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Updated: June 12, 2025
Seven years afterward Caxton describes himself as leading a life of ease, when, "having no great charge or occupation," he set about finishing the translation of Raoul le Fevre's "Recueil des Histoires de Troye," which he had commenced two years before, in 1469. The original was the first book he printed, and this translation the third.
However, if the passage around was not blocked with snow, they ought to attain the junction in ample time. With twice as far to travel, their ponies were strong and fit, and should win out against Le Fevre's starved beasts. He waved his gloved hand. "We 'll try it," he said shortly; "come on, Hughes."
"Well, no, not exactly. Las' winter the Cheyennes was settled 'bout opposite the mouth o' Buffalo Creek, an' thar 're down thar somewhar now. Thar 's one thing sure they ain't any east o' thet. As we ain't hit no trail, I reckon as how Le Fevre's outfit must hev drifted further then I calc'lated." "I thought so at the time," commented the other quietly.
Sterne prided himself vastly upon the incident of Le Fevre's death; but I dare say that there is many a modern reader who would rather have lost this highly-wrought piece of domestic drama, than that other exquisite little scene in the kitchen of the inn, when Corporal Trim toasts the bread which the sick lieutenant's son is preparing for his father's posset, while "Mr.
Le Fevre's tongue; but I guess it would have come out some time or the other. I just tell you what I'll do, Ellen. I'll take the child down to New Orleans, and make out to Georgiette that I am going to sell her, but instead of that, I'll get a friend of mine who is going to Pennsylvania to take her with him, and have her boarded there, and educated.
But, regarded as a substantive appeal to one's emotions, it is open to the criticisms which apply to most other of Sterne's too deliberate attempts at the pathetic. The details of the picture are too much insisted on, and there is too much of self-consciousness in the artist. Even at the very close of the story of Le Fevre's death finely told though, as a whole, it is there is a jarring note.
I do not mean that I am indifferent to the stain on my name, or any less desirous of wringing the truth from Gene Le Fevre's lips, but even the memory of that past can keep me silent no longer. You are alone in the world now, alone and in the shadow of disgrace you need me."
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