At the beginning of the story, the narrator warns the reader that his notes will not adhere to any rules for creating literary work, will not comply with the laws of the genre and adhere to chronology.

Tristram Shandy was born on November 5, 1718, but his misfortunes, according to his own assertion, began exactly nine months ago, at the time of conception, since my mother, knowing about the unusual punctuality of her father, at the most inopportune moment asked if he had forgotten to wind up the clock. The hero bitterly regrets that he was born "on our mangy and ill-fated earth", and not on the Moon or, say, on Venus. Trisgram talks in detail about his family, claiming that all Shandys are eccentric. He devotes many pages to his uncle Toby, an indefatigable warrior, whose oddities began with a wound in the groin he received during the siege of Namur. This gentleman could not recover from his wound for four years. He got a map of Namur and, without getting out of bed, played out all the vicissitudes of the fatal battle for him. His servant Trim, a former corporal, suggested that the owner go to the village, where he owned several acres of land, and build all the fortifications on the ground, in the presence of which his uncle's passion would have received more opportunities.

Shandy describes the story of her birth, referring to her mother's marriage contract, according to which the child must certainly be born in the village, on the Shandyhall estate, and not in London, where experienced doctors could help the woman in labor. This played a big role in Tristram's life and, in particular, was reflected in the shape of his nose. Just in case, the father of the unborn child invites the village doctor Elephant to his wife. While the birth is taking place, three men - Father Shandy William, Uncle Toby and the doctor are sitting downstairs by the fireplace and discussing a variety of topics. Leaving the gentlemen to talk, the narrator again proceeds to describe the eccentricities of the members of his family. His father held extraordinary and eccentric views on dozens of things. For example, he was addicted to some Christian names while completely rejecting others. He especially hated the name Tristram. Concerned about the forthcoming birth of his offspring, the venerable gentleman carefully studied the literature on obstetrics and became convinced that in the usual way of birth, the cerebellum of the child suffers, namely, in it, in his opinion, is located "the main sensorium or the main apartment of the soul." Thus, he sees the best way out in a caesarean section, citing the example of Julius Caesar, Scipio Africanus and other prominent figures. His wife, however, was of a different opinion.

Dr. Slop sent the servant Obadiah for medical instruments, but he, fearing to lose them along the way, tied the bag so tightly that when they were needed and the bag was finally untied, obstetrical forceps were placed on Uncle Toby's hand in the confusion, and his brother rejoiced, that the first experience was not made on the head of his child.

Distracting from the description of her difficult birth, Shandy returns to Uncle Toby and the fortifications erected together with Corporal Trim in the village. Walking with his girlfriend and showing her these wonderful structures, Trim stumbled and, pulling Brigitte behind him, fell with all his weight onto the drawbridge, which immediately fell to pieces. Uncle spends all day thinking about the construction of a new bridge. And when Trim came into the room and said that Dr. Sleep was busy in the kitchen making a bridge, Uncle Toby imagined that we are talking about the destroyed military facility. What was the grief of William Shandy when it turned out that this was a “bridge” for the nose of a newborn, to whom the doctor flattened it into a cake with his tools. In this regard, Shandy reflects on the size of noses, since the dogma of the advantage of long noses over short ones has taken root in their family for three generations. Shandy's father reads classical authors who mention noses. Here is the story of Slokenbergy translated by him. It tells how a stranger once arrived in Strasbourg on a mule, striking everyone with the size of his nose. The townspeople are arguing about what it's made of and eager to touch it. The stranger reports that he visited the Cape of the Noses and got there one of the most outstanding specimens that have ever been given to a man. When the turmoil that had risen in the city ended and everyone lay down in their beds, Queen Mab took the nose of a stranger and divided it among all the inhabitants of Strasbourg, as a result of which Alsace became the possession of France.

The Shandi family, fearing that the newborn will give his soul to God, hurries to baptize him. The father chooses the name Trismegistus for him. But the maid carrying the child to the priest forgets such a difficult word, and the child is mistakenly named Tristram. The father is in indescribable grief: as you know, this name was especially hateful for him. Together with his brother and a priest, he goes to a certain Didius, an authority in the field of church law, to consult if the situation can be changed. The priests argue among themselves, but in the end they come to the conclusion that this is impossible.

The hero receives a letter about the death of his older brother Bobby. He reflects on how different people experienced the death of their children. historical figures. When Mark Tullius Cicero lost his daughter, he bitterly mourned her, but, plunging into the world of philosophy, he found that so many beautiful things can be said about death that she gives him joy. Father Shandi was also inclined to philosophy and eloquence and consoled himself with this.

Priest Yorick, a family friend who has served in the area for a long time, visits Father Shandy, who complains that Tristram has difficulty performing religious rites. They discuss the question of the foundations of the relationship between father and son, according to which the father acquires the right and power over him, and the problem of the further education of Tristram. Uncle Toby recommends young Lefebvre as tutor and tells his story. One evening Uncle Toby was sitting at supper when suddenly the landlord of the country inn came into the room. He asked for a glass or two of wine for a poor gentleman, Lieutenant Lefebvre, who fell ill a few days ago. With Lefebvre was a son of eleven or twelve years old. Uncle Toby decided to visit the gentleman and learned that he served with him in the same regiment. When Lefebvre died, Toby's uncle buried him with military honors and took custody of the boy. He sent him to a public school, and then, when the young Aefevre asked permission to try his luck in the war with the Turks, handed him his father's sword and parted from him as his own son. But the young man began to pursue failures, he lost both his health and his service - everything except the sword, and returned to Uncle Toby. It happened just when Tristram was looking for a mentor.

The narrator returns to Uncle Toby again and tells how his uncle, who had been afraid of women all his life - partly because of his injury - fell in love with the widow Mrs. Waterman.

Tristram Shandy embarks on a journey to the continent, on the way from Dover to Calais he is tormented by seasickness. Describing the sights of Calais, he calls the city "the key of two kingdoms." Further, his path follows through Boulogne and Montreuil. And if nothing in Boulogne attracts the attention of a traveler, then the only attraction of Montreuil is the daughter of the owner of the inn. Finally, Shandy arrives in Paris and reads the inscription on the portico of the Louvre: "There is no such nation in the world, not a single nation has a city equal to this." Thinking about where people go faster - in France or in England, he cannot help but tell an anecdote about how the abbess of Anduate and the young novice Margaret traveled on the waters, having lost a mule driver along the way.

After passing several cities, Shandy ends up in Lyon, where he is going to inspect the mechanism of the tower clock and visit the Great Jesuit Library to get acquainted with the thirty-volume history of China, while admitting that he does not understand anything either in clockwork or in the Chinese language. His attention is also drawn to the tomb of two lovers separated by abusive parents. Amandus is taken prisoner by the Turks and taken to the court of the Moroccan emperor, where the princess falls in love with him and torments him for twenty years in prison for her love for Amanda. Amanda at this time, barefoot and with loose hair, wanders through the mountains, looking for Amandus. But one night, chance brings them at the same time to the gates of Lyon. They throw themselves into each other's arms and fall dead with joy. When Shandy, moved by the history of lovers, gets to the place of their tomb in order to irrigate it with tears, it turns out that such a one no longer exists.

Shandy, wanting to record the last twists and turns of his voyage in travel notes, reaches into the pocket of his camisole after them and discovers that they have been stolen. Loudly appealing to everyone around him, he compares himself to Sancho Panza, who cried out on the occasion of the loss of his donkey's harness. Finally, torn notes are found on the head of the carriage maker's wife in the form of papillots.

Passing through Aangedok, Shandi is convinced of the lively ease of the locals. Dancing peasants invite him to their company. "Having danced through Narbonne, Carcassonne and Castelnaudarn," he takes up his pen to return to Uncle Toby's love affairs. Followed by detailed description tricks with which the widow Wodman wins his heart at last. Shandy's father, who was famous for being a connoisseur of women, writes an instructive letter to his brother about the nature of the female sex, and corporal Trim, in the same connection, tells the owner about his brother's affair with the widow of a Jewish sausage maker. The novel ends with a lively conversation about the bull of Obadiah's servant, and to the question of Shandy's mother: "What story are they telling?" Yorick replies, "About the White Bull, and one of the best I've ever heard."

Lawrence Stern Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman

Bychkov M.N. http://lib.ru/INOOLD/STERN/stern_tristram.txt

Laurence Stern. The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman. Sentimental Journey": Fiction; Moscow; 1968

Original: Laurence Sterne, “Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman”

Translation: Adrian Antonovich Frankovsky

annotation

Stern's masterpiece is unconditionally recognized as "Tristram Shandy" (Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman). At first glance, the novel seems to be a chaotic hodgepodge of amusing and dramatic scenes, masterfully delineated characters, various satirical attacks and bright, witty remarks interspersed with numerous typographic tricks (pointing fingers in the margins, a blackened (“mourning”) page, an abundance of meaningful italics). The story is constantly sidetracked, interrupted by amusing and sometimes risky stories, which the author's wide erudition generously delivers. Digressions are the clearest sign of the "Shendian" style, declaring itself free from tradition and order. Criticism (primarily S. Johnson) sharply condemned Stern's arbitrariness as a writer. In fact, the plan of the work was thought out and drawn up much more carefully than it seemed to contemporaries and later Victorian critics. “Writing books, when done skillfully,” said Stern, “is tantamount to a conversation,” and in telling a “story,” he followed the logic of a lively, meaningful “talk” with the reader. He found a suitable psychological justification in the teachings of J. Locke on the association of ideas. In addition to the reasonably comprehended connection of ideas and ideas, Locke noted, there are their irrational connections (such are superstitions). Stern broke up large time periods into fragments, which he then rearranged, in accordance with the mentality of his characters, from this his work is “retreating, but also progressive at the same time.”

The hero of the novel, Tristram, is not at all the central character, since until the third volume he is in an embryonic state, then, during the period early childhood, appears on the pages from time to time, and the final part of the book is devoted to the courtship of his uncle Toby Shandy for the widow Wodman, which generally took place a few years before the birth of Tristram. The "opinions" mentioned in the title of the novel are by and large those of Walter Shandy, Tristram's father, and Uncle Toby. Loving brothers, at the same time they do not understand each other, since Walter constantly goes into vague theorizing, trumps with ancient authorities, and Toby, not inclined to philosophy, thinks only of military campaigns.

Contemporary readers associated Stern with Rabelais and Cervantes, whom he openly followed, and later it turned out that he was a forerunner of such writers as J. Joyce, Virginia Woolf and W. Faulkner, with their stream of consciousness method.

^ Volume One

???????? ???? ’????????? ?? ?? ????????,

’???? ?? ???? ??? ????????? ???????1

Honorable Mr. Pitt2

Never has a poor writer placed less hope in his dedication than I do; for it is written in a remote corner of our kingdom, in a secluded house under a thatched roof, where I live in constant effort by cheerfulness to protect myself from the ailments caused by ill health and other evils of life, firmly convinced that every time we smile, and especially when we laugh, our smile and laughter add something to our short life.

I humbly ask you, sir, to do this book the honor of taking it (not under its own protection, it will stand up for itself, but) with you to the village, and if I ever happen to hear that it made you smile there, or you can If she supposes that she has entertained you in a difficult moment, I will consider myself as happy as a minister, or perhaps even happier than all the ministers (with one exception) that I have ever read or heard of.

^ I am, great husband

and (more to your credit)

a kind person,

your benefactor and

most respectful

compatriot

Chapter I

I would like my father or mother, or even both of them together, for this duty lay equally on both of them, to reflect on what they were doing at the time when they conceived me. If they had properly thought how much depended on what they were then doing - and that it was not only a matter of producing a rational being, but that, in all probability, his happy physique and temperament, perhaps his talents and the very turn of his mind - and even, who knows, the fate of his entire family - are determined by their own nature and well-being - - if they, having properly weighed all this and thought it over, acted accordingly, - then, I am firmly convinced, I I would occupy a very different position in the world than the one in which the reader is likely to see me. Indeed, good people, this is not at all such an unimportant thing as many of you think; all of you, I believe, have heard about life spirits3, about how they are transmitted from father to son, etc., etc. - and much more on this subject. So, take my word for it, nine-tenths of the smart things and stupid things that a person does, nine-tenths of his successes and failures in this world depend on the movements and activities of the named spirits, on the various paths and directions in which you send them, so, when they are set in motion, right or wrong, it doesn't matter, they rush forward in confusion, like mad, and, following the same path again and again, quickly turn it into a well-trodden path, even and smooth, like a garden alley. , with which, when they get used to it, the devil himself is sometimes unable to bring them down.

“Listen, dear,” my mother said, “did you forget to wind the clock?” – Lord God! - exclaimed the father in his hearts, trying at the same time to muffle his voice, - has it ever happened since the creation of the world that a woman interrupted a man with such a stupid question? - What, tell me, did your father mean? - - Nothing.

Chapter II

- - But I positively see nothing either good or bad in this matter. - - But let me tell you, sir, that he was extremely inappropriate to say the least - because he dispersed and dispersed the life spirits whose duty it was to accompany HOMUNCULUS 4, walking hand in hand with him to bring him safely to the place appointed for his acceptance.

The homunculus, sir, in whatever pitiful and ridiculous light he may appear in our frivolous age to the eyes of stupidity and prejudice, in the eyes of reason, with a scientific approach to business, is recognized as a being protected by his rights. - - The philosophers of the negligible, who, by the way, have the broadest minds (so that their soul is inversely proportional to their interests), prove to us irrefutably that the homunculus was created by the same hand, - obeys the same laws of nature, - is endowed with the same properties and the ability to move, like us; - - that, like us, it consists of skin, hair, fat, meat, veins, arteries, ligaments, nerves, cartilage, bones, bone and brain, glands, genitals, blood, phlegm, bile and joints; - - - is a being as active - and in all respects exactly the same to our neighbors, as the English Lord Chancellor. You can render him services, you can offend him, you can give him satisfaction; in short, it has all the claims and rights that Tullius5, Pufendorf6 and the best moral writers recognize as arising from human dignity and relationships between people.

And what, sir, if some misfortune befalls him, alone, on the road? - - or if, from the fear of misfortune, which is natural in such a young traveler, my boy reaches his destination in the most miserable form, - - completely exhausting his muscular and masculine strength, - bringing his own vital spirits into indescribable excitement, - and if in such in a deplorable state of nervous breakdown he will lie for nine long, long months in a row, in the grip of sudden fears or dark dreams and fantasies? It is terrible to think what rich soil all this would serve for a thousand weaknesses, bodily and mental, from which no skill of a doctor or philosopher could then finally cure him.

^ Chapter III

I am indebted for this anecdote to my uncle, Mr. Toby Shandy, to whom my father, an excellent natural philosopher, very fond of subtle reasoning on the most insignificant subjects, often complained bitterly about the damage done to me; especially once, as Uncle Toby well remembered, when my father noticed the strange clubfoot (his own words) of my manner of spinning the top; having explained the principles according to which I did this, - the old man shook his head and the young man, who expressed more grief than reproach, - said that all this had long been felt in his heart and that both the present and a thousand other observations firmly convinced him that that I will never think and behave like other children. - - But, alas! he went on, shaking his head again and wiping away a tear that was rolling down his cheek, “my Tristram's misfortunes began nine months before he was born.

My mother, who was sitting next to me, raised her eyes, but she understood as little what my father wanted to say as her back, but my uncle, Mr. Toby Shandy, who had already heard about it many times, understood my father perfectly.

Chapter IV

I know that there are readers in the world - as well as many others good people who do not read anything at all - who will not calm down until you initiate them from beginning to end into the secrets of everything that concerns you.

It is only in consideration of this whim of theirs, and because I am by nature incapable of deceiving anyone's expectations, that I have delved into such details. And since my life and opinions will probably make some noise in the world and, if my assumptions are correct, will be successful among people of all ranks, professions and senses - will be read no less than the Pilgrim's Progress itself 7 - for now if they do not finally fall into the fate that Montaigne8 feared for his "Experiments", namely, to wallow on the windows of the drawing rooms - then I consider it necessary to give a little attention to each in turn and, therefore, I must apologize for following for some time the path I have chosen. In a word, I am very pleased that I began the story of my life the way I did it, and I can tell about everything in it, as Horace says, ab ovo9.

Horace, I know, does not recommend this method; but this venerable man speaks only of an epic poem or of a tragedy (forgot what exactly); ——and if this, among other things, is not so, I beg Mr. Horace's pardon, — for in the book I have begun, I do not intend to constrain myself with any rules, even Horace's rules.

And to those readers who have no desire to delve into such things, I cannot give best advice how to invite them to skip the rest of this chapter; for I declare in advance that it is written only for inquisitive and inquisitive people.

- - - - - Close the doors. - - - - - I was conceived on the night from the first Sunday to the first Monday of the month of March, the year of the Lord one thousand seven hundred and eighteenth. I have no doubts about this. - And I owe such detailed information about the event that took place before my birth to another little anecdote, known only in our family, but now announced for a better understanding of this point.

I must tell you that my father, who originally traded with Turkey, but a few years ago left business in order to settle in a family estate in the county *** and end his days there, my father, I believe, was one of the most punctual people in light in everything, both in their affairs and in their entertainment. Here is an example of his extreme precision, of which he was truly a slave: for many years now he has made it his rule on the first Sunday evening of every month, from the beginning to the end of the year - with the same rigor with which Sunday evening came - - with his own hand wind up the big clock that we had on the top landing of the back stairs. “And since at the time I started talking about he was in his sixties,” he gradually transferred some other insignificant family affairs to this evening as well; so that, as he often said to Uncle Toby, to get rid of them all at once and that they would not bother him or bother him again until the end of the month.

But there was one unpleasant side to this punctuality, which affected me especially painfully, and the consequences of which, I am afraid, I will feel to the very grave, namely, due to the unfortunate association of ideas that are really not connected with each other, my poor mother could not to hear the winding of the clock in question—without thoughts of some other things immediately entering her head—and vice versa. This strange combination of ideas, according to the shrewd Locke,11 who no doubt understood the nature of such things better than other people, has given rise to more absurd acts than any other cause for misunderstanding.

But this is in passing.

Further, from a note in my notebook, lying on the table in front of me, it appears that "on the day of the Annunciation, which fell on the 25th of the same month by which I mark my conception, my father went to London with my elder brother Bobby, to enroll him in Westminster School12", and since the same source testifies "that he returned to his wife and family only in the second week of May", the event is established with almost complete certainty. However, what was said at the beginning of the next chapter excludes any doubts on this score.

- - - But tell me, please, sir, what did your father do during the whole of December, January and February? - Excuse me, madam - all this time he had an attack of sciatica.

Chapter V

On November 5th, 1718, that is, exactly nine calendar months after the above date, with a precision that would satisfy the reasonable expectations of the most captious husband, I, Tristram Shandy, a gentleman, came into the world in our mangy and ill-fated earth. - I would prefer to be born on the Moon or on one of the planets (only not on Jupiter or Saturn, because I absolutely cannot stand the cold); after all, on none of them (I can’t vouch for Venus, by the way) I certainly could not have been worse than on our dirty, trashy planet - which I honestly consider, not to say worse, made from scraps and scraps of all the other ; - - it is, however, good enough for those who were born on it with a big name or with a big fortune, or who managed to be called to public posts and positions that give honor or power; - but this does not apply to me; - - and since everyone is inclined to judge the fair by its own revenue - then again and again I declare the earth the worst world ever created; - for in all honesty, I can say that from the time I first drew air into my chest, until now, when I can hardly breathe at all, due to asthma caught while skating against the wind in Flanders , - I was constantly the toy of the so-called Fortune; and although I will not unnecessarily blame her, saying that she once made me feel the weight of a great or out of the ordinary grief, nevertheless, showing the greatest condescension, I must testify that at all periods of my life, on all paths and crossroads, where only she could approach me, this merciless mistress sent me a bunch of the most regrettable misfortunes and hardships that only fell to the lot of the little hero.

Chapter VI

At the beginning of the previous chapter, I told you exactly when I was born - but I did not tell you how it happened. No; this particular is reserved entirely for a separate chapter; “Besides, sir, since you and I are in some way complete strangers to each other, it would be inconvenient to give you too many details about me at once. “You will have to be a little patient. I have begun, you see, to describe not only my life, but also my opinions, in the hope and expectation that, having learned from the former my character and understood what kind of person I am, you will feel more taste for the latter. When you stay with me longer, the easy acquaintance that we are now making will turn into a short relationship, and the latter, if one of us does not make some mistake, will end in friendship. - - O diem praeclarum! 13 - then not a single trifle, if it concerns me, will seem empty to you or the story about it boring. Therefore, dear friend and companion, if you find that at the beginning of my story I am somewhat restrained - be indulgent to me - let me continue and lead the story in my own way - and if I happen to frolic on the road from time to time - or sometimes put on for a moment another jester's cap with a bell - do not run away - but kindly imagine in me a little more wisdom than it seems to be - and laugh with me or at me while we slowly trot on; in short, do whatever you want, just don't lose patience.

^ Chapter VII

In the same village where my father and mother lived, there lived a midwife, a lean, honest, caring, hospitable, kind old woman who, with the help of a little bit of simple common sense and many years of extensive practice, in which she always relied not so much on her own efforts as on Lady Nature, - she gained in her work no small fame in the world; - only I must immediately bring to the attention of your grace that the word light here does not mean the whole circle of big light, but only the small circle inscribed in it? a circle about four English miles in diameter, the center of which was our good old woman's house. - - In the forty-seventh year of her life, she was left a widow, without any means, with three or four small children, and since she was at that time a woman of a sedate appearance, decent behavior, - not very talkative and, moreover, aroused compassion: the resignation with which she endured her grief, the louder she called for friendly support, then the wife of the parish priest took pity on her: the latter had long been complaining about the inconvenience that long years her husband's flock had to endure, not having the opportunity to get a midwife, even in the most extreme case, closer than six or seven miles, which is seven miles in dark nights and bad roads - the area around was completely viscous clay - they turned almost at fourteen, which was sometimes tantamount to the complete absence of any midwives in the world; so it occurred to the compassionate lady what a boon it would be for the whole parish, and especially for the poor widow, to teach her a little midwifery so that she could feed on it. And since not a single woman nearby could have carried out this plan better than its drafter, the priest's wife selflessly took up the matter herself and, thanks to her influence on the female part of the parish, brought it to the end without much difficulty. In truth, the priest also took part in this enterprise and, in order to arrange everything as it should be, that is, to give the poor woman legal rights to practice the business in which she was trained by his wife, - - he paid with great willingness the court fees for the patent, which amounted to a total of eighteen shillings and four pence; so that, with the help of both husband and wife, the good woman was indeed and undoubtedly brought into the duties of her office, with all the rights, affiliations, and powers of every kind connected with it.

These last words, I must tell you, did not coincide with the old formula, according to which such patents, privileges and certificates were usually drawn up, which were still issued in such cases to the class of midwives. They followed Didius' elegant formula14 of his own invention; feeling an extraordinary propensity to break and rebuild all sorts of things of this kind, he not only invented this subtle amendment, but also persuaded many long-degreed matrons from the surrounding places to re-submit their patents for inclusion in them of his invention.

To be honest, such whims of Didius never aroused envy in me - - but everyone has his own taste. Was it not the greatest pleasure in the world for Dr. Kunastrokius,15 that great man, to comb the tails of donkeys in his leisure hours and to pull out the gray hairs with his teeth, although he always had tweezers in his pocket? Yes, sir, if it comes to that, didn't the wisest men of all time, not excluding Solomon himself - didn't they each have their own horse: racehorses, - coins and shells, drums and trumpets, violins, palettes , – – cocoons and butterflies? - and as long as a man quietly and peacefully rides on his skate along the high road and does not force either you or me to sit on this skate with him, - - - tell me, sir, what business is it for us or me?

^ Chapter VIII

De gustibus non est disputandum16, - this means that one should not argue about skates; I rarely do it myself, and I could not do it decently, even if I were their sworn enemy; after all, it happens to me sometimes, in other phases of the moon, to be both a violinist and a painter, depending on which fly bites me; let it be known to you that I myself keep a couple of horses, on which in turn (I don’t care who knows about it) I often go out for a walk and get some air; - sometimes even, to my shame, I must confess, I take somewhat longer walks than it should be in the eyes of a sage. But the whole point is that I am not a sage; - - - and, besides, a person so insignificant that it does not matter at all what I do; that is why I rarely worry or rage about this, and my peace is not greatly disturbed when I see such important gentlemen and high persons as the following, such as, for example, my lords A, B, C, D, E, E, F, G, I, K, L, M, H, O, R, and so on, all in a row sitting on their various skates; - some of them, having let go of the stirrups, move with an important measured step, - - - others, on the contrary, bending their legs to the very chin, with a whip in their teeth, rush at full speed, like motley jockeys, imps riding on restless souls, - - - as if they decided to break his neck. So much the better, I tell myself; - after all, if the worst happens, the world will do just fine without them; - and as for the rest, - - - well, - - - God help them, - - let them ride, I won’t interfere with them; for if their lordships are unhorsed tonight, I bet ten to one that before morning many of them will be mounted on even worse horses.

Thus, none of these oddities can disturb my peace. - - - But there is a case that, I confess, confuses me - namely, when I see a person born for great deeds and, which serves even more to his credit, by nature always disposed to do good; - - when I see a man like you, my lord, whose convictions and deeds are as pure and noble as his blood - and without whom, for this reason, the corrupted light cannot do for a moment; - when I see, my lord, such a person riding on his skate for even a minute longer than the time set for him by my love for home country and my concern for his glory, then I, my lord, cease to be a philosopher and in the first impulse of noble anger I send to hell his skate with all skates in the world.

My lord,

I affirm that these lines are a dedication, in spite of all its extraordinaryness in three of the most essential respects: in regard to content, form, and the place allotted to it; I beg you, therefore, to accept him as such, and permit me most reverently to lay him at your lordship's feet—if you stand on them—whatever is in your power, whenever you please—and what happens, my lord, whenever occasion presents itself. and, I might add, always gives the best results.

^ Milord,

Your Excellency most humble,

most devoted

and the lowest servant,

Tristram Shandy.

Chapter IX

I solemnly inform the public that the above dedication was not intended for any prince, prelate, pope or sovereign, duke, marquis, earl, viscount or baron of our or any other Christian country; - - and also has not hitherto been sold on the streets or offered to great or small people either publicly or privately, either directly or indirectly; but it is a truly virgin initiation, which has not yet been touched by a single living soul.

I dwell on this point in such detail, simply to remove any censure or objection to the way in which I intend to get the most benefit out of it, namely, by putting it honestly on sale at a public auction; which is what I am doing now.

Each author defends himself in his own way; - as for me, I hate to bargain and squabble over a few guineas in dark anterooms - and from the very beginning I decided to act directly and openly with the greats of this world, in the hope that in this way I would succeed best.

So if there is a duke, marquis, earl, viscount, or baron in his majesty's dominions, who needs a graceful, graceful dedication, and for whom the above would suit (by the way, if it does not fit in the slightest, I will leave it with me), - - it is at his service for fifty guineas; ——which, I assure you, is twenty guineas cheaper than any man of talent would charge for it.

If you read it carefully again, my lord, you will be convinced that there is no crude flattery in it at all, as in other initiations. His idea, as you see, your excellency, is excellent - the colors are transparent, - the drawing is not bad, - or, to use a more learned language - and evaluate my work according to the 20 point system adopted by painters, - then I think, my lord, what contours I can give 12, - for composition 9, - for colors 6, - for expression 13 and a half, - and for the concept - assuming, my lord, that I understand my intention and that an unconditionally perfect concept is estimated at 20 - in my opinion, it is impossible to put less than 19. In addition to all this, my work is distinguished by the correspondence of parts, and the dark strokes of the skate (which is a secondary figure and serves as a background for the whole) extremely enhance the light colors focused on the face of your excellency, and wonderfully set off; – in addition, the tout ensemble17 bears the stamp of originality.

Kindly, venerable my lord, have the said amount paid to Mr. Dodsley,18 to be delivered to the author, and I will see to it that in the next edition this chapter is struck out, and the titles, honors, arms and good deeds of your lordship are placed at the beginning of the previous one. chapter, which entirely, from the words: de gustibus non est disputandum - together with everything that is said in this book about skates, but no more, should be considered as a dedication to Your Excellency. “I dedicate the rest to the Moon, who, by the way, of all conceivable patrons or matrons, is the most capable of setting my book in motion and driving the whole world crazy about it.

^ Light Goddess,

if you are not too busy with the affairs of Candide and Miss Cunigunde,19 take Tristram Shandy under your protection as well.

Chapter X

Whether it was possible to consider at least a modest merit the help rendered to the midwife, and to whom this merit rightfully belonged, at first glance, it seems of little importance for our story; - - it is true, however, that at that time this honor was wholly attributed to the aforementioned lady, the priest's wife. But, for the life of me, I cannot refuse the idea that the priest himself, even if he was not the first to come up with this whole plan, nevertheless, since he took a hearty part in it as soon as he was initiated into it, and willingly gave money to carry it out - which, I repeat, the priest also had the right to a certain share of praise - if only he did not own a good half of the entire honor of this work.

It pleased the world at that time to decide otherwise.

Put the book aside and I'll give you half a day to find some satisfactory explanation for this behavior of light.

If you please know that five years before the story with the patent of the midwife so thoroughly told to you, the priest we are talking about made himself a byword for the surrounding population, violating all decorum in relation to himself, his position and his rank; - - - he never showed himself on horseback except on a thin, miserable bed, costing no more than one pound fifteen shillings; this horse, to shorten his description, was the spitting image of Rocinante's brother, so far did the family resemblance extend between them; for he definitely fit the description of the horse of the La Mancha knight in every way, with the only difference that, as far as I remember, it is nowhere said that Rosinante suffered from a fuse; besides, Rosinante, by the happy privilege of most Spanish horses, fat and lean, was undoubtedly a horse in every respect.

I know very well that the hero's horse was a chaste horse, and this may have given rise to an opposite opinion; but it is equally certain that Rocinante's abstinence (as may be inferred from the adventure with the Inguas drivers20) did not result from any bodily defect or any other similar cause, but solely from the temperance and calm flow of his blood. “And let me tell you, madam, that there is a lot of chaste behavior in the world, in favor of which you will not say anything more, no matter how hard you try.

But be that as it may, since I have made it my goal to be completely impartial in relation to every creature brought onto the stage of this dramatic work, - I could not keep silent about the indicated difference in favor of Don Quixote's horse; - - - in all other respects, the priest's horse, I repeat, was a perfect likeness of Rocinante - this skinny, this lean, this miserable nag would have been a match for Humility itself.

According to some people of a narrow mind, the priest had every opportunity to dress up his horse; — he owned a very fine cavalry saddle, lined with green plush, and adorned with a double row of silver-headed nails, and a pair of gleaming brass stirrups, and a perfectly fitting saddlecloth of first-rate gray cloth, trimmed with black around the edges, ending in a thick black silk fringe, poudr? d'or21, - all this he acquired in the proud spring of his life, along with a large chased bridle, decorated as it should be. - - But, not wanting to make his horse a laughing stock, he hung all these trinkets outside the door of his study and prudently provided her with such a bridle and such a saddle that exactly corresponded to the appearance and price of his horse.

During his trips in this form to the parish and visiting neighboring landowners, the priest - you will easily understand this - had the opportunity to hear and see quite a few things that did not let his philosophy rust. To tell the truth, he could not appear in any village without attracting the attention of all its inhabitants, young and old. - - Work stopped when he passed - the tub hung in the air in the middle of the well - - the spinning wheel forgot to spin - - - even those who played toss and ball stood with their mouths open until he was out of sight; and since his horse was not fast-moving, he usually had enough time to make observations - to hear the grumbling of serious people - and the laughter of frivolous ones - and he endures all this with imperturbable calmness. “That was his character,” he loved jokes from the bottom of his heart, “and since he seemed ridiculous to himself, he said that he could not be angry with others for seeing him in the same light in which he sees himself with such indisputability, which is why, when his friends, who knew that the love of money was not his weakness, without any hesitation made fun of his eccentricity, he preferred - instead of calling true reason, - - laugh with them at yourself; and since he himself never had an ounce of meat on his bones, and in terms of thinness he could argue with his horse, he sometimes claimed that his horse was just what the rider deserves; - that both of them, like a centaur, are one. And sometimes, in a different mood, inaccessible to the temptations of false wit, the priest said that consumption would soon lead him to the grave, and with great seriousness assured that he was not able to look at a fattened horse without a shudder and a strong heartbeat, and that he chose a skinny nag not only to maintain their own calmness, but also to maintain vigor in themselves.

Each time he gave thousands of new amusing and convincing explanations why a quiet, hot horse was preferable to him over a hot horse: - after all, on such a horse he could sit carelessly and meditate de vanitate mundi et fuga saeculi22 with the same success as if before his eyes he had a skull; - could spend time in any occupation, traveling at a slow pace, with the same benefit as in his office; - - could fill his sermon with an extra argument - or an extra hole in his trousers - as confidently in his saddle as in his chair - while a quick trot and a slow search for logical arguments are movements as incompatible as wit and prudence. - But on his horse - he could connect and reconcile anything - he could indulge in composing a sermon, surrender to peaceful digestion and, if nature required it, he could also succumb to slumber. - In a word, when talking on this topic, the priest referred to any reasons, but not to the true one - he hid the true reason out of delicacy, believing that it did him honor.

The truth was this: in his younger years, about the time when a luxurious saddle and bridle were acquired, the priest was in the habit, or conceited whim, or whatever you want to call it, to fall into the opposite extreme. - In the area where he lived, there was a fame about him that he loved good horses, and he usually had a horse ready for the saddle in his stable, the best of which could not be found in the whole parish. Meanwhile, the nearest midwife, as I told you, lived seven miles from that village, and, moreover, in a roadless place - so not a week passed without our poor priest being disturbed by a tearful request to borrow a horse; and since he was not hard-hearted, and each time the need for help was more acute and the position of the puerperal more difficult, no matter how much he loved his horse, he still never had the strength to refuse a request; as a result, his horse usually returned either with skinned legs, or with bone spar, or with a droop; - either torn, or with a fuse - in a word, sooner or later only skin and bones remained from the animal; - so that every nine or ten months the priest had to get the bad horse off his hands - and replace it with a good one.

What extent the loss could reach with such a balance of communibus annis23, I leave it to a special jury of victims in similar circumstances to determine; - but no matter how great it was, our hero carried it meekly for many years, until, finally, after many repetitions of accidents of this kind, he found it necessary to subject the matter to a thorough discussion; having weighed everything and mentally calculated, he found the loss not only disproportionate to his other expenses, but also, independently of them, extremely heavy, depriving him of any opportunity to do other good deeds in his parish. Moreover, he came to the conclusion that ten times as much good could be done for even half the money thus travelled; - - but even more important than all these considerations taken together was the fact that now all his charity was concentrated in a very narrow area, moreover, in one where, in his opinion, it was least needed, namely: it extended only

Laurence Stern. The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman. Sentimental Journey”: Fiction; Moscow; 1968
Original: Laurence Sterne, “Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman”
Translation: Adrian Antonovich Frankovsky
annotation
Stern's masterpiece is unconditionally recognized as "Tristram Shandy" (Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman). At first glance, the novel appears to be a chaotic hodgepodge of amusing and dramatic scenes, masterfully delineated characters, various satirical attacks and bright, witty statements interspersed with numerous typographical tricks (pointing fingers in the margins, a blackened ("mourning") page, an abundance of meaningful italics). The story is constantly sidetracked, interrupted by amusing and sometimes risky stories, which the author's wide erudition generously delivers. Digressions are the clearest sign of the "Shendian" style, declaring itself free from tradition and order. Criticism (primarily S. Johnson) sharply condemned Stern's arbitrariness as a writer. In fact, the plan of the work was thought out and drawn up much more carefully than it seemed to contemporaries and later Victorian critics. “Writing books, when done skillfully,” said Stern, “is tantamount to a conversation,” and in telling a “story,” he followed the logic of a lively, meaningful “talk” with the reader. He found a suitable psychological justification in the teachings of J. Locke on the association of ideas. In addition to the reasonably comprehended connection of ideas and ideas, Locke noted, there are their irrational connections (such are superstitions). Stern broke up large time periods into fragments, which he then rearranged, in accordance with the mentality of his characters, from this his work is "retreating, but also progressive at the same time."
The hero of the novel, Tristram, is not at all the central character, since until the third volume he is in an embryonic state, then, during early childhood, appears on the pages from time to time, and the final part of the book is devoted to the courtship of his uncle Toby Shandy for the widow Waterman, in general which took place a few years before Tristram's birth. The "opinions" mentioned in the title of the novel are by and large those of Walter Shandy, Tristram's father, and Uncle Toby. Loving brothers, at the same time they do not understand each other, since Walter constantly goes into vague theorizing, trumps with ancient authorities, and Toby, not inclined to philosophy, thinks only of military campaigns.
Contemporary readers united Stern with Rabelais and Cervantes, whom he openly followed, and later it turned out that he was a forerunner of such writers as J. Joyce, Virginia Woolf and W. Faulkner, with their stream of consciousness method.
Volume One
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"???? ?? ???? ??? ????????? ???????

Honorable Mr. Pitt
Sir,
Never has a poor writer placed less hope in his initiation than I do; for it is written in a remote corner of our kingdom, in a secluded house under a thatched roof, where I live in constant effort by cheerfulness to protect myself from the ailments caused by ill health and other evils of life, firmly convinced that every time we smile, and especially when we laugh - our smile and laughter add something to our short life.
I humbly ask you, sir, to do this book the honor of taking it (not under its own protection, it will stand up for itself, but) with you to the village, and if I ever happen to hear that there it made you smile, or if one supposes that she has entertained you in a difficult moment, I will consider myself as happy as a minister, or perhaps even happier than all the ministers (with one exception) that I have ever read or heard of.
I abide, great husband
and (more to your credit)
a kind person,
your benefactor and
most respectful
compatriot
AUTHOR
Chapter I
I would like my father or mother, or even both of them together - for this duty lay equally on both of them - to reflect on what they were doing at the time when they conceived me. If they had properly thought how much depended on what they were doing then - and that it was not only a matter of producing a rational being, but that, in all probability, his happy physique and temperament, perhaps his talents and the very turn of his mind - and even, who knows, the fate of his entire family - are determined by their own nature and well-being - - if they, having properly weighed all this and thought it over, acted accordingly, - then, I am firmly convinced, I I would occupy a very different position in the world than the one in which the reader is likely to see me. Indeed, good people, this is not at all such an unimportant thing as many of you think; all of you, I believe, have heard about the life spirits, how they are transmitted from father to son, etc., etc. - and much more on this subject. So, take my word for it, nine-tenths of the smart things and stupid things that a person does, nine-tenths of his successes and failures in this world depend on the movements and activities of the named spirits, on the various paths and directions in which you send them, so, when they are set in motion - rightly or wrongly, indifferently - they rush forward in confusion, like mad, and, following the same path again and again, quickly turn it into a well-trodden path, even and smooth, like a garden alley. , with which, when they get used to it, the devil himself is sometimes unable to bring them down.
“Listen, dear,” my mother said, “did you forget to wind the clock?” - Oh my God! - exclaimed the father in his hearts, trying at the same time to muffle his voice, - has it ever happened since the creation of the world that a woman interrupted a man with such a stupid question? - What, tell me, did your father mean? - - Nothing.
Chapter II
- - But I positively do not see anything either good or bad in this matter. - - But let me tell you, sir, that he was extremely inappropriate to say the least - because he dispersed and dispersed the life spirits, whose duty it was to accompany the HOMUNCUL, walking hand in hand with him to bring him safely to the place appointed for him. reception.
The homunculus, sir, in whatever pitiful and ridiculous light he may appear in our frivolous age to the eyes of stupidity and prejudice, in the eyes of reason, with a scientific approach to business, is recognized as a being protected by his rights. - - The philosophers of the negligible, who, by the way, have the broadest minds (so that their soul is inversely proportional to their interests), prove to us irrefutably that the homunculus was created by the same hand, - obeys the same laws of nature, - is endowed with the same properties and the ability to move, like us; - - that, like us, it consists of skin, hair, fat, meat, veins, arteries, ligaments, nerves, cartilage, bones, marrow and marrow, glands, genitals, blood, phlegm, bile and joints; - - - is a being as active - and in all respects exactly the same to our neighbors, as the English Lord Chancellor. You can render him services, you can offend him, you can give him satisfaction; in short, it has all the claims and rights that Tullius, Pufendorf and the best moral writers recognize as arising from human dignity and human relations.
And what, sir, if some misfortune befalls him, alone, on the road? - - or if, from the fear of misfortune, natural in such a young traveler, my boy reaches his destination in the most miserable form, - - completely exhausting his muscular and masculine strength, - bringing his own vital spirits into indescribable excitement, - and if in such in a deplorable state of nervous breakdown he will lie for nine long, long months in a row, in the grip of sudden fears or dark dreams and fantasies? It is terrible to think what rich soil all this would serve for a thousand weaknesses, bodily and mental, from which no skill of a doctor or philosopher could then finally cure him.
Chapter III
I am indebted for this anecdote to my uncle, Mr. Toby Shandy, to whom my father, an excellent natural philosopher, very fond of subtle reasoning on the most insignificant subjects, often complained bitterly about the damage done to me; especially once, as Uncle Toby well remembered, when my father noticed the strange clubfoot (his own words) of my manner of spinning the top; having explained the principles according to which I did this, - the old man shook his head and the young man, expressing more grief than reproach, - said that all this had long been felt in his heart and that both the present and a thousand other observations firmly convinced him that that I will never think and behave like other children. - - But, alas! he went on, shaking his head again, and wiping away a tear that rolled down his cheek, “my Tristram's misfortunes began nine months before he was born.
My mother, who was sitting next to me, raised her eyes - but she understood as little what her father wanted to say as her back - but my uncle, Mr. Toby Shandy, who had already heard about it many times, understood my father perfectly.
Chapter IV
I know that there are readers in the world - like many other good people who do not read anything at all - who will not rest until you let them in on the secrets of everything that concerns you from beginning to end.
It is only in consideration of this whim of theirs, and because I am by nature incapable of deceiving anyone's expectations, that I have delved into such details. And since my life and opinions will probably make some noise in the world and, if my assumptions are correct, will be successful among people of all ranks, professions and senses - will be read no less than the Pilgrim's Progress itself - until they in the end, the fate that Montaigne feared for his "Experiments" does not fall, namely, to wallow on the windows of the living rooms - then I consider it necessary to pay a little attention to each in turn and, therefore, I must apologize for following the chosen one for some time. me the way. In a word, I am very pleased that I began the story of my life the way I did it, and I can tell about everything in it, as Horace says, ab ovo.
Horace, I know, does not recommend this method; but this venerable man speaks only of an epic poem or of a tragedy (forgot what exactly); - - and if this, among other things, is not so, I beg Mr. Horace's pardon - for in the book I have begun, I do not intend to constrain myself with any rules, even Horace's rules.
And to those readers who have no desire to delve into such things, I can give no better advice than to suggest that they skip the rest of this chapter; for I declare in advance that it is written only for inquisitive and inquisitive people.
- - - - - Shut the doors. - - - - - I was conceived on the night from the first Sunday to the first Monday of the month of March, the year of the Lord one thousand seven hundred and eighteenth. I have no doubts about this. - And such detailed information about the event that took place before my birth, I owe to another little anecdote, known only in our family, but now announced for a better understanding of this point.
I must tell you that my father, who originally traded with Turkey, but a few years ago left business in order to settle in a family estate in the county *** and end his days there, my father, I believe, was one of the most punctual people in light in everything, both in their affairs and in their entertainment. Here is an example of his extreme precision, of which he was truly a slave: for many years now he has made it his rule on the first Sunday evening of every month, from the beginning to the end of the year - with the same rigor with which Sunday evening came - - with his own hand wind up the big clock that we had on the top landing of the back stairs. - And since at the time of which I started talking, he was in his sixties, - he little by little transferred to this evening also some other insignificant family affairs; so that, as he often said to Uncle Toby, to get rid of them all at once and that they would not bother him or bother him again until the end of the month.
But there was one unpleasant side to this punctuality, which affected me especially painfully, and the consequences of which, I am afraid, I will feel to the very grave, namely, due to the unfortunate association of ideas that are really not connected with each other, my poor mother could not to hear the winding of the clock in question—without the thought of some other things immediately entering her head—and vice versa. This strange combination of ideas, says the shrewd Locke, who undoubtedly understood the nature of such things better than other people, has given rise to more absurd acts than any other cause for misunderstanding.
But this is in passing.
Further, from a note in my notebook, lying on the table in front of me, it appears that “on the day of the Annunciation, which fell on the 25th day of the very month by which I mark my conception, my father went to London with my elder brother Bobby to send him to Westminster School," and since the same source testifies "that he returned to his wife and family only in the second week of May," the event is established with almost complete certainty. However, what was said at the beginning of the next chapter excludes any doubts on this score.
- - - But tell me, please, sir, what did your father do during the whole of December, January and February? - Excuse me, madam, - all this time he had an attack of sciatica.
Chapter V
On the fifth day of November, 1718, that is, exactly nine calendar months after the above date, with a precision that would satisfy the reasonable expectations of the most captious husband, I, Tristram Shandy, a gentleman, was born into our mangy and ill-fated earth. - I would prefer to be born on the Moon or on one of the planets (only not on Jupiter or Saturn, because I absolutely cannot stand the cold); after all, on none of them (I can’t vouch for Venus, by the way) I certainly couldn’t have been worse than on our dirty, trashy planet - which I honestly consider, not to say worse, made from scraps and scraps of all the other ; - - it is, however, good enough for those who were born on it with a great name or with a great fortune, or who managed to be called to public posts and positions that give honor or power; - but this does not apply to me; - - and since everyone is inclined to judge the fair by its own revenue - then again and again I declare the earth the worst world ever created; - after all, in good conscience, I can say that from the time I first drew air into my chest, until now, when I can hardly breathe at all, due to asthma caught while skating against the wind in Flanders , - I was constantly the toy of the so-called Fortune; and although I will not unnecessarily blame her, saying that she once made me feel the weight of a great or out of the ordinary grief, nevertheless, showing the greatest condescension, I must testify that at all periods of my life, at all on the paths and crossroads, wherever she could approach me, this merciless mistress sent me a bunch of the most regrettable misfortunes and hardships that only fell to the lot of the little hero.
Chapter VI
At the beginning of the previous chapter, I told you exactly when I was born - but I did not tell you how it happened. No; this particular is reserved entirely for a separate chapter; “Besides, sir, since you and I are in some way complete strangers to each other, it would be inconvenient to give you too many details about me at once. - You'll have to be a little patient. I have begun, you see, to describe not only my life, but also my opinions, in the hope and expectation that, having learned from the former my character and understood what kind of person I am, you will feel more taste for the latter. When you stay with me longer, the easy acquaintance that we are now making will turn into a short relationship, and the latter, if one of us does not make some mistake, will end in friendship. - - O diem praeclarum! - then not a single trifle, if it concerns me, will seem empty to you or the story about it - boring. Therefore, dear friend and companion, if you find that I am somewhat restrained at the beginning of my story - be indulgent to me - let me continue and tell the story in my own way - - and if I happen to frolic on the road from time to time - or sometimes put on a jester's cap with a bell for a minute or two - don't run away - but kindly imagine a little more wisdom in me than it seems on the surface - and laugh with me or at me while we slowly trot on; in short, do whatever you want, just don't lose patience.
Chapter VII
In the same village where my father and mother lived, there lived a midwife, a lean, honest, caring, domestic, kind old woman who, with the help of a little bit of simple common sense and many years of extensive practice, in which she always relied not so much on her own efforts , how much for Lady Nature, - has acquired considerable fame in the world in her work; - only I must immediately bring to the attention of your grace that the word light here does not mean the whole circle of big light, but only the small one inscribed in it? a circle about four English miles in diameter, the center of which was our good old woman's house. - - In the forty-seventh year of her life, she was left a widow, without any means, with three or four small children, and since she was at that time a woman of a sedate appearance, decent behavior, not very talkative and, moreover, arousing compassion: the resignation with which she endured her grief, the louder she called for friendly support, then the wife of the parish priest took pity on her: the latter had long complained about the inconvenience that her husband’s flock had to endure for many years, who did not have the opportunity to get a midwife, even in the most extreme case, closer than six or seven miles, which is seven miles on dark nights and on bad roads - the area around was all viscous clay - turned almost fourteen, which was sometimes tantamount to the complete absence of any midwives in the world; so it occurred to the compassionate lady what a boon it would be for the whole parish, and especially for the poor widow, to teach her a little midwifery so that she could feed on it. And since not a single woman nearby could have carried out this plan better than its drafter, the priest's wife selflessly took up the matter herself and, thanks to her influence on the female part of the parish, brought it to the end without much difficulty. In truth, the priest also took part in this enterprise and, in order to arrange everything as it should be, that is, to give the poor woman legal rights to practice the business in which she was trained by his wife, - - with great willingness paid the court fees for the patent, which amounted to a total of eighteen shillings and four pence; so that, with the help of both husband and wife, the good woman was indeed and undoubtedly brought into the duties of her office, with all the rights, affiliations, and powers of every kind connected with it.
These last words, I must tell you, did not coincide with the old formula, according to which such patents, privileges and certificates were usually drawn up, hitherto issued in such cases to the class of midwives. They followed Didius' elegant formula of his own invention; feeling an extraordinary propensity to break and rebuild all sorts of things of this kind, he not only invented this subtle amendment, but also persuaded many long-degreed matrons from the surrounding places to re-submit their patents for inclusion in them of his invention.
To be honest, such whims of Didius never aroused envy in me - - but everyone has his own taste. Was it not the greatest pleasure in the world for Dr. Kunastrokius, that great man, to comb the tails of donkeys in his leisure hours and pull out the gray hairs with his teeth, although he always had tweezers in his pocket? Yes, sir, if it comes to that, didn't the wisest men of all time, not excluding Solomon himself, - didn't they each have their own horse: racehorses, - coins and shells, drums and trumpets, violins, palettes , - - cocoons and butterflies? - and as long as a man quietly and peacefully rides on his skate along the high road and does not force either you or me to sit on this skate with him - - - tell me, sir, what business is it for us or me?
Chapter VIII
De gustibus non est disputandum - this means that skates should not be argued; I rarely do it myself, and I could not do it decently, even if I were their sworn enemy; after all, it happens to me sometimes, in other phases of the moon, to be both a violinist and a painter, depending on which fly bites me; let it be known to you that I myself keep a couple of horses, on which in turn (I don’t care who knows about it) I often go out for a walk and get some air; - sometimes even, to my shame, I must confess, I take somewhat longer walks than it should be in the eyes of a sage. But the whole point is that I am not a sage; - - - and, besides, a person so insignificant that it does not matter at all what I do; that is why I rarely worry or rage about this, and my peace is not much disturbed when I see such important gentlemen and high persons as the following, such as, for example, my lords A, B, C, D, E, E, F, G, I, K, L, M, H, O, R, and so on, all in a row sitting on their various skates; - some of them, having let go of the stirrups, move with an important measured step, - - - others, on the contrary, bending their legs to the very chin, with a whip in their teeth, rush at full speed, like motley imp jockeys riding on restless souls, - - - exactly they decided to break their necks. “So much the better,” I say to myself; - after all, if the worst happens, the world will do just fine without them; - and as for the rest, - - - well, - - - God help them, - - let them ride, I won’t interfere with them; for if their lordships are knocked out of the saddle this evening, I bet ten to one that before morning many of them will be mounted on even worse horses.
Thus, none of these oddities can disturb my peace. - - - But there is a case that, I confess, confuses me - namely, when I see a person born for great deeds and, which serves even more to his honor, by nature always disposed to do good; - - when I see a man like you, my lord, whose convictions and deeds are as pure and noble as his blood - and without whom, for this reason, the corrupted light cannot do for a moment; - when I see, my lord, such a person riding on his horse at least a minute longer than the time set for him by my love for his native country and my concern for his glory - then I, my lord, cease to be a philosopher and in the first impulse of noble anger I send to damn his skate with all the skates in the world.
My lord,
I affirm that these lines are a dedication, in spite of all its extraordinaryness in three of the most essential respects: in regard to content, form, and the place allotted to it; I beg you, therefore, to accept him as such, and allow me most reverently to lay him at your lordship's feet - if you stand on them - whatever is in your power, whenever you please - and what happens, my lord, whenever an occasion presents itself for this. and, I might add, always gives the best results.
My lord,
Your Excellency most humble,
most devoted
and the lowest servant,
Tristram Shandy.
Chapter IX
I solemnly inform the public that the above dedication was not intended for any prince, prelate, pope or sovereign, duke, marquis, earl, viscount or baron of our or any other Christian country; - - nor has it hitherto been sold in the streets, or offered to great or small people, either publicly or privately, either directly or indirectly; but it is a truly virgin initiation, which has not yet been touched by a single living soul.
I dwell on this point in such detail, simply to remove any censure or objection to the way in which I intend to get more profit from it, namely, by putting it honestly on sale at a public auction; which is what I am doing now.
Each author defends himself in his own way; - as for me, I hate to bargain and squabble over a few guineas in dark anterooms - and from the very beginning I decided in my mind to act directly and openly with the greats of this world, in the hope that in this way I would succeed best of all.
So, if there is a duke, marquis, earl, viscount or baron in his majesty's dominions, who would need a graceful, elegant dedication and for whom the above would suit (by the way, if it does not fit in the slightest, I will leave it with me), - - it is at his service for fifty guineas; ——which, I assure you, is twenty guineas cheaper than any man of talent would charge for it.
If you read it carefully again, my lord, you will be convinced that there is no crude flattery in it at all, as in other initiations. His idea, as you see, your excellency, is excellent - the colors are transparent, - the drawing is not bad, - or, to use a more learned language - and evaluate my work according to the 20-point system adopted by painters, - then I think, my lord, that for the contours I can give 12, - for the composition 9, - for the colors 6, - for the expression 13 and a half, - and for the concept, - assuming, my lord, that I understand my concept and that an unconditionally perfect concept is estimated at 20, - I think it’s impossible to put less than 19. In addition to all this, my work is distinguished by the correspondence of parts, and the dark strokes of the skate (which is a secondary figure and serves as a background for the whole) extremely enhance the light colors focused on the face of your excellency, and wonderfully it is shaded; - in addition, the tout ensemble bears the stamp of originality.
Kindly, my lord, to arrange that the said amount be paid to Mr. Dodsley to be delivered to the author, and I will see to it that in the next edition this chapter is expunged, and the titles, distinctions, coats of arms and good deeds of your lordship are placed at the beginning of the previous one. chapter, which is entirely, from the words: de gustibus non est disputandum - together with everything that is said in this book about skates, but no more, should be considered as a dedication to your excellency. “I dedicate the rest to the Moon, who, by the way, of all conceivable patrons or matrons, is the most capable of setting my book in motion and driving the whole world crazy about it.
bright goddess,
if you are not too busy with the affairs of Candide and Miss Cunigunde, take Tristram Shandy under your protection also.
Chapter X
Whether it was possible to consider at least a modest merit the help rendered to the midwife, and to whom this merit rightfully belonged, at first glance seems to be of little importance for our story; - - it is true, however, that at that time this honor was wholly attributed to the aforementioned lady, the priest's wife. But, for the life of me, I cannot refuse the idea that the priest himself, even if he was not the first to come up with this whole plan, nonetheless, since he took a heartfelt part in it as soon as he was initiated into it, and willingly gave money to carry it out - which the priest, I repeat, was also entitled to a certain share of praise - if only he did not own a good half of the whole honor of this matter.
It pleased the world at that time to decide otherwise.
Put the book aside and I'll give you half a day to come up with some satisfactory explanation for this behavior of light.
If you please know that five years before the story with the patent of the midwife so thoroughly told to you, the priest we are talking about made himself a byword for the surrounding population, violating all decency in relation to himself, his position and his rank; - - - he never showed himself on horseback except on a thin, miserable bed, costing no more than one pound fifteen shillings; this horse, to shorten his description, was the spitting image of Rocinante's brother - so far did the family resemblance extend between them; for he definitely fit the description of the horse of the La Mancha knight in every way, with the only difference that, as far as I remember, it is not said anywhere that Rosinante suffered from a fuse; besides, Rosinante, by the happy privilege of most Spanish horses, fat and thin, was undoubtedly a horse in every respect.
I know very well that the hero's horse was a chaste horse, and this may have given rise to an opposite opinion; but it is equally certain that Rocinante's abstinence (as may be inferred from the adventure with the Inguas drivers) did not result from any bodily defect or any other similar cause, but solely from the temperance and calm flow of his blood. “And let me tell you, madam, that there is a lot of chaste behavior in the world, in favor of which you will not say anything more, no matter how hard you try.
But be that as it may, since I have set myself the goal of being completely impartial in relation to every creature brought on the stage of this dramatic work, I could not remain silent about the indicated difference in favor of Don Quixote's horse; - - - in all other respects, the priest's horse, I repeat, was a perfect likeness of Rocinante - this thin, this lean, this miserable nag would have come to match Humility itself.
According to some people of a narrow mind, the priest had every opportunity to dress up his horse; - he owned a very fine cavalry saddle, lined with green plush, and adorned with a double row of silver-headed nails, and a pair of gleaming brass stirrups, and a perfectly fitting saddlecloth of first-rate gray cloth with a black border around the edges, ending in a thick black silk fringe, poudr? d "or, - he acquired all this in the proud spring of his life, along with a large chased bridle, decorated as it should be. - - But, not wanting to make his horse a laughingstock, he hung all these trinkets outside the door of his study and wisely provided it instead them with such a bridle and such a saddle that exactly corresponded to the appearance and price of his steed.
During his trips in this form to the parish and visiting neighboring landowners, the priest - you will easily understand this - had the opportunity to hear and see quite a few things that did not let his philosophy rust. To tell the truth, he could not appear in any village without attracting the attention of all its inhabitants, young and old. - - Work stopped when he passed, - the tub hung in the air in the middle of the well, - - the spinning wheel forgot to spin, - - - even those who played toss and ball stood with their mouths open until he was out of sight; and since his horse was not fast-moving, he usually had enough time to make observations - to hear the grumbling of serious people - and the laughter of frivolous ones - and he endures all this with imperturbable calmness. - Such was his character, - he loved jokes from the bottom of his heart, - and since he seemed ridiculous to himself, he said that he could not be angry with others for seeing him in the same light in which he sees himself with such indisputability, which is why when his friends, who knew that the love of money was not his weakness, without any hesitation made fun of his eccentricity, he preferred - instead of naming the true reason - - to laugh with them above oneself; and since he himself never had an ounce of meat on his bones, and in terms of thinness he could argue with his horse, he sometimes claimed that his horse was just what the rider deserves; - that both of them, like a centaur, are one. And sometimes, in a different mood, inaccessible to the temptations of false wit, the priest said that consumption would soon lead him to the grave, and with great seriousness assured that he was not able to look at a fattened horse without a shudder and a strong heartbeat, and that he chose a skinny nag not only to maintain their own calmness, but also to maintain vigor in themselves.
Each time he gave thousands of new amusing and convincing explanations why a quiet, hot nag was preferable for him to a hot horse: - after all, on such a nag he could sit carelessly and meditate de vanitate mundi et fuga saeculi with the same success as if before his eyes he had a skull; - could spend time in any occupation, traveling at a slow pace, with the same benefit as in his office; - - could fill his sermon with an extra argument - or an extra hole in his trousers - as confidently in his saddle as in his chair - while a quick trot and a slow search for logical arguments are movements as incompatible as wit and prudence. - But on his horse - he could connect and reconcile anything - he could indulge in the composition of a sermon, surrender to peaceful digestion and, if nature required it, he could also succumb to slumber. - In a word, when talking on this topic, the priest referred to any reasons, but not to the true one, - he hid the true reason out of delicacy, believing that it does him honor.
The truth was this: in his younger years, about the time when a luxurious saddle and bridle were acquired, the priest was in the habit, or conceited whim, or whatever you want to call it, to fall into the opposite extreme. - In the area where he lived, there was a fame about him that he loved good horses, and he usually had a horse ready for the saddle in his stable, which was better not to be found in the whole parish. Meanwhile, the nearest midwife, as I told you, lived seven miles from that village, and, moreover, in a roadless place - so not a week passed without our poor priest being disturbed by a tearful request to borrow a horse; and since he was not hard-hearted, and each time the need for help was more acute and the position of the puerperal was more difficult, no matter how much he loved his horse, he still never had the strength to refuse a request; as a result, his horse usually returned either with skinned legs, or with bone spar, or with a droop; - either torn, or with a fuse, - in a word, sooner or later only skin and bones remained from the animal; - so that every nine or ten months the priest had to get the bad horse off his hands - and replace it with a good one.
What extent the loss could reach with such a balance of communibus annis, I leave it to a special jury of those who suffered under similar circumstances to determine; - but no matter how great it was, our hero carried it meekly for many years, until, finally, after many repetitions of accidents of this kind, he found it necessary to subject the matter to a thorough discussion; having weighed everything and mentally calculated, he found the loss not only disproportionate to his other expenses, but also, independently of them, extremely heavy, depriving him of any opportunity to do other good deeds in his parish. Moreover, he came to the conclusion that ten times as much good could be done for even half the money thus travelled; - - but even more important than all these considerations taken together was the fact that now all his charity was concentrated in a very narrow area, moreover, in one where, in his opinion, it was least needed, namely: it extended only on the child-producing and child-bearing part of his parishioners, so that nothing was left either for the powerless - or for the elderly - or for the many bleak phenomena, almost hourly observed by him, in which poverty, illness and sorrow were combined.
For these reasons, he decided to stop spending on a horse, but he saw only two ways to get rid of them completely, namely: either make it an immutable law for himself never to give his horse again, regardless of any requests, or to give up and agree to ride on a miserable nag into which his last horse was turned, with all its illnesses and infirmities.
Since he did not rely on his steadfastness in the first case, he chose the second method with a joyful heart, and although he could perfectly well, as was said above, give him a flattering explanation for himself, it was precisely for this reason that he disdained resorting to it, better prepared to endure the contempt of enemies and the laughter of friends than to experience the painful awkwardness of telling a story that might seem like self-praise.
This character trait alone inspires me with the highest idea of ​​the delicacy and nobility of feelings of a venerable clergyman; I believe that she can be put on a par with the most noble spiritual qualities the peerless knight of La Mancha, whom, by the way, I love from the bottom of my heart with all his follies, and to visit him would have made a much more distant journey than to meet the greatest hero of antiquity.
But this is not the moral of my story: in telling it, I had in mind to depict the behavior of light in this whole affair. - For you must know that, while such an explanation would do honor to the priest, - not a single living soul thought of him: - his enemies, I believe, did not want to, but his friends could not. - - - But as soon as he took part in the efforts to help the midwife and pay the fees for the right to practice, the whole secret came out; all the horses that he had lost, and in addition to them two more horses that he had never lost, and also all the circumstances of their death, were now completely known and distinctly remembered. “Word of it spread like Greek fire. - “The priest has an attack of former pride; he is going to ride a good horse again; and if this is so, then it is clear as day that in the first year he will cover tenfold all the costs of paying for the patent; - - everyone can now judge with what intentions he did this good deed.
What were his views in doing this and all the other affairs of his life - or rather, what other people thought about it - this is the thought that stubbornly held on in his own brain and very often disturbed his peace when he needed sound sleep.
About ten years ago, our hero was fortunate enough to get rid of all worries on this score - just the same amount of time has passed since he left his parish - - and with him this world - and appeared to give an account to the judge, on decisions of which he will have no reason to complain.
But some kind of fate weighs on the affairs of some people. No matter how hard you try, they always pass through a certain environment that refracts them so much and distorts their true direction - - - that with all the right to gratitude that straightforwardness deserves, these people are still forced to live and die without receiving it.
Our priest was a sad example of this truth... But in order to find out how this happened - and to draw a lesson for yourself from the knowledge gained, you should definitely read the next two chapters, which contain an outline of his life and judgments, concluding a clear moral. “When this is over, we intend to continue the story of the midwife, if nothing stops us along the way.
Chapter XI
Yorick was the name of a priest, and, most remarkable of all, as appears from a very old charter of his family, written on strong parchment and still perfectly preserved, this name was written in exactly the same way for almost - - I almost said, nine hundred years, - - but I will not undermine my confidence by communicating such an incredible, albeit indisputable truth, - - and therefore I will content myself with the statement - that it was written in exactly the same way, without the slightest change or rearrangement of even one letter, from time immemorial ; and I would not venture to say the same about half the best names of our kingdom, which, over the years, usually underwent as many vicissitudes and changes as their owners.

At the beginning of the story, the narrator warns the reader that in his notes he will not follow any rules for creating a literary work, will not follow the laws of the genre and will not adhere to chronology.

Tristram Shandy was born on November 5, 1718, but his misfortunes, according to his own assertion, began exactly nine months ago, at the time of conception, since my mother, knowing about the unusual punctuality of her father, at the most inopportune moment asked if he had forgotten to wind up the clock. The hero bitterly regrets that he was born "on our mangy and ill-fated earth", and not on the Moon or, say, on Venus. Tristram talks in detail about his family, claiming that all Shandys are eccentric. He devotes many pages to his uncle Toby, an indefatigable warrior, whose oddities began with a wound in the groin he received during the siege of Namur. This gentleman could not recover from his wound for four years. He got a map of Namur and, without getting out of bed, played out all the vicissitudes of the fatal battle for him. His servant Trim, a former corporal, suggested that the owner go to the village, where he owned several acres of land, and build all the fortifications on the ground, in the presence of which his uncle's passion would have received more opportunities.

Shandy describes the story of her birth, referring to her mother's marriage contract, according to which the child must certainly be born in the village, on the Shandyhall estate, and not in London, where experienced doctors could help the woman in labor. This played a big role in Tristram's life and, in particular, was reflected in the shape of his nose. Just in case, the father of the unborn child invites the village doctor Elephant to his wife. While the birth is taking place, three men - Father Shandy William, Uncle Toby and the doctor are sitting downstairs by the fireplace and discussing a variety of topics. Leaving the gentlemen to talk, the narrator again proceeds to describe the eccentricities of the members of his family. His father held extraordinary and eccentric views on dozens of things. For example, he was addicted to some Christian names while completely rejecting others. He especially hated the name Tristram. Concerned about the forthcoming birth of his offspring, the venerable gentleman carefully studied the literature on obstetrics and became convinced that in the usual way of birth, the cerebellum of the child suffers, namely, in it, in his opinion, is located "the main sensorium or the main apartment of the soul." Thus, he sees the best way out in a caesarean section, citing the example of Julius Caesar, Scipio Africanus and other prominent figures. His wife, however, was of a different opinion.

Dr. Slop sent the servant Obadiah for medical instruments, but he, fearing to lose them along the way, tied the bag so tightly that when they were needed and the bag was finally untied, obstetrical forceps were placed on Uncle Toby's hand in the confusion, and his brother rejoiced, that the first experiment was not made on the head of his child.

Distracting from the description of her difficult birth, Shandy returns to Uncle Toby and the fortifications erected together with Corporal Trim in the village. Walking with his girlfriend and showing her these wonderful structures, Trim stumbled and, pulling Brigitte along with him, fell with all his weight onto the drawbridge, which immediately fell to pieces. Uncle spends all day thinking about the construction of a new bridge. And when Trim came into the room and said that Dr. Sleep was busy in the kitchen making a bridge, Uncle Toby imagined that it was a destroyed military facility. What was the grief of William Shandy when it turned out that this was a “bridge” for the nose of a newborn, to whom the doctor flattened it into a cake with his tools. In this regard, Shandy reflects on the size of noses, since the dogma of the advantage of long noses over short ones has taken root in their family for three generations. Shandy's father reads classical authors who mention noses. Here is the story of Slokenbergia translated by him. It tells how a stranger once arrived in Strasbourg on a mule, striking everyone with the size of his nose. The townspeople are arguing about what it's made of and eager to touch it. The stranger reports that he visited the Cape of the Noses and got there one of the most outstanding specimens that have ever been given to a man. When the turmoil that had risen in the city ended and everyone lay down in their beds, Queen Mab took the nose of a stranger and divided it among all the inhabitants of Strasbourg, as a result of which Alsace became the possession of France.

The Shandi family, fearing that the newborn will give his soul to God, hurries to baptize him. The father chooses the name Trismegistus for him. But the maid carrying the child to the priest forgets such a difficult word, and the child is mistakenly named Tristram. The father is in indescribable grief: as you know, this name was especially hateful for him. Together with his brother and a priest, he goes to a certain Didius, an authority in the field of church law, to consult if the situation can be changed. The priests argue among themselves, but in the end they come to the conclusion that this is impossible.

The hero receives a letter about the death of his older brother Bobby. He reflects on how different historical figures experienced the death of their children. When Mark Tullius Cicero lost his daughter, he bitterly mourned her, but, plunging into the world of philosophy, he found that so many beautiful things can be said about death that she gives him joy. Father Shandi was also inclined to philosophy and eloquence and consoled himself with this.

Priest Yorick, a family friend who has served in the area for a long time, visits Father Shandy, who complains that Tristram has difficulty performing religious rites. They discuss the question of the foundations of the relationship between father and son, according to which the father acquires the right and power over him, and the problem of the further education of Tristram. Uncle Toby recommends young Lefebvre as tutor and tells his story. One evening Uncle Toby was sitting at dinner when suddenly the landlord of the village inn came into the room. He asked for a glass or two of wine for a poor gentleman, Lieutenant Lefebvre, who fell ill a few days ago. With Lefebvre was a son of eleven or twelve years old. Uncle Toby decided to visit the gentleman and learned that he served with him in the same regiment. When Lefebvre died, Toby's uncle buried him with military honors and took custody of the boy. He sent him to a public school, and then, when the young Aefevre asked permission to try his luck in the war with the Turks, handed him his father's sword and parted from him as his own son. But the young man began to pursue failures, he lost both his health and his service - everything except the sword, and returned to Uncle Toby. It happened just when Tristram was looking for a mentor.

The narrator returns to Uncle Toby again and tells how his uncle, who had been afraid of women all his life - partly because of his injury - fell in love with the widow Mrs. Waterman.

Tristram Shandy embarks on a journey to the continent, on the way from Dover to Calais he is tormented by seasickness. Describing the sights of Calais, he calls the city "the key of two kingdoms." Further, his path follows through Boulogne and Montreuil. And if nothing in Boulogne attracts the attention of a traveler, then the only attraction of Montreuil is the daughter of the owner of the inn. Finally, Shandy arrives in Paris and reads the inscription on the portico of the Louvre: "There is no such nation in the world, not a single nation has a city equal to this." Thinking about where people go faster - in France or in England, he cannot help but tell an anecdote about how the abbess of Anduate and the young novice Margaret traveled on the waters, having lost a mule driver along the way.

After passing several cities, Shandy ends up in Lyon, where he is going to inspect the mechanism of the tower clock and visit the Great Jesuit Library to get acquainted with the thirty-volume history of China, while admitting that he does not understand anything either in clockwork or in the Chinese language. His attention is also drawn to the tomb of two lovers separated by abusive parents. Amandus is taken prisoner by the Turks and taken to the court of the Moroccan emperor, where the princess falls in love with him and torments him for twenty years in prison for her love for Amanda. Amanda at this time, barefoot and with loose hair, wanders through the mountains, looking for Amandus. But one night, chance brings them at the same time to the gates of Lyon. They throw themselves into each other's arms and fall dead with joy. When Shandy, moved by the history of lovers, gets to the place of their tomb in order to irrigate it with tears, it turns out that such a one no longer exists.

Shandy, wanting to record the last twists and turns of his voyage in travel notes, reaches into the pocket of his camisole after them and discovers that they have been stolen. Loudly appealing to everyone around him, he compares himself to Sancho Panza, who cried out on the occasion of the loss of his donkey's harness. Finally, torn notes are found on the head of the carriage maker's wife in the form of papillots.

Passing through Aangedok, Shandy is convinced of the lively ease of the locals. Dancing peasants invite him to their company. "Having danced through Narbonne, Carcassonne and Castelnaudarn," he takes up his pen to return to Uncle Toby's love affairs. What follows is a detailed description of the methods by which the widow Wodman finally wins his heart. Shandy's father, who was famous for being a connoisseur of women, writes an instructive letter to his brother about the nature of the female sex, and corporal Trim, in the same connection, tells the owner about his brother's affair with the widow of a Jewish sausage maker. The novel ends with a lively conversation about the bull of Obadiah's servant, and to the question of Shandy's mother: "What story are they telling?" Yorick replies, "About the White Bull, and one of the best I've ever heard."

retold

Roman (1760-1767)

At the beginning of the story, the narrator warns the reader that in his notes he will not follow any rules for creating a literary work, will not follow the laws of the genre and will not adhere to chronology.

Tristram Shandy was born on November 5, 1718, but his misfortunes, according to his own assertion, began exactly nine months ago, at the time of conception, since my mother, knowing about the unusual punctuality of her father, at the most inopportune moment asked if he had forgotten to wind up the clock. The hero bitterly regrets that he was born "on our mangy and ill-fated earth", and not on the Moon or, say, on Venus. Tristram talks in detail about his family, claiming that all Shandys are eccentric. He devotes many pages to his uncle Toby, an indefatigable warrior, whose oddities began with a wound in the groin he received during the siege of Namur. This gentleman could not recover from his wound for four years. He got a map of Namur and, without getting out of bed, played out all the vicissitudes of the fatal battle for him. His servant Trim, a former corporal, suggested that the owner go to the village, where he owned several acres of land, and build all the fortifications on the ground, in the presence of which his uncle's passion would have received more opportunities.

Shandy describes the story of her birth, referring to her mother's marriage contract, according to which the child must certainly be born in the village, on the Shandyhall estate, and not in London, where experienced doctors could help the woman in labor. This played a big role in Tristram's life and, in particular, was reflected in the shape of his nose. Just in case, the father of the unborn child invites the village doctor Elephant to his wife. While the birth is taking place, three men - Father Shandy William, Uncle Toby and the doctor are sitting downstairs by the fireplace and discussing a variety of topics. Leaving the gentlemen to talk, the narrator again proceeds to describe the eccentricities of the members of his family. His father held extraordinary and eccentric views on dozens of things. For example, he was addicted to some Christian names while completely rejecting others. He especially hated the name Tristram. Concerned about the forthcoming birth of his offspring, the venerable gentleman carefully studied the literature on obstetrics and became convinced that in the usual way of birth, the cerebellum of the child suffers, namely, in it, in his opinion, is located "the main sensorium or the main apartment of the soul." Thus, he sees the best way out in a caesarean section, citing the example of Julius Caesar, Scipio Africanus and other prominent figures. His wife, however, was of a different opinion.

Dr. Slop sent the servant Obadiah for medical instruments, but he, fearing to lose them along the way, tied the bag so tightly that when they were needed and the bag was finally untied, obstetrical forceps were placed on Uncle Toby's hand in the confusion, and his brother rejoiced, that the first experience was not made on the head of his child.

Distracting from the description of her difficult birth, Shandy returns to Uncle Toby and the fortifications erected together with Corporal Trim in the village. Walking with his girlfriend and showing her these wonderful structures, Trim stumbled and, pulling Brigitte behind him, fell with all his weight onto the drawbridge, which immediately fell to pieces. Uncle spends all day thinking about the construction of a new bridge. And when Trim came into the room and said that Dr. Sleep was busy in the kitchen making a bridge, Uncle Toby imagined that it was a destroyed military facility. What was the grief of William Shandy when it turned out that this was a “bridge” for the nose of a newborn, to whom the doctor flattened it into a cake with his tools. In this regard, Shandy reflects on the size of noses, since the dogma of the advantage of long noses over short ones has taken root in their family for three generations. Shandy's father reads classical authors who mention noses. Here is the story of Slokenbergy translated by him. It tells how a stranger once arrived in Strasbourg on a mule, striking everyone with the size of his nose. The townspeople are arguing about what it's made of and eager to touch it. The stranger reports that he visited the Cape of the Noses and got there one of the most outstanding specimens that have ever been given to a man. When the turmoil that had risen in the city ended and everyone lay down in their beds, Queen Mab took the nose of a stranger and divided it among all the inhabitants of Strasbourg, as a result of which Alsace became the possession of France.

The Shandi family, fearing that the newborn will give his soul to God, hurries to baptize him. The father chooses the name Trismegistus for him. But the maid carrying the child to the priest forgets such a difficult word, and the child is mistakenly named Tristram. The father is in indescribable grief: as you know, this name was especially hateful for him. Together with his brother and a priest, he goes to a certain Didius, an authority in the field of church law, to consult if the situation can be changed. The priests argue among themselves, but in the end they come to the conclusion that this is impossible.

The hero receives a letter about the death of his older brother Bobby. He reflects on how different historical figures experienced the death of their children. When Mark Tullius Cicero lost his daughter, he bitterly mourned her, but, plunging into the world of philosophy, he found that so many beautiful things can be said about death that she gives him joy. Father Shandi was also inclined to philosophy and eloquence and consoled himself with this.

Priest Yorick, a family friend who has served in the area for a long time, visits Father Shandy, who complains that Tristram has difficulty performing religious rites. They discuss the question of the foundations of the relationship between father and son, according to which the father acquires the right and power over him, and the problem of the further education of Tristram. Uncle Toby recommends young Lefebvre as tutor and tells his story. One evening Uncle Toby was sitting at supper when suddenly the landlord of the country inn came into the room.

He asked for a glass or two of wine for a poor gentleman, Lieutenant Lefebvre, who fell ill a few days ago. With Lefebvre was a son of eleven or twelve years old. Uncle Toby decided to visit the gentleman and learned that he served with him in the same regiment. When Lefebvre died, Toby's uncle buried him with military honors and took custody of the boy. He sent him to a public school, and then, when the young Aefevre asked permission to try his luck in the war with the Turks, handed him his father's sword and parted from him as his own son. But the young man began to pursue failures, he lost both his health and his service - everything except the sword, and returned to Uncle Toby. It happened just when Tristram was looking for a mentor.

The narrator returns to Uncle Toby again and tells how his uncle, who had been afraid of women all his life - partly because of his injury - fell in love with the widow Mrs. Waterman.

Tristram Shandy embarks on a journey to the continent, on the way from Dover to Calais he is tormented by seasickness. Describing the sights of Calais, he calls the city "the key of two kingdoms." Further, his path follows through Boulogne and Montreuil. And if nothing in Boulogne attracts the attention of a traveler, then the only attraction of Montreuil is the daughter of the owner of the inn. Finally, Shandy arrives in Paris and reads the inscription on the portico of the Louvre: "There is no such nation in the world, not a single nation has a city equal to this." Thinking about where people go faster - in France or in England, he cannot help but tell an anecdote about how the abbess of Anduate and the young novice Margaret traveled on the waters, having lost a mule driver along the way.

After passing several cities, Shandy ends up in Lyon, where he is going to inspect the mechanism of the tower clock and visit the Great Jesuit Library to get acquainted with the thirty-volume history of China, while admitting that he does not understand anything either in clockwork or in the Chinese language. His attention is also drawn to the tomb of two lovers separated by abusive parents. Amandus is taken prisoner by the Turks and taken to the court of the Moroccan emperor, where the princess falls in love with him and torments him for twenty years in prison for her love for Amanda. Amanda at this time, barefoot and with loose hair, wanders through the mountains, looking for Amandus. But one night, chance brings them at the same time to the gates of Lyon. They throw themselves into each other's arms and fall dead with joy. When Shandi, moved by the history of lovers, gets to the place of their tomb in order to water it with tears, it turns out that such a one no longer exists.

Shandy, wanting to record the last twists and turns of his voyage in travel notes, reaches into the pocket of his camisole after them and discovers that they have been stolen. Loudly appealing to everyone around him, he compares himself to Sancho Panza, who cried out on the occasion of the loss of his donkey's harness. Finally, torn notes are found on the head of the carriage maker's wife in the form of papillots.

Passing through Aangedok, Shandi is convinced of the lively ease of the locals. Dancing peasants invite him to their company. "Having danced through Narbonne, Carcassonne and Castelnaudarn," he takes up his pen to return to Uncle Toby's love affairs. What follows is a detailed description of the methods by which the widow Wodman wins his heart at last. Shandy's father, who was famous for being a connoisseur of women, writes an instructive letter to his brother about the nature of the female sex, and corporal Trim, in the same connection, tells the owner about his brother's affair with the widow of a Jewish sausage maker. The novel ends with a lively conversation about the bull of Obadiah's servant, and to the question of Shandy's mother: "What story are they telling?" Yorick replies, "ABOUT THE WHITE BUCK, and one of the best I've ever heard."