The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy, gentleman

_Susannah_,—and if the doctrine had been true, my uncle _Toby_ had as much of the bloodshed to answer for to heaven, as either of ’em;—so that neither reason or instinct, separate or together, could possibly have guided _Susannah_’s steps to so proper an asylum. It is in vain to leave this to the Reader’s imagination:——to form any kind of hypothesis that will render these propositions feasible, he must cudgel his brains sore,—and to do it without,—he must have such brains as no reader ever had before him.—Why should I put them either to trial or to torture? ’Tis my own affair: I’ll explain it myself. C H A P. XIX ’TIS a pity, _Trim_, said my uncle _Toby_, resting with his hand upon the corporal’s shoulder, as they both stood surveying their works,—that we have not a couple of field-pieces to mount in the gorge of that new redoubt;—’twould secure the lines all along there, and make the attack on that side quite complete:——get me a couple cast, _Trim._ Your honour shall have them, replied _Trim_, before tomorrow morning. It was the joy of _Trim_’s heart, nor was his fertile head ever at a loss for expedients in doing it, to supply my uncle _Toby_ in his campaigns, with whatever his fancy called for; had it been his last crown, he would have sate down and hammered it into a paderero, to have prevented a single wish in his master. The corporal had already,—what with cutting off the ends of my uncle _Toby_’s spouts—hacking and chiseling up the sides of his leaden gutters,—melting down his pewter shaving-bason,—and going at last, like _Lewis_ the Fourteenth, on to the top of the church, for spare ends, &c.——he had that very campaign brought no less than eight new battering cannons, besides three demi-culverins, into the field; my uncle _Toby_’s demand for two more pieces for the redoubt, had set the corporal at work again; and no better resource offering, he had taken the two leaden weights from the nursery window: and as the sash pullies, when the lead was gone, were of no kind of use, he had taken them away also, to make a couple of wheels for one of their carriages. He had dismantled every sash-window in my uncle _Toby_’s house long before, in the very same way,—though not always in the same order; for sometimes the pullies have been wanted, and not the lead,—so then he began with the pullies,—and the pullies being picked out, then the lead became useless,—and so the lead went to pot too. ——A great MORAL might be picked handsomely out of this, but I have not time—’tis enough to say, wherever the demolition began, ’twas equally fatal to the sash window. C H A P. XX THE corporal had not taken his measures so badly in this stroke of artilleryship, but that he might have kept the matter entirely to himself, and left _Susannah_ to have sustained the whole weight of the attack, as she could;—true courage is not content with coming off so.——The corporal, whether as general or comptroller of the train,—’twas no matter,——had done that, without which, as he imagined, the misfortune could never have happened,—_at least in_ Susannah_’s hands;_——How would your honours have behaved?——He determined at once, not to take shelter behind _Susannah_,—but to give it; and with this resolution upon his mind, he marched upright into the parlour, to lay the whole _manœuvre_ before my uncle _Toby._ My uncle _Toby_ had just then been giving _Yorick_ an account of the Battle of _Steenkirk_, and of the strange conduct of count _Solmes_ in ordering the foot to halt, and the horse to march where it could not act; which was directly contrary to the king’s commands, and proved the loss of the day. There are incidents in some families so pat to the purpose of what is going to follow,—they are scarce exceeded by the invention of a dramatic writer;—I mean of ancient days.—— _Trim_, by the help of his fore-finger, laid flat upon the table, and the edge of his hand striking across it at right angles, made a shift to tell his story so, that priests and virgins might have listened to it;—and the story being told,—the dialogue went on as follows. C H A P. XXI ——I would be picquetted to death, cried the corporal, as he concluded _Susannah_’s story, before I would suffer the woman to come to any harm,—’twas my fault, an’ please your honour,—not her’s. Corporal _Trim_, replied my uncle _Toby_, putting on his hat which lay upon the table,——if any thing can be said to be a fault, when the service absolutely requires it should be done,—’tis I certainly who deserve the blame,—you obeyed your orders. Had count _Solmes_, _Trim_, done the same at the battle of _Steenkirk_, said _Yorick_, drolling a little upon the corporal, who had been run over by a dragoon in the retreat,——he had saved thee;——Saved! cried _Trim_, interrupting _Yorick_, and finishing the sentence for him after his own fashion,——he had saved five battalions, an’ please your reverence, every soul of them:——there was _Cutt_ ’s,—continued the corporal, clapping the forefinger of his right hand upon the thumb of his left, and counting round his hand,——there was _Cutt _’s,——_Mackay _’s,——_Angus _’s,——_Graham _’s,——and _Leven _’s, all cut to pieces;——and so had the _English_ life-guards too, had it not been for some regiments upon the right, who marched up boldly to their relief, and received the enemy’s fire in their faces, before any one of their own platoons discharged a musket,——they’ll go to heaven for it,—added _Trim._—_Trim_ is right, said my uncle _Toby_, nodding to _Yorick_,——he’s perfectly right. What signified his marching the horse, continued the corporal, where the ground was so strait, that the _French_ had such a nation of hedges, and copses, and ditches, and fell’d trees laid this way and that to cover them (as they always have).——Count _Solmes_ should have sent us,——we would have fired muzzle to muzzle with them for their lives.——There was nothing to be done for the horse:——he had his foot shot off however for his pains, continued the corporal, the very next campaign at _Landen._—Poor _Trim_ got his wound there, quoth my uncle _Toby._——’Twas owing, an’ please your honour, entirely to count _Solmes_,——had he drubbed them soundly at _Steenkirk_, they would not have fought us at _Landen._——Possibly not,——_Trim_, said my uncle _Toby;_——though if they have the advantage of a wood, or you give them a moment’s time to intrench themselves, they are a nation which will pop and pop for ever at you.——There is no way but to march coolly up to them,——receive their fire, and fall in upon them, pell-mell——Ding dong, added _Trim._——Horse and foot, said my uncle _Toby._——Helter Skelter, said _Trim._——Right and left, cried my uncle _Toby._——Blood an’ ounds, shouted the corporal;——the battle raged,——_Yorick_ drew his chair a little to one side for safety, and after a moment’s pause, my uncle _Toby_ sinking his voice a note,—resumed the discourse as follows. C H A P. XXII KING _William_, said my uncle _Toby_, addressing himself to _Yorick_, was so terribly provoked at count _Solmes_ for disobeying his orders, that he would not suffer him to come into his presence for many months after.——I fear, answered _Yorick_, the squire will be as much provoked at the corporal, as the King at the count.——But ’twould be singularly hard in this case, continued be, if corporal _Trim_, who has behaved so diametrically opposite to count _Solmes_, should have the fate to be rewarded with the same disgrace:——too oft in this world, do things take that train.——I would spring a mine, cried my uncle _Toby_, rising up,——and blow up my fortifications, and my house with them, and we would perish under their ruins, ere I would stand by and see it.——_Trim_ directed a slight,——but a grateful bow towards his master,——and so the chapter ends. C H A P. XXIII ——Then, _Yorick_, replied my uncle _Toby_, you and I will lead the way abreast,——and do you, corporal, follow a few paces behind us.——And _Susannah_, an’ please your honour, said _Trim_, shall be put in the rear.——’Twas an excellent disposition,—and in this order, without either drums beating, or colours flying, they marched slowly from my uncle _Toby_’s house to _Shandy-hall._ ——I wish, said _Trim_, as they entered the door,—instead of the sash weights, I had cut off the church spout, as I once thought to have done.—You have cut off spouts enow, replied _Yorick._ C H A P. XXIV As many pictures as have been given of my father, how like him soever in different airs and attitudes,—not one, or all of them, can ever help the reader to any kind of preconception of how my father would think, speak, or act, upon any untried occasion or occurrence of life.—There was that infinitude of oddities in him, and of chances along with it, by which handle he would take a thing,—it baffled, Sir, all calculations.——The truth was, his road lay so very far on one side, from that wherein most men travelled,—that every object before him presented a face and section of itself to his eye, altogether different from the plan and elevation of it seen by the rest of mankind.—In other words, ’twas a different object, and in course was differently considered: This is the true reason, that my dear _Jenny_ and I, as well as all the world besides us, have such eternal squabbles about nothing.—She looks at her outside,—I, at her in—. How is it possible we should agree about her value? C H A P. XXV ’TIS a point settled,—and I mention it for the comfort of _Confucius_,[24] who is apt to get entangled in telling a plain story—that provided he keeps along the line of his story,—he may go backwards and forwards as he will,—’tis still held to be no digression. This being premised, I take the benefit of the _act of going backwards_ myself. [24] Mr _Shandy_ is supposed to mean * * * * * * * * * * *, Esq; member for * * * * * *,——and not the _Chinese_ Legislator. C H A P. XXVI FIFTY thousand pannier loads of devils—(not of the Archbishop of _Benevento_’s—I mean of _Rabelais_’s devils), with their tails chopped off by their rumps, could not have made so diabolical a scream of it, as I did—when the accident befel me: it summoned up my mother instantly into the nursery,—so that _Susannah_ had but just time to make her escape down the back stairs, as my mother came up the fore. Now, though I was old enough to have told the story myself,—and young enough, I hope, to have done it without malignity; yet _Susannah_, in passing by the kitchen, for fear of accidents, had left it in short-hand with the cook—the cook had told it with a commentary to _Jonathan_, and _Jonathan_ to _Obadiah;_ so that by the time my father had rung the bell half a dozen times, to know what was the matter above,—was _Obadiah_ enabled to give him a particular account of it, just as it had happened.—I thought as much, said my father, tucking up his night-gown;—and so walked up stairs. One would imagine from this——(though for my own part I somewhat question it)—that my father, before that time, had actually wrote that remarkable character in the _Tristra-pædia_, which to me is the most original and entertaining one in the whole book;—and that is the _chapter upon sash-windows_, with a bitter _Philippick_ at the end of it, upon the forgetfulness of chamber-maids.—I have but two reasons for thinking otherwise. First, Had the matter been taken into consideration, before the event happened, my father certainly would have nailed up the sash window for good an’ all;—which, considering with what difficulty he composed books,—he might have done with ten times less trouble, than he could have wrote the chapter: this argument I foresee holds good against his writing a chapter, even after the event; but ’tis obviated under the