The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy, gentleman

small village belonging to one of the first Counts de _Guignes;_ and as it boasts at present of no less than fourteen thousand inhabitants, exclusive of four hundred and twenty distinct families in the _basse ville_, or suburbs——it must have grown up by little and little, I suppose, to its present size. Though there are four convents, there is but one parochial church in the whole town; I had not an opportunity of taking its exact dimensions, but it is pretty easy to make a tolerable conjecture of ’em—for as there are fourteen thousand inhabitants in the town, if the church holds them all it must be considerably large—and if it will not—’tis a very great pity they have not another—it is built in form of a cross, and dedicated to the Virgin _Mary;_ the steeple, which has a spire to it, is placed in the middle of the church, and stands upon four pillars elegant and light enough, but sufficiently strong at the same time—it is decorated with eleven altars, most of which are rather fine than beautiful. The great altar is a master- piece in its kind; ’tis of white marble, and, as I was told, near sixty feet high—had it been much higher, it had been as high as mount _Calvary_ itself—therefore, I suppose it must be high enough in all conscience. There was nothing struck me more than the great _Square;_ tho’ I cannot say ’tis either well paved or well built; but ’tis in the heart of the town, and most of the streets, especially those in that quarter, all terminate in it; could there have been a fountain in all _Calais_, which it seems there cannot, as such an object would have been a great ornament, it is not to be doubted, but that the inhabitants would have had it in the very centre of this square,—not that it is properly a square,—because ’tis forty feet longer from east to west, than from north to south; so that the _French_ in general have more reason on their side in calling them _Places_ than _Squares_, which, strictly speaking, to be sure, they are not. The town-house seems to be but a sorry building, and not to be kept in the best repair; otherwise it had been a second great ornament to this place; it answers however its destination, and serves very well for the reception of the magistrates, who assemble in it from time to time; so that ’tis presumable, justice is regularly distributed. I have heard much of it, but there is nothing at all curious in the _Courgain;_ ’tis a distinct quarter of the town, inhabited solely by sailors and fishermen; it consists of a number of small streets, neatly built and mostly of brick; ’tis extremely populous, but as that may be accounted for, from the principles of their diet,—there is nothing curious in that neither.——A traveller may see it to satisfy himself—he must not omit however taking notice of _La Tour de Guet_, upon any account; ’tis so called from its particular destination, because in war it serves to discover and give notice of the enemies which approach the place, either by sea or land;——but ’tis monstrous high, and catches the eye so continually, you cannot avoid taking notice of it if you would. It was a singular disappointment to me, that I could not have permission to take an exact survey of the fortifications, which are the strongest in the world, and which, from first to last, that is, for the time they were set about by _Philip_ of _France_, Count of _Bologne_, to the present war, wherein many reparations were made, have cost (as I learned afterwards from an engineer in _Gascony_)—above a hundred millions of livres. It is very remarkable, that at the _Tête de Gravelenes_, and where the town is naturally the weakest, they have expended the most money; so that the outworks stretch a great way into the campaign, and consequently occupy a large tract of ground—However, after all that is _said_ and _done_, it must be acknowledged that _Calais_ was never upon any account so considerable from itself, as from its situation, and that easy entrance which it gave our ancestors, upon all occasions, into _France:_ it was not without its inconveniences also; being no less troublesome to the _English_ in those times, than _Dunkirk_ has been to us, in ours; so that it was deservedly looked upon as the key to both kingdoms, which no doubt is the reason that there have arisen so many contentions who should keep it: of these, the siege of _Calais_, or rather the blockade (for it was shut up both by land and sea), was the most memorable, as it with-stood the efforts of _Edward_ the Third a whole year, and was not terminated at last but by famine and extreme misery; the gallantry of _Eustace de St. Pierre_, who first offered himself a victim for his fellow-citizens, has rank’d his name with heroes. As it will not take up above fifty pages, it would be injustice to the reader, not to give him a minute account of that romantic transaction, as well as of the siege itself, in _Rapin_’s own words: C H A P. LXXXIX ——BUT courage! gentle reader!——I scorn it——’tis enough to have thee in my power——but to make use of the advantage which the fortune of the pen has now gained over thee, would be too much——No——! by that all-powerful fire which warms the visionary brain, and lights the spirits through unworldly tracts! ere I would force a helpless creature upon this hard service, and make thee pay, poor soul! for fifty pages, which I have no right to sell thee,——naked as I am, I would browse upon the mountains, and smile that the north wind brought me neither my tent or my supper. —So put on, my brave boy! and make the best of thy way to _Boulogne._ C H A P. XC ——BOULOGNE!——hah!——so we are all got together——debtors and sinners before heaven; a jolly set of us—but I can’t stay and quaff it off with you—I’m pursued myself like a hundred devils, and shall be overtaken, before I can well change horses:——for heaven’s sake, make haste——’Tis for high-treason, quoth a very little man, whispering as low as he could to a very tall man, that stood next him——Or else for murder; quoth the tall man——Well thrown, _Size-ace!_ quoth I. No; quoth a third, the gentleman has been committing——— _Ah! ma chere fille!_ said I, as she tripp’d by from her matins—you look as rosy as the morning (for the sun was rising, and it made the compliment the more gracious)—No; it can’t be that, quoth a fourth——(she made a curt’sy to me—I kiss’d my hand) ’tis debt, continued he: ’Tis certainly for debt; quoth a fifth; I would not pay that gentleman’s debts, quoth _Ace_, for a thousand pounds; nor would I, quoth _Size_, for six times the sum—Well thrown, _Size-ace_, again! quoth I;—but I have no debt but the debt of NATURE, and I want but patience of her, and I will pay her every farthing I owe her——How can you be so hard-hearted, Madam, to arrest a poor traveller going along without molestation to any one upon his lawful occasions? do stop that death-looking, long-striding scoundrel of a scare-sinner, who is posting after me——he never would have followed me but for you——if it be but for a stage or two, just to give me start of him, I beseech you, madam——do, dear lady—— ——Now, in troth, ’tis a great pity, quoth mine _Irish_ host, that all this good courtship should be lost; for the young gentlewoman has been after going out of hearing of it all along.—— ——Simpleton! quoth I. ——So you have nothing _else_ in _Boulogne_ worth seeing? —By Jasus! there is the finest SEMINARY for the HUMANITIES—— —There cannot be a finer; quoth I. C H A P. XCI WHEN the precipitancy of a man’s wishes hurries on his ideas ninety times faster than the vehicle he rides in—woe be to truth! and woe be to the vehicle and its tackling (let ’em be made of what stuff you will) upon which he breathes forth the disappointment of his soul! As I never give general characters either of men or things in choler, “_the most haste the worse speed_,” was all the reflection I made upon the affair, the first time it happen’d;—the second, third, fourth, and fifth time, I confined it respectively to those times, and accordingly blamed only the second, third, fourth, and fifth post-boy for it, without carrying my reflections further; but the event continuing to befal me from the fifth, to the sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth time, and without one exception, I then could not avoid making a national reflection of it, which I do in these words; _That something is always wrong in a French post-chaise, upon first setting out._ Or the proposition may stand thus: _A French postilion has always to alight before he has got three hundred yards out of town._ What’s wrong now?——Diable!——a rope’s broke!——a knot has slipt!——a staple’s drawn!——a bolt’s to whittle!——a tag, a rag, a jag, a strap, a buckle, or a buckle’s tongue, want altering. Now true as all this is, I never think myself impowered to excommunicate thereupon either the post-chaise, or its driver——nor do I take it into my head to swear by the living G—, I would rather go a-foot ten thousand times——or that I will be damn’d, if ever I get into another——but I take the matter coolly before me, and consider, that some tag, or rag, or jag, or bolt, or buckle, or buckle’s tongue, will ever be a wanting or want altering, travel where I will—so I never chaff, but take the good and the bad as they fall in my road, and get on:——Do so, my lad! said I; he had lost five minutes already, in alighting in order to get at a luncheon of black bread, which he had cramm’d into the chaise-pocket, and was remounted, and going leisurely on, to relish it the better.——Get on, my lad, said I, briskly—but in the most persuasive tone imaginable, for I jingled a four-and-twenty sous piece against the glass, taking care to hold the flat side towards him, as he look’d back: the dog grinn’d intelligence from his right ear to his left, and behind his sooty muzzle discovered such a pearly row of teeth, that _Sovereignty_ would have pawn’d her jewels for them. Just heaven! {What masticators!—/What bread!— and so as he finished the last mouthful of it, we entered the town of _Montreuil._ C H A P. XCII THERE is not a town in all _France_ which, in my opinion, looks better in the map, than MONTREUIL;——I own, it does not look so well in the book of post-roads; but when you come to see it—to be sure it looks most pitifully. There is one thing, however, in it at present very handsome; and that is, the inn-keeper’s daughter: She has been eighteen months at _Amiens_, and six at _Paris_, in going through her classes; so knits, and sews, and dances, and does the little coquetries very well.—— —A slut! in running them over within these five minutes that I have stood looking at her, she has let fall at least a dozen loops in a white thread stocking——yes, yes—I see, you cunning gipsy!—’tis long and taper—you need not pin it to your knee—and that ’tis your own—and fits you exactly.—— ——That Nature should have told this creature a word about a _statue’s thumb!_ —But as this sample is worth all their thumbs—besides, I have her thumbs and fingers in at the bargain, if they can be any guide to me,—and as _Janatone_ withal (for that is her name) stands so well for a drawing——may I never draw more, or rather may I draw like a draught-horse, by main strength all the days of my life,—if I do not draw her in all her proportions, and with as determined a pencil, as if I had her in the wettest drapery.—— —But your worships chuse rather that I give you the length, breadth, and perpendicular height of the great parish-church, or drawing of the façade of the abbey of Saint _Austreberte_ which has been transported from _Artois_ hither—every thing is just I suppose as the masons and carpenters left them,—and if the belief in _Christ_ continues so long,