Complete Works of Laurence Sterne

by Laurence Sterne

  The Marquis entered the court with his whole family: he supported his lady — his eldest son supported his sister, and his youngest was at the other extreme of the line next his mother — he put his handkerchief to his face twice —

  — There was a dead silence. When the Marquis had approached within six paces of the tribunal, he gave the Marchioness to his youngest son, and advancing three steps before his family — he reclaimed his sword. — His sword was given him, and the moment he got it into his hand he drew it almost out of the scabbard — it was the shining face of a friend he had once given up — he looked attentively a long it, beginning at the hilt, as if to see whether it was the same — when observing a little rust which it had contracted near the point, he brought it near his eye, and bending his head down over it — I think I saw a tear fall upon the place: I could not be deceived by what followed.

  “I shall find, said he, some other way, to get it off.”

  When the Marquis had said this, he returned his sword into its scabbard, made a bow to the guardians of it — and, with his wife and daughter, and his two sons following him, walked out.

  O how I envied him his feelings!

  S. JOURNEY, PAGE, 153.

  THE ASS.

  I WAS stopped at the gate of Lyons by a poor ass, who had just turned in with a couple of large panniers upon his back, to collect eleemosynary turnip-tops, and cabbage-leaves; and stood dubious, with his two fore-feet on the inside of the threshold, and with his two hinder feet towards the street, as not knowing very well whether 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 — whether in town or country — in cart or under panniers — whether in liberty 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 conversation 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 beings 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 others speak by it, and equally make me silent: nay my dog and my cat, though I value them both — (and for my dog he would speak if he could) — yet some how or other, they neither of them possess the talents for conversation — I can make nothing of a discourse with them.

  — But with an ass, I can commune for ever. come, Honesty! said I, — seeing it was impracticable to pass betwixt him and the gate — art thou for coming in, or going out?

  The ass twisted his head round to look up the street —

  Well — replied I — we’ll wait a minute for ◊ driver:

  — He turned his head thoughtful about, and looked wishfully the opposite way —

  I understand thee perfectly, answered I — if thou takest a wrong step in this affair, he will cudgel thee to death — Well! a minute is but a minute, and if it saves a fellow-creature a drubbing, it shall not be set down as ill-spent. He was eating the stem of an artichoke as this discourse went on, and in the little peevish contentions of nature betwixt hunger and unsavouriness, had dropt it out of his mouth half a dozen times, and picked it up again — God help thee, Jack! said I, thou hast a bitter breakfast on’t — and many a bitter day’s labour — and many a bitter blow, I fear for its wages— ’tis all — all bitterness to thee, whatever life is to others.

  And now thy mouth, if one knew the truth of it, is as bitter, I dare say, as soot — (for he had cast aside the stem) and thou hast not a friend perhaps in all this world, that will give thee a macaroon. — In saying this, I pulled out a paper of them, which I had just purchased, and gave him one — and at this moment that I am telling it, my heart smites me, that there was more of pleasantry in the conceit, of seeing how an ass would eat a macaroon — than of benevolence in giving him one, which presided in the act.

  When the ass had eaten his macaroon, I pressed him to come in — the poor beast was heavy loaded — his legs seemed to tremble under him — he hung rather backwards, and as I pulled at his halter, it broke short in my hand — he looked up pensive in my face— “Don’t thrash me with it — but if you will, you may” — If I do, said I, I’ll be d — d. The word was but one half of it pronounced, when a person coming in, let fall a thundering bastinado upon the poor devil’s crupper, which put an end to the ceremony. Out upon it! cried I.

  TRISTRAM SHANDY, VOL. IV. CHAP. 13.

  THE SERMON.

  HEBREWS XIII. 18. — For we TRUST we have a good Conscience. —

  “TRUST! — Trust we have a good conscience!”

  [Certainly, Trim, quoth my father, interrupting him, you give that sentence a very improper accent; for you curl up your nose, man, and read it with such a sneering tone, as if the Parson was going to abuse the Apostle.

  He is, an’ please your honour, replied Trim.

  Pugh! said my father, smiling.

  Sir, quoth Doctor Slop, Trim is certainly in the right; for the writer (who I perceive is a Protestant) by the snappish manner in which he takes up the apostle, is certainly going to abuse him; if this treatment of him has not done it already. But from whence, replied my father, have you concluded so soon, Doctor Slop, that the writer is of our church? — for aught I can see yet, — he may be of any church. — Because, answered Doctor Slop, if he was of ours, — he durst no more take such a licence, — than a bear by his beard: — If, in our communion, Sir, a man was to insult an apostle, — a saint, — or even the paring of a saint’s nail, — he would have his eyes scratched out. — What, by the saint? quoth my uncle Toby. No, replied Doctor Slop, he would have an old house over his head. Pray, is the Inquisition an ancient building, answered my uncle Toby, or is it a modern one? — I know nothing of architecture, replied Doctor Slop. — An’ please your honours, quoth Trim, the Inquisition is the vilest — Prithee spare thy description, Trim, I hate the very name of it, said my father. — No matter for that, answered Doctor Slop, — it has its uses; for though I’m no great advocate for it, yet, in such a case as this, he would soon be taught better manners; and I can tell him, if he went on at that rate, would be flung into the Inquisition for his pains. God help him then, quoth my uncle Toby. Amen, added Trim, for heaven above knows I have a poor brother who has been fourteen years a captive in it. — I never heard one word of it before, said my uncle Toby, hastily: — How came he there, Trim? — O, Sir! the story will make your heart bleed, — as it has made mine a thousand times; — the short of the story is this: — My brother Tom went over a servant to Lisbon, — and married a Jew’s widow, who kept a small shop, and sold sausages, which somehow or other, was the cause of his being taken in the middle of the night out of his bed, where he was lying with his wife and two small children, and carried directly to the Inquisition, where, God help him, continued Trim, fetching a sigh from the bottom of his heart, — the poor honest lad lies confined at this hour; he was as honest a soul, added Trim, (pulling out his handkerchief) as ever blood warmed. —

  — The tears trickled down Trim’s cheeks faster than he could well wipe them away. — A dead silence in the room ensued for some minutes. — Certain proof of pity! Come, Trim, quoth my father, after he saw the poor fellow’s grief had got a little vent, — read on, — and put this melancholy story out of thy head: — I grieve that I interrupted thee; but prithee begin the Sermon again; — for if the first sentence in it is matter of abuse, as thou sayest, I have a great desire to know what kind of provocation the apostle has given.

  Corpora
l Trim wiped his face, and returned his handkerchief into his pocket, and, making a bow as he did it, — he began again.]

  THE SERMON.

  HEBREWS, XIII. 18. — For we TRUST we have a good Conscience. —

  “ — TRUST! trust we have a good conscience! Surely if there is any thing in this life which a man may depend upon, and to the knowledge of which he is capable of arriving upon the most indisputable evidence, it must be this very thing, — whether he has a good conscience or no.”

  [I am positive I am right, quoth Dr. Stop.]

  “If a man thinks at all, he cannot well be a stranger to the true state of this account; — he must be privy to his own thoughts and desires; — he must remember his past pursuits, and know certainly the true springs and motives, which, in general, have governed the actions of his life.”

  [I defy him, without an assistant, quoth Dr. Slop.]

  “In other matters we may be deceived by false appearances; and, as the wise man complains, hardly do we guess aright at the things that are upon the earth, and with labour do we find the things that are before us. But here the mind has all the evidence and facts within herself; — is conscious of the web she has wove; — knows its texture and fineness, and the exact share which every passion has had in working upon the several designs which virtue or vice has planned before her.”

  [The language is good, and I declare Trim reads very well, quoth my father.]

  “Now, — as conscience is nothing else but the knowledge which the mind has within herself of this; and the judgment, either of approbation or censure, which it unavoidably makes upon the successive actions of our lives; ’tis plain you will say, from the very terms of the proposition, — whenever this inward testimony goes against a man, and he stands self accused, — that he must necessarily be a guilty man. — And, on the contrary, when the report is favourable on his side, and his heart condemns him not; — that it is not a matter of trust, as the apostle intimates, but a matter of certainty and fact, that the conscience is good, and that the man must be good also.”

  [Then the apostle is altogether in the wrong, I suppose, quoth Dr. Slop, and the Protestant divine is in the right. Sir, have patience, replied my father, for I think it will presently appear that Saint Paul and the Protestant divine are both of an opinion. — As nearly so, quoth Dr. Slop, as east is to west; — but this, continued he, lifting both hands, comes from the liberty of the press.

  It is no more, at the worst, replied my uncle Toby, than the liberty of the pulpit, for it does not appear that the sermon is printed, or ever likely to be.

  Go on, Trim, quoth my father.]

  “At first sight this may seem to be a true state of the case; and I make no doubt but the knowledge of right and wrong is so truly impressed upon the mind of man, — that did no such thing ever happen, as that the conscience of a man, by long habits of sin, might (as the scripture assures it may) insensibly become hard; — and, like some tender parts of his body, by much stress and continual hard usage, lose by degrees that nice sense and perception with which God and nature endowed it: — Did this never happen; — or was it certain that self-love could never hang the least bias upon the judgment; — or that the little interests below could rise up and perplex the faculties of our upper regions, and encompass them about with clouds and thick darkness: — Could no such thing as favour and affection enter this sacred COURT: — Did WIT disdain to take a bribe in it; — or was ashamed to shew its face as an advocate for an unwarrantable enjoyment: Or, lastly, were we assured that INTEREST stood always unconcerned whilst the cause was hearing, — and that Passion never got into the judgment-seat, and pronounced sentence in the stead of Reason, which is supposed always to preside and determine upon the case: — Was this truly so, as the objection must suppose; — no doubt then the religious and moral state of a man would be exactly what he himself esteemed it; — and the guilt or innocence of every man’s life could be known, in general, by no better measure, than the degrees of his own approbation and censure.”

  “I own, in one case, whenever a man’s conscience does accuse him (as it seldom errs on that side) that he is guilty; and unless in melancholy and hypocondriac cases, we may safely pronounce upon it, that there is always sufficient grounds for the accusation.”

  “But the converse of the proposition will not hold true; — namely, that whenever there is guilt, the conscience must accuse; and if it does not, that a man is therefore innocent. — This is not fact — So that the common consolation which some good christian or other is hourly administering to himself, — that he thanks God his mind does not misgive him; and that, consequently, he has a good conscience, because he hath a quiet one, — is fallacious; — and as current as the inference is, and as infallible as the rule appears at first sight, yet when you look nearer to it, and try the truth of this rule upon plain facts, — you see it liable to so much error from a false application; — the principal upon which it goes so often perverted; — the whole force of it lost, and sometimes so vilely cast away, that it is painful to produce the common examples from human life which confirm the account.”

  “A man shall be vicious and utterly debauched in his principles; — exceptionable in his conduct to the world; shall live shameless in the open commission of a sin, which no reason or pretence can justify, — a sin by which, contrary to all the workings of humanity, he shall ruin for ever the deluded partner of his guilt; — rob her of her best dowry; and not only cover her own head with dishonour; — but involve a whole virtuous family in shame and sorrow for her sake. Surely, you will think conscience must lead such a man a troublesome life; — he can have no rest night or day from its reproaches.”

  “Alas! CONSCIENCE had something else to do all this time, than break in upon him; as Elijah reproached the god Baal, — this domestic god was either talking or pursuing, or was in a journey, or peradventure he slept and could not be awoke. Perhaps HE was gone out into company with HONOR to fight a duel; to pay off some debt at play; — or dirty annuity, the bargain of his lust; Perhaps CONSCIENCE all this time was engaged at home, talking aloud against petty larceny, and executing vengeance upon some such puny crimes as his fortune and rank of life secured him against all temptation of committing; so that he lives as merrily.” — [If he was of our church, though, quoth Dr. Slop, he could not] “ — sleeps as soundly in his bed; — and at last meets death as unconcernedly; — perhaps much more so, than a much better man.”

  [All this is impossible with us, quoth Dr. Slop, turning to my father, — the case could not happen in our church. — It happens in ours, however, replied my father, but too often. — I own, quoth Dr. Slop, (struck a little with my father’s frank acknowledgment) — that a man in the Romish church may live as badly; — but then he cannot easily die so.— ’Tis little matter, replied my father, with an air of indifference, — how a rascal dies. — I mean, answered Dr. Slop, he would be denied the benefits of the last sacraments. — Pray how many have you in all, said my uncle Toby, — for I always forget? — Seven, answered Dr. Slop. — Humph! — said my uncle Toby; though not accented as a note of acquiescence, — but as an interjection of that particular species of surprise, when a man in looking into a drawer, finds more of a thing than he expected. — Humph! replied my uncle Toby. Dr. Slop, who had an ear, understood my uncle Toby as well as if he had wrote a whole volume against the seven sacraments. — Humph! replied Dr. Slop, (stating my uncle Toby’s argument over again to him) — Why, Sir, are there not seven cardinal virtues? — Seven mortal sins? — Seven golden candlesticks? — Seven heavens?— ’Tis more than I know, replied my uncle Toby. — Are there not Seven wonders of the world? — Seven days of the creation? — Seven planets? — Seven plagues? — That there are, quoth my father, with a most affected gravity. But prithee, continued he, go on with the rest of thy characters, Trim.]

  “Another is sordid, unmerciful,” (here Trim waved his right hand) “a strait-hearted, selfish wretch, incapable either of private friendship or public spirit.
Take notice how he passes by the widow and orphan in their distress, and sees all the miseries incident to human life without a sigh or a prayer.” [An’ please your honours, cried Trim, I think this a viler man than the other.]

  “Shall not conscience rise up and sting him on such occasions? — No; thank God there is no occasion, I pay every man his own; — I have no fornication to answer to my conscience; — no faithlessvows or promises to make up; — I have debauched no man’s wife or child; thank God, I am not as other men, adulterers, unjust, or even as this libertine, who stands before me. A third is crafty and designing in his nature. View his whole life,— ’tis nothing but a cunning contexture of dark arts and unequitable subterfuges, basely to defeat the true intent of all laws, — plain-dealing, and the safe enjoyment of our several properties. — you will see such a one working out a frame of little designs upon the ignorance and perplexities of the poor and needy man; — shall raise a fortune upon the inexperience of a youth, or the unsuspecting temper of his friend, who would have trusted him with his life. When old age comes on, and repentance calls him to look back upon this black account, and state it over again with his conscience — CONSCIENCE looks into the STATUTES at LARGE; — finds no express law broken by what he has done; — perceives no penalty or forseiture of goods and chattels incurred; — sees no scourge waving over his head, or prison opening his gates upon him: — What is there to affright his conscience? — Conscience has got safely entrenched behind the Letter of the Law; sits there invulnerable, fortified with Cases and Reports so strongly on all sides; — that it is not preaching can dispossess it of its hold.”

  [The character of this last man, said Dr. Slop, interrupting Trim, is more detestable than all the rest; — and seems to have been taken from some pettifogging lawyer amongst you: — amongst us, a man’s conscience could not possibly continue so long blinded, — three times in a year, at least, he must go to confession. Will that restore it to sight? quoth my uncle Toby. — Go on, Trim, quoth my father. ’Tis very short, replied Trim. — I wish it was longer, quoth my uncle Toby, for I like it hugely. — Trim went on.]