The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy, gentleman
Trust me, dear _Yorick_, this unwary pleasantry of thine will sooner or
later bring thee into scrapes and difficulties, which no after-wit can
extricate thee out of.——In these sallies, too oft, I see, it happens,
that a person laughed at, considers himself in the light of a person
injured, with all the rights of such a situation belonging to him; and
when thou viewest him in that light too, and reckons up his friends,
his family, his kindred and allies,——and musters up with them the many
recruits which will list under him from a sense of common danger;—’tis
no extravagant arithmetic to say, that for every ten jokes,—thou hast
got an hundred enemies; and till thou hast gone on, and raised a swarm
of wasps about thine ears, and art half stung to death by them, thou
wilt never be convinced it is so.
I cannot suspect it in the man whom I esteem, that there is the least
spur from spleen or malevolence of intent in these sallies—I believe
and know them to be truly honest and sportive:—But consider, my dear
lad, that fools cannot distinguish this,—and that knaves will not: and
thou knowest not what it is, either to provoke the one, or to make
merry with the other:——whenever they associate for mutual defence,
depend upon it, they will carry on the war in such a manner against
thee, my dear friend, as to make thee heartily sick of it, and of thy
life too.
Revenge from some baneful corner shall level a tale of dishonour at
thee, which no innocence of heart or integrity of conduct shall set
right.——The fortunes of thy house shall totter,—thy character, which
led the way to them, shall bleed on every side of it,—thy faith
questioned,—thy works belied,—thy wit forgotten,—thy learning trampled
on. To wind up the last scene of thy tragedy, CRUELTY and COWARDICE,
twin ruffians, hired and set on by MALICE in the dark, shall strike
together at all thy infirmities and mistakes:——The best of us, my dear
lad, lie open there,——and trust me,——trust me, _Yorick, when to gratify
a private appetite, it is once resolved upon, that an innocent and an
helpless creature shall be sacrificed, ’tis an easy matter to pick up
sticks enough from any thicket where it has strayed, to make a fire to
offer it up with._
_Yorick_ scarce ever heard this sad vaticination of his destiny read
over to him, but with a tear stealing from his eye, and a promissory
look attending it, that he was resolved, for the time to come, to ride
his tit with more sobriety.—But, alas, too late!—a grand confederacy
with ***** and ***** at the head of it, was formed before the first
prediction of it.—The whole plan of the attack, just as _Eugenius_ had
foreboded, was put in execution all at once,—with so little mercy on
the side of the allies,—and so little suspicion in _Yorick_, of what
was carrying on against him,—that when he thought, good easy man! full
surely preferment was o’ripening,—they had smote his root, and then he
fell, as many a worthy man had fallen before him.
_Yorick_, however, fought it out with all imaginable gallantry for some
time; till, overpowered by numbers, and worn out at length by the
calamities of the war,—but more so, by the ungenerous manner in which
it was carried on,—he threw down the sword; and though he kept up his
spirits in appearance to the last, he died, nevertheless, as was
generally thought, quite broken-hearted.
What inclined _Eugenius_ to the same opinion was as follows:
A few hours before _Yorick_ breathed his last, _Eugenius_ stept in with
an intent to take his last sight and last farewell of him. Upon his
drawing _Yorick_’s curtain, and asking how he felt himself, _Yorick_
looking up in his face took hold of his hand,—and after thanking him
for the many tokens of his friendship to him, for which, he said, if it
was their fate to meet hereafter,—he would thank him again and
again,—he told him, he was within a few hours of giving his enemies the
slip for ever.—I hope not, answered _Eugenius_, with tears trickling
down his cheeks, and with the tenderest tone that ever man spoke.—I
hope not, _Yorick_, said he.——_Yorick_ replied, with a look up, and a
gentle squeeze of _Eugenius_’s hand, and that was all,—but it cut
_Eugenius_ to his heart.—Come,—come, _Yorick_, quoth _Eugenius_, wiping
his eyes, and summoning up the man within him,—my dear lad, be
comforted,—let not all thy spirits and fortitude forsake thee at this
crisis when thou most wants them;——who knows what resources are in
store, and what the power of God may yet do for thee!——_Yorick_ laid
his hand upon his heart, and gently shook his head;—For my part,
continued _Eugenius_, crying bitterly as he uttered the words,—I
declare I know not, _Yorick_, how to part with thee, and would gladly
flatter my hopes, added _Eugenius_, chearing up his voice, that there
is still enough left of thee to make a bishop, and that I may live to
see it.—I beseech thee, _Eugenius_, quoth _Yorick_, taking off his
night-cap as well as he could with his left hand,—his right being still
grasped close in that of _Eugenius_,—I beseech thee to take a view of
my head.—I see nothing that ails it, replied _Eugenius._ Then, alas! my
friend, said _Yorick_, let me tell you, that ’tis so bruised and
mis-shapened with the blows which ***** and *****, and some others have
so unhandsomely given me in the dark, that I might say with _Sancho
Pança_, that should I recover, and “Mitres thereupon be suffered to
rain down from heaven as thick as hail, not one of them would fit
it.”——_Yorick_’s last breath was hanging upon his trembling lips ready
to depart as he uttered this:——yet still it was uttered with something
of a _Cervantick_ tone;——and as he spoke it, _Eugenius_ could perceive
a stream of lambent fire lighted up for a moment in his eyes;——faint
picture of those flashes of his spirit, which (as _Shakespeare_ said of
his ancestor) were wont to set the table in a roar!
_Eugenius_ was convinced from this, that the heart of his friend was
broke: he squeezed his hand,——and then walked softly out of the room,
weeping as he walked. _Yorick_ followed _Eugenius_ with his eyes to the
door,—he then closed them, and never opened them more.
tombstone
He lies buried in the corner of his church-yard, in the parish of ———,
under a plain marble slab, which his friend _Eugenius_, by leave of his
executors, laid upon his grave, with no more than these three words of
inscription, serving both for his epitaph and elegy.
Alas, poor YORICK!
Ten times a day has _Yorick_’s ghost the consolation to hear his
monumental inscription read over with such a variety of plaintive
tones, as denote a general pity and esteem for him;——a foot-way
crossing the church-yard close by the side of his grave,—not a
passenger goes by without stopping to cast a look upon it,—and sighing
as he walks on,
Alas, poor YORICK!
C H A P. XIII
IT is so long since the reader of this rhapsodical work has been parted
from the midwife, that it is high time to mention her again to him,
merely to put him in mind that there is such a body still in the world,
and whom, upon the best judgment I can form upon my own plan at
present, I am going to introduce to him for good and all: But as fresh
matter may be started, and much unexpected business fall out betwixt
the reader and myself, which may require immediate dispatch;——’twas
right to take care that the poor woman should not be lost in the mean
time;—because when she is wanted, we can no way do without her.
I think I told you that this good woman was a person of no small note
and consequence throughout our whole village and township;—that her
fame had spread itself to the very out-edge and circumference of that
circle of importance, of which kind every soul living, whether he has a
shirt to his back or no,——has one surrounding him;—which said circle,
by the way, whenever ’tis said that such a one is of great weight and
importance in the _world_,——I desire may be enlarged or contracted in
your worship’s fancy, in a compound ratio of the station, profession,
knowledge, abilities, height and depth (measuring both ways) of the
personage brought before you.
In the present case, if I remember, I fixed it about four or five
miles, which not only comprehended the whole parish, but extended
itself to two or three of the adjacent hamlets in the skirts of the
next parish; which made a considerable thing of it. I must add, That
she was, moreover, very well looked on at one large grange-house, and
some other odd houses and farms within two or three miles, as I said,
from the smoke of her own chimney:——But I must here, once for all,
inform you, that all this will be more exactly delineated and explain’d
in a map, now in the hands of the engraver, which, with many other
pieces and developements of this work, will be added to the end of the
twentieth volume,—not to swell the work,—I detest the thought of such a
thing;—but by way of commentary, scholium, illustration, and key to
such passages, incidents, or innuendos as shall be thought to be either
of private interpretation, or of dark or doubtful meaning, after my
life and my opinions shall have been read over (now don’t forget the
meaning of the word) by all the _world_;——which, betwixt you and me,
and in spite of all the gentlemen-reviewers in _Great Britain_, and of
all that their worships shall undertake to write or say to the
contrary,—I am determined shall be the case.—I need not tell your
worship, that all this is spoke in confidence.
C H A P. XIV
UPON looking into my mother’s marriage settlement, in order to satisfy
myself and reader in a point necessary to be cleared up, before we
could proceed any farther in this history;—I had the good fortune to
pop upon the very thing I wanted before I had read a day and a half
straight forwards,—it might have taken me up a month;—which shews
plainly, that when a man sits down to write a history,—tho’ it be but
the history of _Jack Hickathrift_ or _Tom Thumb_, he knows no more than
his heels what lets and confounded hindrances he is to meet with in his
way,—or what a dance he may be led, by one excursion or another, before
all is over. Could a historiographer drive on his history, as a
muleteer drives on his mule,—straight forward;——for instance, from
_Rome_ all the way to _Loretto_, without ever once turning his head
aside, either to the right hand or to the left,——he might venture to
foretell you to an hour when he should get to his journey’s end;——but
the thing is, morally speaking, impossible: For, if he is a man of the
least spirit, he will have fifty deviations from a straight line to
make with this or that party as he goes along, which he can no ways
avoid. He will have views and prospects to himself perpetually
soliciting his eye, which he can no more help standing still to look at
than he can fly; he will moreover have various
Accounts to reconcile:
Anecdotes to pick up:
Inscriptions to make out:
Stories to weave in:
Traditions to sift:
Personages to call upon:
Panegyricks to paste up at this door;
Pasquinades at that:——All which both the man and his mule are quite
exempt from. To sum up all; there are archives at every stage to be
look’d into, and rolls, records, documents, and endless genealogies,
which justice ever and anon calls him back to stay the reading of:——In
short there is no end of it;——for my own part, I declare I have been at
it these six weeks, making all the speed I possibly could,—and am not
yet born:—I have just been able, and that’s all, to tell you _when_ it
happen’d, but not _how_;—so that you see the thing is yet far from
being accomplished.
These unforeseen stoppages, which I own I had no conception of when I
first set out;—but which, I am convinced now, will rather increase than