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 brother _Toby_, said my father, changing his tone——but the damp of the coach-lining about my loins, may give me the sciatica again, as it did _December, January_, and _February_ last winter—so if you please you shall ride my wife’s pad——and as you are to preach, _Yorick_, you had better make the best of your way before——and leave me to take care of my brother _Toby_, and to follow at our own rates.
Now the chapter I was obliged to tear out, was the description of this cavalcade, in which Corporal _Trim_ and _Obadiah_, upon two coach-horses a-breast, led the way as slow as a patrole——whilst my uncle _Toby_, in his laced regimentals and tye-wig, kept his rank with my father, in deep roads and dissertations alternately upon the advantage of learning and arms, as each could get the start.
—But the painting of this journey, upon reviewing it, appears to be so much above the stile and manner of any thing else I have been able to paint in this book, that it could not have remained in it, without depreciating every other scene; and destroying at the same time that necessary equipoise and balance, (whether of good or bad) betwixt chapter and chapter, from whence the just proportions and harmony of the whole work results. For my own part, I am but just set up in the business, so know little about it—but, in my opinion, to write a book is for all the world like humming a song—be but in tune with yourself, madam, ’tis no matter how high or how low you take it.
—This is the reason, may it please your reverences, that some of the lowest and flattest compositions pass off very well——(as _Yorick_ told my uncle _Toby_ one night) by siege.——My uncle _Toby_ looked brisk at the sound of the word siege, but could make neither head or tail of it.