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The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman
Chapter 2.XIV.
Every day for at least ten years together did my father resolve to
have it mended--'tis not mended yet;--no family but ours would have
borne with it an hour--and what is most astonishing, there was not a
subject in the world upon which my father was so eloquent, as upon
that of door-hinges.--And yet at the same time, he was certainly one
of the greatest bubbles to them, I think, that history can produce:
his rhetorick and conduct were at perpetual handy-cuffs.--Never did
the parlour-door open--but his philosophy or his principles fell a
victim to it;--three drops of oil with a feather, and a smart stroke
of a hammer, had saved his honour for ever.
--Inconsistent soul that man is!--languishing under wounds, which he
has the power to heal!--his whole life a contradiction to his
knowledge!--his reason, that precious gift of God to him--(instead of
pouring in oil) serving but to sharpen his sensibilities--to multiply
his pains, and render him more melancholy and uneasy under them!--Poor
unhappy creature, that he should do so!--Are not the necessary causes
of misery in this life enow, but he must add voluntary ones to his
stock of sorrow;--struggle against evils which cannot be avoided, and
submit to others, which a tenth part of the trouble they create him
would remove from his heart for ever?
By all that is good and virtuous, if there are three drops of oil to
be got, and a hammer to be found within ten miles of Shandy Hall--the
parlour door hinge shall be mended this reign.
Chapter 2.XV.
When Corporal Trim had brought his two mortars to bear, he was
delighted with his handy-work above measure; and knowing what a
pleasure it would be to his master to see them, he was not able to
resist the desire he had of carrying them directly into his parlour.
Now next to the moral lesson I had in view in mentioning the affair of
hinges, I had a speculative consideration arising out of it, and it is
this.
Had the parlour door opened and turn'd upon its hinges, as a door
should do--
Or for example, as cleverly as our government has been turning upon
its hinges--(that is, in case things have all along gone well with
your worship,--otherwise I give up my simile)--in this case, I say,
there had been no danger either to master or man, in corporal Trim's
peeping in: the moment he had beheld my father and my uncle Toby fast
asleep--the respectfulness of his carriage was such, he would have
retired as silent as death, and left them both in their arm-chairs,
dreaming as happy as he had found them: but the thing was, morally
speaking, so very impracticable, that for the many years in which this
hinge was suffered to be out of order, and amongst the hourly
grievances my father submitted to upon its account--this was one; that
he never folded his arms to take his nap after dinner, but the
thoughts of being unavoidably awakened by the first person who should
open the door, was always uppermost in his imagination, and so
incessantly stepp'd in betwixt him and the first balmy presage of his
repose, as to rob him, as he often declared, of the whole sweets of
it.
'When things move upon bad hinges, an' please your lordships, how can
it be otherwise?'
Pray what's the matter? Who is there? cried my father, waking, the
moment the door began to creak.--I wish the smith would give a peep at
that confounded hinge.--'Tis nothing, an please your honour, said
Trim, but two mortars I am bringing in.--They shan't make a clatter
with them here, cried my father hastily.--If Dr. Slop has any drugs to
pound, let him do it in the kitchen.--May it please your honour, cried
Trim, they are two mortar- pieces for a siege next summer, which I
have been making out of a pair of jack-boots, which Obadiah told me
your honour had left off wearing.--By Heaven! cried my father,
springing out of his chair, as he swore--I have not one appointment
belonging to me, which I set so much store by as I do by these
jack-boots--they were our great grandfather's brother Toby--they were
hereditary. Then I fear, quoth my uncle Toby, Trim has cut off the
entail.--I have only cut off the tops, an' please your honour, cried
Trim-- I hate perpetuities as much as any man alive, cried my
father--but these jack-boots, continued he (smiling, though very angry
at the same time) have been in the family, brother, ever since the
civil wars;--Sir Roger Shandy wore them at the battle of
Marston-Moor.--I declare I would not have taken ten pounds for
them.--I'll pay you the money, brother Shandy, quoth my uncle Toby,
looking at the two mortars with infinite pleasure, and putting his
hand into his breeches pocket as he viewed them--I'll pay you the ten
pounds this moment with all my heart and soul.--
Brother Toby, replied my father, altering his tone, you care not what
money you dissipate and throw away, provided, continued he, 'tis but
upon a Siege.--Have I not one hundred and twenty pounds a year,
besides my half pay? cried my uncle Toby.--What is that--replied my
father hastily--to ten pounds for a pair of jack-boots?--twelve
guineas for your pontoons?--half as much for your Dutch
draw-bridge?--to say nothing of the train of little brass artillery
you bespoke last week, with twenty other preparations for the siege of
Messina: believe me, dear brother Toby, continued my father, taking
him kindly by the hand--these military operations of yours are above
your strength;--you mean well brother--but they carry you into greater
expences than you were first aware of;--and take my word, dear Toby,
they will in the end quite ruin your fortune, and make a beggar of
you.--What signifies it if they do, brother, replied my uncle Toby, so
long as we know 'tis for the good of the nation?--
My father could not help smiling for his soul--his anger at the worst
was never more than a spark;--and the zeal and simplicity of Trim--and
the generous (though hobby-horsical) gallantry of my uncle Toby,
brought him into perfect good humour with them in an instant.
Generous souls!--God prosper you both, and your mortar-pieces too!
quoth my father to himself.
Chapter 2.XVI.
All is quiet and hush, cried my father, at least above stairs--I hear
not one foot stirring.--Prithee Trim, who's in the kitchen? There is
no one soul in the kitchen, answered Trim, making a low bow as he
spoke, except Dr. Slop.--Confusion! cried my father (getting upon his
legs a second time)--not one single thing has gone right this day! had
I faith in astrology, brother, (which, by the bye, my father had) I
would have sworn some retrograde planet was hanging over this
unfortunate house of mine, and turning every individual thing in it
out of its place.--Why, I thought Dr. Slop had been above stairs with
my wife, and so said you.--What can the fellow be puzzling about in
the kitchen!--He is busy, an' please your honour, replied Trim, in
making a bridge.--'Tis very obliging in him, quoth my uncle
Toby:--pray, give my humble service to Dr. Slop, Trim, and tell him I
thank him heartily.
You must know, my uncle Toby mistook the bridge--as widely as my
father mistook the mortars:--but to understand how my uncle Toby could
mistake the bridge--I fear I must give you an exact account of the
road which led to it;--or to drop my metaphor (for there is nothing
more dishonest in an historian than the use of one)--in order to
conceive the probability of this error in my uncle Toby aright, I must
give you some account of an adventure of Trim's, though much against
my will, I say much against my will, only because the story, in one
sense, is certainly out of its place here; for by right it should come
in, either amongst the anecdotes of my uncle Toby's amours with widow
Wadman, in which corporal Trim was no mean actor--or else in the
middle of his and my uncle Toby's campaigns on the bowling-green--for
it will do very well in either place;--but then if I reserve it for
either of those parts of my story--I ruin the story I'm upon;--and if
I tell it here--I anticipate matters, and ruin it there.
--What would your worship have me to do in this case?
--Tell it, Mr. Shandy, by all means.--You are a fool, Tristram, if you
do.
O ye powers! (for powers ye are, and great ones too)--which enable
mortal man to tell a story worth the hearing--that kindly shew him,
where he is to begin it--and where he is to end it--what he is to put
into it--and what he is to leave out--how much of it he is to cast
into a shade--and whereabouts he is to throw his light!--Ye, who
preside over this vast empire of biographical freebooters, and see how
many scrapes and plunges your subjects hourly fall into;--will you do
one thing?
I beg and beseech you (in case you will do nothing better for us) that
wherever in any part of your dominions it so falls out, that three
several roads meet in one point, as they have done just here--that at
least you set up a guide-post in the centre of them, in mere charity,
to direct an uncertain devil which of the three he is to take.