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

faiths in this world, had raised scruples in Mrs. Wadman’s brain about it; and like a true devil as he was, had done his own work at the same time, by turning my uncle Toby’s Virtue thereupon into nothing but empty bottles, tripes, trunk-hose, and pantofles. XXIII

Mrs. Bridget had pawn’d all the little stock of honour a poor chambermaid was worth in the world, that she would get to the bottom of the affair in ten days; and it was built upon one of the most concessible postulata in nature: namely, that whilst my uncle Toby was making love to her mistress, the corporal could find nothing better to do, than make love to her⁠⸺“And I’ll let him as much as he will, said Bridget, to get it out of him.”

Friendship has two garments; an outer and an under one. Bridget was serving her mistress’s interests in the one⁠—and doing the thing which most pleased herself in the other; so had as many stakes depending upon my uncle Toby’s wound, as the Devil himself⁠⸺⁠Mrs. Wadman had but one⁠—and as it possibly might be her last (without discouraging Mrs. Bridget, or discrediting her talents) was determined to play her cards herself.

She wanted not encouragement: a child might have look’d into his hand⁠⸺⁠there was such a plainness and simplicity in his playing out what trumps he had⁠⸺⁠with such an unmistrusting ignorance of the ten-ace⁠⸺⁠and so naked and defenceless did he sit upon the same sofa with widow Wadman, that a generous heart would have wept to have won the game of him.

Let us drop the metaphor.

XXIV

⸺⁠And the story too⁠—if you please: for though I have all along been hastening towards this part of it, with so much earnest desire, as well knowing it to be the choicest morsel of what I had to offer to the world, yet now that I am got to it, anyone is welcome to take my pen, and go on with the story for me that will⁠—I see the difficulties of the descriptions I’m going to give⁠—and feel my want of powers.

It is one comfort at least to me, that I lost some fourscore ounces of blood this week in a most uncritical fever which attacked me at the beginning of this chapter; so that I have still some hopes remaining, it may be more in the serous or globular parts of the blood, than in the subtle aura of the brain⁠⸺⁠be it which it will⁠—an Invocation can do no hurt⁠⸺⁠and I leave the affair entirely to the invoked, to inspire or to inject me according as he sees good.

The Invocation

Gentle Spirit of sweetest humour, who erst did sit upon the easy pen of my beloved Cervantes; Thou who glided’st daily through his lattice, and turned’st the twilight of his prison into noonday brightness by thy presence⁠⸺⁠tinged’st his little urn of water with heaven-sent nectar, and all the time he wrote of Sancho and his master, didst cast thy mystic mantle o’er his wither’d stump,38 and wide extended it to all the evils of his life⁠⸻

⸺⁠Turn in hither, I beseech thee!⁠⸺⁠behold these breeches!⁠⸺⁠they are all I have in the world⁠⸺⁠that piteous rent was given them at Lyons⁠⸻

My shirts! see what a deadly schism has happen’d amongst ’em⁠—for the laps are in Lombardy, and the rest of ’em here⁠—I never had but six, and a cunning gypsey of a laundress at Milan cut me off the fore-laps of five⁠—To do her justice, she did it with some consideration⁠—for I was returning out of Italy.

And yet, notwithstanding all this, and a pistol tinderbox which was moreover filch’d from me at Sienna, and twice that I pay’d five Pauls for two hard eggs, once at Raddicoffini, and a second time at Capua⁠—I do not think a journey through France and Italy, provided a man keeps his temper all the way, so bad a thing as some people would make you believe: there must be ups and downs, or how the duce should we get into vallies where Nature spreads so many tables of entertainment.⁠—’Tis nonsense to imagine they will lend you their voitures to be shaken to pieces for nothing; and unless you pay twelve sous for greasing your wheels, how should the poor peasant get butter to his bread?⁠—We really expect too much⁠—and for the livre or two above par for your suppers and bed⁠—at the most they are but one shilling and ninepence halfpenny⁠⸺⁠who would embroil their philosophy for it? for heaven’s and for your own sake, pay it⁠⸺⁠pay it with both hands open, rather than leave Disappointment sitting drooping upon the eye of your fair Hostess and her Damsels in the gateway, at your departure⁠⸺⁠and besides, my dear Sir, you get a sisterly kiss of each of ’em worth a pound⁠⸺⁠at least I did⁠⸺⁠

⸺⁠For my uncle Toby’s amours running all the way in my head, they had the same effect upon me as if they had been my own⁠⸺⁠I was in the most perfect state of bounty and goodwill; and felt the kindliest harmony vibrating within me, with every oscillation of the chaise alike; so that whether the roads were rough or smooth, it made no difference; everything I saw or had to do with, touch’d upon some secret spring either of sentiment or rapture.

⸺⁠They were the sweetest notes I ever heard; and I instantly let down the fore-glass to hear them more distinctly⁠⸺’Tis Maria; said the postillion, observing I was listening⁠⸺⁠Poor Maria, continued he (leaning his body on one side to let me see her, for he was in a line betwixt us), is sitting upon a bank playing her vespers upon her pipe, with her little goat beside her.

The young fellow utter’d this with an accent and a look so perfectly in tune to a feeling heart, that I instantly made a vow, I would give him a four-and-twenty sous piece, when I got to Moulins⁠⸺⁠

⸻And who is poor Maria? said I.

The love and piety of all the villages around us; said the