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The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman

Laurence Sterne

Section 20 of 48 - Table of Contents
--What dost thou prick up thy ears at?--'tis nothing but a man upon a
horse--was the last word the stranger uttered to his mule.  It was not
proper then to tell the reader, that the mule took his master's word for
it; and without any more ifs or ands, let the traveller and his horse pass
by.

The traveller was hastening with all diligence to get to Strasburg that
night.  What a fool am I, said the traveller to himself, when he had rode
about a league farther, to think of getting into Strasburg this night.--
Strasburg!--the great Strasburg!--Strasburg, the capital of all Alsatia!
Strasburg, an imperial city!  Strasburg, a sovereign state!  Strasburg,
garrisoned with five thousand of the best troops in all the world!--Alas!
if I was at the gates of Strasburg this moment, I could not gain admittance
into it for a ducat--nay a ducat and half--'tis too much--better go back to
the last inn I have passed--than lie I know not where--or give I know not
what.  The traveller, as he made these reflections in his mind, turned his
horse's head about, and three minutes after the stranger had been conducted
into his chamber, he arrived at the same inn.

--We have bacon in the house, said the host, and bread--and till eleven
o'clock this night had three eggs in it--but a stranger, who arrived an
hour ago, has had them dressed into an omelet, and we have nothing.--

Alas! said the traveller, harassed as I am, I want nothing but a bed.--I
have one as soft as is in Alsatia, said the host.

--The stranger, continued he, should have slept in it, for 'tis my best
bed, but upon the score of his nose.--He has got a defluxion, said the
traveller.--Not that I know, cried the host.--But 'tis a camp-bed, and
Jacinta, said he, looking towards the maid, imagined there was not room in
it to turn his nose in.--Why so? cried the traveller, starting back.--It is
so long a nose, replied the host.--The traveller fixed his eyes upon
Jacinta, then upon the ground--kneeled upon his right knee--had just got
his hand laid upon his breast--Trifle not with my anxiety, said he rising
up again.--'Tis no trifle, said Jacinta, 'tis the most glorious nose!--The
traveller fell upon his knee again--laid his hand upon his breast--then,
said he, looking up to heaven, thou hast conducted me to the end of my
pilgrimage--'Tis Diego.

The traveller was the brother of the Julia, so often invoked that night by
the stranger as he rode from Strasburg upon his mule; and was come, on her
part, in quest of him.  He had accompanied his sister from Valadolid across
the Pyrenean mountains through France, and had many an entangled skein to
wind off in pursuit of him through the many meanders and abrupt turnings of
a lover's thorny tracks.

--Julia had sunk under it--and had not been able to go a step farther than
to Lyons, where, with the many disquietudes of a tender heart, which all
talk of--but few feel--she sicken'd, but had just strength to write a
letter to Diego; and having conjured her brother never to see her face till
he had found him out, and put the letter into his hands, Julia took to her
bed.

Fernandez (for that was her brother's name)--tho' the camp-bed was as soft
as any one in Alsace, yet he could not shut his eyes in it.--As soon as it
was day he rose, and hearing Diego was risen too, he entered his chamber,
and discharged his sister's commission.

The letter was as follows:

'Seig. Diego,

'Whether my suspicions of your nose were justly excited or not--'tis not
now to inquire--it is enough I have not had firmness to put them to farther
tryal.

'How could I know so little of myself, when I sent my Duenna to forbid your
coming more under my lattice? or how could I know so little of you, Diego,
as to imagine you would not have staid one day in Valadolid to have given
ease to my doubts?--Was I to be abandoned, Diego, because I was deceived?
or was it kind to take me at my word, whether my suspicions were just or
no, and leave me, as you did, a prey to much uncertainty and sorrow?

'In what manner Julia has resented this--my brother, when he puts this
letter into your hands, will tell you; He will tell you in how few moments
she repented of the rash message she had sent you--in what frantic haste
she flew to her lattice, and how many days and nights together she leaned
immoveably upon her elbow, looking through it towards the way which Diego
was wont to come.

'He will tell you, when she heard of your departure--how her spirits
deserted her--how her heart sicken'd--how piteously she mourned--how low
she hung her head.  O Diego! how many weary steps has my brother's pity led
me by the hand languishing to trace out yours; how far has desire carried
me beyond strength--and how oft have I fainted by the way, and sunk into
his arms, with only power to cry out--O my Diego!

'If the gentleness of your carriage has not belied your heart, you will fly
to me, almost as fast as you fled from me--haste as you will--you will
arrive but to see me expire.--'Tis a bitter draught, Diego, but oh! 'tis
embittered still more by dying un. . .--'

She could proceed no farther.

Slawkenbergius supposes the word intended was unconvinced, but her strength
would not enable her to finish her letter.

The heart of the courteous Diego over-flowed as he read the letter--he
ordered his mule forthwith and Fernandez's horse to be saddled; and as no
vent in prose is equal to that of poetry in such conflicts--chance, which
as often directs us to remedies as to diseases, having thrown a piece of
charcoal into the window--Diego availed himself of it, and whilst the
hostler was getting ready his mule, he eased his mind against the wall as
follows.



Ode.

Harsh and untuneful are the notes of love,
Unless my Julia strikes the key,
Her hand alone can touch the part,
Whose dulcet movement charms the heart,
And governs all the man with sympathetick sway.

2d.



O Julia!

The lines were very natural--for they were nothing at all to the purpose,
says Slawkenbergius, and 'tis a pity there were no more of them; but
whether it was that Seig. Diego was slow in composing verses--or the
hostler quick in saddling mules--is not averred; certain it was, that
Diego's mule and Fernandez's horse were ready at the door of the inn,
before Diego was ready for his second stanza; so without staying to finish
his ode, they both mounted, sallied forth, passed the Rhine, traversed
Alsace, shaped their course towards Lyons, and before the Strasburgers and
the abbess of Quedlingberg had set out on their cavalcade, had Fernandez,
Diego, and his Julia, crossed the Pyrenean mountains, and got safe to
Valadolid.

'Tis needless to inform the geographical reader, that when Diego was in
Spain, it was not possible to meet the courteous stranger in the Frankfort
road; it is enough to say, that of all restless desires, curiosity being
the strongest--the Strasburgers felt the full force of it; and that for
three days and nights they were tossed to and fro in the Frankfort road,
with the tempestuous fury of this passion, before they could submit to
return home.--When alas! an event was prepared for them, of all other, the
most grievous that could befal a free people.

As this revolution of the Strasburgers affairs is often spoken of, and
little understood, I will, in ten words, says Slawkenbergius, give the
world an explanation of it, and with it put an end to my tale.

Every body knows of the grand system of Universal Monarchy, wrote by order
of Mons. Colbert, and put in manuscript into the hands of Lewis the
fourteenth, in the year 1664.

'Tis as well known, that one branch out of many of that system, was the
getting possession of Strasburg, to favour an entrance at all times into
Suabia, in order to disturb the quiet of Germany--and that in consequence
of this plan, Strasburg unhappily fell at length into their hands.

It is the lot of a few to trace out the true springs of this and such like
revolutions--The vulgar look too high for them--Statesmen look too low--
Truth (for once) lies in the middle.

What a fatal thing is the popular pride of a free city! cries one
historian--The Strasburgers deemed it a diminution of their freedom to
receive an imperial garrison--so fell a prey to a French one.

The fate, says another, of the Strasburgers, may be a warning to all free
people to save their money.--They anticipated their revenues--brought
themselves under taxes, exhausted their strength, and in the end became so
weak a people, they had not strength to keep their gates shut, and so the
French pushed them open.

Alas! alas! cries Slawkenbergius, 'twas not the French,--'twas Curiosity
pushed them open--The French indeed, who are ever upon the catch, when they
saw the Strasburgers, men, women and children, all marched out to follow
the stranger's nose--each man followed his own, and marched in.

Trade and manufactures have decayed and gradually grown down ever since--
but not from any cause which commercial heads have assigned; for it is
owing to this only, that Noses have ever so run in their heads, that the
Strasburgers could not follow their business.

Alas! alas! cries Slawkenbergius, making an exclamation--it is not the
first--and I fear will not be the last fortress that has been either won--
or lost by Noses.

The End of Slawkenbergius's Tale.



Chapter 2.XXXVI.

With all this learning upon Noses running perpetually in my father's fancy-
-with so many family prejudices--and ten decades of such tales running on
for ever along with them--how was it possible with such exquisite--was it a
true nose?--That a man with such exquisite feelings as my father had, could
bear the shock at all below stairs--or indeed above stairs, in any other
posture, but the very posture I have described?

--Throw yourself down upon the bed, a dozen times--taking care only to
place a looking-glass first in a chair on one side of it, before you do it-
-But was the stranger's nose a true nose, or was it a false one?

To tell that before-hand, madam, would be to do injury to one of the best
tales in the Christian-world; and that is the tenth of the tenth decade,
which immediately follows this.

This tale, cried Slawkenbergius, somewhat exultingly, has been reserved by
me for the concluding tale of my whole work; knowing right well, that when
I shall have told it, and my reader shall have read it thro'--'twould be
even high time for both of us to shut up the book; inasmuch, continues
Slawkenbergius, as I know of no tale which could possibly ever go down
after it.

'Tis a tale indeed!

This sets out with the first interview in the inn at Lyons, when Fernandez
left the courteous stranger and his sister Julia alone in her chamber, and
is over-written.



The Intricacies of Diego and Julia.

Heavens! thou art a strange creature, Slawkenbergius! what a whimsical view
of the involutions of the heart of woman hast thou opened! how this can
ever be translated, and yet if this specimen of Slawkenbergius's tales, and
the exquisitiveness of his moral, should please the world--translated shall
a couple of 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 cieling, 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.



Chapter 2.XXXVII.

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 bed-side; 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
chamber-pot, 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 sun-shine in his face, as
melted down the sullenness of his grief in a moment.

He broke silence as follows:



Chapter 2.XXXVIII.

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.



Chapter 2.XXXIX.

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 school-fellows, but I cry like a coward.--Tears are no proof
of cowardice, Trim.--I drop them oft-times 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 hands upon his breast--made a bow
to the ground, and shut the door.

--I have left Trim my bowling-green, cried my uncle Toby--My father
smiled.--I have left him moreover a pension, continued my uncle Toby.--My
father looked grave.



Chapter 2.XL.

Is this a fit time, said my father to himself, to talk of Pensions and
Grenadiers?



Chapter 2.XLI.

When my uncle Toby first mentioned the grenadier, my father, I said, fell
down with his nose flat to the quilt, and as suddenly as if my uncle Toby
had shot him; but it was not added that every other limb and member of my
father instantly relapsed with his nose into the same precise attitude in
which he lay first described; so that when corporal Trim left the room, and
my father found himself disposed to rise off the bed--he had all the little
preparatory movements to run over again, before he could do it.  Attitudes
are nothing, madam--'tis the transition from one attitude to another--like
the preparation and resolution of the discord into harmony, which is all in
all.

For which reason my father played the same jig over again with his toe upon
the floor--pushed the chamber-pot still a little farther within the
valance--gave a hem--raised himself up upon his elbow--and was just
beginning to address himself to my uncle Toby--when recollecting the
unsuccessfulness of his first effort in that attitude--he got upon his
legs, and in making the third turn across the room, he stopped short before
my uncle Toby; and laying the three first fingers of his right-hand in the
palm of his left, and stooping a little, he addressed himself to my uncle
Toby as follows:
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