Complete Works of Laurence Sterne

by Laurence Sterne

  MEDITATION UPON CONSTITUTION.

  BUT come let us quit this obstruse subjects, and turn our meditations to a subject which we all understand — let us meditate upon the constitution, for every body under stands that, and many a coffee-house politician, who would not have a word to say for himself, upon something, nothing, or the thing, can hold forth upon the constitution for half an hour together, and nobody ever the wiser. Can like a clock-maker take down all the springs and wheels of it, and then put them together as they were before. But here I must ask the constitution’s pardon for having compared it to a clock — clocks are sometimes down, and ’tis well known that our happy constitution was never liable to any such accident, though it resembles a clock in going sometimes a little too fast, and sometimes a little too slow. Here, perhaps, I may be interrupted by some impertinent reader with a quere, how does it go now? — Why, Sir Sneerer, it goes exactly right, and how should it go otherwise, when wound up by the hand of a Pit. But, alas! while I thus indulge my meditations, and compare the constitution to a clock, I tremble with the apprehensions of censure from another quarter — Some red-hot theologian may very probably fulminate an anathema against me, as an adopter of the odious system of materialism. But, reader, take my word for it that I am herein accused unjustly, as perhaps the author of the spirit of laws was before me. I think spirit as necessary to move the universe, as to keep the constitution agoing, and make no doubt that if nothing had existed but matter, it would have stood still from all eternity. Here, perhaps, the same sneerer may retort upon me, and ask me, with an air of triumph, is there spirit in a clock — no certainly — yet we find that motion can subsist in such a material machine. Sir, Sneerer, you seem to have forgot that the clock was made by an intelligent being, and would soon stand still for ever, without the assistance of such an one to wind it up. Your objection will never have any force till the perpetual motion is discovered, and when that is once found out, we may expect to see a constitution incapable of suffering any revolution. Our glorious constitution has suffered some, but ’tis now so well established that no true Englishman can wish that it should ever deviate from its present principles. It has been said indeed of the republic of Venice, that it has been twelve hundred years without a revolution; and the republics of Italy in general, when they boast their stability, boast only the stability of their corruptions. How far superior to them is a constitution like ours, or like that of ancient Rome, which has struggled through various abuses and revolutions, till it has at last acquired perfection. Here, methinks, I am interrupted by some physician, who tells me, with all the gravitiy of his profession, that the body politic resembles the body natural, which is never more in danger of being seized with an acute disorder, than when it enjoys a vigorous state of health — this is the observation of no less a man than the great professor Boerhaave — Oh, lord! doctor, you have frightened me out of my wits with your aphorism — I wish Boerhaave and you at — Lord, have mercy upon us, and preserve us from a state-fever, ’tis worse than a state apoplexy itself — but, upon second thoughts, I apprehend that there is not much danger of a statefever, since the constitution is allowed to be somewhat phlegmatic. But now I talk of phlegm, I have so long meditated upon the constitution, that I can meditate upon it no longer, without the assistance of a pipe of tobacco, and when ’tis lighted, I may, perhaps, resume my meditation; for the aromatic gales of tobacco, inspire the politician as powerfully as coffee itself.

  Blest leaf whose aromatic gales dispense,

  To templar’s modesty, to parson’s sense;

  Come to thy YORICK, come with healing wings,

  And let me taste thee unexcis’d by kings.

  MEDITATION ON TOBACCO.

  I Intended to have continued my meditation upon the constitution, but I had not been long wrapt up in the cloudy tabernacle which my tube of clay diffused around me, when I was insensibly led into a train of meditations upon the virtues of that leaf, which contributes so much to alleviate the cares of mortals; a subject which seems to have a considerable connexion with the former, as the constitution is, upon many accounts, highly indebted to tobacco. Blest leaf, cried I in an extacy, how extensive and powerful is thy influence, thou aidest the meditations of the oriental, and dost conspire with soporiferous opium to fill his mind with rapturous ideas of paradise, were it not for thee the poor unhappy negro, would sink under the weight of his labours. The politician without thee could not adjust the ballance of Europe to his satisfaction; the publican would lose much of his custom; and the bunter his favourite amusement; in fine, were it not for thee the world would have been deprived of many useful and learned treatises; and what is worse than all, would never have seen this meditation.

  Poets seek rural shades and purling streams; but the writer that aims at conveying solid instruction, delights in those modern Lyceums where the fume of tobacco conspires with port, or porter to suggest ideas, and enlarge the soul. Oh! shame eternal to the British fair, tobacco is their aversion; but still thou art not entirely abandoned by the sex; the sage dames of Holland smoke as much as their husbands, and many a Jewess have I seen at Grand Cairo with a pipe in her mouth. Thy importance too is fully acknowledged by mankind, and not without reason, since they every day see we so many enterprises of great pith and moment vanish into smoke. Thy discoveries are likewise numerous, for is it not usual to smoke the justice; to smoke the parson; to smoke the jest; and, in fine, to smoke every thing that has any thing in it to be smoked; insomuch, that the cobler himself has not escaped being smoked. Here the critics may, perhaps, cry out damn’d dull; but let them look to it, for should they pretend to censure my meditations, I’ll make the critics smoke. Tobacco! thou most grateful incense to the gods in the upper gallery, without thee how insipid would be the character of Abel Drugger — how tasteless would be wine, punch, and porter without thee? ’Twas a maxim with the ancients, that sine Baccho, friget Venus, that love is cold without wine; but how much more just is the maxim, that wine is cold without tobacco? Oh, doubly a friend to conversation! thou openest the heart to social converse, and dost, at the same time, afford relief to the man of few words, by furnishing him with an excuse for his taciturnity. Oh! friend to learning and the muses, by thee the Oxford scholar is as much edified as by Ramus or Smiglesuco, and perhaps much more. The great Socrates, and the divine Plato, were but mean philosophers with all their learning, nor should we wonder at it, there was no tobacco smoked in their ages, that would have exalted their conceptions, and raised their souls to the most sublime contemplations. What honour then is due to the glorious memory of Lane, who first introduced the use of the divine leaf into this our country. Make him your modern bards, who, in genius and abilities, so much surpass all who went before you — make him the subject of your choicest lays. He is justly entitled to your gratitude, since tobacco so much contributes to make your inspirer beer go down. Wrapt up in smoke, and in this pleasing theme, I could with pleasure dwell upon it till to-morrow morning, but I must quit my subject, though much against my will, for hark, the bell sounds, my candle is burnt out, and I have not so much as a flint to strike a light, so I must go to bed, and there dream or meditate till to-morrow.

  MEDITATION ON NOSES.

  FROM meditating upon tobacco, which I considered in one of its uses only, I was insensibly led to meditate upon snuff, which, with such propriety, become the noses of the nobility and gentry, but my attention was soon called off from this object to the consideration of something of much greater importance, I mean the nose itself. It was formerly customary to judge of a man’s understanding by his nose,

  Homo emuncti naris,

  says HORACE.

  And in another place,

  Minus aptus acutis naribus horum hominum,

  so that a sharp nose was at that time the sign of wit. The nose has in other ages and nations been artificially made to denote profound wisdom and gravity, by the application of a pair of spectacles to it. The young men of Bologna in Italy thus equalled the doctors
in the gravity of their outside, and ’tis to be supposed, that they took particular care of that part, since it would have been a great misfortune to have had nothing to hang a pair of spectacles upon. Oh, important member! the symbol of wit and understanding, of wisdom and gravity, would thy importance were better known, for oft with dire disgrace the nose falls off, sapped by the unrelenting rage of Syphilis, and thus the human countenance loses its chiefest ornament. Could Talicotius rise once more, he’d have as many customers as ever; but, alas! so extraordinary a genius is but seldom seen. — Here, methinks, some sneering Critic turns up his nose at me, and asks me what all this pompous exordium tends to? Why, pray Mr. Critic, can my language be too sublime in speaking of the nose? when Solomon himself has compared the nose of his mistress to mount Lebanon; and when heaven itself has a nose, if we may believe the divine Shakespear:

  Heaven stops the nose at it.

  OTHELLO.

  Must we not be fully satisfied of the importance of the nose, since sure that part must be the seat of honour. That ’tis the seat of honour none can doubt, as he that has been pulled by it, loses all pretensions to that quality. ’Tis true, indeed, another part of the body (which for obvious reasons I shall not name, though a celebrated wit of the last age, sworn foe to indecency and irreligion, has taken pleasure to dwell upon it) has disputed this distinction with the nose, just as the seat of the soul has been a matter of controversy among philosophers. Descartes placing it in the pineal gland, others in the corpus callosum, others in the medulla oblongata, &c. Non nostrum est tantas componere lites; let others decide whether honour be seated in the nose, or elsewhere, sure I am it must be seated somewhere. But to return from this digression into the high road of my meditation, which is a very easy matter, since I have nothing to do but follow my nose, which will not fail to marshal me the way that I am going. Come on then, lets follow its guidance without being terrified at the old proverb, he that follows his nose may be led into a stink — the nose is the gnomon of the face, and often directs us in as unerring a manner, as the shadow points to the hours upon a sun-dial. Cromwell himself has told us, that a man never mounts so high as when he does not know where he’s going; and surely when a man goes on without knowing where he’s going, he may justly be said to follow his nose. Oh, nose! thou trusty guide of half mankind, some of the greatest heroes have acknowledged thee to be their only conductor. Peter the Great, Charles the Twelfth, and William the Third of glorious and immortal memory, adhered to the system of an absolute fatality, and entirely disbelieved that men were masters of any of their actions. What else was this but to own that they had all their lives followed their nose. Oh! mortals, who too often wander from the way follow your noses, for by giving yourselves up entirely to their guidance, you will, at least, escape the mortification of having others lead you by them. To follow one’s nose, must sure be to take the right way; since to follow one’s nose is to go right on — Here some reader who idolizes variety, and can’t bear to dwell for a few moments upon the same thought, may very probably say this author has so long followed his nose, that I am tired of following him, and so throw down the book — pray, Sir, take it up again, you shall soon have something new — I love variety as well as yourself, and can’t bear to go on a long time in the same beaten track. I shall have my diverticular or digressions for, in meditating, as in riding a journey; I love to stop at an inn for a while in order to refresh. So depend upon it, Mr. Reader, you shall soon have something new; but you must respite your impatience for a moment, for I sometimes grow tired of meditating, as well as of riding. The best of things beyond their measure cloy, as Homer says. So as I have followed my nose to the end of the chapter, I shall here close it, and take breath for a while.

  MEDITATION UPON QUACKS.

  OH! reader, when any accident seems to threaten your nose, have recourse to experienced men, of whom there is no want in this city; and beware of quacks and counterfeits — but how to escape them is the question, when you must take the word of each pretender for his own infallibility, whilst he assures you, that all the rest are ignorant impostors, elixers, electuaries, genuine jesuits drops, &c. are advertised in every paper, and all equally promise cure, without hindrance of business, or knowledge of a bedfellow. From Italy this pest derives its birth; and in France the race of Charlatans abounds, where the quack is at once orator and physician, and retails from a horse or scaffold his medicines to the believing crowd. Peace to all such, in every profession there are quacks. There are quacks in the law, quacks in divinity, and scribbling quacks. The first abound amongst attornies and sollicitors; clients on either side are equally assured of success — amongst the quacks in divinity the pope holds the first place; but happily his assumed infallibility begins now to be very much called in question; and those remedies for the souls diseases, called bulls and indulgences, which he, like other quacks, formerly retailed to the people, have now lost much of their credit. But are there no other quacks in theology but the pope? Oh, thousands! every sect has some — The Jansenist quack amuses the people with a nostrum called grace — The methodist deals in faith — The quaker is filled with the spirit, with which he is inflated, as if full of new wine. The methodist still maintains he laudable practice of ancient quacks — he harangues from a scaffold, erected in the fields, whilst gaping auditors admire, and listen with attention to the spiritual quacks. To him each sick and wonded soul repairs in hopes of cure. A woman here desires his prayers against the common temptation — perhaps some unexperienced girl may be inquisitive to know what the common temptation of woman is — let her wait a year or two, and she will want no information — a man here prays to be cured of the cravings of concupiscence, and many other spiritual maladies unnumbered patients bring to the spiritual quack. Quacks amongst authors too there are, and artifices have been found to conceal the ass, even these catch the eye with a title-page, and invent a thousand different expedients to excite the curiosity of readers. The advertisements in every paper are sufficient proofs of this; of all such beware, they are downright quacks in literature; and repair to my publisher, where may be had for the small price of two shillings,

  The true and infallible antimalancolical ELIXER.

  Being a composition of genuine wit and humour, which effectually dispells all spleen and vapours, exhilarates the spirits, and totally removes all hypochondriac complaints, be the patient ever so far gone — It cures all sorts of fits in women, and all sorts of convulsions in men, by the mild and pleasant remedy of superinducing fits of laughter, which never fail to produce the happiest effects.

  Here one cries out, this declaimer against quacks turns quack himself — another with a sneer asks how fits can be cured by fits? — such are the cavils of the ignorant; but is it not a maxim in physic, that contraries are cured by contraries? He that accuses me of quackery for proposing mirth as an infallible remedy, discovers his own ignorance of human nature, and is scarcely worth an answer. Thoughts that make thick the blood, produce despondence and melancholy, which generate various disorders, to be cured only by laughter, which operates happily when it runs tickling up and down the veins, straining mens eyes with idle merriment — By your leave master Shakespear, I can’t think merriment so idle; and I make no doubt but your Falstaff has done a thousand times more good than your Hamlet. At least, I always return in a pensive humour from the latter; and such is the infection of its gloominess, that I generally find myself disposed to crawl supperless to bed; whereas from the former, I return as chearful as the merry knight himself, with whom, thank God, I have a great conformity of disposition, and so high are my spirits elevated that I can’t help raising them a little higher by good punch, and so go to bed drunk.

  MEDITATION UPON MIDWIVES.

  AQUACK’s as fit for a pimp, as a midwife for a bawd. Oh! prophane witcherly, thus to treat so useful an order as that of midwives, an order as ancient as useful. To them we are more indebted than to our mothers, and almost as much as to our nurses. ’Tis strange, but at the sam
e time true, that those who first give occasion to our coming into this scurvy and disasterous world, should think that they are more entitled to our gratitude, than those that prevent our receiving any injury at coming into it, and those that take care of us during our most helpless state after we are come into it. Well, but are midwives necessary only at our birth — quite the reverse — at least, ’tis so with respect to us authors, for I find my head even now labouring with a thought; and I could wish some judicious critic would lend his kind obstetric hand to help to deliver me of it — if none should, it must even leap out of my head armed, as Pallas did out of that of Jupiter — there is no vanity in the comparison, it will be a rare thought when it comes. You tire our patience, Sir, says some sneerer, pray what is your thought like? — why ’tis like a bull — for I was just thinking of a man-midwife. And surely a man-midwife is as great a monster as a Centaur, and as great a bull as ever came out of the mouth of an Irishman. But to what purpose do you thus bring in your bull by the head and shoulders? you should have taken hold of it by the horns, as Hercules did his. Why, Mr. Critic, if you needs must know, ’tis because I am altogether scandalized, that the matrons of Great-Britain should thus expose, what none but a husband should seest, to the view of anohter man, with as little concern as they would show their faces. What an example does the east set us in this respect? when a Sultana was visited by an European physician, he was not allowed even to see her hand whilst he felt her pulse. She stretch’d it out to him, covered with a veil. Whilst our British ladies scruple not to let the man-midwife touch what he should not even see. Hence does it seem to follow, that, according to Wycherly’s observation, a man-midwife should be perfectly well calculated for a pimp. These gentlemen will, no doubt, plead their being of the faculty, and ask me in a passion, whether I take physicians for p — mps? my answer is, that I no more look upon man-midwives as physicians, than upon attornies as counsellors. What a wretch must he be that can thus forget his manhood in some measure, and condescend to take the name of midwife? The castrati of Italy, and the eunuchs of the east, seem scarcely more degraded. A midwife has lately taken up the pen against this abuse of employing males upon such an occasion, but the abuse still prevails, and is likely to prevail, till modesty returns once more to visit the earth. Alas! she has been so long absent, that we begin almost to dispair of seeing her again. If we may believe Juvenal, she has not been seen since the days of Saturn: