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

good men, since the world began, who had indifferently borne them;⁠—so that, like equal forces acting against each other in contrary directions, he thought they mutually destroyed each other’s effects; for which reason, he would often declare, He would not give a cherrystone to choose amongst them. Bob, which was my brother’s name, was another of these neutral kinds of christian names, which operated very little either way; and as my father happen’d to be at Epsom, when it was given him,⁠—he would ofttimes thank Heaven it was no worse. Andrew was something like a negative quantity in Algebra with him;⁠—’twas worse, he said, than nothing.⁠—William stood pretty high:⁠⸺⁠Numps again was low with him:⁠—and Nick, he said, was the Devil.

But, of all the names in the universe, he had the most unconquerable aversion for Tristram;⁠—he had the lowest and most contemptible opinion of it of anything in the world,⁠—thinking it could possibly produce nothing in rerum naturâ, but what was extremely mean and pitiful: So that in the midst of a dispute on the subject, in which, by the by, he was frequently involved,⁠⸺⁠he would sometimes break off in a sudden and spirited Epiphonema, or rather Erotesis, raised a third, and sometimes a full fifth above the key of the discourse,⁠⸺⁠and demand it categorically of his antagonist, Whether he would take upon him to say, he had ever remembered,⁠⸺⁠whether he had ever read,⁠—or even whether he had ever heard tell of a man, called Tristram, performing anything great or worth recording?⁠—No,⁠—he would say,⁠—Tristram!⁠—The thing is impossible.

What could be wanting in my father but to have wrote a book to publish this notion of his to the world? Little boots it to the subtle speculatist to stand single in his opinions,⁠—unless he gives them proper vent:⁠—It was the identical thing which my father did:⁠—for in the year sixteen, which was two years before I was born, he was at the pains of writing an express Dissertation simply upon the word Tristram,⁠—showing the world, with great candour and modesty, the grounds of his great abhorrence to the name.

When this story is compared with the title-page,⁠—Will not the gentle reader pity my father from his soul?⁠—to see an orderly and well-disposed gentleman, who tho’ singular,⁠—yet inoffensive in his notions,⁠—so played upon in them by cross purposes;⁠⸺⁠to look down upon the stage, and see him baffled and overthrown in all his little systems and wishes; to behold a train of events perpetually falling out against him, and in so critical and cruel a way, as if they had purposedly been plann’d and pointed against him, merely to insult his speculations.⁠⸺⁠In a word, to behold such a one, in his old age, ill-fitted for troubles, ten times in a day suffering sorrow;⁠—ten times in a day calling the child of his prayers Tristram!⁠—Melancholy dissyllable of sound! which, to his ears, was unison to Nincompoop, and every name vituperative under heaven.⁠⸺⁠By his ashes! I swear it,⁠—if ever malignant spirit took pleasure, or busied itself in traversing the purposes of mortal man,⁠—it must have been here;⁠—and if it was not necessary I should be born before I was christened, I would this moment give the reader an account of it.

XX

⸻How could you, Madam, be so inattentive in reading the last chapter? I told you in it, That my mother was not a papist.⁠⸺⁠Papist! You told me no such thing, Sir.⁠—Madam, I beg leave to repeat it over again, that I told you as plain, at least, as words, by direct inference, could tell you such a thing.⁠—Then, Sir, I must have miss’d a page.⁠—No, Madam,⁠—you have not miss’d a word.⁠⸺⁠Then I was asleep, Sir.⁠—My pride, Madam, cannot allow you that refuge.⁠⸺⁠Then, I declare, I know nothing at all about the matter.⁠—That, Madam, is the very fault I lay to your charge; and as a punishment for it, I do insist upon it, that you immediately turn back, that is, as soon as you get to the next full stop, and read the whole chapter over again. I have imposed this penance upon the lady, neither out of wantonness nor cruelty; but from the best of motives; and therefore shall make her no apology for it when she returns back:⁠—’Tis to rebuke a vicious taste, which has crept into thousands besides herself,⁠—of reading straight forwards, more in quest of the adventures, than of the deep erudition and knowledge which a book of this cast, if read over as it should be, would infallibly impart with them⁠⸺⁠The mind should be accustomed to make wise reflections, and draw curious conclusions as it goes along; the habitude of which made Pliny the younger affirm, “That he never read a book so bad, but he drew some profit from it.” The stories of Greece and Rome, run over without this turn and application,⁠—do less service, I affirm it, than the history of Parismus and Parismenus, or of the Seven Champions of England, read with it.

⸻But here comes my fair lady. Have you read over again the chapter, Madam, as I desired you?⁠—You have: And did you not observe the passage, upon the second reading, which admits the inference?⁠⸺⁠Not a word like it! Then, Madam, be pleased to ponder well the last line but one of the chapter, where I take upon me to say, “It was necessary I should be born before I was christen’d.” Had my mother, Madam, been a Papist, that consequence did not follow.2

It is a terrible misfortune for this same book of mine, but more so to the Republick of letters;⁠—so that my own is quite swallowed up in the consideration of it,⁠—that this selfsame vile pruriency for fresh adventures in all things, has got so strongly into our habit and humour,⁠—and so wholly intent are we upon satisfying the impatience of our concupiscence that way,⁠—that nothing but the gross and more carnal parts of a composition will go down:⁠—The subtle hints and sly communications of science fly off, like spirits upwards,⁠⸺⁠the heavy moral escapes downwards; and both the one and