The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman by Laurence Sterne (pdf e book reader txt) 📕

Ha!⁠⸺⁠and no one gives the wall!⁠⸺⁠but in the School of Urbanity herself, if the walls are besh-t⁠—how can you do otherwise?

And prithee when do they light the lamps? What?⁠—never in the summer months!⁠⸺⁠Ho! ’tis the time of sallads.⁠⸺⁠O rare! sallad and soup⁠—soup and sallad⁠—sallad and soup, encore⁠⸺⁠

⸺’Tis too much for sinners.

Now I cannot bear the barbarity of it; how can that unconscionable coachman talk so much bawdy to that lean horse? don’t you see, friend, the streets are so villainously narrow, that there is not room in all Paris to turn a wheelbarrow? In the grandest city of the whole world, it would not have been amiss, if they had been left a thought wider; nay, were it only so much in every single street, as that a man might know (was it only for satisfaction) on which side of it he was walking.

One⁠—two⁠—three⁠—four⁠—five⁠—six⁠—seven⁠—eight⁠—nine⁠—ten.⁠—Ten cook’s shops! and twice the number of barbers! and all within three minutes driving! one would think that all the cooks in the world, on some great merry-meeting with the barbers, by joint consent had said⁠—Come, let us all go live at Paris: the French love good eating⁠⸺⁠they are all gourmands⁠⸺⁠we shall rank high; if their god is their belly⁠⸺⁠their cooks must be gentlemen: and forasmuch as the periwig maketh the man, and the periwig-maker maketh the periwig⁠—ergo, would the barbers say, we shall rank higher still⁠—we shall be above you all⁠—we shall be Capitouls30 at least⁠—pardi! we shall all wear swords⁠⸺⁠

—And so, one would swear (that is, by candle light,⁠—but there is no depending upon it) they continue to do, to this day.

The French are certainly misunderstood:⁠⸺⁠but whether the fault is theirs, in not sufficiently explaining themselves; or speaking with that exact limitation and precision which one would expect on a point of such importance, and which, moreover, is so likely to be contested by us⁠⸺⁠or whether the fault may not be altogether on our side, in not understanding their language always so critically as to know “what they would be at”⁠⸺⁠I shall not decide; but ’tis evident to me, when they affirm, “That they who have seen Paris, have seen everything,” they must mean to speak of those who have seen it by daylight.

As for candlelight⁠—I give it up⁠⸺⁠I have said before, there was no depending upon it⁠—and I repeat it again; but not because the lights and shades are too sharp⁠—or the tints confounded⁠—or that there is neither beauty or keeping, etc⁠ ⁠… for that’s not truth⁠—but it is an uncertain light in this respect, That in all the five hundred grand Hôtels, which they number up to you in Paris⁠—and the five hundred good things, at a modest computation (for ’tis only allowing one good thing to a Hôtel), which by candlelight are best to be seen, felt, heard, and understood (which, by the by, is a quotation from Lilly)⁠⸺⁠the devil a one of us out of fifty, can get our heads fairly thrust in amongst them.

This is no part of the French computation: ’tis simply this,

That by the last survey taken in the year one thousand seven hundred and sixteen, since which time there have been considerable argumentations, Paris doth contain nine hundred streets; (viz.)

In the quarter called the City⁠—there are fifty-three streets.

In St. James of the Shambles, fifty-five streets.

In St. Oportune, thirty-four streets.

In the quarter of the Louvre, twenty-five streets.

In the Palace Royal, or St. Honorius, forty-nine streets.

In Mont. Martyr, forty-one streets.

In St. Eustace, twenty-nine streets.

In the Halles, twenty-seven streets.

In St. Dennis, fifty-five streets.

In St. Martin, fifty-four streets.

In St. Paul, or the Mortellerie, twenty-seven streets.

The Greve, thirty-eight streets.

In St. Avoy, or the Verrerie, nineteen streets.

In the Marais, or the Temple, fifty-two streets.

In St. Antony’s, sixty-eight streets.

In the Place Maubert, eighty-one streets.

In St. Bennet, sixty streets.

In St. Andrews de Arcs, fifty-one streets.

In the quarter of the Luxembourg, sixty-two streets.

And in that of St. Germain, fifty-five streets, into any of which you may walk; and that when you have seen them with all that belongs to them, fairly by daylight⁠—their gates, their bridges, their squares, their statues - - - and have crusaded it moreover, through all their parish-churches, by no means omitting St. Roche and Sulpice - - - and to crown all, have taken a walk to the four palaces, which you may see, either with or without the statues and pictures, just as you choose⁠—

⸺⁠Then you will have seen⁠⸺⁠

⸺⁠but, ’tis what no one needeth to tell you, for you will read of it yourself upon the portico of the Louvre, in these words,31

Earth no such folks!⁠—No folks e’er such a town
As Paris is!⁠—Sing, derry, derry, down.

The French have a gay way of treating everything that is Great; and that is all can be said upon it.

In mentioning the word gay (as in the close of the last chapter) it puts one (i.e. an author) in mind of the word spleen⁠⸺⁠especially if he has anything to say upon it: not that by any analysis⁠—or that from any table of interest or genealogy, there appears much more ground of alliance betwixt them, than betwixt light and darkness, or any two of the most unfriendly opposites in nature⁠⸺⁠only ’tis an undercraft of authors to keep up a good understanding amongst words, as politicians do amongst men⁠—not knowing how near they may be under a necessity of placing them to each other⁠⸺⁠which point being now gain’d, and that I may place mine exactly to my mind, I write it down here⁠—

Spleen

This, upon leaving Chantilly, I declared to be the best principle in the world to travel speedily upon; but I gave it only as matter of opinion. I still continue in the same sentiments⁠—only I had not then experience enough of its working to add this, that though you do get on at a tearing rate, yet you get on but uneasily to yourself at the same time; for which reason I here quit it entirely, and forever, and ’tis heartily at anyone’s service⁠—it has spoiled me the digestion of a good supper, and brought on