The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman (Penguin Classics)
Page 60
Ludovicus Sorbonensis5 makes this entirely an affair of the body (εξωlεζιχnπζaοις) as he calls it——but he is deceived: the soul and body are joint-sharers in every thing they get: A man cannot dress, but his ideas get cloath’d at the same time; and if he dresses like a gentleman, every one of them stands presented to his imagination, genteelized along with him—so that he has nothing to do, but take his pen, and write like himself.
For this cause, when your honours and reverences would know whether I writ clean and fit to be read, you will be able to judge full as well by looking into my Laundress’s bill, as my book: there was one single month in which I can make it appear, that I dirtied one and thirty shirts with clean writing; and after all, was more abus’d, curs’d, criticis’d and confounded, and had more mystic heads shaken at me, for what I had wrote in that one month, than in all the other months of that year put together.
——But their honours and reverences had not seen my bills.
CHAP. XIV.
AS I never had any intention of beginning the Digression, I am making all this preparation for, till I come to the 15th chapter——I have this chapter to put to whatever use I think proper——I have twenty this moment ready for it——I could write my chapter of Button-holes1 in it——
Or my chapter of Pishes, which should follow them——
Or my chapter of Knots, in case their reverences have done with them——they might lead me into mischief: the safest way is to follow the tract of the learned, and raise objections against what I have been writing, tho’ I declare before-hand, I know no more than my heels how to answer them.
And first, it may be said, there is a pelting kind of thersitical satire,2 as black as the very ink ’tis wrote with——(and by the bye, whoever says so, is indebted to the muster-master general of the Grecian army, for suffering the name of so ugly and foul-mouth’d a man as Thersites to continue upon his roll—— for it has furnished him with an epithet)——in these productions he will urge, all the personal washings and scrubbings upon earth do a sinking genius no sort of good——but just the contrary, inasmuch as the dirtier the fellow is, the better generally he succeeds in it.
To this, I have no other answer——at least ready——but that the Archbishop of Benevento wrote his nasty Romance of the Galatea,3 as all the world knows, in a purple coat, waistcoat, and purple pair of breeches; and that the penance set him of writing a commentary upon the book of the Revelations, as severe as it was look’d upon by one part of the world, was far from being deem’d so, by the other, upon the single account of that Investment.
Another objection, to all this remedy, is its want of universality; forasmuch as the shaving part of it, upon which so much stress is laid, by an unalterable law of nature excludes one half of the species entirely from its use: all I can say is, that female writers, whether of England, or of France, must e’en go without it———
As for the Spanish ladies——I am in no sort of distress——
CHAP. XV.
THE fifteenth chapter is come at last; and brings nothing with it but a sad signature of “How our pleasures slip from under us in this world;”1
For in talking of my digression——I declare before heaven I have made it! What a strange creature is mortal man! said she.
’Tis very true, said I——but ’twere better to get all these things out of our heads, and return to my uncle Toby.
CHAP. XVI.
WHEN my uncle Toby and the Corporal had marched down to the bottom of the avenue, they recollected their business lay the other way; so they faced about and marched up streight to Mrs. Wadman’s door.
I warrant your honour; said the Corporal, touching his Montero-cap with his hand, as he passed him in order to give a knock at the door——My uncle Toby, contrary to his invariable way of treating his faithful servant, said nothing good or bad: the truth was, he had not altogether marshal’d his ideas; he wish’d for another conference, and as the Corporal was mounting up the three steps before the door—he hem’d twice—a portion of my uncle Toby’s most modest spirits fled, at each expulsion, towards the Corporal; he stood with the rapper of the door suspended for a full minute in his hand, he scarce knew why. Bridget stood perdue within, with herfinger and her thumb upon the latch, benumb’d with expectation; and Mrs. Wadman, with an eye ready to be deflowered again, sat breathless behind the window-curtain of her bed-chamber, watching their approach.
Trim! said my uncle Toby——but as he articulated the word, the minute expired, and Trim let fall the rapper.
My uncle Toby perceiving that all hopes of a conference were knock’d on the head by it———whistled Lillabullero.
CHAP. XVII.
AS Mrs. Bridget’s finger and thumb were upon the latch, the Corporal did not knock as oft as perchance your honour’s taylor——I might have taken my example something nearer home; for I owe mine, some five and twenty pounds at least, and wonder at the man’s patience——
——But this is nothing at all to the world: only ’tis a cursed thing to be in debt; and there seems to be a fatality in the exchequers of some poor princes, particularly those of our house, which no Economy can bind down in irons: for my own part, I’m persuaded there is not any one prince, prelate, pope, or potentate, great or small upon earth, more desirous in his heart of keeping streight with the world than I am——or who takes more likely means for it. I never give above half a guinea ——or walk with boots——or cheapen tooth-picks——or lay out a shilling upon a band-box the year round; and for the six months I’m in the country, I’m upon so small a scale, that with all the good temper in the world, I out-do Rousseau,1 a bar length2 ———for I keep neither man or boy, or horse, or cow, or dog, or cat, or any thing that can eat or drink, except a thin poor piece of a Vestal (to keep my fire in)3 and who has generally as bad an appetite as myself——but if you think this makes a philosopher of me——Iwould not, my good people! give a rush for your judgments.
True philosophy———but there is no treating the subject whilst my uncle is whistling Lillabullero.
——Let us go into the house.
CHAP. XVIII.
CHAP. XIX.
CHAP. XX.
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* * *.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * *———
——You shall see the very place, Madam; said my uncle Toby.
Mrs. Wadman blush’d——look’d towards the door—— turn’d pale——blush’d slightly again——recovered her natural colour——blush’d worse than ever; which for the sake of the unlearned reader, I translate thus——
“L—d! I cannot look at it——
What would the world say if I look’d at it?
I should drop down, if I look’d at it—
I wish I could look at it——
There can be no sin in looking at it.
——I will look at it.”
Whilst all this was running through Mrs. Wadman’s imagination, my uncle Toby had risen from the sopha, and got to the other side of the parlour-door, to give Trim an order about it in the passage——
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *——I believe it is in the garret, said my uncle Toby——I saw it there, an’ please your honour, this morning, answered Trim——Then prithee, step directly for it, Trim, said my uncle Toby, and bring it into the parlour.
The Corporal did not approve of the orders, but most chearfully obey’d them. The first was not an act of his will—the second was; so he put on his Montero cap, and went as fast as his lame knee would let him. My uncle Toby returned into the parlour, and sat himself down again upon the sopha.
——You shall lay your finger upon the place—said my uncle Toby.——I will not touch it, however, quoth Mrs. Wadman to herself.
This requires a second translation:1—it shews what little knowledge is got by mere words—we must go up to the first springs.
> Now in order to clear up the mist which hangs upon these three pages, I must endeavour to be as clear as possible myself.
Rub your hands thrice across your foreheads—blow your noses—cleanse your emunctories—sneeze, my good people! ——God bless you——
Now give me all the help you can.
CHAP. XXI.
AS there are fifty different ends (counting all ends in——as well civil as religious) for which a woman takes a husband, she first sets about and carefully weighs, then separates and distinguishes in her mind, which of all that number of ends, is hers: then by discourse, enquiry, argumentation and inference, she investigates and finds out whether she has got hold of the right one——and if she has——then, by pulling it gently this way and that way, she further forms a judgment, whether it will not break in the drawing.
The imagery under which Slawkenbergius impresses this upon his reader’s fancy, in the beginning of his third Decad, is so ludicrous, that the honour I bear the sex, will not suffer me to quote it——otherwise ’tis not destitute of humour.
“She first, saith Slawkenbergius, stops the asse, and holding his halter in her left hand (lest he should get away) she thrusts her right hand into the very bottom of his pannier to search for it—For what?—you’ll not know the sooner, quoth Slawkenbergius, for interrupting me”——
“I have nothing, good Lady, but empty bottles;” says the asse.
“I’m loaded with tripes;” says the second.
——And thou art little better, quoth she to the third; for nothing is there in thy panniers but trunk-hose and pantofles— and so to the fourth and fifth, going on one by one through the whole string, till coming to the asse which carries it, she turns the pannier upside down, looks at it—considers it—samples it—measures it—stretches it—wets it—dries it—then takes her teeth both to the warp and weft of it——
——Of what? for the love of Christ!
I am determined, answered Slawkenbergius, that all the powers upon earth shall never wring that secret from my breast.
CHAP. XXII.
WE live in a world beset on all sides with mysteries and riddles1—and so ’tis no matter——else it seems strange, that Nature, who makes every thing so well to answer its destination, and seldom or never errs, unless for pastime, in giving such forms and aptitudes to whatever passes through her hands, that whether she designs for the plough, the caravan, the cart— or whatever other creature she models, be it but an asse’s foal, you are sure to have the thing you wanted; and yet at the same time should so eternally bungle it as she does, in making so simple a thing as a married man.
Whether it is in the choice of the clay——or that it is frequently spoiled in the baking; by an excess of which a husband may turn out too crusty (you know) on one hand——or not enough so, through defect of heat, on the other——or whether this great Artificer is not so attentive to the little Platonic exi-gences2 of that part of the species, for whose use she is fabricating this——or that her Ladyship sometimes scarce knows what sort of a husband will do——I know not: we will discourse about it after supper.
It is enough, that neither the observation itself, or the reasoning upon it, are at all to the purpose——but rather against it; since with regard to my uncle Toby’s fitness for the marriage state, nothing was ever better: she had formed him of the best and kindliest clay——had temper’d it with her own milk, and breathed into it the sweetest spirit——she had made him all gentle, generous and humane——she had fill’d his heart with trust and confidence, and disposed every passage which led to it, for the communication of the tenderest offices——she had moreover considered the other causes for which matrimony was ordained——
And accordingly * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *.
The DONATION was not defeated3 by my uncle Toby’s wound.
Now this last article was some what apocryphal; and the Devil, who is the great disturber of our faiths in this world, had raised scruples in Mrs. Wadman’s brain about it; and like a true devil as he was, had done his own work at the same time, by turning my uncle Toby’s Virtue thereupon into nothing but empty bottles, tripes, trunk-hose, and pantofles.
CHAP. XXIII.
MRS. Bridget had pawn’d all the little stock of honour a poor chambermaid was worth in the world, that she would get to the bottom of the affair in ten days; and it was built upon one of the most concessible postulatums in nature: namely, that whilst my uncle Toby was making love to her mistress, the Corporal could find nothing better to do, than make love to her——“And I’ll let him as much as he will,” said Bridget, “to get it out of him.”
Friendship has two garments; an outer, and an under one. Bridget was serving her mistress’s interests in the one—and doing the thing which most pleased herself in the other; so had as many stakes depending upon my uncle Toby’s wound, as the Devil himself——Mrs. Wadman had but one—and as it possibly might be her last (without discouraging Mrs. Bridget, or discrediting her talents) was determined to play her cards herself.1
She wanted not encouragement: a child might have look’d into his hand——there was such aplainness and simplicity in his playing out what trumps he had——with such an unmistrusting ignorance of the ten-ace2 ——and so naked and defenceless did he sit upon the same sopha with widow Wadman, that a generous heart would have wept to have won the game of him.
Let us drop the metaphor.
CHAP. XXIV.
——AND the story too — if you pleasd: for though I have all along been hastening towards this part of it, with so much earnest desire, as well knowing it to be the choicest morsel of what I had to offer to the world, yet now that I am got to it, any one is welcome to take my pen, and go on with the story for me that will—I see the difficulties of the descriptions I’m going to give—and feel my want of powers.
It is one comfort at least to me, that I lost some fourscore ounces of blood1 this week in a most uncritical2 fever which attacked me at the beginning of this chapter; so that I have still some hopes remaining, it may be more in the serous orglobular3parts of the blood, than in the subtile aura of the brain——be it which it will—an Invocation can do no hurt——and I leave the affair entirely to the invoked, to inspire or to inject me according as he sees good.
THE INVOCATION.
GENTLE Spirit of sweetest humour, who erst didst sit upon the easy pen of my beloved CERVANTES; Thou who glided’st daily through his lattice, and turned’st the twilight of his prison into noon-day brightness by thy presence—— tinged’st his little urn of water with heaven-sent Nectar, and all the time he wrote of Sancho and his master, didst cast thy mystic mantle o’er his wither’d* stump, and wide extended it to all the evils of his life4———
——Turn in hither, I beseech thee!——behold these breeches!——they are all I have in the world——that piteous rent was given them at Lyons———
My shirts! see what a deadly schism has happen’d amongst ’em—for the laps are in Lombardy, and the rest of ’em here— I never had but six, and a cunning gypsey of a laundress at Milan cut me off the fore-laps of five—To do her justice, she did it with some consideration—for I was returning out of Italy.5
And yet, notwithstanding all this, and a pistol tinder-box which was moreover filch’d from me at Sienna, and twice that I pay’d five Pauls for two hard eggs, once at Raddicoffini, and a second time at Capua6—Idonot think a journey through France and Italy, provided a man keeps his temper7 all the way, so bad a thing as some people would make you believe: there must be ups and downs, or how the duce should we get into vallies where Nature spreads so many tables of entertainment.—’Tis nonsense to imagine they will lend you their voitures8 to be shaken to pieces for nothing; and unless you pay twelve sous for greasing your wheels, how should the poor peasant get butter to his bread?—We really expect too much—and for the livre or two above par for your suppers and bed—at the most they are but one shilli
ng and ninepence halfpenny——who would embroil their philosophy for it? for heaven’s and for your own sake, pay it——pay it with both hands open, rather than leave Disappointment sitting drooping upon the eye of your fair Hostess and her Damsels in the gate-way, at your departure ——and besides, my dear Sir, you get a sisterly kiss of each of ’em worth a pound——at least I did——
——For my uncle Toby’s amours running all the way in my head, they had the same effect upon me as if they had been my own——I was in the most perfect state of bounty and good will; and felt the kindliest harmony vibrating within me, with every oscillation of the chaise alike; so that whether the roads were rough or smooth, it made no difference; every thing I saw, or had to do with, touch’d upon some secret spring either of sentiment or rapture.
——They were the sweetest notes I ever heard; and I instantly let down the fore-glass to hear them more distinctly——’Tis Maria;9 said the postilion, observing I was listening———Poor Maria, continued he, (leaning his body on one side to let me see her, for he was in a line betwixt us) is sitting upon a bank playing her vespers upon her pipe, with her little goat beside her.
The young fellow utter’d this with an accent and a look so perfectly in tune to a feeling heart, that I instantly made a vow, I would give him a four and twenty sous piece, when I got to Moulins——
———And who is poor Maria? said I.
The love and pity of all the villages around us; said the postillion——it is but three years ago, that the sun did not shine upon so fair, so quick-witted and amiable a maid; and better fate did Maria deserve, than to have her Banns forbid, by the intrigues of the curate of the parish who published them——