The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman (Penguin Classics)

by Laurence Sterne

  But as the sum was finite, and consequently could not do every thing—and in truth very few of these to any purpose,— of all the projects which offered themselves upon this occasion, the two last seemed to make the deepest impression; and he would infallibly have determined upon both at once, but for the small inconvenience hinted at above, which absolutely put him under a necessity of deciding in favour either of the one or the other.

  This was not altogether so easy to be done; for though ’tis certain my father had long before set his heart upon this necessary part of my brother’s education, and like a prudent man had actually determined to carry it into execution, with the first money that returned from the second creation of actions in the Missisippi-scheme,4 in which he was an adventurer—yet the Ox-moor, which was a fine, large, whinny,5 undrained, unimproved common, belonging to the Shandy-estate, had almost as old a claim upon him: He had long and affectionately set his heart upon turning it likewise to some account.

  But having never hitherto been pressed with such a conjuncture of things, as made it necessary to settle either the priority or justice of their claims,—like a wise man he had refrained entering into any nice or critical examination about them: So that upon the dismission of every other project at this crisis, ——the two old projects, the OX-MOOR and my BROTHER, divided him again; and so equal a match were they for each other, as to become the occasion of no small contest in the old gentleman’s mind,—which of the two should be set o’going first.

  —People may laugh as they will——but the case was this.

  It had ever been the custom of the family, and by length of time was almost become a matter of common right, that the eldest son of it should have free ingress, egress, and regress6into foreign parts before marriage,—not only for the sake of bettering his own private parts, by the benefit of exercise and change of so much air—but simply for the mere delectation of his fancy, by the feather put into his cap,7 of having been abroad—tantum valet, my father would say, quantum sonat.8

  Now as this was a reasonable, and in course a most christian indulgence—to deprive him of it, without why or wherefore,— and thereby make an example of him, as the first Shandy unwhirl’d about Europe in a post-chaise, and only because he was a heavy lad—would be using him ten times worse than a Turk.

  On the other hand, the case of the Ox-moor was full as hard.

  Exclusive of the original purchase-money, which was eight hundred pounds—it had cost the family eight hundred pounds more in a law-suit about fifteen years before—besides the Lord knows what trouble and vexation.

  It had been moreover in possession of the Shandy-family ever since the middle of the last century; and though it lay full in view before the house, bounded on one extremity by the water-mill, and on the other by the projected wind-mill spoken of above,—and for all these reasons seemed to have the fairest title of any part of the estate to the care and protection of the family—yet by an unaccountable fatality, common to men, as well as the ground they tread on,—it had all along most shamefully been overlook’d; and to speak the truth of it, had suffered so much by it, that it would have made any man’s heart have bled (Obadiah said) who understood the value of land, to have rode over it, and only seen the condition it was in.

  However, as neither the purchasing this tract of ground—nor indeed the placing of it where itlay, were either of them, properly speaking, of my father’s doing—he had never thought himself any way concerned in the affair—till the fifteen years before, when the breaking out of that cursed law-suit mentioned above (and which had arose about its boundaries)—which being altogether my father’s own act and deed, it naturally awakened every other argument in its favour; and upon summing them all up together, he saw, not merely in interest, but in honour, he was bound to do something for it—and that now or never was the time.

  I think there must certainly have been a mixture of ill-luck in it, that the reasons on both sides should happen to be so equally balanced by each other; for though my father weigh’d them in all humours and conditions—spent many an anxious hour in the most profound and abstracted meditation upon what was best to be done——reading books of farming one day—books of travels another—laying aside all passion whatever—viewing the arguments on both sides in all their lights and circumstances —–communing every day with my uncle Toby —arguing with Yorick, and talking over the whole affair of the Ox-moor with Obadiah —yet nothing in all that time appeared so strongly in behalf of the one, which was not either strictly applicable to the other, or at least so far counterbalanced by some consideration of equal weight, as to keep the scales even.

  For to be sure, with proper helps, and in the hands of some people, tho’ the Ox-moor would undoubtedly have made a different appearance in the world from what it did, or ever would do in the condition it lay—yet every tittle of this was true, with regard to my brother Bobby —let Obadiah say what he would.——

  In point of interest—the contest, I own, at first sight, did not appear so undecisive betwixt them; for whenever my father took pen and ink in hand, and set about calculating the simple expence of paring and burning, and fenceing in the Ox-moor, &c. &c.—with the certain profit it would bring him in return— the latter turned out so prodigiously in his way of working the account, that you would have sworn the Ox-moor would have carried all before it. For it was plain he should reap a hundred lasts of rape, at twenty pounds a last, the very first year—besides an excellent crop of wheat the year following—and the year after that, to speak within bounds, a hundred——but, in all likelihood, a hundred and fifty—if not two hundred quarters of pease and beans—besides potatoes without end—But then, to think he was all this while breeding up my brother like a hog to eat them—knocked all on the head again, and generally left the old gentleman in such a state of suspence—that, as he often declared to my uncle Toby —he knew no more than his heels what to do.

  No body, but he who has felt it, can conceive what a plaguing thing it is to have a man’s mind torn asunder by two projects of equal strength, both obstinately pulling in a contrary direction at the same time: For to say nothing of the havock, which by a certain consequence is unavoidably made by it all over the finer system of the nerves, which you know convey the animal spirits and more subtle juices from the heart to the head, and so on ——It is not to be told in what a degree such a wayward kind of friction works upon the more gross and solid parts, wasting the fat and impairing the strength of a man every time as it goes backwards and forwards.

  My father had certainly sunk under this evil, as certainly as he had done under that of my CHRISTIAN NAME—had he not been rescued out of it as he was out of that, by a fresh evil—the misfortune of my brother Bobby’s death.

  What is the life of man! Is it not to shift from side to side? —from sorrow to sorrow?——to button up one cause of vexation!—and unbutton another!

  CHAP. XXXII.

  FROM this moment I am to be considered as heir-apparent to the Shandy family—and it is from this point properly, that the story of my Life and my Opinions sets out; with all my hurry and precipitation I have but been clearing the ground to raise the building——and such a building do I foresee it will turn out, as never was planned, and as never was executed since Adam. In less than five minutes I shall have thrown my pen into the fire, and the little drop of thick ink which is left remaining at the bottom of my ink-horn, after it— I have but half a score things to do in the time——I have a thing to name—a thing to lament—a thing to hope—a thing to promise, and a thing to threaten—I have a thing to suppose —a thing to declare—a thing to conceal—a thing to chuse, and a thing to pray for.—This chapter, therefore, I name the chapter of Things—and my next chapter to it, that is, the first chapter of my next volume, if I live, shall be my chapter upon whiskers, in order to keep up some sort of connection in my works.

  The thing I lament is, that things have crowded in so thick upon me, that I have not been able to get into that part of
my work, towards which, I have all the way, looked forwards, with so much earnest desire; and that is the campaigns, but especially the amours of my uncle Toby, the events of which are of so singular a nature, and so Cervantick a cast, that if I can so manage it, as to convey but the same impressions to every other brain, which the occurrences themselves excite in my own—— I will answer for it the book shall make its way in the world, much better than its master has done before it——Oh Tristram! Tristram! can this but be once brought about——the credit, which will attend thee as an author, shall counterbalance the many evils which have befallen thee as a man—thou wilt feast upon the one—when thou hast lost all sense and remembrance of the other!——

  No wonder I itch so much as I do, to get at these amours— They are the choicest morsel1 of my whole story! and when I do get at ’em—assure yourselves, good folks,—(nor do I value whose squeamish stomach takes offence at it) I shall not be at all nice in the choice of my words;——and that’s the thing I have to declare.—I shall never get all through in five minutes, that I fear—and the thing I hope is, that your worships and reverences are not offended—if you are, depend upon’t I’ll give you something, my good gentry, next year, to be offended at ——that’s my dear Jenny’s way—but who my Jenny is—and which is the right and which the wrong end of a woman, is the thing to be concealed —it shall be told you the next chapter but one, to my chapter of button-holes,—and not one chapter before.

  And now that you have just got to the end of these four volumes——the thing I have to ask is, how you feel your heads? my own akes dismally2—as for your healths, I know, they are much better——True Shandeism,3 think what you will against it, opens the heart and lungs, and like all those affections which partake of its nature, it forces the blood and other vital fluids of the body to run freely thro’ its channels, and makes the wheel of life run long and chearfully round.

  Was I left like Sancho Pancç a,4 to chuse my kingdom, it should not be maritime—or a kingdom of blacks to make a penny of ——no, it should be a kingdom of hearty laughing subjects: And as the bilious and more saturnine passions, by creating disorders in the blood and humours, have as bad an influence, I see, upon the body politick as body natural—and as nothing but a habit of virtue can fully govern those passions, and subject them to reason—I should add to my prayer—that God would give my subjects grace to be as WISE as they were MERRY; and then should I be the happiest monarch, and they the happiest people under heaven—

  And so, with this moral for the present, may it please your worships and your reverences, I take my leave of you till this time twelve-month, when (unless this vile cough5 kills me in the mean time) I’ll have another pluck at your beards,6 and lay open a story to the world you little dream of.

  FINIS.

  THE

  LIFE

  AND

  OPINIONS

  OF

  TRISTRAM SHANDY,

  GENTLEMAN.

  Dixero fi quid fortè jocofius hoc mihi juris

  Cum venia dabis.—— HOR.

  —Si quis calumnietur levius effe quam decet theologum,

  aut mordacius quam deceat Chriftianum—non

  Ego, fed Democritus dixit.—

  ERASMUS.

  VOL. V.

  LONDON:

  Printed for T.BECKET and P.A.DEHONDT,

  in the Strand. M DCC LXIL.

  (Height of original type-page 121 mm.)

  THE

  LIFE

  AND

  OPINIONS

  OF

  TRISTRAM SHANDY,

  GENTLEMAN.

  Dixero fi quid fortè jocofius, hoc mihi juris

  Cum venia dabis.—— HOR.

  —si quis calumnietur levius effe quam decet theologum,

  aut mordacius quam deceat Chriftianum—non

  Ego, fed Democritus dixit

  — ERASMUS.

  Si quis Clericus, aut Monachus, verba joculatoria,

  vifum moventia fciebat anathema efto.

  Second Council of CARTHAGE,

  The SECOND EDITION.

  VOL. V.

  LONDON.

  Printed for T.BECKET and P.A.DEHONDT,

  in the Strand. M DCCLXVII.

  (Height of original type-page 123 mm.)

  To the Right Honourable

  JOHN,

  Lord Viscount SPENCER.

  MY LORD,

  I Humbly beg leave to offer you these two Volumes; they are the best my talents, with such bad health as I have, could produce:—had providence granted me a larger stock of either, they had been a much more proper present to your Lordship.

  I beg your Lordship will forgive me, if, at the same time I dedicate this work to you, I join Lady SPENCER, in the liberty I take of inscribing the story of LE FEVER in the sixth volume to her name; for which I have no other motive, which my heart has informed me of, but that the story is a humane one.

  I am, My Lord, Your Lordship’s Most devoted, And most humble Servant,

  LAUR. STERNE.

  THE

  LIFE and OPINIONS

  OF

  TRISTRAM SHANDY, Gent.

  CHAP. I.

  IF it had not been for those two mettlesome tits, and that madcap of a postilion, who drove them from Stilton to Stamford,1 the thought had never entered my head. He flew like lightning——there was a slope of three miles and a half——we scarce touched the ground——the motion was most rapid—most impetuous—’twas communicated to my brain—my heart partook of it——By the great God of day, said I, looking towards the sun, and thrusting my arm out of the fore-window of the chaise, as I made my vow, “I will lock up my study door the moment I get home, and throw the key of it ninety feet below the surface of the earth, into the draw-well at the back of my house.”

  The London waggon confirmed me in my resolution: it hung tottering upon the hill, scarce progressive, drag’d—drag’d up by eight heavy beasts——“by main strength!—quoth I, nodding— but your betters draw the same way—and something of every bodies!——O rare!”

  Tell me, ye learned, shall we for ever be adding so much to the bulk—so little to the stock?

  Shall we for ever make new books, as apothecaries make new mixtures, by pouring only out of one vessel into another?

  Are we for ever to be twisting, and untwisting the same rope? for ever in the same track—for ever at the same pace?2

  Shall we be destined to the days of eternity, on holy-days, as well as working-days, to be shewing the relicks of learning, as monks do the relicks of their saints—without working one—one single miracle with them?

  Who made MAN, with powers which dart him from earth to heaven in a moment—that great, that most excellent, and most noble creature of the world—the miracle of nature, as Zoroaster in his book περìθύσεως called him—the Shekinah of the divine presence, as Chrysostom—the image of God, as Moses—the ray of divinity, as Plato—the marvel of marvels, as Aristotle3——to go sneaking on at this pitiful—pimping—pettifogging rate?

  I scorn to be as abusive as Horace upon the occasion4——but if there is no catachresis in the wish, and no sin in it, I wish from my soul, that every imitator in Great Britain, France, and Ireland, had the farcy5 for his pains; and that there was a good farcical house, large enough to hold—aye—and sublimate them, shag-rag and bob-tail,6 male and female, all together: and this leads me to the affair of Whiskers——but, by what chain of ideas—I leave as a legacy in mort main7 to Prudes and Tartufs,8 to enjoy and make the most of.

  Upon Whiskers.

  I’m sorry I made it——’twas as inconsiderate a promise as ever entered a man’s head——A chapter upon whiskers! alas! the world will not bear it——’tis a delicate world—but I knew not of what mettle it was made—nor had I ever seen the underwritten fragment; otherwise, as surely as noses are noses, and whiskers are whiskers still; (let the world say what it will to the contrary) so surely would I have steered clear of this dangerous chapter.


  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  * * *——You are half asleep, my good lady, said the old gentleman, taking hold of the old lady’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, as he pronounced the word Whiskers——shall we change the subject? By no means, replied the old lady—I like your account of these matters: so throwing a thin gauze handkerchief over her head, and leaning it back upon the chair with her face turned towards him, and advancing her two feet as she reclined herself—I desire, continued she, you will go on.

  The old gentleman went on as follows.———Whiskers! cried the queen of Navarre,9 dropping her knotting-ball, as La Fosseuse uttered the word——Whiskers;madam, said La Fosseuse, pinning the ball to the queen’s apron, and making a courtesy as she repeated it.

  La Fosseuse’s voice was naturally soft and low, yet ’twas an articulate voice: and every letter of the word whiskers fell distinctly upon the queen of Navarre’s ear—Whiskers! cried the queen, laying a greater stress upon the word, and as if she had still distrusted her ears—Whiskers; replied La Fosseuse, repeating the word a third time—There is not a cavalier, madam, of his age in Navarre, continued the maid of honour, pressing the page’s interest upon the queen, that has so gallant a pair—Of what? cried Margaret, smiling——Of whiskers, said La Fosseuse, with infinite modesty.

  The word whiskers still stood its ground, and continued to be made use of in most of the best companies throughout the little kingdom of Navarre, notwithstanding the indiscreet use which La Fosseuse had made of it: the truth was, La Fosseuse had pronounced the word, not only before the queen, but upon sundry other occasions at court, with an accent which always implied something of a mystery——And as the court of Margaret, as all the world knows, was at that time a mixture of gallantry and devotion——and whiskers being as applicable to the one, as the other, the word naturally stood its ground—it gain’d full as much as it lost; that is, the clergy were for it— the laity were against it—and for the women,—— they were divided.——