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 to no sin at all. "Now I see no sin 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." The two mules acknowledged the notes by a mutual lash of their tails, but it went no further. ""Twill answer by-and-by," said the novice. Abbess, "Bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou." 66 Quicker still," cried Margarita. "Fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou, fou." 66 Quicker still," cried Margarita. "Bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou." 66 Quicker still-God preserve me!" said the Abbess.-" They do not understand us,” cried Margarita.—“ But the devil does," said the Abbess of Andouillets. CHAPTER XXVI. WHAT a tract of country have I run! How many degrees nearer to the warm sun am I advanced, and how many fair and goodly cities have I seen during the time you have been reading and reflecting, madam, upon this story! There's Fontainebleau, and Sens, and Joigny, and Auxerre, and Dijon the capital of Burgundy, and Challon, and Macon the capital of the Maconese, and a score more upon the road to Lyons. And now I have run them over, I might as well talk to you of so many market-towns in the moon as tell you one word about them. It will be this chapter at the least, if not both this and the next entirely lost, do what I will. 66 'Why, 'tis a strange story, Tristram." "Alas, madam! had it been upon some melancholy lecture of the Cross, the peace of meekness, or the contentment of resignation, I had not been incommoded; or had I thought of writing it upon the purer abstractions of the soul, and that food of wisdom and holiness and contemplation upon which the spirit of man, when separated from the body, is to subsist for ever-you would have come with a better appetite from it. "I wish I never had wrote it; but as I never blot anything out, let us use some honest means to get it out of our heads directly. "Pray reach me my fool's cap. I fear you sit upon it, madam; 'tis under the cushion. I'll put it on. “Bless me! you have had it upon your head this half-hour.” "There then let it stay, with a— Fa-ra diddle di And a fa-ri diddle-d And a high-dum-dye-dum And now, madam, we may venture, I hope, a little to go on." CHAPTER XXVII. asked) is, that in the middle That the king ALL you need say of Fontainebleau (in case you are it stands about forty miles (south something) from Paris, of a large forest. That there is something great in it. goes there once, every two or three years, with his whole Court, for the pleasure of the chase, and that, during that carnival of sporting, any English gentleman of fashion (you need not forget yourself) may be accommodated with a nag or two to partake of the sport, taking care only not to out-gallop the king. Though there are two reasons why you need not talk loud of this to every one. see. First, because 'twill make the said nags the harder to be got; and, Secondly, 'tis not a word of it true.-Allons! As for Sens, you may dispatch it in a word: 'tis an archiepiscopal For Joigny, the less, I think, one says of it, the better. But for Auxerre, I could go on for ever: for in my grand tour through Europe, in which, after all, my father (not caring to trust me with any one) attended me himself, with my Uncle Toby and Trim, and Obadiah, and indeed most of the family, except my mother, who being taken up with a project of knitting my father a pair of large worsted breeches (the thing is common sense), and she not caring to be put out of her way, she stayed at home at Shandy Hall, to keep things right during the expedition; in which, I say, my father stopping us two days at Auxerre, and his researches being ever of such a nature that they would have found fruit even in a desert, he has left me enough to say upon Auxerre ; in short, wherever my father went, but 'twas more remarkably so in this journey through France and Italy than in any other stages of his life, his road seemed to lie so much on one side of that, wherein all other travellers had gone before him; he saw kings and courts, and silks of all colours, in such strange lights, and his remarks and reasonings upon the characters, the manners and customs of the countries we passed over, were so opposite to those of all other mortal men, particularly those of my Uncle Toby and Trim (to say nothing of myself); and to crown all, the occurrences and scrapes which we were perpetually meeting and getting into, in consequence of his systems and opiniatry, they were of so odd, so mixed, and tragi-comical a contexture, that the whole put together, it appears of so different a shade and tint from any tour of Europe which was ever executed, that I will venture to pronounce the fault must be mine, and mine only, if it be not read by all travellers and travel-readers, till travelling is no more; or, which comes to the same point, till the world finally takes it into its head to stand still. But this rich bale is not to be opened now; except a small thread or two of it, merely to unravel the mystery of my father's stay at Auxerre. As I have mentioned it, 'tis too slight to be kept suspended; and when 'tis wove in, there's an end of it. "We'll go, brother Toby," said my father, "whilst dinner is coddling, to the Abbey of St. Germain, if it be only to see these bodies, of which Monsieur Sequier has given such a recommendation.""I'll go see anybody," quoth my Uncle Toby; for he was all compliance through every step of the journey.-"Defend me!" said my father, "they are all mummies.". "Then one need not shave," quoth my Uncle Toby.. "Shave, no!" cried my father, "'twill be more like relations to go with our beards on."-So out we sallied, the Corporal lending his master his arm, and bringing up the rear to the Abbey of St. Germain. 66 'Everything is very fine, and very rich, and very superb, and very magnificent," said my father, addressing himself to the sacristan, who who was a young brother of the order of Benedictines, " but our curiosity has led us to see the bodies of which Monsieur Sequier has given the world so exact a description." The sacristan made a bow, and lighting a torch first, which he had always in the vestry ready for the purpose, he led us into the tomb of St. Heribald. This," said the sacristan, laying his hand upon the tomb, was a renowned prince of the house of Bavaria, who, under the successive reigns of Charlemagne, Louis le Debonair, and Charles the Bald, bore a great sway in the government, and had a principal hand in bringing everything into order and discipline." 66 "Then he has been as great," said my uncle, "in the field as in the cabinet. I dare say he has been a gallant soldier.”—“He was a monk,” said the sacristan. My Uncle Toby and Trim sought comfort in each other's faces, but found it not; my father hated a monk, and the very smell of a monk worse than all the devils in hell; yet the shot hitting my Uncle Toby and Trim so much harder than him, 'twas a relative triumph; and put him into the gayest humour in the world. "And pray what do you call this gentleman?" quoth my father, rather sportingly. This tomb," said the young Benedictine, looking downwards, contains the bones of St. Maxima, who came from Ravenna on purpose to touch the body- 66 "Of St. Maximus," said my father, popping in with his saint before him; "they were two of the greatest saints in the whole martyrology," added my father.-"Excuse me," said the sacristan, "'twas to touch the bones of St. Germain, the builder of the abbey.' "And what did she get by it ?" said my Uncle Toby." What does any woman get by it?" said my father." Martyrdom," 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 turned from her tomb.-" She was one of the fairest and most beautiful ladies either of Italy or France," continued the sacristan.- "But who the deuce has got lain down here, besides her?" quoth my father, pointing with his cane to a large tomb as we walked on.-"It is St. Optat, Sir," answered the sacristan.-" And properly is St. Optat placed," said my father. "And what is St. Optat's story? continued he.-"St. Optat," replied the sacristian, "was a bishop." "I thought so, by heaven!" cried my father, interrupting him; "St. Optat! how should St. 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 pleased 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 crossed 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 XXVIII. Now this is the most puzzled skein of all, for in this last chapter, as far at least as it has helped 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 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 everything; 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 postchaise broke into a thousand pieces, and I am moreover this moment in a handsome pavilion built by Pringello,* upon the banks of the Garonne, which Monsieur Sligniac has lent me, and where I now sit rhapsodizing all these affairs. Let me collect myself and pursue my journey. *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. CHAPTER XXIX. "I AM glad of it," said I, settling the account with myself as I walked 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 Rhône, with the Vivares on my right hand and Dauphiny on my left, scarce seeing the ancient cities of Vienne, Valence, and Vivières. What a flame will it rekindle in the lamp, to snatch a blushing grape from the Hermitage and Côte Roti, as I shoot by the foot of them! And what a fresh spring in the blood to behold upon the banks, advancing and retiring, the castles of romance, whence courteous knights have whilome rescued the distressed, and see vertiginous, the rocks, the mountains, the cataracts, and all the hurry which Nature is in with all her great works about." As I went on thus methought my chaise, the wreck of which looked 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 contemptible, and, in a word, so much worse than the Abbess of Andouillets's itself, that I was just opening my mouth to give it to the devil, when a pert vamping chaise-undertaker, stepping nimbly across the street, demanded if monsieur would have his chaise refitted. no," said I, shaking my head sideways.-" Would monsieur choose to sell it?" rejoined 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.' "No, "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 them as they happen to me. For which reason I think myself inexcusable for blaming Fortune so often as I have done for pelting me all my life long, like an ungracious duchess as I called her, with so many small evils. Surely 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 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. |