The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy, gentleman
prodigal’s candle, to light him, if possible, at both ends at once.
Now, through all the lumber rooms of military furniture, including both
of horse and foot, from the great arsenal of _Venice_ to the _Tower_ of
_London_ (exclusive), if Mrs. _Wadman_ had been rummaging for seven
years together, and with _Bridget_ to help her, she could not have
found any one _blind_ or _mantelet_ so fit for her purpose, as that
which the expediency of my uncle _Toby_’s affairs had fix’d up ready to
her hands.
I believe I have not told you——but I don’t know——possibly I have——be it
as it will, ’tis one of the number of those many things, which a man
had better do over again, than dispute about it—That whatever town or
fortress the corporal was at work upon, during the course of their
campaign, my uncle _Toby_ always took care, on the inside of his
sentry-box, which was towards his left hand, to have a plan of the
place, fasten’d up with two or three pins at the top, but loose at the
bottom, for the conveniency of holding it up to the eye, &c. . . . as
occasions required; so that when an attack was resolved upon, Mrs.
_Wadman_ had nothing more to do, when she had got advanced to the door
of the sentry-box, but to extend her right hand; and edging in her left
foot at the same movement, to take hold of the map or plan, or upright,
or whatever it was, and with out-stretched neck meeting it half way,—to
advance it towards her; on which my uncle _Toby_’s passions were sure
to catch fire——for he would instantly take hold of the other corner of
the map in his left hand, and with the end of his pipe in the other,
begin an explanation.
When the attack was advanced to this point;——the world will naturally
enter into the reasons of Mrs. _Wadman_’s next stroke of
generalship——which was, to take my uncle _Toby_’s tobacco-pipe out of
his hand as soon as she possibly could; which, under one pretence or
other, but generally that of pointing more distinctly at some redoubt
or breastwork in the map, she would effect before my uncle _Toby_ (poor
soul!) had well march’d above half a dozen toises with it.
—It obliged my uncle _Toby_ to make use of his forefinger.
The difference it made in the attack was this; That in going upon it,
as in the first case, with the end of her fore-finger against the end
of my uncle _Toby_’s tobacco-pipe, she might have travelled with it,
along the lines, from _Dan_ to _Beersheba_, had my uncle _Toby_’s lines
reach’d so far, without any effect: For as there was no arterial or
vital heat in the end of the tobacco-pipe, it could excite no
sentiment——it could neither give fire by pulsation——or receive it by
sympathy——’twas nothing but smoke.
Whereas, in following my uncle _Toby_’s forefinger with hers, close
thro’ all the little turns and indentings of his works——pressing
sometimes against the side of it——then treading upon its nail——then
tripping it up——then touching it here——then there, and so on——it set
something at least in motion.
This, tho’ slight skirmishing, and at a distance from the main body,
yet drew on the rest; for here, the map usually falling with the back
of it, close to the side of the sentry-box, my uncle _Toby_, in the
simplicity of his soul, would lay his hand flat upon it, in order to go
on with his explanation; and Mrs. _Wadman_, by a manœuvre as quick as
thought, would as certainly place her’s close beside it; this at once
opened a communication, large enough for any sentiment to pass or
re-pass, which a person skill’d in the elementary and practical part of
love-making, has occasion for——
By bringing up her forefinger parallel (as before) to my uncle
_Toby_’s——it unavoidably brought the thumb into action——and the
forefinger and thumb being once engaged, as naturally brought in the
whole hand. Thine, dear uncle _Toby!_ was never now in ’ts right
place——Mrs. _Wadman_ had it ever to take up, or, with the gentlest
pushings, protrusions, and equivocal compressions, that a hand to be
removed is capable of receiving——to get it press’d a hair breadth of
one side out of her way.
Whilst this was doing, how could she forget to make him sensible, that
it was her leg (and no one’s else) at the bottom of the sentry-box,
which slightly press’d against the calf of his——So that my uncle _Toby_
being thus attack’d and sore push’d on both his wings——was it a wonder,
if now and then, it put his centre into disorder?——
——The duce take it! said my uncle _Toby._
C H A P. XLI
THESE attacks of Mrs. _Wadman_, you will readily conceive to be of
different kinds; varying from each other, like the attacks which
history is full of, and from the same reasons. A general looker-on
would scarce allow them to be attacks at all——or if he did, would
confound them all together——but I write not to them: it will be time
enough to be a little more exact in my descriptions of them, as I come
up to them, which will not be for some chapters; having nothing more to
add in this, but that in a bundle of original papers and drawings which
my father took care to roll up by themselves, there is a plan of
_Bouchain_ in perfect preservation (and shall be kept so, whilst I have
power to preserve any thing), upon the lower corner of which, on the
right hand side, there is still remaining the marks of a snuffy finger
and thumb, which there is all the reason in the world to imagine, were
Mrs. _Wadman_’s; for the opposite side of the margin, which I suppose
to have been my uncle _Toby_’s, is absolutely clean: This seems an
authenticated record of one of these attacks; for there are vestigia of
the two punctures partly grown up, but still visible on the opposite
corner of the map, which are unquestionably the very holes, through
which it has been pricked up in the sentry-box——
By all that is priestly! I value this precious relick, with its
_stigmata_ and pricks, more than all the relicks of the _Romish_
church——always excepting, when I am writing upon these matters, the
pricks which entered the flesh of St. _Radagunda_ in the desert, which
in your road from FESSE to CLUNY, the nuns of that name will shew you
for love.
C H A P. XLII
I THINK, an’ please your honour, quoth _Trim_, the fortifications are
quite destroyed——and the bason is upon a level with the mole——I think
so too; replied my uncle _Toby_ with a sigh half suppress’d——but step
into the parlour, _Trim_, for the stipulation——it lies upon the table.
It has lain there these six weeks, replied the corporal, till this very
morning that the old woman kindled the fire with it—
——Then, said my uncle _Toby_, there is no further occasion for our
services. The more, an’ please your honour, the pity, said the
corporal; in uttering which he cast his spade into the wheel-barrow,
which was beside him, with an air the most expressive of disconsolation
that can be imagined, and was heavily turning about to look for his
pickax, his pioneer’s shovel, his picquets, and other little military
stores, in order to carry them off the field——when a heigh-ho! from the
sentry-box, which being made of thin slit deal, reverberated the sound
more sorrowfully to his ear, forbad him.
——No; said the corporal to himself, I’ll do it before his honour rises
to-morrow morning; so taking his spade out of the wheel-barrow again,
with a little earth in it, as if to level something at the foot of the
glacis——but with a real intent to approach nearer to his master, in
order to divert him——he loosen’d a sod or two——pared their edges with
his spade, and having given them a gentle blow or two with the back of
it, he sat himself down close by my uncle _Toby_’s feet and began as
follows.
C H A P. XLIII
IT was a thousand pities——though I believe, an’ please your honour, I
am going to say but a foolish kind of a thing for a soldier——
A soldier, cried my uncle _Toby_, interrupting the corporal, is no more
exempt from saying a foolish thing, _Trim_, than a man of letters——But
not so often, an’ please your honour, replied the corporal——my uncle
_Toby_ gave a nod.
It was a thousand pities then, said the corporal, casting his eye upon
_Dunkirk_, and the mole, as _Servius Sulpicius_, in returning out of
_Asia_ (when he sailed from _Ægina_ towards _Megara_), did upon
_Corinth_ and _Pyreus_——
—“It was a thousand pities, an’ please your honour, to destroy these
works——and a thousand pities to have let them stood.”——
——Thou art right, _Trim_, in both cases; said my uncle _Toby._——This,
continued the corporal, is the reason, that from the beginning of their
demolition to the end——I have never once whistled, or sung, or laugh’d,
or cry’d, or talk’d of past done deeds, or told your honour one story
good or bad——
——Thou hast many excellencies, _Trim_, said my uncle _Toby_, and I hold
it not the least of them, as thou happenest to be a story-teller, that
of the number thou hast told me, either to amuse me in my painful
hours, or divert me in my grave ones—thou hast seldom told me a bad
one——
——Because, an’ please your honour, except one of a _King of Bohemia and
his seven castles_,—they are all true; for they are about myself——
I do not like the subject the worse, _Trim_, said my uncle _Toby_, on
that score: But prithee what is this story? thou hast excited my
curiosity.
I’ll tell it your honour, quoth the corporal, directly—Provided, said
my uncle _Toby_, looking earnestly towards _Dunkirk_ and the mole
again——provided it is not a merry one; to such, _Trim_, a man should
ever bring one half of the entertainment along with him; and the
disposition I am in at present would wrong both thee, _Trim_, and thy
story——It is not a merry one by any means, replied the corporal—Nor
would I have it altogether a grave one, added my uncle _Toby_——It is
neither the one nor the other, replied the corporal, but will suit your
honour exactly——Then I’ll thank thee for it with all my heart, cried my
uncle _Toby;_ so prithee begin it, _Trim._
The corporal made his reverence; and though it is not so easy a matter
as the world imagines, to pull off a lank _Montero_-cap with grace——or
a whit less difficult, in my conceptions, when a man is sitting squat
upon the ground, to make a bow so teeming with respect as the corporal
was wont; yet by suffering the palm of his right hand, which was
towards his master, to slip backwards upon the grass, a little beyond
his body, in order to allow it the greater sweep——and by an unforced
compression, at the same time, of his cap with the thumb and the two
forefingers of his left, by which the diameter of the cap became
reduced, so that it might be said, rather to be insensibly
squeez’d—than pull’d off with a flatus——the corporal acquitted himself
of both in a better manner than the posture of his affairs promised;
and having hemmed twice, to find in what key his story would best go,
and best suit his master’s humour,—he exchanged a single look of
kindness with him, and set off thus.
THE STORY OF THE
KING OF BOHEMIA AND
HIS SEVEN CASTLES
THERE was a certain king of Bo - - he——
As the corporal was entering the confines of _Bohemia_, my uncle _Toby_
obliged him to halt for a single moment; he had set out bare-headed,
having, since he pull’d off his _Montero_-cap in the latter end of the
last chapter, left it lying beside him on the ground.
——The eye of Goodness espieth all things——so that before the corporal
had well got through the first five words of his story, had my uncle
_Toby_ twice touch’d his _Montero_-cap with the end of his cane,
interrogatively——as much as to say, Why don’t you put it on, _Trim?
Trim_ took it up with the most respectful slowness, and casting a
glance of humiliation as he did it, upon the embroidery of the
fore-part, which being dismally tarnish’d and fray’d moreover in some