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

volumes be.⁠⸻Else, how this can ever be translated into good English, I have no sort of conception.⁠—There seems in some passages to want a sixth sense to do it rightly.⁠⸺⁠What can he mean by the lambent pupilability of slow, low, dry chat, five notes below the natural tone⁠⸺⁠which you know, madam, is little more than a whisper? The moment I pronounced the words, I could perceive an attempt towards a vibration in the strings, about the region of the heart.⁠⸻The brain made no acknowledgment.⁠⸺⁠There’s often no good understanding betwixt ’em⁠—I felt as if I understood it.⁠⸺⁠I had no ideas.⁠⸺⁠The movement could not be without cause.⁠—I’m lost. I can make nothing of it⁠—unless, may it please your worships, the voice, in that case being little more than a whisper, unavoidably forces the eyes to approach not only within six inches of each other⁠—but to look into the pupils⁠—is not that dangerous?⁠⸺⁠But it can’t be avoided⁠—for to look up to the ceiling, in that case the two chins unavoidably meet⁠⸺⁠and to look down into each other’s lap, the foreheads come to immediate contact, which at once puts an end to the conference⁠⸺⁠I mean to the sentimental part of it.⁠⸺⁠What is left, madam, is not worth stooping for. II

My father lay stretched across the bed as still as if the hand of death had pushed him down, for a full hour and a half before he began to play upon the floor with the toe of that foot which hung over the bedside; my uncle Toby’s heart was a pound lighter for it.⁠⸻In a few moments, his left-hand, the knuckles of which had all the time reclined upon the handle of the chamberpot, came to its feeling⁠—he thrust it a little more within the valance⁠—drew up his hand, when he had done, into his bosom⁠—gave a hem! My good uncle Toby, with infinite pleasure, answered it; and full gladly would have ingrafted a sentence of consolation upon the opening it afforded: but having no talents, as I said, that way, and fearing moreover that he might set out with something which might make a bad matter worse, he contented himself with resting his chin placidly upon the cross of his crutch.

Now whether the compression shortened my uncle Toby’s face into a more pleasurable oval⁠—or that the philanthropy of his heart, in seeing his brother beginning to emerge out of the sea of his afflictions, had braced up his muscles⁠⸺⁠so that the compression upon his chin only doubled the benignity which was there before, is not hard to decide.⁠⸺⁠My father, in turning his eyes, was struck with such a gleam of sunshine in his face, as melted down the sullenness of his grief in a moment.

He broke silence as follows.

III

Did ever man, brother Toby, cried my father, raising himself upon his elbow, and turning himself round to the opposite side of the bed, where my uncle Toby was sitting in his old fringed chair, with his chin resting upon his crutch⁠⸺⁠did ever a poor unfortunate man, brother Toby, cried my father, receive so many lashes?⁠⸺⁠The most I ever saw given, quoth my uncle Toby (ringing the bell at the bed’s head for Trim) was to a grenadier, I think in Mackay’s regiment.

⸻Had my uncle Toby shot a bullet through my father’s heart, he could not have fallen down with his nose upon the quilt more suddenly.

Bless me! said my uncle Toby.

IV

Was it Mackay’s regiment, quoth my uncle Toby, where the poor grenadier was so unmercifully whipp’d at Bruges about the ducats?⁠—O Christ! he was innocent! cried Trim, with a deep sigh.⁠—And he was whipp’d, may it please your honour, almost to death’s door.⁠—They had better have shot him outright, as he begg’d, and he had gone directly to heaven, for he was as innocent as your honour.⁠⸻I thank thee, Trim, quoth my uncle Toby.⁠⸺⁠I never think of his, continued Trim, and my poor brother Tom’s misfortunes, for we were all three schoolfellows, but I cry like a coward.⁠⸺⁠Tears are no proof of cowardice, Trim.⁠—I drop them ofttimes myself, cried my uncle Toby.⁠⸺⁠I know your honour does, replied Trim, and so am not ashamed of it myself.⁠—But to think, may it please your honour, continued Trim, a tear stealing into the corner of his eye as he spoke⁠—to think of two virtuous lads with hearts as warm in their bodies, and as honest as God could make them⁠—the children of honest people, going forth with gallant spirits to seek their fortunes in the world⁠—and fall into such evils!⁠—poor Tom! to be tortured upon a rack for nothing⁠—but marrying a Jew’s widow who sold sausages⁠—honest Dick Johnson’s soul to be scourged out of his body, for the ducats another man put into his knapsack!⁠—O!⁠—these are misfortunes, cried Trim,⁠—pulling out his handkerchief⁠—these are misfortunes, may it please your honour, worth lying down and crying over.

—My father could not help blushing.

’Twould be a pity, Trim, quoth my uncle Toby, thou shouldst ever feel sorrow of thy own⁠—thou feelest it so tenderly for others.⁠—Alack-o-day, replied the corporal, brightening up his face⁠⸻your honour knows I have neither wife or child⁠⸺⁠I can have no sorrows in this world.⁠⸺⁠My father could not help smiling.⁠—As few as any man, Trim, replied my uncle Toby; nor can I see how a fellow of thy light heart can suffer, but from the distress of poverty in thy old age⁠—when thou art passed all services, Trim⁠—and hast outlived thy friends.⁠⸺⁠An’ please your honour, never fear, replied Trim, chearily.⁠⸺⁠But I would have thee never fear, Trim, replied my uncle Toby, and therefore, continued my uncle Toby, throwing down his crutch, and getting up upon his legs as he uttered the word therefore⁠—in recompence, Trim, of thy long fidelity to me, and that goodness of thy heart I have had such proofs of⁠—whilst thy master is worth a shilling⁠⸺⁠thou shalt never ask elsewhere, Trim, for a penny. Trim attempted to thank my uncle Toby⁠—but had not power⁠⸺⁠tears trickled down his cheeks faster than he could wipe them off⁠—He laid his