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

For this cause, when your honours and reverences would know whether I writ clean and fit to be read, you will be able to judge full as well by looking into my Laundress’s bill, as my book: there was one single month in which I can make it appear, that I dirtied one and thirty shirts with clean writing; and after all, was more abus’d, cursed, criticis’d, and confounded, and had more mystic heads shaken at me, for what I had wrote in that one month, than in all the other months of that year put together.

⸺⁠But their honours and reverences had not seen my bills.

As I never had any intention of beginning the Digression I am making all this preparation for, till I come to the 15th chapter⁠⸺⁠I have this chapter to put to whatever use I think proper⁠⸺⁠I have twenty this moment ready for it⁠⸺⁠I could write my chapter of Buttonholes in it⁠⸺⁠

Or my chapter of Pishes, which should follow them⁠⸺⁠

Or my chapter of Knots, in case their reverences have done with them⁠⸺⁠they might lead me into mischief: the safest way is to follow the track of the learned, and raise objections against what I have been writing, tho’ I declare beforehand, I know no more than my heels how to answer them.

And first, it may be said, there is a pelting kind of thersitical satire, as black as the very ink ’tis wrote with⁠⸺(and by the by, whoever says so, is indebted to the muster-master general of the Grecian army, for suffering the name of so ugly and foul-mouth’d a man as Thersites to continue upon his roll⁠⸺⁠for it has furnish’d him with an epithet)⁠⸺⁠in these productions he will urge, all the personal washings and scrubbings upon earth do a sinking genius no sort of good⁠⸺⁠but just the contrary, inasmuch as the dirtier the fellow is, the better generally he succeeds in it.

To this, I have no other answer⁠⸺⁠at least ready⁠⸺⁠but that the Archbishop of Benevento wrote his nasty Romance of the Galatea, as all the world knows, in a purple coat, waistcoat, and purple pair of breeches; and that the penance set him of writing a commentary upon the book of the Revelations, as severe as it was look’d upon by one part of the world, was far from being deem’d so by the other, upon the single account of that Investment.

Another objection, to all this remedy, is its want of universality; forasmuch as the shaving part of it, upon which so much stress is laid, by an unalterable law of nature excludes one half of the species entirely from its use: all I can say is, that female writers, whether of England, or of France, must e’en go without it⁠⸻

As for the Spanish ladies⁠⸺⁠I am in no sort of distress⁠⸺⁠

The fifteenth chapter is come at last; and brings nothing with it but a sad signature of “How our pleasures slip from under us in this world!”

For in talking of my digression⁠⸺⁠I declare before heaven I have made it! What a strange creature is mortal man! said she.

’Tis very true, said I⁠⸺⁠but ’twere better to get all these things out of our heads, and return to my uncle Toby.

When my uncle Toby and the corporal had marched down to the bottom of the avenue, they recollected their business lay the other way; so they faced about and marched up straight to Mrs. Wadman’s door.

I warrant your honour; said the corporal, touching his Montero-cap with his hand, as he passed him in order to give a knock at the door⁠⸺⁠My uncle Toby, contrary to his invariable way of treating his faithful servant, said nothing good or bad: the truth was, he had not altogether marshal’d his ideas; he wish’d for another conference, and as the corporal was mounting up the three steps before the door⁠—he hem’d twice⁠—a portion of my uncle Toby’s most modest spirits fled, at each expulsion, towards the corporal; he stood with the rapper of the door suspended for a full minute in his hand, he scarce knew why. Bridget stood perdue within, with her finger and her thumb upon the latch, benumb’d with expectation; and Mrs. Wadman, with an eye ready to be deflowered again, sat breathless behind the window-curtain of her bedchamber, watching their approach.

Trim! said my uncle Toby⁠⸺⁠but as he articulated the word, the minute expired, and Trim let fall the rapper.

My uncle Toby perceiving that all hopes of a conference were knock’d on the head by it⁠⸻whistled Lillabullero.

As Mrs. Bridget’s finger and thumb were upon the latch, the corporal did not knock as oft as perchance your honour’s tailor⁠⸺⁠I might have taken my example something nearer home; for I owe mine, some five and twenty pounds at least, and wonder at the man’s patience⁠⸺⁠

⸺⁠But this is nothing at all to the world: only ’tis a cursed thing to be in debt, and there seems to be a fatality in the exchequers of some poor princes, particularly those of our house, which no Economy can bind down in irons: for my own part, I’m persuaded there is not any one prince, prelate, pope, or potentate, great or small upon earth, more desirous in his heart of keeping straight with the world than I am⁠⸺⁠or who takes more likely means for it. I never give above half a guinea⁠⸺⁠or walk with boots⁠⸺⁠or cheapen toothpicks⁠⸺⁠or lay out a shilling upon a bandbox the year round; and for the six months I’m in the country, I’m upon so small a scale, that with all the good temper in the world, I outdo Rousseau, a bar length⁠⸻for I keep neither man or boy, or horse, or cow, or dog, or cat, or anything that can eat or drink, except a thin poor piece of a Vestal (to keep my fire in), and who has generally as bad an appetite as myself⁠⸺⁠but if you think this makes a philosopher of me⁠⸺⁠I would not my