The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy, gentleman

of the principal leaves and boldest parts of the pattern, he lay’d it down again between his two feet, in order to moralize upon the subject. ——’Tis every word of it but too true, cried my uncle _Toby_, that thou art about to observe—— “_Nothing in this world, Trim, is made to last for ever._” ——But when tokens, dear _Tom_, of thy love and remembrance wear out, said _Trim_, what shall we say? There is no occasion, _Trim_, quoth my uncle _Toby_, to say any thing else; and was a man to puzzle his brains till Doom’s day, I believe, _Trim_, it would be impossible. The corporal, perceiving my uncle _Toby_ was in the right, and that it would be in vain for the wit of man to think of extracting a purer moral from his cap, without further attempting it, he put it on; and passing his hand across his forehead to rub out a pensive wrinkle, which the text and the doctrine between them had engender’d, he return’d, with the same look and tone of voice, to his story of the king of _Bohemia_ and his seven castles. THE STORY OF THE KING OF BOHEMIA AND HIS SEVEN CASTLES, CONTINUED THERE was a certain king of _Bohemia_, but in whose reign, except his own, I am not able to inform your honour—— I do not desire it of thee, _Trim_, by any means, cried my uncle _Toby._ ——It was a little before the time, an’ please your honour, when giants were beginning to leave off breeding:—but in what year of our Lord that was— I would not give a halfpenny to know, said my uncle _Toby._ ——Only, an’ please your honour, it makes a story look the better in the face—— ——’Tis thy own, _Trim_, so ornament it after thy own fashion; and take any date, continued my uncle _Toby_, looking pleasantly upon him—take any date in the whole world thou chusest, and put it to—thou art heartily welcome—— The corporal bowed; for of every century, and of every year of that century, from the first creation of the world down to _Noah_’s flood; and from _Noah_’s flood to the birth of _Abraham;_ through all the pilgrimages of the patriarchs, to the departure of the _Israelites_ out of _Egypt_——and throughout all the Dynasties, Olympiads, Urbeconditas, and other memorable epochas of the different nations of the world, down to the coming of Christ, and from thence to the very moment in which the corporal was telling his story——had my uncle _Toby_ subjected this vast empire of time and all its abysses at his feet; but as MODESTY scarce touches with a finger what LIBERALITY offers her with both hands open—the corporal contented himself with the very _worst year_ of the whole bunch; which, to prevent your honours of the Majority and Minority from tearing the very flesh off your bones in contestation, ‘ Whether that year is not always the last cast-year of the last cast-almanack’——I tell you plainly it was; but from a different reason than you wot of—— ——It was the year next him——which being the year of our Lord seventeen hundred and twelve, when the Duke of _Ormond_ was playing the devil in _Flanders_——the corporal took it, and set out with it afresh on his expedition to _Bohemia._ THE STORY OF THE KING OF BOHEMIA AND HIS SEVEN CASTLES, CONTINUED IN the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and twelve, there was, an’ please your honour—— —To tell thee truly, _Trim_, quoth my uncle _Toby_, any other date would have pleased me much better, not only on account of the sad stain upon our history that year, in marching off our troops, and refusing to cover the siege of _Quesnoi_, though _Fagel_ was carrying on the works with such incredible vigour—but likewise on the score, _Trim_, of thy own story; because if there are—and which, from what thou hast dropt, I partly suspect to be the fact—if there are giants in it—— There is but one, an’ please your honour—— ——’Tis as bad as twenty, replied my uncle _Toby_——thou should’st have carried him back some seven or eight hundred years out of harm’s way, both of critics and other people: and therefore I would advise thee, if ever thou tellest it again—— ——If I live, an’ please your honour, but once to get through it, I will never tell it again, quoth _Trim_, either to man, woman, or child——Poo—poo! said my uncle _Toby_—but with accents of such sweet encouragement did he utter it, that the corporal went on with his story with more alacrity than ever. THE STORY OF THE KING OF BOHEMIA AND HIS SEVEN CASTLES, CONTINUED THERE was, an’ please your honour, said the corporal, raising his voice and rubbing the palms of his two hands cheerily together as he begun, a certain king of _Bohemia_—— ——Leave out the date entirely, _Trim_, quoth my uncle _Toby_, leaning forwards, and laying his hand gently upon the corporal’s shoulder to temper the interruption—leave it out entirely, _Trim;_ a story passes very well without these niceties, unless one is pretty sure of ’em——Sure of ’em! said the corporal, shaking his head—— Right; answered my uncle _Toby_, it is not easy, _Trim_, for one, bred up as thou and I have been to arms, who seldom looks further forward than to the end of his musket, or backwards beyond his knapsack, to know much about this matter——God bless your honour! said the corporal, won by the manner of my uncle _Toby_’s reasoning, as much as by the reasoning itself, he has something else to do; if not on action, or a march, or upon duty in his garrison—he has his firelock, an’ please your honour, to furbish—his accoutrements to take care of—his regimentals to mend—himself to shave and keep clean, so as to appear always like what he is upon the parade; what business, added the corporal triumphantly, has a soldier, an’ please your honour, to know any thing at all of _geography?_ ——Thou would’st have said _chronology, Trim_, said my uncle _Toby;_ for as for geography, ’tis of absolute use to him; he must be acquainted intimately with every country and its boundaries where his profession carries him; he should know every town and city, and village and hamlet, with the canals, the roads, and hollow ways which lead up to them; there is not a river or a rivulet he passes, _Trim_, but he should be able at first sight to tell thee what is its name—in what mountains it takes its rise—what is its course—how far it is navigable—where fordable—where not; he should know the fertility of every valley, as well as the hind who ploughs it; and be able to describe, or, if it is required, to give thee an exact map of all the plains and defiles, the forts, the acclivities, the woods and morasses, thro’ and by which his army is to march; he should know their produce, their plants, their minerals, their waters, their animals, their seasons, their climates, their heats and cold, their inhabitants, their customs, their language, their policy, and even their religion. Is it else to be conceived, corporal, continued my uncle _Toby_, rising up in his sentry-box, as he began to warm in this part of his discourse—how _Marlborough_ could have marched his army from the banks of the _Maes_ to _Belburg;_ from _Belburg_ to _Kerpenord_—(here the corporal could sit no longer) from _Kerpenord, Trim_, to _Kalsaken;_ from _Kalsaken_ to _Newdorf;_ from _Newdorf_ to _Landenbourg;_ from _Landenbourg_ to _Mildenheim;_ from _Mildenheim_ to _Elchingen;_ from _Elchingen_ to _Gingen;_ from _Gingen_ to _Balmerchoffen;_ from _Balmerchoffen_ to _Skellenburg_, where he broke in upon the enemy’s works; forced his passage over the _Danube;_ cross’d the _Lech_—push’d on his troops into the heart of the empire, marching at the head of them through _Fribourg, Hokenwert_, and _Schonevelt_, to the plains of _Blenheim_ and _Hochstet?_——Great as he was, corporal, he could not have advanced a step, or made one single day’s march without the aids of _Geography._——As for _Chronology_, I own, _Trim_, continued my uncle _Toby_, sitting down again coolly in his sentry-box, that of all others, it seems a science which the soldier might best spare, was it not for the lights which that science must one day give him, in determining the invention of powder; the furious execution of which, renversing every thing like thunder before it, has become a new æra to us of military improvements, changing so totally the nature of attacks and defences both by sea and land, and awakening so much art and skill in doing it, that the world cannot be too exact in ascertaining the precise time of its discovery, or too inquisitive in knowing what great man was the discoverer, and what occasions gave birth to it. I am far from controverting, continued my uncle _Toby_, what historians agree in, that in the year of our Lord 1380, under the reign of _Wencelaus_, son of _Charles_ the Fourth——a certain priest, whose name was _Schwartz_, shew’d the use of powder to the _Venetians_, in their wars against the _Genoese;_ but ’tis certain he was not the first; because if we are to believe Don _Pedro_, the bishop of _Leon_—How came priests and bishops, an’ please your honour, to trouble their heads so much about gun-powder? God knows, said my uncle _Toby_——his providence brings good out of every thing—and he avers, in his chronicle of King _Alphonsus_, who reduced _Toledo_, That in the year 1343, which was full thirty-seven years before that time, the secret of powder was well known, and employed with success, both by Moors and Christians, not only in their sea-combats, at that period, but in many of their most memorable sieges in _Spain_ and _Barbary_—And all the world knows, that Friar _Bacon_ had wrote expressly about it, and had generously given the world a receipt to make it by, above a hundred and fifty years before even _Schwartz_ was born—And that the _Chinese_, added my uncle _Toby_, embarrass us, and all accounts of it, still more, by boasting of the invention some hundreds of years even before him—— They are a pack of liars, I believe, cried _Trim_—— ——They are somehow or other deceived, said my uncle _Toby_, in this matter, as is plain to me from the present miserable state of military architecture amongst them; which consists of nothing more than a fossé with a brick wall without flanks—and for what they gave us as a bastion at each angle of it, ’tis so barbarously constructed, that it looks for all the world—————Like one of my seven castles, an’ please your honour, quoth _Trim._ My uncle _Toby_, tho’ in the utmost distress for a comparison, most courteously refused _Trim_’s offer—till _Trim_ telling him, he had half a dozen more in _Bohemia_, which he knew not how to get off his hands——my uncle _Toby_ was so touch’d with the pleasantry of heart of the corporal——that he discontinued his dissertation upon gun-powder——and begged the corporal forthwith to go on with his story of the King of _Bohemia_ and his seven castles. THE STORY OF THE KING OF BOHEMIA AND HIS SEVEN CASTLES, CONTINUED THIS unfortunate King of _Bohemia_, said _Trim_,——Was he unfortunate, then? cried my uncle _Toby_, for he had been so wrapt up in his dissertation upon gun-powder, and other military affairs, that tho’ he had desired the corporal to go on, yet the many interruptions he had given, dwelt not so strong upon his fancy as to account for the epithet——Was he _unfortunate_, then, _Trim?_ said my uncle _Toby_, pathetically——The corporal, wishing first the word and all its synonimas at the devil, forthwith began to run back in his mind, the principal events in the King of _Bohemia_’s story; from every one of which, it appearing that he was the most fortunate man that ever existed in the world——it put the corporal to a stand: for not caring to retract his epithet——and less to explain it——and least of all, to twist his tale (like men of lore) to serve a system——he looked up in my uncle _Toby_’s face for assistance——but seeing it was the very thing my uncle