Laurence Sterne's Tristram Shandy, Abridged

  ‘There you push the argument again too far,’ cried Didius, ‘for there is no prohibition in nature – though there is in the Bible – to prevent a man from begetting a child upon his grandmother – in which case, supposing the issue a daughter, she would stand in relation both of–’

  ‘But who ever thought,’ cried Kysarcius, ‘of lying with his grandmother?’

  ‘A young gentleman in one case,’ replied Yorick, ‘not only thought of it, but justified his intention to his father by the law of retaliation. “You lay, Sir, with my mother,” said the lad; “why may not I lie with yours?” ’Tis the Argumentum commune – the argument of the common public.’

  ‘’Tis as good,’ replied Eugenius, ‘as they deserve.’

  The company broke up.

  CHAPTER 30

  ‘And pray,’ said my uncle Toby, leaning upon Yorick, as he and my father were helping him down the stairs – don’t be terrified, madam, this staircase conversation is not so long as the last – ‘And pray, Yorick,’ said my uncle, ‘which way is this affair of Tristram at length settled by these learned men?’

  ‘Very satisfactorily,’ replied Yorick; ‘no mortal, Sir, has any concern with it – for Mrs. Shandy the mother is nothing at all a-kin to him – and as the mother’s is the surest side, Mr. Shandy is even less than nothing.’

  ‘That may well be,’ said my father, shaking his head.

  ‘Let the learned say what they will, there must certainly,’ quoth my uncle Toby, ‘have been some shared blood betwixt the duchess of Suffolk and her son.’

  ‘The vulgar are of the same opinion,’ quoth Yorick, ‘to this hour.’

  CHAPTER 31

  Though my father was hugely tickled with the subtleties of this learned discourse – ’twas still like putting ointment on a broken bone.

  When he got home, his afflictions weighed upon him so much the heavier. He became pensive – walked frequently to the fish-pond – sighed often – and would have certainly fallen ill, had not his thoughts been distracted by a fresh train of worries left him, with a legacy of a thousand pounds, by my aunt Dinah.

  My father had scarce read the letter, when he instantly began to puzzle his head how to use the money to the honour of his family. A hundred-and-fifty odd projects took possession of him by turns – he would go to Rome – he would go to law – he would buy stock – he would buy John Hobson’s farm – he would build a new front to his house, and add a new wing to make it even. – There was a fine water-mill on this side, and he would build a wind-mill on the other side of the river in full view to answer it.

  – But above all things in the world, he would enclose the great Ox-moor, and send out my brother Bobby immediately upon his travels.

  As the sum was finite, and could not do everything, of all these projects, the two last made the deepest impression; and he would have done both, could he have afforded it: but he needed to decide in favour of either one or the other.

  This was not so easy; for though my father had long before set his heart upon this necessary part of my brother’s education, and had determined to carry it out with the first money that returned from his investments in the Mississippi-scheme – yet the Ox-moor, which was a fine, large, gorse-covered, undrained common, belonging to the Shandy-estate, had almost as old a claim upon him: he had long wished to turn it to some account.

  Having never had to decide between the two before, he now found that it was so equal a match between the Ox-moor and my Brother, as to cause no small contest in the old gentleman’s mind.

  People may laugh – but the case was this.

  It had always been the family’s custom that the eldest son should be free to travel into foreign parts before marriage – not only to benefit bodily from the exercise and change of air – but also for the delectation of his fancy, by the feather put into his cap of having been abroad.

  Now as this was a reasonable indulgence – to deprive him of it, without why or wherefore – and thereby make him the first Shandy unwhirled about Europe in a post-chaise – would be using him ten times worse than a Turk.

  On the other hand, the case of the Ox-moor was just as hard.

  As well as the purchase-money, which was eight hundred pounds, it had cost the family eight hundred pounds more in a law-suit about fifteen years before – besides the Lord knows what trouble and vexation.

  It had been in possession of the Shandy-family ever since the middle of the last century; and though it lay full in view before the house, bounded on one side by the water-mill, and on the other by the projected wind-mill spoken of above – yet, unaccountably, it had always been most shamefully overlooked. To speak the truth, it had suffered so much that it would have made any man’s heart bleed (Obadiah said) who understood the value of the land, to have rode over it, and seen the condition it was in.

  However, as neither its purchase nor its position were of my father’s doing, he had never concerned himself with it – till fifteen years before, when the fighting of that cursed law-suit mentioned above (which had arose about its boundaries), being altogether my father’s own act, naturally awakened every argument in its favour, so that he felt honour-bound to do something for it – and that now or never was the time.

  I think it was ill-luck that the reasons on both sides were so equally balanced; for though my father weighed them anxiously – reading books of farming one day – books of travels another – arguing with my uncle and Yorick, and talking over the affair of the Ox-moor with Obadiah – yet nothing appeared so strongly in behalf of the one, which was not counterbalanced by some consideration of equal weight in the other.

  For, to be sure, with the proper helps, the Ox-moor would undoubtedly have made a different appearance from what it did – yet this was also true with regard to my brother Bobby.

  The contest, I own, at first sight, did not appear so close: for whenever my father calculated the simple expense of burning and fencing in the Ox-moor, compared to the profit it would bring him – the latter turned out so prodigiously in his favour, that you would have thought the Ox-moor would have carried all before it. For it was plain his crop of rape should make two thousand pounds the very first year – besides an excellent wheat harvest the year following – and the year after that, a hundred, if not two hundred quarters of peas and beans – besides potatoes without end.

  But then, to think he was all this while breeding up my brother like a hog to eat them, knocked all on the head again, and left the old gentleman in such suspense that he knew no more than his heels what to do.

  Nobody can conceive what a plaguing thing it is to have a man’s mind torn asunder by two projects of equal strength, both obstinately pulling in contrary directions: for to say nothing of the havoc made on the nerves, such a wayward friction works to a dreadful degree upon the more gross and solid parts, impairing the strength of a man every time it goes backwards and forwards.

  My father would certainly have sunk under this evil, as he had done under that of my christian name – had he not been rescued out of it by a fresh evil – the misfortune of my brother Bobby’s death.

  What is the life of man! Is it not to shift from sorrow to sorrow? – to button up one cause of vexation – and unbutton another?

  CHAPTER 32

  From this moment I am to be considered as heir-apparent to the Shandy family – and it is from this point properly that the story of my Life and my Opinions begins. With all my hurry, I have merely been clearing the ground to raise the building – and such a building do I foresee it will turn out, as never was planned and executed since Adam.

  In five minutes I shall have thrown my pen into the fire, and my last drop of ink with it. I have ten things to do in that time – I have a thing to name – a thing to lament – a thing to hope – a thing to promise, and a thing to threaten – I have a thing to suppose – a thing to declare – a thing to conceal – a thing to choose, and a thing to pray for.

  This chapter, therefore, I name the chapter of Things –
and my next chapter, that is, the first chapter of my next volume, shall be my chapter upon Whiskers.

  The thing I lament is, that things have crowded in so thick upon me, that I have not been able to get into that part of my work, towards which I have always looked forwards with earnest desire; and that is the Campaigns, but especially the amours of my uncle Toby, the events of which are of so singular and Cervantick a nature, that if I can manage to convey the same impressions to every other brain, which they excite in mine – my book shall make its way in the world much better than I have done.

  Oh Tristram! Tristram! can this but be brought about – thy credit as an author shall counterbalance the many evils which have befallen thee as a man!

  No wonder I itch so much to get at these amours. – They are the choicest morsel of my whole story! and when I do get at ’em – assure yourselves, good folks, I shall not be dainty in my choice of words! – that’s the thing I have to declare.

  I shall never get through them all in five minutes, I fear – and the thing I hope is, that your worships are not offended – if you are, depend upon it, I’ll give you something next year to be offended at – that’s my dear Jenny’s way – but who my Jenny is, and which is the right and the wrong end of a woman, is the thing to be concealed – it shall be told you in the next chapter but one after my chapter of Button-holes – and not one chapter before.

  And now that you have got to the end of these four volumes – the thing I have to ask is, how do your heads feel? My own aches dismally! As for your healths, I know they are better. True Shandeism opens the heart and lungs, and forces the blood to run freely through its channels, making the wheel of life run long and cheerfully round.

  If I was allowed, like Sancho Panza, to choose my kingdom, it should be a kingdom of hearty laughing subjects. And as the bilious passions, by creating disorders in the blood, have as bad an influence upon the body politic as the body natural – and as nothing but a habit of virtue can fully govern those passions – I would add to my prayer that God would make my subjects as Wise as they were Merry; and then should I be the happiest monarch, and they the happiest people under heaven.

  And so, with this moral, I take my leave of your worships till this time twelve-month, when, (unless this vile cough kills me in the meantime) I’ll lay open to the world a story you little dream of.

  BOOK 5

  CHAPTER I

  If it had not been for those two mettlesome horses, and that madcap of a postillion who drove them from Stilton to Stamford, the thought would have never entered my head. He flew like lightning – we scarce touched the ground – the impetuous motion was communicated to my brain – and my heart.

  ‘By the great God of day,’ said I, looking towards the sun, and thrusting my arm out of the carriage window, ‘I will lock up my study-door the moment I get home, and throw its key down the well.’

  The London waggon confirmed me in my resolution; it hung tottering upon the hill, scarce progressing, dragged up by eight heavy beasts – ‘by main strength!’ quoth I, nodding – ‘but your betters drag the same way!’

  Tell me, shall we for ever be adding so much to the bulk – and so little to the stock of learning?

  Shall we for ever make new books, as apothecaries make new mixtures, by pouring out of one vessel into another?

  Are we for ever to be twisting, and untwisting the same rope?

  Shall we be eternally showing the relics of learning, as monks do the relics of their saints – without working one single miracle with them?

  Who made Man – that most excellent and noble creature of the world – the miracle of nature, as Zoroaster called him – the image of God, as said Moses – the ray of divinity, as said Plato – the marvel of marvels, as said Aristotle – to go sneaking on at this pitiful, pettifogging rate?

  I wish that every imitator caught the farcy, or glanders, for his pains; and that there was a good farcical house, large enough to hold ’em, shag rag and bob-tail, male and female, all together: and this leads me to the affair of Whiskers.

  UPON WHISKERS

  I’m sorry I made it – ’twas as inconsiderate a promise as ever entered a man’s head.

  A chapter upon whiskers! alas! the world will not bear it – ’tis a delicate world – and if I had seen the fragment below, as surely as noses are noses, and whiskers are whiskers, I would have steered clear of this dangerous chapter.

  THE FRAGMENT

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * – ‘You are half asleep, my good lady,’ said the old gentleman. Taking the old lady’s hand, and giving it a gentle squeeze, he pronounced the word, ‘Whiskers. – shall we change the subject?’

  ‘By no means,’ replied the old lady. ‘I like your account of those matters.’ Throwing a gauze handkerchief over her head, and leaning back in the chair, she continued, ‘Please go on.’

  The old gentleman went on as follows:

  ‘Whiskers!’ cried the queen of Navarre, dropping her knotting ball, as La Fosseuse uttered the word.

  ‘Whiskers, madam,’ said La Fosseuse, making a curtsey.

  The maid of honour’s voice was soft and low, yet every letter of the word Whiskers fell distinctly upon the queen’s ear.

  ‘Whiskers!’ cried Queen Margaret again.

  ‘Whiskers!’ replied La Fosseuse. ‘There is not a cavalier, madam, in Navarre, that has so gallant a pair–’

  ‘Of what?’ cried the queen, smiling.

  ‘Of whiskers,’ said La Fosseuse, with infinite modesty.

  The word Whiskers was used in the best company throughout the little kingdom of Navarre, notwithstanding La Fosseuse’s indiscreet use of it: the truth was, she had said the word, not only before the queen, but on other occasions at court, with an accent which always implied a mystery.

  And as the court of Margaret was a mixture of gallantry and devotion, the word stood its ground. The clergy were for it – the laity were against it – and as for the women, they were divided.

  The excellent figure and bearing of the young Seignior De Croix was at that time beginning to draw the attention of the maids of honour. The lady De Baussiere fell deeply in love with him; La Battarelle did the same. La Guyol, La Maronette and La Sabatiere fell in love with him also – La Rebours and La Fosseuse knew better.

  The queen of Navarre was sitting with her ladies in the bow-window, facing the gate, as De Croix passed through it.

  ‘He is handsome,’ said the Lady Baussiere. ‘He is finely shaped,’ said La Guyol.’ ‘I never saw an officer with two such legs,’ said La Maronette.

  –‘But he has no whiskers,’ cried La Fosseuse.

  The queen went to her oratory, musing upon the subject; ‘Ave Maria! – what can La Fosseuse mean?’ said she, kneeling to pray.

  La Guyol, La Battarelle, La Maronette and La Sabatiere retired instantly to their chambers. ‘Whiskers!’ said all four to themselves.

  The Lady Carnavallette was telling her rosary: from St. Antony down to St. Ursula, not a saint passed through her fingers without whiskers.

  The Lady Baussiere had got into a wilderness of speculations upon La Fosseuse’s words. She mounted her palfrey, her page following, and rode on.

  ‘One penny,’ cried a suppliant of the Order of Mercy, ‘one single penny, on behalf of a thousand patient captives.’

  The Lady Baussiere rode on.

  ‘Pity the unfortunate,’ said a devout old man meekly holding up a box in his withered hands. ‘’tis for a prison – for an hospital – ’tis for an old man – a poor man undone by shipwreck, by fire – ’tis to feed the hungry – to comfort the sick.’

  The Lady Baussiere rode on.

  An ancient kinsman bowed low.

  The Lady Baussiere rode on.

  He ran alongside her palfrey, begging: ‘Cousin, aunt, sister, mother, for Christ’s sake, remember me – pity me.’

  The Lady Baussiere rode on.

  ??
?Take hold of my whiskers,’ said the Lady Baussiere. The page took hold of her palfrey, and she dismounted.

  There are certain ideas which leave prints of themselves about our eyes; and a consciousness somewhere about the heart makes these etchings all the stronger – we spell them out without a dictionary.

  ‘Ha, ha! he, hee!’ cried La Guyol and La Sabatiere, looking at each other’s eyes.

  ‘Ho, ho!’ cried La Battarelle and Maronette, doing the same.

  La Fosseuse drew her hairpin from her hair, and traced the outline of a small whisker with the blunt end of it upon her upper lip.

  The Lady Baussiere coughed thrice. – La Guyol smiled.

  ‘Fie,’ said the Lady Baussiere. The queen of Navarre touched her eye with the tip of her finger – as if to say, I understand you all.

  ’Twas plain to the whole court that the word was ruined. It made a faint stand, however, for a few months, by the end of which, the Seignior De Croix found it high time to leave Navarre for want of whiskers; and the word became indecent, and absolutely unfit for use.

  The best word in the world must have suffered under such conditions. The curate of d’Estella wrote a book on this, setting forth the dangers of accessory ideas.

  ‘Does not all the world know,’ said the curate, ‘that Noses suffered the same fate centuries ago, which Whiskers have now done? Have not beds, bolsters, nightcaps and chamber-pots stood upon the brink of destruction ever since? Are not trousers and placket-holes and pump-handles in danger still from the same association? Chastity is the gentlest of all affections – but if you give it its head, ’tis like a ramping lion.’

  The drift of the curate’s argument was not understood. The world went the wrong way, and bridled his ass at the tail.

  And when Delicacy and Lust next meet together, they may decree that bawdy also.

  CHAPTER 2

  When my father received the letter containing the melancholy news of my brother Bobby’s death, he was busy calculating the expense of travelling from Calais to Paris and Lyons.

  My father had almost got to the end of the journey, when he had to start afresh because of Obadiah’s opening the door to tell him the family was out of yeast – and to ask whether he might take the great coach-horse and ride in search of some.