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

of the Jesuits, and procure, if possible, a sight of the thirty volumes of the general history of China, wrote (not in the Tartarean, but) in the Chinese language, and in the Chinese character too.

Now I almost know as little of the Chinese language, as I do of the mechanism of Lippius’s clockwork; so, why these should have jostled themselves into the two first articles of my list⁠⸺⁠I leave to the curious as a problem of Nature. I own it looks like one of her ladyship’s obliquities; and they who court her, are interested in finding out her humour as much as I.

When these curiosities are seen, quoth I, half addressing myself to my valet de place, who stood behind me⁠⸺’twill be no hurt if we go to the church of St. Irenæus, and see the pillar to which Christ was tied⁠⸺⁠and after that, the house where Pontius Pilate lived⁠⸺’Twas at the next town, said the valet de place⁠—at Vienne; I am glad of it, said I, rising briskly from my chair, and walking across the room with strides twice as long as my usual pace⁠⸺“for so much the sooner shall I be at the Tomb of the two lovers.”

What was the cause of this movement, and why I took such long strides in uttering this⁠⸺⁠I might leave to the curious too; but as no principle of clockwork is concerned in it⁠⸺’twill be as well for the reader if I explain it myself.

XXXI

O there is a sweet æra in the life of man, when (the brain being tender and fibrillous, and more like pap than anything else)⁠⸺⁠a story read of two fond lovers, separated from each other by cruel parents, and by still more cruel destiny⁠⸺⁠

Amandus⁠⸺⁠He
Amanda⁠⸺⁠She⁠⸺⁠

each ignorant of the other’s course,

He⁠⸺⁠east
She⁠⸺⁠west

Amandus taken captive by the Turks, and carried to the emperor of Morocco’s court, where the princess of Morocco falling in love with him, keeps him twenty years in prison for the love of his Amanda.⁠⸺⁠

She⁠—(Amanda) all the time wandering barefoot, and with dishevell’d hair, o’er rocks and mountains, enquiring for Amandus!⁠⸺⁠Amandus! Amandus!⁠—making every hill and valley to echo back his name⁠⸺⁠

Amandus! Amandus!

at every town and city, sitting down forlorn at the gate⁠⸺⁠Has Amandus!⁠—has my Amandus enter’d?⁠⸺⁠till,⁠⸺⁠going round, and round, and round the world⁠⸺⁠chance unexpected bringing them at the same moment of the night, though by different ways, to the gate of Lyons, their native city, and each in well-known accents calling out aloud,

Is Amandus Is my Amanda } still alive?

they fly into each other’s arms, and both drop down dead for joy.

There is a soft æra in every gentle mortal’s life, where such a story affords more pabulum to the brain, than all the Frusts, and Crusts, and Rusts of antiquity, which travellers can cook up for it.

⸺’Twas all that stuck on the right side of the cullender in my own, of what Spon and others, in their accounts of Lyons, had strained into it; and finding, moreover, in some Itinerary, but in what God knows⁠⸺⁠That sacred to the fidelity of Amandus and Amanda, a tomb was built without the gates, where, to this hour, lovers called upon them to attest their truths⁠⸺⁠I never could get into a scrape of that kind in my life, but this tomb of the lovers would, somehow or other, come in at the close⁠⸺⁠nay such a kind of empire had it establish’d over me, that I could seldom think or speak of Lyons⁠—and sometimes not so much as see even a Lyons-waistcoat, but this remnant of antiquity would present itself to my fancy; and I have often said in my wild way of running on⁠⸺⁠tho’ I fear with some irreverence⁠⸺“I thought this shrine (neglected as it was) as valuable as that of Mecca, and so little short, except in wealth, of the Santa Casa itself, that some time or other, I would go a pilgrimage (though I had no other business at Lyons) on purpose to pay it a visit.”

In my list, therefore, of Videnda at Lyons, this, tho’ last,⁠—was not, you see, least; so taking a dozen or two of longer strides than usual across my room, just whilst it passed my brain, I walked down calmly into the Basse Cour, in order to sally forth; and having called for my bill⁠—as it was uncertain whether I should return to my inn, I had paid it⁠⸺⁠had moreover given the maid ten sous, and was just receiving the dernier compliments of Monsieur Le Blanc, for a pleasant voyage down the Rhône⁠⸺⁠when I was stopped at the gate⁠⸺⁠

XXXII

⸺’Twas by a poor ass, who had just turned in with a couple of large panniers upon his back, to collect eleemosynary turnip-tops and cabbage-leaves; and stood dubious, with his two forefeet on the inside of the threshold, and with his two hinder feet towards the street, as not knowing very well whether he was to go in or no.

Now, ’tis an animal (be in what hurry I may) I cannot bear to strike⁠⸺⁠there is a patient endurance of sufferings, wrote so unaffectedly in his looks and carriage, which pleads so mightily for him, that it always disarms me; and to that degree, that I do not like to speak unkindly to him: on the contrary, meet him where I will⁠—whether in town or country⁠—in cart or under panniers⁠—whether in liberty or bondage⁠⸺⁠I have ever something civil to say to him on my part; and as one word begets another (if he has as little to do as I)⁠⸺⁠I generally fall into conversation with him; and surely never is my imagination so busy as in framing his responses from the etchings of his countenance⁠—and where those carry me not deep enough⁠⸺⁠in flying from my own heart into his, and seeing what is natural for an ass to think⁠—as well as a man, upon the occasion. In truth, it is the only creature of all the classes of beings below me, with whom I can do this: for parrots, jackdaws, etc.⁠⸺⁠I never exchange a word with them⁠⸺⁠nor with the apes, etc., for pretty near the same reason; they act by