The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy, gentleman
with the greatest patience, replied my uncle _Toby_——I never heard her
utter one fretful word about it.——She fumed inwardly, cried my father;
and that, let me tell you, brother, was ten times worse for the
child—and then! what battles did she fight with me, and what perpetual
storms about the midwife.——There she gave vent, said my uncle
_Toby_.——Vent! cried my father, looking up.
But what was all this, my dear _Toby_, to the injuries done us by my
child’s coming head foremost into the world, when all I wished, in this
general wreck of his frame, was to have saved this little casket
unbroke, unrifled.——
With all my precautions, how was my system turned topside-turvy in the
womb with my child! his head exposed to the hand of violence, and a
pressure of 470 pounds avoirdupois weight acting so perpendicularly
upon its apex—that at this hour ’tis ninety _per Cent._ insurance, that
the fine net-work of the intellectual web be not rent and torn to a
thousand tatters.
——Still we could have done.——Fool, coxcomb, puppy——give him but a
NOSE——Cripple, Dwarf, Driveller, Goosecap——shape him as you will) the
door of fortune stands open—_O Licetus! Licetus!_ had I been blest with
a fœtus five inches long and a half, like thee—Fate might have done her
worst.
Still, brother _Toby_, there was one cast of the dye left for our child
after all—_O Tristram! Tristram! Tristram!_
We will send for Mr. _Yorick_, said my uncle _Toby_.
——You may send for whom you will, replied my father.
C H A P. LV
WHAT a rate have I gone on at, curvetting and striking it away, two up
and two down for three volumes[15] together, without looking once
behind, or even on one side of me, to see whom I trod upon!—I’ll tread
upon no one——quoth I to myself when I mounted——I’ll take a good
rattling gallop; but I’ll not hurt the poorest jack-ass upon the
road.——So off I set——up one lane——down another, through this
turnpike——over that, as if the arch-jockey of jockeys had got behind
me.
Now ride at this rate with what good intention and resolution you
may——’tis a million to one you’ll do some one a mischief, if not
yourself——He’s flung—he’s off—he’s lost his hat—he’s down——he’ll break
his neck——see!——if he has not galloped full among the scaffolding of
the undertaking criticks!——he’ll knock his brains out against some of
their posts—he’s bounced out!—look—he’s now riding like a mad-cap full
tilt through a whole crowd of painters, fiddlers, poets, biographers,
physicians, lawyers, logicians, players, school-men, churchmen,
statesmen, soldiers, casuists, connoisseurs, prelates, popes, and
engineers.—Don’t fear, said I—I’ll not hurt the poorest jack-ass upon
the king’s highway.—But your horse throws dirt; see you’ve splash’d a
bishop——I hope in God, ’twas only _Ernulphus_, said I.——But you have
squirted full in the faces of Mess. _Le Moyne, De Romigny_, and _De
Marcilly_, doctors of the _Sorbonne._——That was last year, replied
I.—But you have trod this moment upon a king.——Kings have bad times
on’t, said I, to be trod upon by such people as me.
You have done it, replied my accuser.
I deny it, quoth I, and so have got off, and here am I standing with my
bridle in one hand, and with my cap in the other, to tell my
story.——And what in it? You shall hear in the next chapter.
[15] According to the preceding Editions.
C H A P. LVI
AS _Francis_ the first of _France_ was one winterly night warming
himself over the embers of a wood fire, and talking with his first
minister of sundry things for the good of the state[16]—It would not be
amiss, said the king, stirring up the embers with his cane, if this
good understanding betwixt ourselves and _Switzerland_ was a little
strengthened.—There is no end, Sire, replied the minister, in giving
money to these people—they would swallow up the treasury of
_France._—Poo! poo! answered the king—there are more ways, Mons. _le
Premier_, of bribing states, besides that of giving money—I’ll pay
_Switzerland_ the honour of standing godfather for my next child.——Your
majesty, said the minister, in so doing, would have all the grammarians
in _Europe_ upon your back;——_Switzerland_, as a republic, being a
female, can in no construction be godfather.—She may be godmother,
replied _Francis_ hastily—so announce my intentions by a courier
to-morrow morning.
I am astonished, said _Francis_ the First, (that day fortnight)
speaking to his minister as he entered the closet, that we have had no
answer from _Switzerland._——Sire, I wait upon you this moment, said
Mons. _le Premier_, to lay before you my dispatches upon that
business.—They take it kindly, said the king.—They do, Sire, replied
the minister, and have the highest sense of the honour your majesty has
done them——but the republick, as godmother, claims her right, in this
case, of naming the child.
In all reason, quoth the king—she will christen him _Francis_, or
_Henry_, or _Lewis_, or some name that she knows will be agreeable to
us. Your majesty is deceived, replied the minister——I have this hour
received a dispatch from our resident, with the determination of the
republic on that point also.——And what name has the republick fixed
upon for the Dauphin?——_Shadrach, Mesech, Abed-nego_, replied the
minister.—By Saint _Peter_’s girdle, I will have nothing to do with the
_Swiss_, cried _Francis_ the First, pulling up his breeches and walking
hastily across the floor.
Your majesty, replied the minister calmly, cannot bring yourself off.
We’ll pay them in money——said the king.
Sire, there are not sixty thousand crowns in the treasury, answered the
minister.——I’ll pawn the best jewel in my crown, quoth _Francis_ the
First.
Your honour stands pawn’d already in this matter, answered Monsieur _le
Premier._
Then, Mons. _le Premier_, said the king, by——we’ll go to war with ’em.
[16] Vide Menagiana, Vol. I.
C H A P. LVII
ALBEIT, gentle reader, I have lusted earnestly, and endeavoured
carefully (according to the measure of such a slender skill as God has
vouchsafed me, and as convenient leisure from other occasions of
needful profit and healthful pastime have permitted) that these little
books which I here put into thy hands, might stand instead of many
bigger books—yet have I carried myself towards thee in such fanciful
guise of careless disport, that right sore am I ashamed now to intreat
thy lenity seriously——in beseeching thee to believe it of me, that in
the story of my father and his christian-names—I have no thoughts of
treading upon _Francis_ the First——nor in the affair of the nose—upon
_Francis_ the Ninth—nor in the character of my uncle _Toby_——of
characterizing the militiating spirits of my country—the wound upon his
groin, is a wound to every comparison of that kind—nor by _Trim_—that I
meant the duke of _Ormond_—or that my book is wrote against
predestination, or free-will, or taxes—If ’tis wrote against any
thing,——’tis wrote, an’ please your worships, against the spleen! in
order, by a more frequent and a more convulsive elevation and
depression of the diaphragm, and the succussations of the intercostal
and abdominal muscles in laughter, to drive the _gall_ and other
_bitter juices_ from the gall-bladder, liver, and sweet-bread of his
majesty’s subjects, with all the inimicitious passions which belong to
them, down into their duodenums.
C H A P. LVIII
—BUT can the thing be undone, _Yorick?_ said my father—for in my
opinion, continued he, it cannot. I am a vile canonist, replied
_Yorick_—but of all evils, holding suspence to be the most tormenting,
we shall at least know the worst of this matter. I hate these great
dinners——said my father—The size of the dinner is not the point,
answered _Yorick_——we want, Mr. _Shandy_, to dive into the bottom of
this doubt, whether the name can be changed or not—and as the beards of
so many commissaries, officials, advocates, proctors, registers, and of
the most eminent of our school-divines, and others, are all to meet in
the middle of one table, and _Didius_ has so pressingly invited you—who
in your distress would miss such an occasion? All that is requisite,
continued _Yorick_, is to apprize _Didius_, and let him manage a
conversation after dinner so as to introduce the subject.—Then my
brother _Toby_, cried my father, clapping his two hands together, shall
go with us.
——Let my old tye-wig, quoth my uncle _Toby_, and my laced regimentals,
be hung to the fire all night, _Trim._
C H A P. LX
—NO doubt, Sir,—there is a whole chapter wanting here—and a chasm of
ten pages made in the book by it—but the book-binder is neither a fool,
or a knave, or a puppy—nor is the book a jot more imperfect (at least
upon that score)——but, on the contrary, the book is more perfect and
complete by wanting the chapter, than having it, as I shall demonstrate
to your reverences in this manner.—I question first, by-the-bye,
whether the same experiment might not be made as successfully upon
sundry other chapters——but there is no end, an’ please your reverences,
in trying experiments upon chapters——we have had enough of it——So
there’s an end of that matter.
But before I begin my demonstration, let me only tell you, that the
chapter which I have torn out, and which otherwise you would all have
been reading just now, instead of this——was the description of my
father’s, my uncle _Toby_’s, _Trim_’s, and _Obadiah_’s setting out and
journeying to the visitation at ****
We’ll go in the coach, said my father—Prithee, have the arms been
altered, _Obadiah_?—It would have made my story much better to have
begun with telling you, that at the time my mother’s arms were added to
the _Shandy_’s, when the coach was re-painted upon my father’s
marriage, it had so fallen out that the coach-painter, whether by
performing all his works with the left hand, like _Turpilius_ the
_Roman_, or _Hans Holbein_ of _Basil_——or whether ’twas more from the
blunder of his head than hand——or whether, lastly, it was from the
sinister turn which every thing relating to our family was apt to
take——it so fell out, however, to our reproach, that instead of the
_bend-dexter_, which since _Harry_ the Eighth’s reign was honestly our
due——a _bend-sinister_, by some of these fatalities, had been drawn
quite across the field of the _Shandy_ arms. ’Tis scarce credible that
the mind of so wise a man as my father was, could be so much incommoded
with so small a matter. The word coach—let it be whose it would—or
coach-man, or coach-horse, or coach-hire, could never be named in the
family, but he constantly complained of carrying this vile mark of
illegitimacy upon the door of his own; he never once was able to step
into the coach, or out of it, without turning round to take a view of
the arms, and making a vow at the same time, that it was the last time
he would ever set his foot in it again, till the _bend-sinister_ was
taken out—but like the affair of the hinge, it was one of the many
things which the _Destinies_ had set down in their books ever to be
grumbled at (and in wiser families than ours)—but never to be mended.
—Has the _bend-sinister_ been brush’d out, I say? said my
father.——There has been nothing brush’d out, Sir, answered _Obadiah_,
but the lining. We’ll go o’horseback, said my father, turning to
_Yorick_—Of all things in the world, except politicks, the clergy know
the least of heraldry, said _Yorick._—No matter for that, cried my
father——I should be sorry to appear with a blot in my escutcheon before
them.—Never mind the _bend-sinister_, said my uncle _Toby_, putting on
his tye-wig.——No, indeed, said my father—you may go with my aunt
_Dinah_ to a visitation with a _bend-sinister_, if you think fit—My
poor uncle _Toby_ blush’d. My father was vexed at himself.——No——my dear