Martin Rowson's graphic version of Tristram Shandy
Sterne's novel has
caused trouble enough in the past to readers; KRG won't be the
last group tormented by the fanciful prose and the meandering
narrative of this famous book. If the fault be Sterne's wayward
tendency to stray wide and far from the narrative, listen to his
defence: “Digressions, incontestably, are the sunshine;—they are
the life, the soul of reading!”
Talitha reads about the right use and application of auxiliary verbs, according to Walter Shandy
KumKum's
whingeing made Joe expect 'storm and rage' at the reading … but the
surprise was the immense mirth that took hold once the readings
started. Each reader tried to bring out the sense of fun and mild
bawdiness which pervades much of the book.
KumKum swears she'll never again allow Joe to select a novel alone
'God'
occurs 106 times and you might think it a treatise on religion.
Indeed, Sterne subjects religion to satire, and brings the learning
of an ordained minister to bear on the Inquisition, the rites of
excommunication, circumcision, papists, hypocrisy, and other
religious subjects. But his purpose is ungodly.
Sunil reads Sterne's dictum that an ounce of a man's own wit is worth a ton of other people's
Perverse as Sterne might have been in his idea of a novel, there is no sign of fatigue on the faces of the group below ― only the sense of having had a good time!
Sterne's humour and satire prevailed over his troublesome digressions -
Priya Talitha, Zakia, Thommo, Gopa, KumKum, Sunil, Joe
You may read a full account by clicking here ...
Tristram
Shandy by Laurence Sterne
Reading on Feb
10, 2012
Laurence Sterne, painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds
Present:
Priya,
Talitha, KumKum, Zakia, Thommo, Gopa, Sunil, Joe
Absent:
Soma (took ill after confirming), Bobby (engagement), Sivaram
(meeting), Mathew (engagement), Verghese (on vacation)
The
next session is Poetry, on Mar
16, 2012.
The
next novel for reading is
the
Stranger
by Albert Camus on Apr
13, 2012.
The next novel selection is up to Gopa and Sivaram – by Feb 29
please. After that by Sunil and Mathew.
KumKum
swore she would not allow Joe alone to select the next book when the
turn came. This time she was preoccupied and left it to Joe, and see
what a troublesome book he chose, she said. Joe said he thought of
coming in a hard-hat anticipating brickbats.
For
a scholarly and comprehensive link to the novel see:
Update: Sunday Nov 24, 2013 was the tricentenary of the birth of
Laurence Sterne. Here's a Quiz on
how well you know Tristram Shandy, from Guardian Books:
KumKum
“Thank God, I never had to read this book in my student days. But another which comes close to this for a torturous reading experience is William Faulkner's As I Lay Dying, which was part of my M.A. syllabus.
“Thank God, I never had to read this book in my student days. But another which comes close to this for a torturous reading experience is William Faulkner's As I Lay Dying, which was part of my M.A. syllabus.
However,
I am glad Tristram
Shandy
was selected, for on my own I would
have never read this book. It is considered a classic and, Sterne's
style is said to have influenced many authors. But as for me,
reading this book was an experience I wish to forget very soon.
Thanks to Bobby for selecting The
Stranger by
Camus, as the next fiction, a short book that will pose no difficulty
with its spare style.
From
Book Eight of Tristram
Shandy I
selected the following two chapters to read today, for the reason
that the narration of the episode, most unusually, does not get lost
in digression.”
KumKum
pointed out that beguines were single women in Belgium and The
Netherlands who lived in groups and chose a semi-cloistered and
frugal life; they took no religious vows, and did service, but were
free to go out and marry later, if they wished. As Corporal Trim's
knee wound is being massaged the beguine's fingers passed up the
acclivity of his knee until his “passion rose to the highest
pitch.” That brought on a spate of laughter, and a titter spread
among the readers. At the conclusion KumKum said at least Sterne did
not digress in this passage. But the beguine digressed, piped up
Talitha! A witty remark that brought on even more laughter. Joe was
reassured that at least after the first reading he did not need to
shrink to a corner in disgrace. About the book itself, Talitha
likened it to the Emperor's new clothes, meaning I suppose, that the
reputation it comes with dissuades the criticism that it deserves.
Talitha
There are many pieces that evoke mirth such as the accidental circumcision of the author at the window, but she chose to select the passage about auxiliary verbs – perhaps impelled by her avocation as an English teacher, Joe said, and extracted the maximum comedy. One can imagine Sterne as a child :
There are many pieces that evoke mirth such as the accidental circumcision of the author at the window, but she chose to select the passage about auxiliary verbs – perhaps impelled by her avocation as an English teacher, Joe said, and extracted the maximum comedy. One can imagine Sterne as a child :
being
subjected to these whimsical notions of education by his own father;
if true, then one can account the wayward nature of the novel in part
as owing to the eccentric notions of his father on education. Gopa
adumbrated the considerations broached in the novel of 'kin', that it
only descends downwards, and in law cannot refer to progenitors: “a
man may beget a child upon his
grandmother—in which case, supposing the issue a daughter, she
would stand in relation both of ...” She also mentioned the
staccato conversation of Walter with his wife about leather breeches:
—When
he gets these breeches made, cried my father in a higher tone, he’ll
look like a beast in ‘em.
He will be very
awkward in them at first, replied my mother.
—And ‘twill be
lucky, if that’s the worst on’t, added my father.
It will be very
lucky, answered my mother.
I suppose, replied
my father,—making some pause first,—he’ll be exactly like other
people’s children.—
Exactly, said my
mother.—
—Though I shall
be sorry for that, added my father: and so the debate stopp’d
again.—
—They should be
of leather, said my father, turning him about again.—
Thommo
Keyholes
and the purposes they serve was the subject of the next reading.
Sterne extracts quiet humour from the conversation of Walter and his
wife. And the final sentence of the reading, “key-holes
are the occasions of more sin and wickedness, than all other holes in
this world put together.” brings a risqué conclusion with it.
KumKum pointed out that in Bengal it is the custom at weddings to
tease the couple by looking though the keyhole. Yes, nodded Gopa and
Priya, that's how it is.
Sunil
Sterne's take on religion was the subject of the next reading. The question was asked ,”Why is the doctor's name 'Slop'?” At the end of the reading Joe wondered if it was a reflection on military duties that after the man's brain was half shot off Corporal Trim claims: “he did his duty very well without it.” Thommo confirmed the vacancy upstairs among many military officers in the days when commissions were bought with money, not by qualifying in a military academy which imposed serious selection criteria. This is was commented upon by Thommo. Take the Crimean War and the Charge of the Light Brigade, which took place in the wrong direction owing to miscommunication by a junior officer in communicating the commanding officer's instructions down the line. Perhaps the officers were short of grey matter (or their grey matter may have been 'shot', as in the case narrated by Corporal Trim). The Light Brigade charged down a valley into a line of the trained, menacing Russian guns, instead of charging up an incline at guns that were being dismantled by the Russians.
Sterne's take on religion was the subject of the next reading. The question was asked ,”Why is the doctor's name 'Slop'?” At the end of the reading Joe wondered if it was a reflection on military duties that after the man's brain was half shot off Corporal Trim claims: “he did his duty very well without it.” Thommo confirmed the vacancy upstairs among many military officers in the days when commissions were bought with money, not by qualifying in a military academy which imposed serious selection criteria. This is was commented upon by Thommo. Take the Crimean War and the Charge of the Light Brigade, which took place in the wrong direction owing to miscommunication by a junior officer in communicating the commanding officer's instructions down the line. Perhaps the officers were short of grey matter (or their grey matter may have been 'shot', as in the case narrated by Corporal Trim). The Light Brigade charged down a valley into a line of the trained, menacing Russian guns, instead of charging up an incline at guns that were being dismantled by the Russians.
Gopa
said in this passage Sterne is criticising the cruelty of the
Inquisition.. Talitha mentioned that in the recent case of a
Communist Party poster in Kerala they depicted Christ as being allied
with Marx. She referred to a book by GK Chesterton, The
Everlasting Man.
Chesterton is an apologist for Christianity, but as to why Talitha
drew attention to this book was lost in the confusion of debate.
Thommo remarked that it is true that Christ is closer in his
preaching to the poor, and therefore to Communism, than the
Capitalism of rich folk; but Christ did not espouse any '-ism', even
in his time, as -isms are all concerned with this world, not the
next. Thommo referred to the Nicene Creed, a particular statement of
the essential beliefs of the Catholic Church, formulated at the
Council of Nicaea in 325 AD, summoned by Emperor Constantine. Why did
Constantine summon the council, asked Sunil. The discussion wandered
into the Arian heresy (questioning Christ's divinity), and we leave
the readers who are so inclined to consult the Wikipedia entry on the
subject:
Talitha
mentioned that the chief merit of the Catholic Church was to have
protected and preserved the doctrines of Christianity, traceable
directly to the Gospels and the early tradition of the church
fathers. Sunil disagreed about the rightness of those doctrines, and
pointed out that Sterne had many digs against Papist beliefs in his
novel. Gopa mentioned something about the Anglican Church which this
scribe does not recall precisely, and about the Irish always being
ready to laugh off various things to do with religion. Sunil
recounted an experience in the 2nd standard when he was told by his
mates in a Catholic school that he was not a Christian. He went home
puzzled and asked his parents about it. He also mentioned that in his
church nobody who goes up is denied Communion (receiving the
consecrated host) whereas the Catholic Church expressly requests
non-Catholics who attend services not to come up to receive the host
at the Mass. Sunil quoted a bishop of his church about whether a
non-believer should be allowed to receive the host or not.
There
is an intolerant reaction when a person starts a new church,
traditionally. Talitha, however, saw merit in persons starting new
churches if the purpose is to right a wrong prevailing within the
original church.
Joe
Joe read the story of a ride by two nuns who were going in a mule cart to a spa to be cured of a health problem. Their muleteer abandons them to have a tipple, and the mules walk off with the nuns in the cart ('calesh') and finally halt near a lonely bog where the nuns start fearing for their lives at the hands of brigands. The problem is how to get the mules moving again and two words that will do the trick are are bouger (bugger) and fouter (fucker), says the younger nun, Margarita.
Joe read the story of a ride by two nuns who were going in a mule cart to a spa to be cured of a health problem. Their muleteer abandons them to have a tipple, and the mules walk off with the nuns in the cart ('calesh') and finally halt near a lonely bog where the nuns start fearing for their lives at the hands of brigands. The problem is how to get the mules moving again and two words that will do the trick are are bouger (bugger) and fouter (fucker), says the younger nun, Margarita.
How
numerous are the writers from the eighteenth century still read in
English today! Defoe, Fielding, Swift, Smollett and Laurence Sterne,
the author today, are leading examples of vigorous writers, who dealt
with the human experience as though no part of it was forbidden to
literature.
Sterne's
writing has a style anchored in the elevated and learned styles of
the well-educated of his age, but he then bends it to a playful
pseudo-autobiography, whose purpose is far from revealing the
author's struggles of the soul or journey through a career. It is
instead a catalogue of slender stories packed into a long narrative
that will forever escape his ability to complete because it takes a
year to complete the account of a day. That gives away his purpose,
which is not at all to render and account of his life, but to tell of
all the chance occurrences and discussions and hobby-horses of his
father and his uncle, Toby, and sundry other lesser persons.
All
novels by their length are necessarily replete with digressions, for
the pleasure is in telling the story in all its florid detail and in
describing the many accidental and irrelevant happenings.
(“Digressions, incontestably, are the sunshine; —& they are
the life, the soul of reading; — take them out of this book for
instance, — you might as well take the book along with them.”) Of
this Sterne is quite a master. Talitha, however, pointed out that in
normal novels, the thread of the story is taken up soon after such
digressions. Sterne can divert you and lose you in the length of his
sentences (often ten lines, sometimes twenty). Even if you stay
focused, you can be lost. If you love digressions
(Joe's wife is at pains to curb his age-related meanderings in
conversation), you will find it hard to digest Tristram
Shandy.
I grant you he is at times, wearisome. But how animatedly he writes
of the characters and their enthusiasms! How free he is of clichés,
every phrase new-coined and fresh with his imagination. And we have
to remember that when Sterne deals with trifling subjects employing
splendid learning (as on the subject of noses or excommunication or
fortifications), he is writing lively satire.
Sterne
is animated and inventive in expression, being resolutely given to
describing chance occurrences, and seemingly unmindful of time for
himself as an author and for his characters. This is a paradoxical
book, for it enlarges and engages the reader as few novels will since
he takes the reader into confidence. He had huge fun himself out of
writing it since he did not know what his characters might be up to
in the next chapter.
Since
Joe read it as though acting the parts of the two frightened nuns in
all their silliness, there was a deal of fun. Talitha, like every
reader, had trouble with Sterne's digressions, inexcusable in a
novelist, according to her. Joe mentioned it was his thesis adviser
who put him up to reading Tristram
Shandy,
and if there is one severe test the novel has stood up to, it is
longevity. It is still in print in multiple editions, 250 years after
its first (sold-out) printing.
Gopa
Gopa was not sure in the end if Tristram was finally born or not! His father was afraid of losing his son, and then there is a discourse on the nose as the determinant of a man's fortunes. “I wish either my father or my mother, or indeed both of them, as they were in duty both equally bound to it, had minded what they were about when they begot me,” exclaims Tristram in frustration at the singular events attending his birthing. By sheer accident he got circumcised! The falling window could have hurt his son badly, but only ended up circumcising him with a sharp clip of its edge. But the father in his eccentricity is not concerned with the son's well-being, but busies himself in the library with whether it was done according to the law, bringing out the authority on the subject, namely Spenser's volume de Legibus Hebraeorum Ritualibus. What concerns Walter is who among the “Jews, the Egyptians,—the Syrians,—the Phoenicians,—the Arabians,—the Cappadocians,—if the Colchi, and Troglodytes” did it first. The humour of the situation is abundant and the readers had a good laugh. Priya exclaimed, “With a father like that what do you expect of the son?”
Gopa was not sure in the end if Tristram was finally born or not! His father was afraid of losing his son, and then there is a discourse on the nose as the determinant of a man's fortunes. “I wish either my father or my mother, or indeed both of them, as they were in duty both equally bound to it, had minded what they were about when they begot me,” exclaims Tristram in frustration at the singular events attending his birthing. By sheer accident he got circumcised! The falling window could have hurt his son badly, but only ended up circumcising him with a sharp clip of its edge. But the father in his eccentricity is not concerned with the son's well-being, but busies himself in the library with whether it was done according to the law, bringing out the authority on the subject, namely Spenser's volume de Legibus Hebraeorum Ritualibus. What concerns Walter is who among the “Jews, the Egyptians,—the Syrians,—the Phoenicians,—the Arabians,—the Cappadocians,—if the Colchi, and Troglodytes” did it first. The humour of the situation is abundant and the readers had a good laugh. Priya exclaimed, “With a father like that what do you expect of the son?”
Gopa
referred to the lack of a nose ensuring the great grand-mother had a
large dowry:
—I
THINK IT A VERY UNREASONABLE DEMAND—cried my great-grandfather,
twisting up the paper, and throwing it upon the table.—By this
account, madam, you have but two thousand pounds fortune, and not a
shilling more—and you insist upon having three hundred pounds a
year jointure for it.—
—’Because,’
replied my great-grandmother, ‘you have little or no nose, Sir.’—
(Chapter 2.XXIV.)
Zakia
The
passage selected was near the beginning of the book. Zakia let us
into the fact that she could not complete the book, indeed could not
go very far at all. But she commended herself, that at least she
came! At the conclusion of Zakia's reading KumKum voted that we
should give her a round of applause, and everyone joined in.
Strangely, the passage contains advice from the author to skip the
remaining part: ”I can give no better advice than that they skip
over the remaining part of Tristram
Shandy
this chapter; for I declare before-hand, ’tis wrote only for the
curious and inquisitive.” One might say the entire book is written
only for the “curious and inquisitive.”
Priya
Priya read from two short sections at the beginning of the book. The first one is prefaced by this curious statement from the author to readers: “and if it was not necessary I should be born before I was christened, I would this moment give the reader an account of it.” It is a technique to defer a narrative that will be taken up at a later time, while digressing for the present into something that beckons to the author as more urgent material right now. Cunning as the device is, the author, does recall all his promises of future explication, but there are a few he cannot keep in spite of the tremendous sprawl of the book. The book was written in fascicles (nine in all) over several years, and enjoyed a great success; translations into French promptly gained Stern renown on the Continent also.
Priya read from two short sections at the beginning of the book. The first one is prefaced by this curious statement from the author to readers: “and if it was not necessary I should be born before I was christened, I would this moment give the reader an account of it.” It is a technique to defer a narrative that will be taken up at a later time, while digressing for the present into something that beckons to the author as more urgent material right now. Cunning as the device is, the author, does recall all his promises of future explication, but there are a few he cannot keep in spite of the tremendous sprawl of the book. The book was written in fascicles (nine in all) over several years, and enjoyed a great success; translations into French promptly gained Stern renown on the Continent also.
In
conclusion KumKum felt she had to state once more the great trouble
Joe had given them all in selecting this novel. Hobby-horse were once
more discussed. The common meaning is a hobby or pursuit that becomes
an obsession to the point of being comical; in the novel
'hobby-horse' is often used as a pun in the text to hint at both
hobbies and sex or prostitution, since the word 'hobby-horse' is
slang for a whore from Elizabethan times. Joe mentioned the curses in
the rite of excommunication are so extravagant and absurd that one
would be tempted to learn the Latin by-heart as a schoolboy just to
use it in play.
The
final comment from someone was that the book was like an abstract
painting; you can take it to mean what you will. But that is not
quite just to say of a book whose use of language is masterful; the
author had a design, no matter that readers may be put to some
trouble to discover it. There's much humour, a fair amount of satire
against all sorts of targets, and when you consider that during these
final years the author was in slow death from consumption, you can
see it even as his final defiance in the face of death.
Gopa
provided an excerpt of a piece that appeared in The Hindu newspaper
(Metroplus section) on Jan 28, 2012:
It
has the news about an obscure village called Anchuthengu near
Trivandrum ('five coconut palms') where lies the tomb of Eliza
Draper, the young woman immortalised in English literature by her
lover, novelist Laurence Sterne in his Journal
to Eliza.
Readings
KumKum
Chapter 4.XLVI.
Chapter 4.XLVI.
I
HAD ESCAPED, continued the corporal, all that time from falling in
love, and had gone on to the end of the chapter, had it not been
predestined otherwise—there is no resisting our fate.
It
was on a Sunday, in the afternoon, as I told your honour.
The
old man and his wife had walked out—
Every
thing was still and hush as midnight about the house—
There
was not so much as a duck or a duckling about the yard—
—When
the fair Beguine came in to see me.
My
wound was then in a fair way of doing well—the inflammation had
been gone off for some time, but it was succeeded with an itching
both above and below my knee, so insufferable, that I had not shut my
eyes the whole night for it.
Let
me see it, said she, kneeling down upon the ground parallel to my
knee, and laying her hand upon the part below it—it only wants
rubbing a little, said the Beguine; so covering it with the
bed-clothes, she began with the fore-finger of her right hand to rub
under my knee, guiding her fore-finger backwards and forwards by the
edge of the flannel which kept on the dressing.
In
five or six minutes I felt slightly the end of her second finger—and
presently it was laid flat with the other, and she continued rubbing
in that way round and round for a good while; it then came into my
head, that I should fall in love—I blush’d when I saw how white a
hand she had—I shall never, an’ please your honour, behold
another hand so white whilst I live—
—Not
in that place, said my uncle Toby—
Though
it was the most serious despair in nature to the corporal—he could
not forbear smiling.
The
young Beguine, continued the corporal, perceiving it was of great
service to me—from rubbing for some time, with two
fingers—proceeded to rub at length, with three—till by little and
little she brought down the fourth, and then rubb’d with her whole
hand: I will never say another word, an’ please your honour, upon
hands again—but it was softer than satin—
—Prithee,
Trim, commend it as much as thou wilt, said my uncle Toby; I shall
hear thy story with the more delight—The corporal thank’d his
master most unfeignedly; but having nothing to say upon the Beguine’s
hand but the same over again—he proceeded to the effects of it. The
fair Beguine, said the corporal, continued rubbing with her whole
hand under my knee—till I fear’d her zeal would weary her—’I
would do a thousand times more,’ said she, ‘for the love of
Christ’—In saying which, she pass’d her hand across the
flannel, to the part above my knee, which I had equally complain’d
of, and rubb’d it also.
I
perceiv’d, then, I was beginning to be in love—
As
she continued rub-rub-rubbing—I felt it spread from under her hand,
an’ please your honour, to every part of my frame—
The
more she rubb’d, and the longer strokes she took—the more the
fire kindled in my veins—till at length, by two or three strokes
longer than the rest—my passion rose to the highest pitch—I
seiz’d her hand—
—And
then thou clapped’st it to thy lips, Trim, said my uncle Toby—
and madest a speech.
Whether
the corporal’s amour terminated precisely in the way my uncle Toby
described it, is not material; it is enough that it contained in it
the essence of all the love romances which ever have been wrote since
the beginning of the world.
Talitha
1st Reading – Chapter 3.XLIII.
1st Reading – Chapter 3.XLIII.
MY
FATHER TOOK a single turn across the room, then sat down, and
finished the chapter.
The
verbs auxiliary we are concerned in here, continued my father,
are,am; was; have; had; do; did; make; made; suffer; shall; should;
will; would;can; could; owe; ought; used; or is wont.—And these
varied with tenses,present, past, future, and conjugated with the
verb see,—or with these questions added to them;—Is it? Was it?
Will it be? Would it be? May it be? Might it be? And these again put
negatively, Is it not? Was it not?Ought it not?—Or
affirmatively,—It is; It was; It ought to be. Or
chronologically,—Has it been always? Lately? How long ago?—Or
hypothetically,—If it was? If it was not? What would follow?—If
the French should beat the English? If the Sun go out of the Zodiac?
Now,
by the right use and application of these, continued my father, in
which a child’s memory should be exercised, there is no one idea
can enter his brain, how barren soever, but a magazine of conceptions
and conclusions may be drawn forth from it.—Didst thou ever see a
white bear?cried my father, turning his head round to Trim, who stood
at the back of his chair:—No, an’ please your honour, replied the
corporal.—But thou couldst discourse about one, Trim, said my
father, in case of need?—How is it possible, brother, quoth my
uncle Toby, if the corporal never saw one?—’Tis the fact I want,
replied my father,—and the possibility of it is as follows.
A
White Bear! Very well. Have I ever seen one? Might I ever have seen
one? Am I ever to see one? Ought I ever to have seen one? Or can I
ever see one?
Would
I had seen a white bear! (for how can I imagine it?)
If
I should see a white bear, what should I say? If I should never see a
white bear, what then?
If
I never have, can, must, or shall see a white bear alive; have I ever
seen the skin of one? Did I ever see one painted?—described? Have I
never dreamed of one?
Did
my father, mother, uncle, aunt, brothers or sisters, ever see a white
bear? What would they give? How would they behave? How would the
white bear have behaved? Is he wild? Tame? Terrible? Rough? Smooth?
—Is
the white bear worth seeing?—
—Is
there no sin in it?—
Is
it better than a Black One?
2nd
Reading
– Chapter
3.XLV.
WHEN
MY FATHER had danced his white bear backwards and forwards through
half a dozen pages, he closed the book for good an’ all,—and in a
kind of triumph redelivered it into Trim’s hand, with a nod to lay
it upon the ‘scrutoire, where he found it.—Tristram, said he,
shall be made to conjugate every word in the dictionary, backwards
and forwards the same way;—every word, Yorick, by this means, you
see, is converted into a thesis or an hypothesis;—every thesis and
hypothesis have an off-spring of propositions;—and each proposition
has its own consequences and conclusions; every one of which leads
the mind on again, into fresh tracks of enquiries and doubtings.—The
force of this engine, added my father, is incredible in opening a
child’s head.—’Tis enough, brother Shandy, cried my uncle Toby,
to burst it into a thousand splinters.—
Thommo
1st
Reading – Chapter
4.LIX.
WHILST
MY FATHER was writing his letter of instructions, my uncle Toby and
the corporal were busy in preparing every thing for the attack. As
the turning of the thin scarlet breeches was laid aside (at least for
the present), there was nothing which should put it off beyond the
next morning; so accordingly it was resolv’d upon, for eleven
o’clock.
Come,
my dear, said my father to my mother—’twill be but like a brother
and sister, if you and I take a walk down to my brother Toby’s—to
countenance him in this attack of his.
My
uncle Toby and the corporal had been accoutred both some time,when my
father and mother enter’d, and the clock striking eleven, were
thatmoment in motion to sally forth—but the account of this is
worth morethan to be wove into the fag end of the eighth (Alluding to
the first edition.)volume of such a work as this.—My father had no
time but to put the letterof instructions into my uncle Toby’s
coat-pocket—and join with my mother
in
wishing his attack prosperous.
I
could like, said my mother, to look through the key-hole out of
curiosity—
Call
it by its right name, my dear, quoth my father—
And
look through the key-hole as long as you will.
2nd
Reading – Chapter 4.LX.
I
CALL ALL THE POWERS of time and chance, which severally check us in
ourcareers in this world, to bear me witness, that I could never yet
get fairly tomy uncle Toby’s amours, till this very moment, that my
mother’s curiosity,as she stated the affair,—or a different
impulse in her, as my fatherwould have it—wished her to take a peep
at them through the key-hole.‘Call it, my dear, by its right name,
quoth my father, and look throughthe key-hole as long as you will.’
Nothing
but the fermentation of that little subacid humour, which Ihave often
spoken of, in my father’s habit, could have vented such
aninsinuation—he was however frank and generous in his nature, and
at alltimes open to conviction; so that he had scarce got to the last
word of thisungracious retort, when his conscience smote him.
My
mother was then conjugally swinging with her left arm twisted
underhis right, in such wise, that the inside of her hand rested upon
theback of his—she raised her fingers, and let them fall—it could
scarce becall’d a tap; or if it was a tap—’twould have puzzled
a casuist to say, whether’twas a tap of remonstrance, or a tap of
confession: my father, who was allsensibilities from head to foot,
class’d it right—Conscience redoubled herblow—he turn’d his
face suddenly the other way, and my mother supposinghis body was
about to turn with it in order to move homewards, by across movement
of her right leg, keeping her left as its centre, broughtherself so
far in front, that as he turned his head, he met her
eye—Confusionagain! he saw a thousand reasons to wipe out the
reproach, and asmany to reproach himself—a thin, blue, chill,
pellucid chrystal with all itshumours so at rest, the least mote or
speck of desire might have been seen,at the bottom of it, had it
existed—it did not—and how I happen to be solewd myself,
particularly a little before the vernal and autumnal equinoxes—Heaven
above knows—My mother—madam—was so at no time,either by nature,
by institution, or example.
A
temperate current of blood ran orderly through her veins in all
monthsof the year, and in all critical moments both of the day and
night alike;nor did she superinduce the least heat into her humours
from the manual effervescencies of devotional tracts, which having
little or no meaning inthem, nature is oft-times obliged to find
one—And as for my father’sexample! ’twas so far from being
either aiding or abetting thereunto, that ’twas the whole business
of his life, to keep all fancies of that kind out of her head—Nature
had done her part, to have spared him this trouble; and what was not
a little inconsistent, my father knew it—And here am I sitting,
this 12th day of August 1766, in a purple jerkin and yellow pair of
slippers, without either wig or cap on, a most tragi comical
completion of his prediction, ‘That I should neither think, nor act
like any other man’s child, upon that very account.’
The
mistake in my father, was in attacking my mother’s motive, instead
of the act itself; for certainly key-holes were made for other
purposes; and considering the act, as an act which interfered with a
true proposition,and denied a key-hole to be what it was—it became
a violation of nature;and was so far, you see, criminal.
It
is for this reason, an’ please your Reverences, That key-holes are
the occasions of more sin and wickedness, than all other holes in
this world put together.
Sunil
Reading 1
Reading 1
Cursed
luck!— said
he to himself, one afternoon, as he walked out of the room, after he
had been stating it for an hour and a half to her, to no manner of
purpose;— cursed luck! said he, biting his lip as he shut the
door,—for a man to be master of one of the finest chains of
reasoning in nature,—and have a wife at the same time with such a
head-piece, that he cannot hang up a single inference within side of
it, to save his soul from destruction.
This
argument, though it was entirely lost upon my mother,—had more
weight with him, than all his other arguments joined together:—I
will therefore endeavour to do it justice,—and set it forth with
all the perspicuity I am master of.
My
father set out upon the strength of these two following axioms:
First,
That an ounce of a man’s own wit, was worth a ton of other
people’s; and,
Secondly,
(Which by the bye, was the ground-work of the first axiom,— tho’
it comes last) That every man’s wit must come from every man’s
own soul,—and no other body’s.
Now,
as it was plain to my father, that all souls were by nature equal,—
and that the great difference between the most acute and the most
obtuse understanding—was from no original sharpness or bluntness of
one thinking substance above or below another,—but arose merely
from the lucky or unlucky organization of the body, in that part
where the soul principally took up her residence,—he had made it
the subject of his enquiry to find out the identical place.
Now,
from the best accounts he had been able to get of this matter, he was
satisfied it could not be where Des Cartes had fixed it, upon the top
of the pineal gland of the brain; which, as he philosophized, formed
a cushion for her about the size of a marrow pea; tho’ to speak the
truth, as so many nerves did terminate all in that one place,—’twas
no bad conjecture;— and my father had certainly fallen with that
great philosopher plumb into the centre of the mistake, had it not
been for my uncle Toby, who rescued him out of it, by a story he told
him of a Walloon officer at the battle of Landen, who had one part of
his brain shot away by a musketball,— and another part of it taken
out after by a French surgeon; and after all, recovered, and did his
duty very well without it.
If
death, said my father, reasoning with himself, is nothing but the
separation of the soul from the body;—and if it is true that people
can walk about and do their business without brains,—then certes
the soul does not inhabit there. Q.E.D.
Reading
2
‘As,
therefore, we can have no dependence upon morality without
religion;—so,
on the other hand, there is nothing better to be expected from
religion without morality; nevertheless, ’tis no prodigy to see a
man whose real moral character stands very low, who yet entertains
the highest notion of himself in the light of a religious man.
‘He
shall not only be covetous, revengeful, implacable,—but even
wanting in points of common honesty; yet inasmuch as he talks aloud
against the infidelity of the age,—is zealous for some points of
religion,—goes twice a day to church,—attends the sacraments,—and
amuses himself with a few instrumental parts of religion,—shall
cheat his conscience into a judgment, that, for this, he is a
religious man, and has discharged truly his duty to God: And you will
find that such a man, through force of this delusion, generally looks
down with spiritual pride upon every other man who has less
affectation of piety,—though, perhaps, ten times more real honesty
than himself.
‘This
likewise is a sore evil under the sun; and I believe, there is no one
mistaken principle, which, for its time, has wrought more serious
mischiefs.— For a general proof of this,—examine the history of
the Romish church;’—(Well what can you make of that? cried Dr.
Slop)—’see what scenes of cruelty, murder, rapine,
bloodshed,’—(They may thank their own obstinacy, cried Dr.
Slop)—have all been sanctified by a religion not strictly governed
by morality.
‘In
how many kingdoms of the world’—(Here Trim kept waving his
right-hand from the sermon to the extent of his arm, returning it
backwards and forwards to the conclusion of the paragraph.)
‘In
how many kingdoms of the world has the crusading sword of this
misguided saint-errant, spared neither age or merit, or sex, or
condition?— and, as he fought under the banners of a religion which
set him loose from justice and humanity, he shewed none; mercilessly
trampled upon both,— heard neither the cries of the unfortunate,
nor pitied their distresses.’
(I
have been in many a battle, an’ please your Honour, quoth Trim,
sighing, but never in so melancholy a one as this,—I would not have
drawn a tricker in it against these poor souls,—to have been made a
general officer.—Why? what do you understand of the affair? said
Dr. Slop, looking towards Trim, with something more of contempt than
the Corporal’s honest heart deserved.—What do you know, friend,
about this battle you talk of?—I know, replied Trim, that I never
refused quarter in my life to any man who cried out for it;—but to
a woman or a child, continued Trim, before I would level my musket at
them, I would loose my life a thousand times.—Here’s a crown for
thee, Trim, to drink with Obadiah to-night, quoth my uncle Toby, and
I’ll give Obadiah another too.—God bless your Honour, replied
Trim,—I had rather these poor women and children had it.—thou art
an honest fellow, quoth my uncle Toby.—My father nodded his head,
as much as to say—and so he is.—
But
prithee, Trim, said my father, make an end,—for I see thou hast but
a leaf or two left.
(Corporal
Trim read on.)
‘If
the testimony of past centuries in this matter is not sufficient,—
consider at this instant, how the votaries of that religion are every
day thinking to do service and honour to God, by actions which are a
dishonour and scandal to themselves.
‘To
be convinced of this, go with me for a moment into the prisons of the
Inquisition.’—(God help my poor brother Tom.)—‘Behold
Religion, with Mercy and Justice chained down under her feet,—there
sitting ghastly upon a black tribunal, propped up with racks and
instruments of torment. Hark!—hark! what a piteous groan!’—(Here
Trim’s face turned as pale as ashes.)—’See the melancholy
wretch who uttered it’—(Here the tears began to trickle
down)—’just brought forth to undergo the anguish of a mock trial,
and endure the utmost pains that a studied system of cruelty has been
able to invent.’—(D..n them all, quoth Trim, his colour returning
into his face as red as blood.)—’Behold this helpless victim
delivered up to his tormentors,—his body so wasted with sorrow and
confinement.’—(Oh! ’tis my brother, cried poor Trim in a most
passionate exclamation, dropping the sermon upon the ground, and
clapping his hands together—I fear ’tis poor Tom. My father’s
and my uncle Toby’s heart yearned with sympathy for the poor
fellow’s distress; even Slop himself acknowledged pity for
him.—Why, Trim, said my father, this is not a history,—’tis a
sermon thou art reading; prithee begin the sentence again.)—’Behold
this helpless victim delivered up to his tormentors,—his body so
wasted with sorrow and confinement, you will see every nerve and
muscle as it suffers.
‘Observe
the last movement of that horrid engine!’—(I would rather face a
cannon, quoth Trim, stamping.)—’See what convulsions it has
thrown him into!—Consider the nature of the posture in which he how
lies stretched,—what exquisite tortures he endures by it!’—(I
hope ’tis not in Portugal.)—’’Tis all nature can bear! Good
God! see how it keeps his weary soul hanging upon his trembling
lips!’ (I would not read another line of it, quoth Trim for all
this world;—I fear, an’ please your Honours, all this is in
Portugal, where my poor brother Tom is. I tell thee, Trim, again,
quoth my father, ’tis not an historical account,—’tis a
description.— ’Tis only a description, honest man, quoth Slop,
there’s not a word of truth in it.—That’s another story,
replied my father.—However, as Trim reads it with so much
concern,—’tis cruelty to force him to go on with it.—Give me
hold of the sermon, Trim,—I’ll finish it for thee, and thou
may’st go. I must stay and hear it too, replied Trim, if your
Honour will allow me;—tho’ I would not read it myself for a
Colonel’s pay.—Poor Trim! quoth my uncle Toby. My father went
on.)
‘—Consider
the nature of the posture in which he now lies stretched,— what
exquisite torture he endures by it!—’Tis all nature can bear!
Good God! See how it keeps his weary soul hanging upon his trembling
lips,— willing to take its leave,—but not suffered to
depart!—Behold the unhappy wretch led back to his cell!’—(Then,
thank God, however, quoth Trim, they have not killed him.)—’See
him dragged out of it again to meet the flames, and the insults in
his last agonies, which this principle,— this principle, that there
can be religion without mercy, has prepared for him.’—(Then,
thank God,—he is dead, quoth Trim,—he is out of his pain,—and
they have done their worst at him.—O Sirs!—Hold your peace, Trim,
said my father, going on with the sermon, lest Trim should incense
Dr. Slop,—we shall never have done at this rate.)
‘The
surest way to try the merit of any disputed notion is, to trace down
the consequences such a notion has produced, and compare them with
the spirit of Christianity;—’tis the short and decisive rule
which our Saviour hath left us, for these and such like cases, and it
is worth a thousand arguments—By their fruits ye shall know them.
‘I
will add no farther to the length of this sermon, than by two or
three short and independent rules deducible from it. ‘
First,
Whenever a man talks loudly against religion, always suspect that it
is not his reason, but his passions, which have got the better of his
Creed. A bad life and a good belief are disagreeable and troublesome
neighbours, and where they separate, depend upon it, ’tis for no
other cause but quietness sake.
‘Secondly,
When a man, thus represented, tells you in any particular
instance,—That such a thing goes against his conscience,—always
believe he means exactly the same thing, as when he tells you such a
thing goes against his stomach;—a present want of appetite being
generally the true cause of both.
‘In
a word,—trust that man in nothing, who has not a Conscience in
every thing.
‘And,
in your own case, remember this plain distinction, a mistake in which
has ruined thousands,—that your conscience is not a law;—No, God
and reason made the law, and have placed conscience within you to
determine;—not, like an Asiatic Cadi, according to the ebbs and
flows of his own passions,—but like a British judge in this land of
liberty and good sense, who makes no new law, but faithfully declares
that law which he knows already written.’
Finis.
Joe
Book 7 Ch 21 top of p.351 or Ch 4.II – How the nuns managed to say two naughty words
Book 7 Ch 21 top of p.351 or Ch 4.II – How the nuns managed to say two naughty words
By
virtue of the muleteer’s to last strokes the mules had gone quietly
on,
following their own consciences up the hill, till they had conquer’d
about one half of it; when the elder of them, a shrewd crafty old
devil, at the turn of an angle, giving a side glance, and no muleteer
behind them,— By my fig! said she, swearing, I’ll go no
further—And if I do, replied the other, they shall make a drum of
my hide.—
And
so with one consent they stopp’d thus—
(Chapter
4.III. Contd.)
—GET
ON WITH YOU, said the abbess.
—Wh...ysh—ysh—cried
Margarita.
Sh...a—shu..u—shu..u—sh..aw—shaw’d
the abbess.
—Whu—v—w—whew—w—w—whuv’d
Margarita, pursing up her sweet lips betwixt a hoot and a whistle.
Thump—thump—thump—obstreperated
the abbess of Andouillets with the end of her gold-headed cane
against the bottom of the calesh—
The
old mule let a f …
WE
ARE RUIN’D and undone, my child, said the abbess to Margarita,—we
shall be here all night—we shall be plunder’d—we shall be
ravished— —We shall be ravish’d, said Margarita, as sure as a
gun. Sancta Maria! cried the abbess (forgetting the O!)—why was I
govern’d by this wicked stiff joint? why did I leave the convent of
Andouillets? and why didst thou not suffer thy servant to go
unpolluted to her tomb?
MY
DEAR MOTHER, quoth the novice, coming a little to herself,—there
are two certain words, which I have been told will force any horse,
or ass, or mule, to go up a hill whether he will or no; be he never
so obstinate or illwill’d, the moment he hears them utter’d, he
obeys. They are words magic! cried the abbess in the utmost
horror—No; replied Margarita calmly— but they are words
sinful—What are they? quoth the abbess, interrupting her: They are
sinful in the first degree, answered Margarita,—they are mortal—and
if we are ravished and die unabsolved of them, we shall bothbut you
may pronounce them to me, quoth the abbess of Andouillets— They
cannot, my dear mother, said the novice, be pronounced at all; they
will make all the blood in one’s body fly up into one’s face—But
you may whisper them in my ear, quoth the abbess.
ALL
SINS WHATEVER, quoth the abbess, turning casuist in the distress they
were under, are held by the confessor of our convent to be either
mortal or venial: there is no further division. Now a venial sin
being the slightest and least of all sins—being halved—by taking
either only the half of it, and leaving the rest—or, by taking it
all, and amicably halving it betwixt yourself and another person—in
course becomes diluted into no sin at all. Now I see no sin in
saying, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, a hundred times together; nor is
there any turpitude in pronouncing the syllable ger, ger, ger, ger,
ger, were it from our matins to our vespers: Therefore, my dear
daughter, continued the abbess of Andouillets—I will say bou, and
thou shalt say ger; and then alternately, as there is no more sin in
fou than in bou—Thou shalt say fou—and I will come in (like fa,
sol, la, re, mi, ut, at our complines) with ter. And accordingly the
abbess, giving the pitch note, set off thus:
Abbess,.....)
Bou … bou … bou … Margarita,…)—ger,..ger,..ger.
Margarita,..)
Fou … fou … fou.. Abbess,.....)—ter,..ter,..ter.
The
two mules acknowledged the notes by a mutual lash of their tails; but
it went no further—’Twill answer by an’ by, said the novice.
Abbess,.....)
Bou. bou. bou. bou. bou. bou. Margarita,..) —ger, ger, ger,ger,
ger, ger.
Quicker
still, cried Margarita. Fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou,fou.
Quicker
still, cried Margarita. Bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou.
Quicker
still—God preserve me; said the abbess—They do not understand us,
cried Margarita—But the Devil does, said the abbess of Andouillets.
Gopa
Reading 1 – Chapter 3.XXVI.
Reading 1 – Chapter 3.XXVI.
FIFTY
THOUSAND PANNIER loads of devils—(not of the Archbishop of
Benevento’s—I mean of Rabelais’s devils), with their tails
chopped off by their rumps, could not have made so diabolical a
scream of it, as I did— when the accident befel me: it summoned up
my mother instantly into the nursery,—so that Susannah had but just
time to make her escape down the back stairs, as my mother came up
the fore.
Now,
though I was old enough to have told the story myself,—and young
enough, I hope, to have done it without malignity; yet Susannah, in
passing by the kitchen, for fear of accidents, had left it in
short-hand with the cook—the cook had told it with a commentary to
Jonathan, and Jonathan to Obadiah; so that by the time my father had
rung the bell half a dozen times, to know what was the matter
above,—was Obadiah enabled to give him a particular account of it,
just as it had happened.—I thought as much, said my father, tucking
up his night-gown;—and so walked up stairs.
One
would imagine from this—(though for my own part I somewhat question
it)—that my father, before that time, had actually wrote that
remarkable character in the Tristra-paedia, which to me is the most
original and entertaining one in the whole book;—and that is the
chapter upon sash-windows, with a bitter Philippick at the end of it,
upon the forgetfulness of chamber-maids.—I have but two reasons for
thinking otherwise.
First,
Had the matter been taken into consideration, before the event
happened, my father certainly would have nailed up the sash window
for good an’ all;—which, considering with what difficulty he
composed books,—he might have done with ten times less trouble,
than he could have wrote the chapter: this argument I foresee holds
good against his writing a chapter, even after the event; but ’tis
obviated under the second reason, which I have the honour to offer to
the world in support of my opinion, that my father did not write the
chapter upon sash-windows and chamber-pots, at the time supposed,—and
it is this.
—That,
in order to render the Tristra-paedia complete,—I wrote the chapter
myself.
Reading
2 – Chapter 3.XXVII
MY
FATHER PUT ON HIS SPECTACLES—looked,—took them off,—put them
into the case—all in less than a statutable minute; and without
opening his lips, turned about and walked precipitately down stairs:
my mother imagined he had stepped down for lint and basilicon; but
seeing him return with a couple of folios under his arm, and Obadiah
following him with a large reading-desk, she took it for granted
’twas an herbal, and so drew him a chair to the bedside, that he
might consult upon the case at his ease.
—If
it be but right done,—said my father, turning to the Section—de
sede vel subjecto circumcisionis,—for he had brought up Spenser de
Legibus Hebraeorum Ritualibus—and Maimonides, in order to confront
and examine us altogether.—
—If
it be but right done, quoth he:—only tell us, cried my mother,
interrupting him, what herbs?—For that, replied my father, you must
send for Dr. Slop.
My
mother went down, and my father went on, reading the section as
follows,
… —Very
well,—said my father, … —nay, if it has that convenience— and
so without stopping a moment to settle it first in his mind, whether
the Jews had it from the Egyptians, or the Egyptians from the
Jews,—he rose up, and rubbing his forehead two or three times
across with the palm of his hand, in the manner we rub out the
footsteps of care, when evil has trod lighter upon us than we
foreboded,—he shut the book, and walked down stairs.—Nay, said
he, mentioning the name of a different great nation upon every step
as he set his foot upon it—if the Egyptians,—the Syrians,—the
Phoenicians,—the Arabians,—the Cappadocians,—if the Colchi, and
Troglodytes did it—if Solon and Pythagoras submitted,— what is
Tristram?—Who am I, that I should fret or fume one moment about the
matter?
Zakia
Chapter
1.IV.
I
know there are readers in the world, as well as many other good
people in it, who are no readers at all,—who find themselves ill at
ease, unless they are let into the whole secret from first to last,
of every thing which concerns you.
It
is in pure compliance with this humour of theirs, and from a
backwardness in my nature to disappoint any one soul living, that I
have been so very particular already. As my life and opinions are
likely to make some noise in the world, and, if I conjecture right,
will take in all ranks, professions, and denominations of men
whatever,—be no less read than the Pilgrim’s Progress itself—and
in the end, prove the very thing which Montaigne dreaded his Essays
should turn out, that is, a book for a parlour window;—
I
find it necessary to consult every one a little in his turn; and
therefore must beg pardon for going on a little farther in the same
way: For which cause, right glad I am, that I have begun the history
of myself in the way I have done; and that I am able to go on,
tracing every thing in it, as Horace says, ab Ovo.
Horace,
I know, does not recommend this fashion altogether: But that
gentleman is speaking only of an epic poem or a tragedy;—(I forget
which,) besides, if it was not so, I should beg Mr. Horace’s
pardon;—for in writing what I have set about, I shall confine
myself neither to his rules, nor to any man’s rules that ever
lived.
To
such however as do not choose to go so far back into these things, I
can give no better advice than that they skip over the remaining part
of Tristram Shandy this chapter; for I declare before-hand, ’tis
wrote only for the curious and inquisitive.
—Shut
the door.—
I
was begot in the night betwixt the first Sunday and the first Monday
in the month of March, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven
hundred and eighteen. I am positive I was.—But how I came to be so
very particular in my account of a thing which happened before I was
born, is owing to another small anecdote known only in our own
family, but now made publick for the better clearing up this point.
My
father, you must know, who was originally a Turkey merchant, but had
left off business for some years, in order to retire to, and die
upon, his paternal estate in the county of ——, was, I believe,
one of the most regular men in every thing he did, whether ’twas
matter of business, or matter of amusement, that ever lived. As a
small specimen of this extreme exactness of his, to which he was in
truth a slave, he had made it a rule for many years of his life,—on
the first Sunday-night of every month throughout the whole year,—as
certain as ever the Sunday-night came,—to wind up a large
house-clock, which we had standing on the back-stairs head, with his
own hands:—And being somewhere between fifty and sixty years of age
at the time I have been speaking of,—he had likewise gradually
brought some other little family concernments to the same period, in
order, as he would often say to my uncle Toby, to get them all out of
the way at one time, and be no more plagued and pestered with them
the rest of the month.
It
was attended but with one misfortune, which, in a great measure, fell
upon myself, and the effects of which I fear I shall carry with me to
my grave; namely, that from an unhappy association of ideas, which
have no connection in nature, it so fell out at length, that my poor
mother could never hear the said clock wound up,—but the thoughts
of some other things unavoidably popped into her head—& vice
versa:—Which strange combination of ideas, the sagacious Locke, who
certainly understood the nature of these things better than most men,
affirms to have produced more wry actions than all other sources of
prejudice whatsoever. But this by the bye.
Now
it appears by a memorandum in my father’s pocket-book, which now
lies upon the table, ‘That on Lady-day, which was on the 25th of
the same month in which I date my geniture,—my father set upon his
journey to London, with my eldest brother Bobby, to fix him at
Westminster school;’ and, as it appears from the same authority,
‘That he did not get down to his wife and family till the second
week in May following,’—it brings the thing almost to a
certainty. However, what follows in the beginning of the next
chapter, puts it beyond all possibility of a doubt.
—But
pray, Sir, What was your father doing all December, January, and
February?—Why, Madam,—he was all that time afflicted with a
Sciatica.
Priya
Reading 1 – Chapter 1.XX.
Reading 1 – Chapter 1.XX.
—HOW
COULD YOU, Madam, be so inattentive in reading the last chapter? I
told you in it, That my mother was not a papist.—Papist! You told
me no such thing, Sir.—Madam, I beg leave to repeat it over again,
that I told you as plain, at least, as words, by direct inference,
could tell you such a thing.—Then, Sir, I must have miss’d a
page.—No, Madam, you have not miss’d a word.—Then I was asleep,
Sir.—My pride, Madam, cannot allow you that refuge.—Then, I
declare, I know nothing at all about the matter.—That, Madam, is
the very fault I lay to your charge; and as a punishment for it, I do
insist upon it, that you immediately turn back, that is as soon as
you get to the next full stop, and read the whole chapter over again.
I have imposed this penance upon the lady, neither out of wantonness
nor cruelty; but from the best of motives; and therefore shall make
her no apology for it when she returns back:—‘Tis to rebuke a
vicious taste, which has crept into thousands besides herself,—of
reading straight forwards, more in quest of the adventures, than of
the deep erudition and knowledge which a book of this cast, if read
over as it should be, would infallibly impart with them—The mind
should be accustomed to make wise reflections, and draw curious
conclusions as it goes along; the habitude of which made Pliny the
younger affirm, ‘That he never read a book so bad, but he drew some
profit from it.’
Reading
2
Digressions,
incontestably, are the sunshine;—they are the life, the soul of
reading!—take them out of this book, for instance,—you might as
well take the book along with them;—one cold eternal winter would
reign in every page of it; restore them to the writer;—he steps
forth like a bridegroom,— bids All-hail; brings in variety, and
forbids the appetite to fail.
All
the dexterity is in the good cookery and management of them, so as to
be not only for the advantage of the reader, but also of the author,
whose distress, in this matter, is truly pitiable: For, if he begins
a digression,— from that moment, I observe, his whole work stands
stock still;— and if he goes on with his main work,—then there is
an end of his digression.
—This
is vile work.—For which reason, from the beginning of this, you
see, I have constructed the main work and the adventitious parts of
it with such intersections, and have so complicated and involved the
digressive and progressive movements, one wheel within another, that
the whole machine, in general, has been kept a-going;—and, what’s
more, it shall be kept a-going these forty years, if it pleases the
fountain of health to bless me so long with life and good spirits.
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