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

by Laurence Sterne

  I wish, said my uncle Toby, with a deep sigh,—I wish, Trim, I was asleep.

  Your honour, replied the corporal, is too much concerned;— shall I pour your honour out a glass of sack to your pipe?—— Do, Trim, said my uncle Toby.

  I remember, said my uncle Toby, sighing again, the story of the ensign and his wife, with a circumstance his modesty omitted;—and particularly well that he, as well as she, upon some account or other, (I forget what) was universally pitied by the whole regiment;—but finish the story thou art upon:— ’Tis finished already, said the corporal,—for I could stay no longer,—so wished his honour a good night; young Le Fever rose from off the bed, and saw me to the bottom of the stairs; and as we went down together, told me, they had come from Ireland, and were on their route to join the regiment in Flanders. ——But alas! said the corporal,—the lieutenant’s last day’s march is over.—–Then what is to become of his poor boy? cried my uncle Toby.

  CHAP. VIII

  The Story of Le Fever continued.

  IT was to my uncle Toby’s eternal honour,——though I tell it only for the sake of those, who, when coop’d in betwixt a natural and a positive law,1 know not for their souls, which way in the world to turn themselves——That notwithstanding my uncle Toby was warmly engaged at that time in carrying on the siege of Dendermond, parallel with the allies, who pressed theirs on so vigorously, that they scarce allowed him time to get his dinner——that nevertheless he gave up Dendermond, though he had already made a lodgment upon the counterscarp;—and bent his whole thoughts towards the private distresses at the inn; and, except that he ordered the garden gate to be bolted up, by which he might be said to have turned the siege of Dendermond into a blockade,2 —he left Dendermond to itself,—to be relieved or not by the French king, as the French king thought good; and only considered how he himself should relieve the poor lieutenant and his son.

  ——That kind BEING, who is a friend to the friendless, shall recompence thee for this.

  Thou hast left this matter short, said my uncle Toby to the corporal, as he was putting him to bed,——and I will tell thee in what, Trim.——In the first place, when thou madest an offer of my services to Le Fever,—as sickness and travelling are both expensive, and thou knowest he was but a poor lieutenant, with a son to subsist as well as himself, out of his pay,—that thou didst not make an offer to him of my purse; because, had he stood in need, thou knowest, Trim, he had been as welcome to it as myself.——Your honour knows, said the corporal, I had no orders;——True, quoth my uncle Toby,—thou didst very right, Trim, as a soldier,—but certainly very wrong as a man.

  In the second place, for which, indeed, thou hast the same excuse, continued my uncle Toby,——when thou offeredst him whatever was in my house,—thou shouldst have offered him my house too:——A sick brother officer should have the best quarters, Trim, and if we had him with us,—we could tend and look to him:——Thou art an excellent nurse thyself, Trim,— and what with thy care of him, and the old woman’s, and his boy’s, and mine together, we might recruit him again at once, and set him upon his legs.———

  ——In a fortnight or three weeks, added my uncle Toby, smiling,—he might march.——He will never march, an’ please your honour, in this world, said the corporal:——He will march; said my uncle Toby, rising up from the side of the bed, with one shoe off:——An’ please your honour, said the corporal, he will never march, but to his grave:——He shall march, cried my uncle Toby, marching the foot which had a shoe on, though without advancing an inch,—he shall march to his regiment.——He cannot stand it, said the corporal;—— He shall be supported, said my uncle Toby;——He’ll drop at last, said the corporal, and what will become of his boy?—— He shall not drop, said my uncle Toby, firmly.—— A-well-o’day,—do what we can for him, said Trim, maintaining his point,—the poor soul will die:——He shall not die, by G—, cried my uncle Toby.

  —The ACCUSING SPIRIT which flew up to heaven’s chancery with the oath, blush’d as he gave it in;—and the recording angel as he wrote it down, dropp’d a tear upon the word, and blotted it out for ever.3

  CHAP. IX.

  ——My uncle Toby went to his bureau,— put his purse into his breeches pocket, and having ordered the corporal to go early in the morning for a physician,—he went to bed, and fell asleep.

  CHAP. X.

  The Story of Le Fever concluded.

  THE sun looked bright the morning after, to every eye in the village but Le Fever’s and his afflicted son’s; the hand of death press’d heavy upon his eye-lids,——and hardly could the wheel at the cistern turn round its circle,1 —when my uncle Toby, who had rose up an hour before his wonted time, entered the lieutenant’s room, and without preface or apology, sat himself down upon the chair by the bed-side, and independantly of all modes and customs, opened the curtain in the manner an old friend and brother officer would have done it, and asked him how he did,—how he had rested in the night,—what was his complaint,—where was his pain,—and what he could do to help him:——and without giving him time to answer any one of the enquiries, went on and told him of the little plan which he had been concerting with the corporal the night before for him.——

  ——You shall go home directly, Le Fever, said my uncle Toby, to my house,—and we’ll send for a doctor to see what’s the matter,—and we’ll have an apothecary,—and the corporal shall be your nurse;——and I’ll be your servant, Le Fever.

  There was a frankness in my uncle Toby,—not the effect of familiarity,—but the cause of it,—which let you at once into his soul, and shewed you the goodness of his nature; to this, there was something in his looks, and voice, and manner, superadded, which eternally beckoned to the unfortunate to come and take shelter under him;so that before my uncle Toby had half finished the kind offers he was making to the father, had the son insensibly pressed up close to his knees, and had taken hold of the breast of his coat, and was pulling it towards him.——The blood and spirits of Le Fever, which were waxing cold and slow within him, and were retreating to their last citadel, the heart,— rallied back,—the film forsook his eyes for a moment,—he looked up wistfully2 in my uncle Toby’s face,—then cast a look upon his boy,——and that ligament, fine as it was,—was never broken.———

  Nature instantly ebb’d again,——the film returned to its place,——the pulse fluttered——stopp’d——went on—— throb’d——stopp’d again——moved——stopp’d——shall I go on?——No.

  CHAP. XI.

  I Am so impatient to return to my own story, that what remains of young Le Fever’s, that is, from this turn of his fortune, to the time my uncle Toby recommended him for my preceptor, shall be told in a very few words, in the next chapter.—All that is necessary to be added to this chapter is as follows.—

  That my uncle Toby, with young Le Fever in his hand, attended the poor lieutenant, as chief mourners, to his grave.

  That the governor of Dendermond paid his obsequies all military honours,—and that Yorick, not to be behind hand— paid him all ecclesiastic—for he buried him in his chancel:— And it appears likewise, he preached a funeral sermon over him ——I say it appears,—for it was Yorick’s custom, which I suppose a general one with those of his profession, on the first leaf of every sermon which he composed, to chronicle down the time, the place, and the occasion of its being preached: to this, he was ever wont to add some short comment or stricture upon the sermon itself, seldom, indeed, much to its credit:—For instance, This sermon upon the jewish dispensation—I don’t like it at all;—Though I own there is a world of WATER-LANDISH knowlege1 in it, —but ’tis all tritical,2 and most tritically put together.———This is but a flimsy kind of a composition; what was in my head when I made it?

  ——N.B. The excellency of this text is, that it will suit any sermon,—and of this sermon,——that it will suit any text.———

  ——For this sermon I shall be hanged,—for I have stolen the greatest part of it. D
octor Paidagunes found me out. Set a thief to catch a thief3———

  On the back of half a dozen I find written, So, so, and no more——and upon a couple Moderato; by which, as far as one may gather from Altieri’s Italian dictionary,4—but mostly from the authority of a piece of green whipcord, which seemed to have been the unravelling of Yorick’s whip-lash, with which he has left us the two sermons marked Moderato, and the half dozen of So, so, tied fast together in one bundle by themselves,—one may safely suppose he meant pretty near the same thing.

  There is but one difficulty in the way of this conjecture, which is this, that the moderato’s are five times better than the so, so’s;—shew ten times more knowlege of the human heart;— have seventy times more wit and spirit in them;—(and, to rise properly in my climax)—discover a thousand times more genius;—and to crown all, are infinitely more entertaining than those tied up with them;—for which reason, whene’er Yorick’s dramatic sermons5 are offered to the world, though I shall admit but one out of the whole number of the so, so’s, I shall, nevertheless, adventure to print the two moderato’s without any sort of scruple.

  What Yorick could mean by the words lentamente,6— tenutè,—grave,— and sometimes adagio,— as applied to theological compositions, and with which he has characterized some of these sermons, I dare not venture to guess.——I am more puzzled still upon finding a l’octava alta! upon one;—— Con strepito upon the back of another;—— Scicilliana upon a third; —— Alla capella upon a fourth;—— Con l’arco upon this;—— Senza l’arco upon that.——All I know is, that they are musical terms, and have a meaning;——and as he was a musical man, I will make no doubt, but that by some quaint application of such metaphors to the compositions in hand, they impressed very distinct ideas of their several characters upon his fancy,—whatever they may do upon that of others.

  Amongst these, there is that particular sermon which has unaccountably led me into this digression——The funeral sermon upon poor Le Fever, wrote out very fairly, as if from a hasty copy.—I take notice of it the more, because it seems to have been his favourite composition——It is upon mortality; and is tied length-ways and cross-ways with a yarn thrum, and then rolled up and twisted round with a half sheet of dirty blue paper,7 which seems to have been once the cast cover of a general review, which to this day smells horribly of horse-drugs.—— Whether these marks of humiliation were designed,—I something doubt;——because at the end of the sermon, (and not at the beginning of it)—very different from his way of treating the rest, he had wrote——

  Bravo!

  ——Though not very offensively,——for it is at two inches, at least, and a half’s distance from, and below the concluding line of the sermon, at the very extremity of the page, and in that right hand corner of it, which, you know, is generally covered with your thumb; and, to do it justice, it is wrote besides with a crow’s quill so faintly in a small Italian hand,8 as scarce to sollicit the eye towards the place, whether your thumb is there or not,—so that from the manner of it, it stands half excused; and being wrote moreover with very pale ink, diluted almost to nothing,— ’tis more like a ritratto9 of the shadow of vanity, than of VANITY herself—of the two, resembling rather a faint thought of transient applause, secretly stirring up in the heart of the composer, than a gross mark of it, coarsely obtruded upon the world.

  With all these extenuations, I am aware, that in publishing this, I do no service to Yorick’s character as a modest man;— but all men have their failings! and what lessens this still farther, and almost wipes it away, is this; that the word was struck through sometime afterwards (as appears from a different tint of the ink) with a line quite across it in this manner, BRAVO ——as if he had retracted, or was ashamed of the opinion he had once entertained of it.

  These short characters of his sermons were always written, excepting in this one instance, upon the first leaf of his sermon, which served as a cover to it; and usually upon the inside of it, which was turned towards the text;—but at the end of his discourse, where, perhaps, he had five or six pages, and sometimes, perhaps, a whole score to turn himself in,—he took a larger circuit, and, indeed, a much more mettlesome one;—as if he had snatched the occasion of unlacing himself with a few more frolicksome strokes at vice, than the straitness of the pulpit allowed.—These, though hussar-like, they skirmish lightly and out of all order, are still auxiliaries on the side of virtue—; tell me then, Mynheer Vander Blonederdondergewdenstronke,10 why they should not be printed together?

  CHAP. XII.

  WHEN my uncle Toby had turned every thing into money, and settled all accounts betwixt the agent of the regiment and Le Fever, and betwixt Le Fever and all mankind,——there remained nothing more in my uncle Toby’s hands, than an old regimental coat and a sword; so that my uncle Toby found little or no opposition from the world in taking administration. The coat my uncle Toby gave the corporal;——Wear it, Trim, said my uncle Toby, as long as it will hold together, for the sake of the poor lieutenant——And this,——said my uncle Toby, taking up the sword in his hand, and drawing it out of the scabbard as he spoke——and this,Le Fever, I’ll save for thee,— ’tis all the fortune, continued my uncle Toby, hanging it up upon a crook, and pointing to it,—’tis all the fortune, my dear Le Fever, which God has left thee; but if he has given thee a heart to fight thy way with it in the world,—and thou doest it like a man of honour,—’tis enough for us.

  As soon as my uncle Toby had laid a foundation, and taught him to inscribe a regular polygon in a circle, he sent him to a public school, where, excepting Whitsontide and Christmas, at which times the corporal was punctually dispatched for him,— he remained to the spring of the year, seventeen; when the stories of the emperor’s sending his army into Hungary against the Turks,1 kindling a spark of fire in his bosom, he left his Greek and Latin without leave, and throwing himself upon his knees before my uncle Toby, begged his father’s sword, and my uncle Toby’s leave along with it, to go and try his fortune under Eugene.—Twice did my uncle Toby forget his wound, and cry out, Le Fever! I will go with thee, and thou shalt fight beside me ——And twice he laid his hand upon his groin, and hung down his head in sorrow and disconsolation.———

  My uncle Toby took down the sword from the crook, where it had hung untouched ever since the lieutenant’s death, and delivered it to the corporal to brighten up;——and having detained Le Fever a single fortnight to equip him, and contract for his passage to Leghorn,—he put the sword into his hand, ——If thou art brave, Le Fever, said my uncle Toby, this will not fail thee,——but Fortune, said he, (musing a little)—— Fortune may——And if she does,—added my uncle Toby, embracing him, come back again to me, Le Fever, and we will shape thee another course.

  The greatest injury could not have oppressed the heart of Le Fever more than my uncle Toby’s paternal kindness;——he parted from my uncle Toby, as the best of sons from the best of fathers——both dropped tears——and as my uncle Toby gave him his last kiss, he slipped sixty guineas, tied up in an old purse of his father’s, in which was his mother’s ring, into his hand,— and bid God bless him.

  CHAP. XIII.

  LE Fever got up to the Imperial army just time enough to try what metal his sword was made of, at the defeat of the Turks before Belgrade;1 but a series of unmerited mischances had pursued him from that moment, and trod close upon his heels for four years together after: he had withstood these buffetings to the last, till sickness overtook him at Marseilles, from whence he wrote my uncle Toby word, he had lost his time, his services, his health, and, in short, every thing but his sword;——and was waiting for the first ship to return back to him.

  As this letter came to hand about six weeks before Susannah’s accident, Le Fever was hourly expected; and was uppermost in my uncle Toby’s mind all the time my father was giving him and Yorick a description of what kind of a person he would chuse for a preceptor to me: but as my uncle Toby thought my father at first somewhat fanciful in
the accomplishments he required, he forbore mentioning Le Fever’s name,——till the character, by Yorick’s interposition, ending unexpectedly, in one, who should be gentle tempered, and generous, and good, it impressed the image of Le Fever, and his interest upon my uncle Toby so forceably, he rose instantly off his chair; and laying down his pipe, in order to take hold of both my father’s hands——I beg, brother Shandy, said my uncle Toby, I may recommend poor Le Fever’s son to you——I beseech you, do, added Yorick——He has a good heart, said my uncle Toby ——And a brave one too, an’ please your honour, said the corporal.

  ——The best hearts, Trim, are ever the bravest, replied my uncle Toby.——And the greatest cowards, an’ please your honour, in our regiment, were the greatest rascals in it.—— There was serjeant Kumbur, and ensign———

  ——We’ll talk of them, said my father, another time.

  CHAP. XIV.

  WHAT a jovial and a merry world would this be, may it please your worships, but for that inextricable labyrinth of debts, cares, woes, want, grief, discontent, melancholy, large jointures, impositions, and lies!