The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy [202]
any woman get by it? said my father--Martyrdome; replied the young Benedictine, making a bow down to the ground, and uttering the word with so humble, but decisive a cadence, it disarmed my father for a moment. 'Tis supposed, continued the Benedictine, that St. Maxima has lain in this tomb four hundred years, and two hundred before her canonization--'Tis but a slow rise, brother Toby, quoth my father, in this self-same army of martyrs.--A desperate slow one, an' please your honour, said Trim, unless one could purchase--I should rather sell out entirely, quoth my uncle Toby--I am pretty much of your opinion, brother Toby, said my father.
--Poor St. Maxima! said my uncle Toby low to himself, as we turn'd from her tomb: She was one of the fairest and most beautiful ladies either of Italy or France, continued the sacristan--But who the duce has got lain down here, besides her? quoth my father, pointing with his cane to a large tomb as we walked on--It is Saint Optat, Sir, answered the sacristan--And properly is Saint Optat plac'd! said my father: And what is Saint Optat's story? continued he. Saint Optat, replied the sacristan, was a bishop--
--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 Saint 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 visit, brother Shandy, quoth my uncle Toby--the corporal and I will mount the ramparts.
Chapter 4.IX.
--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 journies together, and with the same dash of the pen--for I have got entirely out of Auxerre in this journey which I am writing now, and I am got half way out of Auxerre in that which I shall write hereafter--There is but a certain degree of perfection in every thing; and by pushing at something beyond that, I have brought myself into such a situation, as no traveller ever stood before me; for I am this moment walking across the market-place of Auxerre with my father and my uncle Toby, in our way back to dinner--and I am this moment also entering Lyons with my post-chaise broke into a thousand pieces--and I am moreover this moment in a handsome pavillion built by Pringello (The same Don Pringello, the celebrated Spanish 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.), upon the banks of the Garonne, which Mons. Sligniac has lent me, and where I now sit rhapsodising all these affairs.
--Let me collect myself, and pursue my journey.
Chapter 4.X.
I am glad of it, said I, settling the account with myself, as I walk'd into 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 nobody knows me,) and cross the plains of Languedoc for almost nothing--I shall gain four hundred livres by the misfortune clear into my purse: and pleasure! worth--worth double the money by it. With what velocity, continued I, clapping my two hands together, shall I fly down the rapid Rhone, with the Vivares on my
--Poor St. Maxima! said my uncle Toby low to himself, as we turn'd from her tomb: She was one of the fairest and most beautiful ladies either of Italy or France, continued the sacristan--But who the duce has got lain down here, besides her? quoth my father, pointing with his cane to a large tomb as we walked on--It is Saint Optat, Sir, answered the sacristan--And properly is Saint Optat plac'd! said my father: And what is Saint Optat's story? continued he. Saint Optat, replied the sacristan, was a bishop--
--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 Saint 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 visit, brother Shandy, quoth my uncle Toby--the corporal and I will mount the ramparts.
Chapter 4.IX.
--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 journies together, and with the same dash of the pen--for I have got entirely out of Auxerre in this journey which I am writing now, and I am got half way out of Auxerre in that which I shall write hereafter--There is but a certain degree of perfection in every thing; and by pushing at something beyond that, I have brought myself into such a situation, as no traveller ever stood before me; for I am this moment walking across the market-place of Auxerre with my father and my uncle Toby, in our way back to dinner--and I am this moment also entering Lyons with my post-chaise broke into a thousand pieces--and I am moreover this moment in a handsome pavillion built by Pringello (The same Don Pringello, the celebrated Spanish 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.), upon the banks of the Garonne, which Mons. Sligniac has lent me, and where I now sit rhapsodising all these affairs.
--Let me collect myself, and pursue my journey.
Chapter 4.X.
I am glad of it, said I, settling the account with myself, as I walk'd into 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 nobody knows me,) and cross the plains of Languedoc for almost nothing--I shall gain four hundred livres by the misfortune clear into my purse: and pleasure! worth--worth double the money by it. With what velocity, continued I, clapping my two hands together, shall I fly down the rapid Rhone, with the Vivares on my