The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman by Laurence Sterne (pdf e book reader txt) đ
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The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman, a fictional autobiography of the eponymous narrator, containsâperhaps surprisinglyâlittle about either his life or opinions, but what it does have is a meandering journey through the adventures of his close family and their associates. The book is famous for being more about the explanatory diversions and rabbit-holes that the narrator takes us down than the actual happenings he set out to describe, but in doing so he paints a vivid picture of the players and their personal stories.
Published two volumes at a time over the course of eight years, Tristram Shandy was an immediate commercial success although not without some confusion among critics. Sterneâs exploration of form that pushed at the contemporary limits of what could be called a novel has been hugely influential, garnering admirers as varied as Marx, Schopenhauer, Joyce, Woolf and Rushdie. The book has been translated into many other languages and adapted for the stage, radio, and film.
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- Author: Laurence Sterne
Read book online ÂŤThe Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman by Laurence Sterne (pdf e book reader txt) đÂť. Author - Laurence Sterne
⸝But Monsieur le Marquis had walked inâ ⸺â
XLIII had now the whole south of France, from the banks of the RhĂ´ne to those of the Garonne, to traverse upon my mule at my own leisureâ âat my own leisureâ ⸺â for I had left Death, the Lord knowsâ ⸺â and He onlyâ âhow far behind meâ ⸺âI have followed many a man throâ France, quoth heâ âbut never at this mettlesome rate.ââ ⸺â Still he followed,â ⸺â and still I fled himâ ⸺â but I fled him chearfullyâ ⸺â still he pursuedâ ⸺â but, like one who pursued his prey without hopeâ ⸺â as he laggâd, every step he lost, softenâd his looksâ ⸺â why should I fly him at this rate?
So notwithstanding all the commissary of the post-office had said, I changed the mode of my travelling once more; and, after so precipitate and rattling a course as I had run, I flattered my fancy with thinking of my mule, and that I should traverse the rich plains of Languedoc upon his back, as slowly as foot could fall.
There is nothing more pleasing to a travellerâ ⸺â or more terrible to travel-writers, than a large rich plain; especially if it is without great rivers or bridges; and presents nothing to the eye, but one unvaried picture of plenty: for after they have once told you, that âtis delicious! or delightful! (as the case happens)â âthat the soil was grateful, and that nature pours out all her abundance, etcâ ââ ⌠they have then a large plain upon their hands, which they know not what to do withâ âand which is of little or no use to them but to carry them to some town; and that town, perhaps of little more, but a new place to start from to the next plainâ ⸺â and so on.
âThis is most terrible work; judge if I donât manage my plains better.
XLIIII had not gone above two leagues and a half, before the man with his gun began to look at his priming.
I had three several times loiterâd terribly behind; half a mile at least every time; once, in deep conference with a drum-maker, who was making drums for the fairs of Baucaira and Tarasconeâ âI did not understand the principlesâ ⸺â
The second time, I cannot so properly say, I stoppâdâ ⸺â for meeting a couple of Franciscans straitened more for time than myself, and not being able to get to the bottom of what I was aboutâ ⸺â I had turnâd back with themâ ⸺â
The third, was an affair of trade with a gossip, for a hand-basket of Provence figs for four sous; this would have been transacted at once; but for a case of conscience at the close of it; for when the figs were paid for, it turnâd out, that there were two dozen of eggs coverâd over with vine-leaves at the bottom of the basketâ âas I had no intention of buying eggsâ âI made no sort of claim of themâ âas for the space they had occupiedâ âwhat signified it? I had figs enow for my moneyâ ⸺â
âBut it was my intention to have the basketâ âit was the gossipâs intention to keep it, without which, she could do nothing with her eggsâ ⸺â and unless I had the basket, I could do as little with my figs, which were too ripe already, and most of âem burst at the side: this brought on a short contention, which terminated in sundry proposals, what we should both doâ ⸺â
⸺â How we disposed of our eggs and figs, I defy you, or the Devil himself, had he not been there (which I am persuaded he was), to form the least probable conjecture: You will read the whole of itâ ⸝not this year, for I am hastening to the story of my uncle Tobyâs amoursâ âbut you will read it in the collection of those which have arose out of the journey across this plainâ âand which, therefore, I call my
plain stories.
How far my pen has been fatigued, like those of other travellers, in this journey of it, over so barren a trackâ âthe world must judgeâ âbut the traces of it, which are now all set oâ vibrating together this moment, tell me âtis the most fruitful and busy period of my life; for as I had made no convention with my man with the gun, as to timeâ âby stopping and talking to every soul I met, who was not in a full trotâ âjoining all parties before meâ âwaiting for every soul behindâ âhailing all those who were coming through crossroadsâ âarresting all kinds of beggars, pilgrims, fiddlers, friarsâ ⸺â not passing by a woman in a mulberry-tree without commending her legs, and tempting her into conversation with a pinch of snuffâ ⸝In short, by seizing every handle, of what size or shape soever, which chance held out to me in this journeyâ âI turned my plain into a cityâ âI was always in company, and with great variety too; and as my mule loved society as much as myself, and had some proposals always on his part to offer to every beast he metâ âI am confident we could have passed through Pall-Mall, or St. Jamesâs-Street for a month together, with fewer adventuresâ âand seen less of human nature.
O! there is that sprightly frankness, which at once unpins every plait of a Languedocianâs dressâ âthat whatever is beneath it, it looks so like the simplicity which poets sing of in better daysâ âI will delude my fancy, and believe it is so.
âTwas in the road betwixt Nismes and Lunel, where there is the best Muscatto wine in all France, and which by the by belongs to the honest canons of Montpellierâ âand foul befal the man who has drank it at their table, who grudges them a drop of it.
⸺â The sun was setâ âthey had done their work; the nymphs had tied up their hair afreshâ âand the swains were preparing for a carousalâ ⸺â my mule made a dead pointâ ⸺âTis the fife and tabourin, said Iâ ⸺â Iâm frightenâd to death, quoth heâ ⸺â They are running at the ring of pleasure, said I, giving
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