The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy, gentleman

It is now high time, however, that I give you a description of him:—But to go on regularly, I only beg you will give me leave to acquaint you first, how my uncle _Toby_ came by him. C H A P. XXV THE wound in my uncle _Toby_’s groin, which he received at the siege of _Namur_, rendering him unfit for the service, it was thought expedient he should return to _England_, in order, if possible, to be set to rights. He was four years totally confined,—part of it to his bed, and all of it to his room: and in the course of his cure, which was all that time in hand, suffer’d unspeakable miseries,—owing to a succession of exfoliations from the _os pubis_, and the outward edge of that part of the _coxendix_ called the _os illium_,——both which bones were dismally crush’d, as much by the irregularity of the stone, which I told you was broke off the parapet,—as by its size,—(tho’ it was pretty large) which inclined the surgeon all along to think, that the great injury which it had done my uncle _Toby_’s groin, was more owing to the gravity of the stone itself, than to the projectile force of it,—which he would often tell him was a great happiness. My father at that time was just beginning business in _London_, and had taken a house;—and as the truest friendship and cordiality subsisted between the two brothers,—and that my father thought my uncle _Toby_ could no where be so well nursed and taken care of as in his own house,——he assign’d him the very best apartment in it.—And what was a much more sincere mark of his affection still, he would never suffer a friend or an acquaintance to step into the house on any occasion, but he would take him by the hand, and lead him up stairs to see his brother _Toby_, and chat an hour by his bed-side. The history of a soldier’s wound beguiles the pain of it;—my uncle’s visitors at least thought so, and in their daily calls upon him, from the courtesy arising out of that belief, they would frequently turn the discourse to that subject,—and from that subject the discourse would generally roll on to the siege itself. These conversations were infinitely kind; and my uncle _Toby_ received great relief from them, and would have received much more, but that they brought him into some unforeseen perplexities, which, for three months together, retarded his cure greatly; and if he had not hit upon an expedient to extricate himself out of them, I verily believe they would have laid him in his grave. What these perplexities of my uncle _Toby_ were,——’tis impossible for you to guess;—if you could,—I should blush; not as a relation,—not as a man,—nor even as a woman,—but I should blush as an author; inasmuch as I set no small store by myself upon this very account, that my reader has never yet been able to guess at any thing. And in this, Sir, I am of so nice and singular a humour, that if I thought you was able to form the least judgment or probable conjecture to yourself, of what was to come in the next page,—I would tear it out of my book. C H A P. XXVI I HAVE begun a new book, on purpose that I might have room enough to explain the nature of the perplexities in which my uncle _Toby_ was involved, from the many discourses and interrogations about the siege of _Namur_, where he received his wound. I must remind the reader, in case he has read the history of King _William_’s wars,—but if he has not,—I then inform him, that one of the most memorable attacks in that siege, was that which was made by the _English_ and _Dutch_ upon the point of the advanced counterscarp, between the gate of _St. Nicolas_, which inclosed the great sluice or water-stop, where the _English_ were terribly exposed to the shot of the counter-guard and demi-bastion of _St. Roch_: The issue of which hot dispute, in three words, was this; That the _Dutch_ lodged themselves upon the counter-guard,—and that the _English_ made themselves masters of the covered-way before _St. Nicolas_-gate, notwithstanding the gallantry of the _French_ officers, who exposed themselves upon the glacis sword in hand. As this was the principal attack of which my uncle _Toby_ was an eye-witness at _Namur_,——the army of the besiegers being cut off, by the confluence of the _Maes_ and _Sambre_, from seeing much of each other’s operations,——my uncle _Toby_ was generally more eloquent and particular in his account of it; and the many perplexities he was in, arose out of the almost insurmountable difficulties he found in telling his story intelligibly, and giving such clear ideas of the differences and distinctions between the scarp and counterscarp,—the glacis and covered-way,—the half-moon and ravelin,—as to make his company fully comprehend where and what he was about. Writers themselves are too apt to confound these terms; so that you will the less wonder, if in his endeavours to explain them, and in opposition to many misconceptions, that my uncle _Toby_ did oft-times puzzle his visitors, and sometimes himself too. To speak the truth, unless the company my father led up stairs were tolerably clear-headed, or my uncle _Toby_ was in one of his explanatory moods, ’twas a difficult thing, do what he could, to keep the discourse free from obscurity. What rendered the account of this affair the more intricate to my uncle _Toby_, was this,—that in the attack of the counterscarp, before the gate of _St. Nicolas_, extending itself from the bank of the _Maes_, quite up to the great water-stop,—the ground was cut and cross cut with such a multitude of dykes, drains, rivulets, and sluices, on all sides,—and he would get so sadly bewildered, and set fast amongst them, that frequently he could neither get backwards or forwards to save his life; and was oft-times obliged to give up the attack upon that very account only. These perplexing rebuffs gave my uncle _Toby Shandy_ more perturbations than you would imagine; and as my father’s kindness to him was continually dragging up fresh friends and fresh enquirers,——he had but a very uneasy task of it. No doubt my uncle _Toby_ had great command of himself,—and could guard appearances, I believe, as well as most men;—yet any one may imagine, that when he could not retreat out of the ravelin without getting into the half-moon, or get out of the covered-way without falling down the counterscarp, nor cross the dyke without danger of slipping into the ditch, but that he must have fretted and fumed inwardly:—He did so;—and the little and hourly vexations, which may seem trifling and of no account to the man who has not read _Hippocrates_, yet, whoever has read _Hippocrates_, or Dr. _James Mackenzie_, and has considered well the effects which the passions and affections of the mind have upon the digestion—(Why not of a wound as well as of a dinner?)—may easily conceive what sharp paroxysms and exacerbations of his wound my uncle _Toby_ must have undergone upon that score only. —My uncle _Toby_ could not philosophize upon it;—’twas enough he felt it was so,—and having sustained the pain and sorrows of it for three months together, he was resolved some way or other to extricate himself. He was one morning lying upon his back in his bed, the anguish and nature of the wound upon his groin suffering him to lie in no other position, when a thought came into his head, that if he could purchase such a thing, and have it pasted down upon a board, as a large map of the fortification of the town and citadel of _Namur_, with its environs, it might be a means of giving him ease.—I take notice of his desire to have the environs along with the town and citadel, for this reason,—because my uncle _Toby_’s wound was got in one of the traverses, about thirty toises from the returning angle of the trench, opposite to the salient angle of the demi-bastion of _St. Roch_:——so that he was pretty confident he could stick a pin upon the identical spot of ground where he was standing on when the stone struck him. All this succeeded to his wishes, and not only freed him from a world of sad explanations, but, in the end, it proved the happy means, as you will read, of procuring my uncle _Toby_ his HOBBY-HORSE. C H A P. XXVII THERE is nothing so foolish, when you are at the expence of making an entertainment of this kind, as to order things so badly, as to let your criticks and gentry of refined taste run it down: Nor is there any thing so likely to make them do it, as that of leaving them out of the party, or, what is full as offensive, of bestowing your attention upon the rest of your guests in so particular a way, as if there was no such thing as a critick (by occupation) at table. ——I guard against both; for, in the first place, I have left half a dozen places purposely open for them;—and in the next place, I pay them all court.—Gentlemen, I kiss your hands, I protest no company could give me half the pleasure,—by my soul I am glad to see you———I beg only you will make no strangers of yourselves, but sit down without any ceremony, and fall on heartily. I said I had left six places, and I was upon the point of carrying my complaisance so far, as to have left a seventh open for them,—and in this very spot I stand on; but being told by a Critick (tho’ not by occupation,—but by nature) that I had acquitted myself well enough, I shall fill it up directly, hoping, in the mean time, that I shall be able to make a great deal of more room next year. ———How, in the name of wonder! could your uncle _Toby_, who, it seems, was a military man, and whom you have represented as no fool,—be at the same time such a confused, pudding-headed, muddle-headed, fellow, as—Go look. So, Sir Critick, I could have replied; but I scorn it.—’Tis language unurbane,—and only befitting the man who cannot give clear and satisfactory accounts of things, or dive deep enough into the first causes of human ignorance and confusion. It is moreover the reply valiant—and therefore I reject it; for tho’ it might have suited my uncle _Toby_’s character as a soldier excellently well,—and had he not accustomed himself, in such attacks, to whistle the _Lillabullero_, as he wanted no courage, ’tis the very answer he would have given; yet it would by no means have done for me. You see as plain as can be, that I write as a man of erudition;—that even my similies, my allusions, my illustrations, my metaphors, are erudite,—and that I must sustain my character properly, and contrast it properly too,—else what would become of me? Why, Sir, I should be undone;—at this very moment that I am going here to fill up one place against a critick,—I should have made an opening for a couple. ——Therefore I answer thus: Pray, Sir, in all the reading which you have ever read, did you ever read such a book as _Locke_’s Essay upon the Human Understanding?——Don’t answer me rashly—because many, I know, quote the book, who have not read it—and many have read it who understand it not:—If either of these is your case, as I write to instruct, I will tell you in three words what the book is.—It is a history.—A history! of who? what? where? when? Don’t hurry yourself—It is a history-book, Sir, (which may possibly recommend it to the world) of what passes in a man’s own mind; and if you will say so much of the book, and no more, believe me, you will cut no contemptible figure in a metaphysick circle. But this by the way. Now if you will venture to go along with me, and look down into the bottom of this matter, it will be found that the cause of obscurity and confusion, in the mind of a man, is threefold. Dull organs, dear Sir, in the first place. Secondly, slight and transient impressions made by the objects, when the said organs are not dull. And thirdly, a memory like unto a sieve, not able to retain what