into the kitchen.

⸺⁠And here is the Maes⁠—and this is the Sambre; said the corporal, pointing with his right hand extended a little towards the map and his left upon Mrs. Bridget’s shoulder⁠⸺⁠but not the shoulder next him⁠—and this, said he, is the town of Namur⁠—and this the citadel⁠—and there lay the French⁠—and here lay his honour and myself⁠⸺⁠and in this cursed trench, Mrs. Bridget, quoth the corporal, taking her by the hand, did he receive the wound which crush’d him so miserably here.⁠⸺⁠In pronouncing which, he slightly press’d the back of her hand towards the part he felt for⁠⸺⁠and let it fall.

We thought, Mr. Trim, it had been more in the middle,⁠⸺⁠said Mrs. Bridget⁠⸺⁠

That would have undone us forever⁠—said the corporal.

⸺⁠And left my poor mistress undone too, said Bridget.

The corporal made no reply to the repartee, but by giving Mrs. Bridget a kiss.

Come⁠—come⁠—said Bridget⁠—holding the palm of her left hand parallel to the plane of the horizon, and sliding the fingers of the other over it, in a way which could not have been done, had there been the least wart or protuberance⁠⸺’Tis every syllable of it false, cried the corporal, before she had half finished the sentence⁠⸺⁠

—I know it to be fact, said Bridget, from credible witnesses.

⸻Upon my honour, said the corporal, laying his hand upon his heart and blushing, as he spoke, with honest resentment⁠—’tis a story, Mrs. Bridget, as false as hell⁠⸺⁠Not, said Bridget, interrupting him, that either I or my mistress care a halfpenny about it, whether ’tis so or no⁠⸻only that when one is married, one would choose to have such a thing by one at least⁠⸺⁠

It was somewhat unfortunate for Mrs. Bridget, that she had begun the attack with her manual exercise; for the corporal instantly * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *.

It was like the momentary contest in the moist eyelids of an April morning, “Whether Bridget should laugh or cry.”

She snatched up a rolling-pin⁠⸺’twas ten to one, she had laugh’d⁠⸺⁠

She laid it down⁠⸺⁠she cried; and had one single tear of ’em but tasted of bitterness, full sorrowful would the corporal’s heart have been that he had used the argument; but the corporal understood the sex, a quart major to a terce at least, better than my uncle Toby, and accordingly he assailed Mrs. Bridget after this manner.

I know, Mrs. Bridget, said the corporal, giving her a most respectful kiss, that thou art good and modest by nature, and art withal so generous a girl in thyself, that, if I know thee rightly, thou would’st not wound an insect, much less the honour of so gallant and worthy a soul as my master, wast thou sure to be made a countess of⁠⸺⁠but thou hast been set on, and deluded, dear Bridget, as is often a woman’s case, “to please others more than themselves⁠⸺”

Bridget’s eyes poured down at the sensations the corporal excited.

⸺⁠Tell me⁠⸺⁠tell me, then, my dear Bridget, continued the corporal, taking hold of her hand, which hung down dead by her side,⁠⸺⁠and, giving a second kiss⁠⸺⁠whose suspicion has misled