|
---- I thought so, by heaven! cried my father, interrupting him ---- Saint Optat! ---- how should Saint Optat fail? so snatching out his pocket-book, and the young Benedictine holding him the torch as he wrote, he set it down as a new prop to his system of christian names, and I will be bold to say, so disinterested was he in the search of truth, that had he found a treasure in St. Optat's tomb, it would not have made him half so rich : 'Twas as successful a short visit as ever was paid to the dead ; and so highly was his fancy pleas'd with all that had passed in it, -- that he determined at once to stay another day in Auxerre. -- I'll see the rest of these good gentry to-morrow, said my father, as we cross'd over the square -- And while you are paying that 3 |
|
that visit, brother Shandy, quoth my uncle Toby -- the corporal and I will mount the ramparts. ----NOW this is the most puzzled skein of all ---- for in this last chapter, as far at least as it has help'd me through Auxerre, I have been getting forwards in two different journeys together, and with the same dash of the pen -- for I have got entirely out of Aux- erre in this journey which I am writing now, and I am got half way out of Auxerre in that which I shall write here- after --- There is but a certain degree of perfection in every thing ; and by push- ing at something beyond that, I have brought myself into such a situation, as H 3 no |
|
no traveller ever stood before me ; for I am this moment walking across the market-place of Auxerre with my fa- ther and my uncle Toby, in our way back to dinner ---- and I am this mo- ment also entering Lyons with my post- chaise broke into a thousand pieces -- and I am moreover this moment in a hand- some pavillion built by Pringello*, up- on the banks of the Garonne, which Mons. Sligniac has lent me, and where I now sit rhapsodizing all these affairs. ---- Let me collect myself, and pur- sue my journey. * The same Don Pringello, the celebrated Spa- nish architect, of whom my cousin Antony has made such honourable mention in a scholium to the Tale inscribed to his name. Vid. p. 129, small edit. C H A P. |
|
I Am glad of it, said I, settling the account with myself as I walk'd in- to Lyons ---- my chaise being all laid higgledy-piggledy with my baggage in a cart, which was moving slowly before me ---- I am heartily glad, said I, that 'tis all broke to pieces ; for now I can go directly by water to Avignon, which will carry me on a hundred and twenty miles of my journey, and not cost me seven livres ---- and from thence, continued I, bringing forwards the account, I can hire a couple of mules -- or asses, if I like, (for no body knows me) and cross the plains of Languedoc, for almost no- thing ---- I shall gain four hundred livres by the misfortune clear into my purse ; H 4 and |
|
and pleasure! worth -- worth double the money by it. With what velocity, con- tinued I, clapping my two hands toge- ther, shall I fly down the rapid Rhone, with the VIVARES on my right-hand, and DAUPHINY on my left, scarce seeing the ancient cities of VIENNE, Valence, and Vivieres. What a flame will it rekindle in the lamp, to snatch a blushing grape from the Hermitage and Cotê rotie, as I shoot by the foot of them! and what a fresh spring in the blood! to behold up- on the banks advancing and retiring, the castles of romance, whence courteous knights have whilome rescued the dis- tress'd ---- and see, vertiginous, the rocks, the mountains, the cataracts, and all the hurry which Nature is in with all her great works about her ---- As |
|
As I went on thus, methought my chaise, the wreck of which look'd stately enough at the first, insensibly grew less and less in its size ; the freshness of the painting was no more -- the gilding lost its lustre -- and the whole affair appeared so poor in my eyes -- so sorry! -- so con- temptible! and, in a word, so much worse than the abbess ofAndoüillets' it- self -- that I was just opening my mouth to give it to the devil -- when a pert vamp- ing chaise-undertaker, stepping nimbly across the street, demanded if Monsieur would have his chaise refitted ---- No, no, said I, shaking my head sideways -- Would Monsieur choose to sell it? rejoin'd the undertaker -- With all my soul, said I -- the iron work is worth forty livres -- and the glasses worth forty more -- and the leather you may take to live on. What |
|
-- What a mine of wealth, quoth I, as he counted me the money, has this post chaise brought me in? And this is my usual method of book-keeping, at least with the disasters of life -- making a penny of every one of 'em as they happen to me ---- ---- Do, my dear Jenny, tell the world for me, how I behaved under one, the most oppressive of its kind which could befall me as a man, proud, as he ought to be, of his manhood ---- 'Tis enough, said'st thou, coming close up to me, as I stood with my garters in my hand, reflecting upon what had not pass'd ---- 'Tis enough, Tristram, and I am satisfied, said'st thou, whispering these words in my ear, * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ; -- * * * * * * * * * * ---- any |
|
---- any other man would have sunk down to the center ---- ---- Every thing is good for some- thing, quoth I. ---- I'll go into Wales for six weeks, and drink goat's whey -- and I'll gain seven years longer life for the accident. For which reason I think myself inex- cusable, for blamng Fortune so often as I have done, for pelting me all my life long, like an ungracious duchess, as I call'd her, with so many small evils : sure- ly if I have any cause to be angry with her, 'tis that she has not sent me great ones -- a score of good cursed, bouncing losses, would have been as good as a pension to me. ---- One |
|
---- One of a hundred a year, or so, is all I wish -- I would not be at the plague of paying land tax for a larger. TO those who call vexations, VEXATIONS, as knowing what they are, there could not be a greater, than to be the best part of a day in Ly- ons, the most opulent and flourishing city in France, enriched with the most fragments of antiquity -- and not be able to see it. To be withheld upon any ac- count, must be a vexation ; but to be withheld by a vexation ---- must certainly be, what philosophy justly calls VEXATION upon VEXATION. |
|
I had got my two dishes of milk cof- fee (which by the bye is excellently good for a consumption, but you must boil the milk and coffee together -- other- wise 'tis only coffee and milk) -- and as it was no more than eight in the morn- ing, and the boat did not go off till noon, I had time to see enough of Lyons to tire the patience of all the friends I had in the world with it. I will take a walk to the cathedral, said I, looking at my list, and see the wonderful mechanism of this great clock of Lippius of Basil, in the firstplace ---- Now, of all things in the world, I understand the least of mechanism ---- I have neither genius, or taste, or fancy -- and have a brain so entirely unapt for every |
|
every thing of that kind, that I solemnly declare I was never yet able to compre- hend the principles of motion of a squir- rel cage, or a common knife grinder's wheel -- tho' I have many an hour of my life look'd up with great devotion at the one -- and stood by with as much patience as any christian ever could do, at the other ---- I'll go see the surprising movements of this great clock, said I, the very first thing I do : and then I will pay a visit to the great library of the Jesuits, and procure, if possible, a sight of the thirty volumes of the general history of China, wrote (not in the Tartarian) but in the Chinese language, and in the Chinese character too. Now |
|
Now I almost know as little of the Chinese language, as I do of the me- chanism of Lippius's clock-work ; so, why these should have jostled them- selves into the two first articles of my list ---- I leave to the curious as a pro- blem of Nature. I own it looks like one of her ladyship's obliquities ; and they who court her, are interested in finding out her humour as much as I. When these curiosities are seen, quoth I, half addressing myself to my valet de place, who stood behind me ---- 'twill be no hurt if WE go to the church of St. Ire- neus, and see the pillar to which Christ was tied ---- and after that, the house where Pontius Pilate lived ---- 'Twas at 8 the |
|
the next town, said the valet de place -- at Vienne ; I am glad of it, said I, ris- ing briskly from my chair, and walk- ing across the room with strides twice as long as my usual pace ---- ``for so much ``the sooner shall I be at the Tomb of the ``two lovers.'' What was the cause of this move- ment, and why I took such long strides in uttering this ---- I might leave to the curious too ; but as no principle of clock- work is concern'd in it ---- 'twill be as well for the reader if I explain it myself. C H A P. |
|
O! There is a sweet æra in the life of man when, (the brain being ten- der and fibrillous, and more like pap than any thing else) ---- a story read of two fond lovers, separated from each other by cruel parents, and by still more cruel destiny ---- Amandus ---- He Amanda ---- She ---- each ignorant of the other's course, He ---- east She ---- west Amandus taken captive by the Turks, and carried to the emperor of Mo- rocco's court, where the princess of Mo- rocco falling in love with him, keeps him VOL. VII I twenty |
|
twenty years in prison, for the love of his Amanda ---- She -- (Amanda) all the time wander- ing barefoot, and with dishevell'd hair, o'er rocks and mountains enquiring for Amandus ---- Amandus ! Amandus! -- making every hill and valley to echo back his name ---- Amandus! Amandus ! at every town and city sitting down for- lorn at the gate ---- Has Amandus! -- has my Amandus enter'd? ---- till, ---- going round, and round, and round the world ---- chance unexpected bringing them at the same moment of the night, though by different ways, to the gate of Lyons their native city, and each in well known accents calling out aloud, Is |
they fly into each other's arms, and both drop down dead for joy. There is a soft æra in every gentle mortal's life, where such a story affords more pabulum to the brain, than all the Frusts, and Crusts, and Rusts of antiquity which travellers can cook up for it. ---- 'Twas all that struck on the right side of the cullender in my own, of what Spon and others, in their accounts of Lyons, had strained into it ; and finding, moreover, in some Itinerary, but in what God knows ---- That sacred to the fide- lity of Amandus and Amanda, a tomb was built without the gates, where to this hour, lovers call'd upon them to I 2 attest |
|
attest their truths, ---- I never could get into a scrape of that kind in my life, but this tomb of the lovers, would some how or other, come in at the close ---- nay such a kind of empire had it establish'd over me, that I could seldom think or speak of Lyons -- and sometimes not so much as see even a Lyons-waistcoat, but this remnant of antiquity would present itself to my fancy ; and I have often said in my wild way of running on ---- tho' I fear with some irreverence ---- ``I thought this shrine (neglected as it was) as valuable as that of Mecca, and so little short, except in wealth, of the Santa Casa itself, that sometime or other, I would go a pilgrimage (though I had no other business at Lyons) on purpose to pay it a visit.'' In |
|
In my list, therefore, of Videnda at Lyons, this, tho' last -- was not, you see, least ; so taking a dozen or two of longer strides than usual across my room, just whilst it passed my brain, I walked down calmly into the Basse Cour, in order to sally forth ; and having called for my bill -- as it was uncertain whether I should return to my inn, I had paid it ---- had moreover given the maid ten sous, and was just receiving the dernier compli- ments of Monsieur Le Blanc, for a pleasant voyage down the Rhône ---- when I was stopped at the gate ---- I 3 C H A P. |
|
---- 'TWAS by a poor ass who had just turned in with a couple of large panniers upon his back, to col- lect eleemosunary turnip tops and cab- bage leaves ; and stood dubious, with his two forefeet on the inside of the threshold, and with his two hinder feet towards the street, as not knowing very well whe- ther he was to go in, or no. Now, 'tis an animal (be in what hurry I may) I cannot bear to strike ---- there is a patient endurance of sufferings, wrote so unaffectedly in his looks and carriage, which pleads so mightily for him, that it always disarms me ; and to that degree, that I do not like to speak unkindly to him : on the contrary, meet him where I will |
|
will -- whether in town or country -- in cart or under panniers -- whether in liber- ty or bondage ---- I have ever something civil to say to him on my part ; and as one word begets another (if he has as little to do as I) ---- I generally fall into con- versation with him ; and surely never is my imagination so busy as in framing his responses from the etchings of his countenance -- and where those carry me not deep enough ---- in flying from my own heart into his, and seeing what is natural for an ass to think -- as well as a man, upon the occasion. In truth, it is the only creature of all the classes of be- ings below me, with whom I can do this : for parrots, jackdaws, &c. ---- I never exchange a word with them ---- nor with the apes, &c. for pretty near the same reason ; they act by rote, as the I 4 others |