The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman Part 23

'How could I know so little of myself, when I sent my Duenna to forbid your coming more under my lattice? or how could I know so little of you, Diego, as to imagine you would not have staid one day in Valadolid to have given ease to my doubts?-Was I to be abandoned, Diego, because I was deceived? or was it kind to take me at my word, whether my suspicions were just or no, and leave me, as you did, a prey to much uncertainty and sorrow?

'In what manner Julia has resented this-my brother, when he puts this letter into your hands, will tell you; He will tell you in how few moments she repented of the rash message she had sent you-in what frantic haste she flew to her lattice, and how many days and nights together she leaned immoveably upon her elbow, looking through it towards the way which Diego was wont to come.

'He will tell you, when she heard of your departure-how her spirits deserted her-how her heart sicken'd-how piteously she mourned-how low she hung her head. O Diego! how many weary steps has my brother's pity led me by the hand languis.h.i.+ng to trace out yours; how far has desire carried me beyond strength-and how oft have I fainted by the way, and sunk into his arms, with only power to cry out-O my Diego!

'If the gentleness of your carriage has not belied your heart, you will fly to me, almost as fast as you fled from me-haste as you will-you will arrive but to see me expire.-'Tis a bitter draught, Diego, but oh! 'tis embittered still more by dying un...-'

She could proceed no farther.

Slawkenbergius supposes the word intended was unconvinced, but her strength would not enable her to finish her letter.

The heart of the courteous Diego over-flowed as he read the letter-he ordered his mule forthwith and Fernandez's horse to be saddled; and as no vent in prose is equal to that of poetry in such conflicts-chance, which as often directs us to remedies as to diseases, having thrown a piece of charcoal into the window-Diego availed himself of it, and whilst the hostler was getting ready his mule, he eased his mind against the wall as follows.

Ode.

Harsh and untuneful are the notes of love, Unless my Julia strikes the key, Her hand alone can touch the part, Whose dulcet movement charms the heart, And governs all the man with sympathetick sway.

2d.

O Julia!

The lines were very natural-for they were nothing at all to the purpose, says Slawkenbergius, and 'tis a pity there were no more of them; but whether it was that Seig. Diego was slow in composing verses-or the hostler quick in saddling mules-is not averred; certain it was, that Diego's mule and Fernandez's horse were ready at the door of the inn, before Diego was ready for his second stanza; so without staying to finish his ode, they both mounted, sallied forth, pa.s.sed the Rhine, traversed Alsace, shaped their course towards Lyons, and before the Strasburgers and the abbess of Quedlingberg had set out on their cavalcade, had Fernandez, Diego, and his Julia, crossed the Pyrenean mountains, and got safe to Valadolid.

'Tis needless to inform the geographical reader, that when Diego was in Spain, it was not possible to meet the courteous stranger in the Frankfort road; it is enough to say, that of all restless desires, curiosity being the strongest-the Strasburgers felt the full force of it; and that for three days and nights they were tossed to and fro in the Frankfort road, with the tempestuous fury of this pa.s.sion, before they could submit to return home.-When alas! an event was prepared for them, of all other, the most grievous that could befal a free people.

As this revolution of the Strasburgers affairs is often spoken of, and little understood, I will, in ten words, says Slawkenbergius, give the world an explanation of it, and with it put an end to my tale.

Every body knows of the grand system of Universal Monarchy, wrote by order of Mons. Colbert, and put in ma.n.u.script into the hands of Lewis the fourteenth, in the year 1664.

'Tis as well known, that one branch out of many of that system, was the getting possession of Strasburg, to favour an entrance at all times into Suabia, in order to disturb the quiet of Germany-and that in consequence of this plan, Strasburg unhappily fell at length into their hands.

It is the lot of a few to trace out the true springs of this and such like revolutions-The vulgar look too high for them-Statesmen look too low-Truth (for once) lies in the middle.

What a fatal thing is the popular pride of a free city! cries one historian-The Strasburgers deemed it a diminution of their freedom to receive an imperial garrison-so fell a prey to a French one.

The fate, says another, of the Strasburgers, may be a warning to all free people to save their money.-They antic.i.p.ated their revenues-brought themselves under taxes, exhausted their strength, and in the end became so weak a people, they had not strength to keep their gates shut, and so the French pushed them open.

Alas! alas! cries Slawkenbergius, 'twas not the French,-'twas Curiosity pushed them open-The French indeed, who are ever upon the catch, when they saw the Strasburgers, men, women and children, all marched out to follow the stranger's nose-each man followed his own, and marched in.

Trade and manufactures have decayed and gradually grown down ever since-but not from any cause which commercial heads have a.s.signed; for it is owing to this only, that Noses have ever so run in their heads, that the Strasburgers could not follow their business.

Alas! alas! cries Slawkenbergius, making an exclamation-it is not the first-and I fear will not be the last fortress that has been either won-or lost by Noses.

The End of Slawkenbergius's Tale.

Chapter 2.x.x.xVI.

With all this learning upon Noses running perpetually in my father's fancy-with so many family prejudices-and ten decades of such tales running on for ever along with them-how was it possible with such exquisite-was it a true nose?-That a man with such exquisite feelings as my father had, could bear the shock at all below stairs-or indeed above stairs, in any other posture, but the very posture I have described?

-Throw yourself down upon the bed, a dozen times-taking care only to place a looking-gla.s.s first in a chair on one side of it, before you do it-But was the stranger's nose a true nose, or was it a false one?

To tell that before-hand, madam, would be to do injury to one of the best tales in the Christian-world; and that is the tenth of the tenth decade, which immediately follows this.

This tale, cried Slawkenbergius, somewhat exultingly, has been reserved by me for the concluding tale of my whole work; knowing right well, that when I shall have told it, and my reader shall have read it thro'-'twould be even high time for both of us to shut up the book; inasmuch, continues Slawkenbergius, as I know of no tale which could possibly ever go down after it.

'Tis a tale indeed!

This sets out with the first interview in the inn at Lyons, when Fernandez left the courteous stranger and his sister Julia alone in her chamber, and is over-written.

The Intricacies of Diego and Julia.

Heavens! thou art a strange creature, Slawkenbergius! what a whimsical view of the involutions of the heart of woman hast thou opened! how this can ever be translated, and yet if this specimen of Slawkenbergius's tales, and the exquisitiveness of his moral, should please the world-translated shall a couple of volumes be.-Else, how this can ever be translated into good English, I have no sort of conception-There seems in some pa.s.sages to want a sixth sense to do it rightly.-What can he mean by the lambent pupilability of slow, low, dry chat, five notes below the natural tone-which you know, madam, is little more than a whisper? The moment I p.r.o.nounced the words, I could perceive an attempt towards a vibration in the strings, about the region of the heart.-The brain made no acknowledgment.-There's often no good understanding betwixt 'em-I felt as if I understood it.-I had no ideas.-The movement could not be without cause.-I'm lost. I can make nothing of it-unless, may it please your wors.h.i.+ps, the voice, in that case being little more than a whisper, unavoidably forces the eyes to approach not only within six inches of each other-but to look into the pupils-is not that dangerous?-But it can't be avoided-for to look up to the cieling, in that case the two chins unavoidably meet-and to look down into each other's lap, the foreheads come to immediate contact, which at once puts an end to the conference-I mean to the sentimental part of it.-What is left, madam, is not worth stooping for.

Chapter 2.x.x.xVII.

My father lay stretched across the bed as still as if the hand of death had pushed him down, for a full hour and a half before he began to play upon the floor with the toe of that foot which hung over the bed-side; my uncle Toby's heart was a pound lighter for it.-In a few moments, his left-hand, the knuckles of which had all the time reclined upon the handle of the chamber-pot, came to its feeling-he thrust it a little more within the valance-drew up his hand, when he had done, into his bosom-gave a hem! My good uncle Toby, with infinite pleasure, answered it; and full gladly would have ingrafted a sentence of consolation upon the opening it afforded: but having no talents, as I said, that way, and fearing moreover that he might set out with something which might make a bad matter worse, he contented himself with resting his chin placidly upon the cross of his crutch.

Now whether the compression shortened my uncle Toby's face into a more pleasurable oval-or that the philanthropy of his heart, in seeing his brother beginning to emerge out of the sea of his afflictions, had braced up his muscles-so that the compression upon his chin only doubled the benignity which was there before, is not hard to decide.-My father, in turning his eyes, was struck with such a gleam of sun-s.h.i.+ne in his face, as melted down the sullenness of his grief in a moment.

He broke silence as follows:

Chapter 2.x.x.xVIII.

Did ever man, brother Toby, cried my father, raising himself upon his elbow, and turning himself round to the opposite side of the bed, where my uncle Toby was sitting in his old fringed chair, with his chin resting upon his crutch-did ever a poor unfortunate man, brother Toby, cried my father, receive so many lashes?-The most I ever saw given, quoth my uncle Toby (ringing the bell at the bed's head for Trim) was to a grenadier, I think in Mackay's regiment.

-Had my uncle Toby shot a bullet through my father's heart, he could not have fallen down with his nose upon the quilt more suddenly.

Bless me! said my uncle Toby.

Chapter 2.x.x.xIX.

Was it Mackay's regiment, quoth my uncle Toby, where the poor grenadier was so unmercifully whipp'd at Bruges about the ducats?-O Christ! he was innocent! cried Trim, with a deep sigh.-And he was whipp'd, may it please your honour, almost to death's door.-They had better have shot him outright, as he begg'd, and he had gone directly to heaven, for he was as innocent as your honour.-I thank thee, Trim, quoth my uncle Toby.-I never think of his, continued Trim, and my poor brother Tom's misfortunes, for we were all three school-fellows, but I cry like a coward.-Tears are no proof of cowardice, Trim.-I drop them oft-times myself, cried my uncle Toby.-I know your honour does, replied Trim, and so am not ashamed of it myself.-But to think, may it please your honour, continued Trim, a tear stealing into the corner of his eye as he spoke-to think of two virtuous lads with hearts as warm in their bodies, and as honest as G.o.d could make them-the children of honest people, going forth with gallant spirits to seek their fortunes in the world-and fall into such evils!-poor Tom! to be tortured upon a rack for nothing-but marrying a Jew's widow who sold sausages-honest d.i.c.k Johnson's soul to be scourged out of his body, for the ducats another man put into his knapsack!-O!-these are misfortunes, cried Trim,-pulling out his handkerchief-these are misfortunes, may it please your honour, worth lying down and crying over.