The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy, gentleman

(continuing in the same mood)—and this is _Paris!_——humph!——_Paris!_ cried I, repeating the name the third time—— The first, the finest, the most brilliant—— The streets however are nasty. But it looks, I suppose, better than it smells——crack, crack——crack, crack——what a fuss thou makest!—as if it concerned the good people to be informed, that a man with pale face and clad in black, had the honour to be driven into _Paris_ at nine o’clock at night, by a postillion in a tawny yellow jerkin, turned up with red calamanco—crack, crack——crack, crack——crack, crack,——I wish thy whip—— ——But ’tis the spirit of thy nation; so crack—crack on. Ha!——and no one gives the wall!——but in the SCHOOL of URBANITY herself, if the walls are besh-t—how can you do otherwise? And prithee when do they light the lamps? What?—never in the summer months!——Ho! ’tis the time of sallads.——O rare! sallad and soup—soup and sallad—sallad and soup, _encore_—— ——’Tis _too much_ for sinners. Now I cannot bear the barbarity of it; how can that unconscionable coachman talk so much bawdy to that lean horse? don’t you see, friend, the streets are so villanously narrow, that there is not room in all _Paris_ to turn a wheelbarrow? In the grandest city of the whole world, it would not have been amiss, if they had been left a thought wider; nay, were it only so much in every single street, as that a man might know (was it only for satisfaction) on which side of it he was walking. One—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight—nine—ten.—Ten cooks shops! and twice the number of barbers! and all within three minutes driving! one would think that all the cooks in the world, on some great merry-meeting with the barbers, by joint consent had said—Come, let us all go live at _Paris:_ the _French_ love good eating——they are all _gourmands_——we shall rank high; if their god is their belly——their cooks must be gentlemen: and forasmuch as _the periwig maketh the man_, and the periwig-maker maketh the periwig—_ergo_, would the barbers say, we shall rank higher still—we shall be above you all—we shall be _Capitouls_[34] at least—_pardi!_ we shall all wear swords—— —And so, one would swear, (that is, by candle-light,—but there is no depending upon it,) they continued to do, to this day. [34] Chief Magistrate in Toulouse, &c. &c. &c. C H A P. CI THE _French_ are certainly misunderstood:——but whether the fault is theirs, in not sufficiently explaining themselves; or speaking with that exact limitation and precision which one would expect on a point of such importance, and which, moreover, is so likely to be contested by us——or whether the fault may not be altogether on our side, in not understanding their language always so critically as to know “what they would be at”——I shall not decide; but ’tis evident to me, when they affirm, “_That they who have seen_ Paris, _have seen every thing_,” they must mean to speak of those who have seen it by day-light. As for candle-light—I give it up——I have said before, there was no depending upon it—and I repeat it again; but not because the lights and shades are too sharp—or the tints confounded—or that there is neither beauty or keeping, &c. . . . for that’s not truth—but it is an uncertain light in this respect, That in all the five hundred grand Hôtels, which they number up to you in _Paris_—and the five hundred good things, at a modest computation (for ’tis only allowing one good thing to a Hôtel), which by candle-light are best to be _seen, felt, heard_, and _understood_ (which, by the bye, is a quotation from _Lilly_)——the devil a one of us out of fifty, can get our heads fairly thrust in amongst them. This is no part of the _French_ computation: ’tis simply this, That by the last survey taken in the year one thousand seven hundred and sixteen, since which time there have been considerable augmentations, _Paris_ doth contain nine hundred streets; (viz) In the quarter called the _City_—there are fifty-three streets. In St. _James_ of the Shambles, fifty-five streets. In St. _Oportune_, thirty-four streets. In the quarter of the _Louvre_, twenty-five streets. In the _Palace Royal_, or St. _Honorius_, forty-nine streets. In _Mont. Martyr_, forty-one streets. In St. _Eustace_, twenty-nine streets. In the _Halles_, twenty-seven streets. In St. _Dennis_, fifty-five streets. In St. _Martin_, fifty-four streets. In St. _Paul_, or the _Mortellerie_, twenty-seven streets. The _Greve_, thirty-eight streets. In St. _Avoy_, or the _Verrerie_, nineteen streets. In the _Marais_, or the _Temple_, fifty-two streets. In St. _Antony_’s, sixty-eight streets. In the _Place Maubert_, eighty-one streets. In St. _Bennet_, sixty streets. In St. _Andrews de Arcs_, fifty-one streets. In the quarter of the _Luxembourg_, sixty-two streets. And in that of St. Germain, fifty-five streets, into any of which you may walk; and that when you have seen them with all that belongs to them, fairly by day-light—their gates, their bridges, their squares, their statues - - - and have crusaded it moreover, through all their parish-churches, by no means omitting St. _Roche_ and _Sulpice_ - - - and to crown all, have taken a walk to the four palaces, which you may see, either with or without the statues and pictures, just as you chuse— ——Then you will have seen—— ——but ’tis what no one needeth to tell you, for you will read of it yourself upon the portico of the _Louvre_, in these words, [35]EARTH NO SUCH FOLKS!—NO FOLKS E’ER SUCH A TOWN AS PARIS IS!—SING, DERRY, DERRY, DOWN. The _French_ have a _gay_ way of treating every thing that is Great; and that is all can be said upon it. [35] Non orbis gentem, non urbem gens habet ullam ——————ulla parem. C H A P. CII IN mentioning the word _gay_ (as in the close of the last chapter) it puts one (_i.e._ an author) in mind of the word _spleen_——especially if he has any thing to say upon it: not that by any analysis—or that from any table of interest or genealogy, there appears much more ground of alliance betwixt them, than betwixt light and darkness, or any two of the most unfriendly opposites in nature——only ’tis an undercraft of authors to keep up a good understanding amongst words, as politicians do amongst men—not knowing how near they may be under a necessity of placing them to each other——which point being now gain’d, and that I may place mine exactly to my mind, I write it down here— S P L E E N This, upon leaving _Chantilly_, I declared to be the best principle in the world to travel speedily upon; but I gave it only as matter of opinion. I still continue in the same sentiments—only I had not then experience enough of its working to add this, that though you do get on at a tearing rate, yet you get on but uneasily to yourself at the same time; for which reason I here quit it entirely, and for ever, and ’tis heartily at any one’s service—it has spoiled me the digestion of a good supper, and brought on a bilious diarrhœa, which has brought me back again to my first principle on which I set out——and with which I shall now scamper it away to the banks of the _Garonne_— ——No;——I cannot stop a moment to give you the character of the people—their genius—— their manners—their customs—their laws——their religion—their government— their manufactures—their commerce—their finances, with all the resources and hidden springs which sustain them: qualified as I may be, by spending three days and two nights amongst them, and during all that time making these things the entire subject of my enquiries and reflections—— Still—still I must away——the roads are paved—the posts are short—the days are long—’tis no more than noon—I shall be at _Fontainebleau_ before the king—— —Was he going there? not that I know—— END OF THE THIRD VOLUME Tristram Shandy _Tristram Shandy_ THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF TRISTRAM SHANDY, GENTLEMAN ——— Volume the Fourth ——— Non enim excursus hic ejus, sed opus ipsum est. PLIN. Lib. V. Epist. 6. Si quid urbaniusculè lusum a nobis, per Musas et Charitas et omnium poëtarum Numina, Oro te, ne me malè capias. A D E D I C A T I O N TO A GREAT MAN HAVING, _a priori_, intended to dedicate _The Amours of my Uncle Toby_ to Mr. ***——I see more reasons, _a posteriori_, for doing it to Lord *******. I should lament from my soul, if this exposed me to the jealousy of their Reverences; because _a posteriori_, in Court-latin, signifies the kissing hands for preferment—or any thing else—in order to get it. DEDICATION My opinion of Lord ******* is neither better nor worse, than it was of Mr. ***. Honours, like impressions upon coin, may give an ideal and local value to a bit of base metal; but Gold and Silver will pass all the world over without any other recommendation than their own weight. The same good-will that made me think of offering up half an hour’s amusement to Mr. *** when out of place—operates more forcibly at present, as half an hour’s amusement will be more serviceable and refreshing after labour and sorrow, than after a philosophical repast. Nothing is so perfectly _amusement_ as a total change of ideas; no ideas are so totally different as those of Ministers, and innocent Lovers: for which reason, when I come to talk of Statesmen and Patriots, and set such marks upon them as will prevent confusion and mistakes concerning them for the future—I propose to dedicate that Volume to some gentle Shepherd, Whose thoughts proud Science never taught to stray, Far as the Statesman’s walk or Patriot-way; Yet _simple Nature_ to his hopes had given Out of a cloud-capp’d head a humbler heaven; Some _untam’d_ World in depths of wood embraced— Some happier Island in the wat’ry-waste— And where admitted to that equal sky, His _faithful_ Dogs should bear him company. In a word, by thus introducing an entire new set of objects to his Imagination, I shall unavoidably give a _Diversion_ to his passionate and love-sick Contemplations. In the mean time, I am THE AUTHOR. C H A P. I NOW I hate to hear a person, especially if he be a traveller, complain that we do not get on so fast in _France_ as we do in _England;_ whereas we get on much faster, _consideratis considerandis;_ thereby always meaning, that if you weigh their vehicles with the mountains of baggage which you lay both before and behind upon them—and then consider their puny horses, with the very little they give them—’tis a wonder they get on at all: their suffering is most unchristian, and ’tis evident thereupon to me, that a _French_ post-horse would not know what in the world to do, was it not for the two words * * * * * * and * * * * * * in which there is as much sustenance, as if you give him a peck of corn: now as these words cost nothing, I long from my soul to tell the reader what they are; but here is the question—they must be told him plainly, and with the most distinct articulation, or it will answer no end—and yet to do it in that plain way—though their reverences may laugh at it in the bed-chamber—full well I wot, they will abuse it in the parlour: for which cause, I have been volving and revolving in my fancy some time, but to no purpose, by what clean device or facette contrivance I might so modulate them, that whilst I satisfy _that ear_ which the reader chuses to _lend_ me—I might not dissatisfy the other which he keeps to himself. ——My ink burns my finger to try——and when I have——’twill have a worse consequence——It will burn (I fear) my paper. ——No;——I dare not—— But if you wish to know how the _abbess_ of _Andoüillets_ and a novice