Trim found he was upon a wrong scent, and stopped short with a low bow——Two misfortunes, quoth the corporal to himself, are twice as many at least as are needful to be talked over at one time;——the mischief the cow has done in breaking into the fortifications, may be told his honour hereafter.——_Trim_’s casuistry and address, under the cover of his low bow, prevented all suspicion in my uncle _Toby_, so he went on with what he had to say to _Trim_ as follows:
——For my own part, _Trim_, though I can see little or no difference betwixt my nephew’s being called _Tristram_ or _Trismegistus_—yet as the thing sits so near my brother’s heart, _Trim_——I would freely have given a hundred pounds rather than it should have happened.——A hundred pounds, an’ please your honour! replied _Trim_,—I would not give a cherry-stone to boot.——Nor would I, _Trim_, upon my own account, quoth my uncle _Toby_——but my brother, whom there is no arguing with in this case—maintains that a great deal more depends, _Trim_, upon christian-names, than what ignorant people imagine——for he says there never was a great or heroic action performed since the world began by one called _Tristram_—nay, he will have it, _Trim_, that a man can neither be learned, or wise, or brave.——’Tis all fancy, an’ please your honour—I fought just as well, replied the corporal, when the regiment called me _Trim_, as when they called me _James Butler._——And for my own part, said my uncle _Toby_, though I should blush to boast of myself, _Trim_——yet had my name been _Alexander_, I could have done no more at _Namur_ than my duty.—Bless your honour! cried _Trim_, advancing three steps as he spoke, does a man think of his christian-name when he goes upon the attack?——Or when he stands in the trench, _Trim?_ cried my uncle _Toby_, looking firm.——Or when he enters a breach? said _Trim_, pushing in between two chairs.——Or forces the lines? cried my uncle, rising up, and pushing his crutch like a pike.——Or facing a platoon? cried _Trim_, presenting his stick like a firelock.——Or when he marches up the glacis? cried my uncle _Toby_, looking warm and setting his foot upon his stool.——
C H A P. LIV
MY father was returned from his walk to the fish-pond——and opened the parlour-door in the very height of the attack, just as my uncle _Toby_ was marching up the glacis——_Trim_ recovered his arms——never was my uncle _Toby_ caught in riding at such a desperate rate in his life! Alas! my uncle _Toby!_ had not a weightier matter called forth all the ready eloquence of my father—how hadst thou then and thy poor HOBBY-HORSE too been insulted!
My father hung up his hat with the same air he took it down; and after giving a slight look at the disorder of the room, he took hold of one of the chairs which had formed the corporal’s breach, and placing it over-against my uncle _Toby_, he sat down in it, and as soon as the tea-things were taken away, and the door shut, he broke out in a lamentation as follows:
MY FATHER'S LAMENTATION
IT is in vain longer, said my father, addressing himself as much to _Ernulphus_’s curse, which was laid upon the corner of the chimney-piece——as to my uncle _Toby_ who sat under it——it is in vain longer, said my father, in the most querulous monotony imaginable, to struggle as I have done against this most uncomfortable of human persuasions——I see it plainly, that either for my own sins, brother _Toby_, or the sins and follies of the _Shandy_ family, Heaven has thought fit to draw forth the heaviest of its artillery against me; and that the prosperity of my child is the point upon which the whole force of it is directed to play.——Such a thing would batter the whole universe about our ears, brother _Shandy_, said my uncle _Toby_—if it was so—Unhappy _Tristram!_ child of wrath! child of decrepitude! interruption! mistake! and discontent! What one misfortune or disaster in the book of embryotic evils, that could unmechanize thy frame, or entangle thy filaments! which has not fallen upon thy head, or ever thou camest into the world——what evils in thy passage into it!——what evils since!——produced into being, in the decline of thy father’s days——when the powers of his imagination and of his body were waxing feeble——when radical heat and radical moisture, the elements which should have temper’d thine, were drying up; and nothing left to found thy stamina in, but negations—’tis pitiful——brother _Toby_, at the best, and called out for all the little helps that care and attention on both sides could give it. But how were we defeated! You know the event, brother _Toby_——’tis too melancholy a one to be repeated now——when the few animal spirits I was worth in the world, and with which memory, fancy, and quick parts should have been convey’d——were all dispersed, confused, confounded, scattered, and sent to the devil.——
Here then was the time to have put a stop to this persecution against him;——and tried an experiment at least——whether calmness and serenity of mind in your sister, with a due attention, brother _Toby_, to her evacuations and repletions——and the rest of her non-naturals, might not, in a course of nine months gestation, have set all things to rights.——My child was bereft of these!——What a teazing life did she lead herself, and consequently her fœtus too, with that nonsensical anxiety of hers about lying-in in town? I thought my sister submitted 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.