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The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman

Laurence Sterne

Section 26 of 48 - Table of Contents
Chapter 3.IV.

--And lastly--for all the choice anecdotes which history can produce of
this matter, continued my father,--this, like the gilded dome which covers
in the fabric--crowns all.--

'Tis of Cornelius Gallus, the praetor--which, I dare say, brother Toby, you
have read.--I dare say I have not, replied my uncle.--He died, said my
father as. . .--And if it was with his wife, said my uncle Toby--there
could be no hurt in it.-- That's more than I know--replied my father.



Chapter 3.V.

My mother was going very gingerly in the dark along the passage which led
to the parlour, as my uncle Toby pronounced the word wife.--'Tis a shrill
penetrating sound of itself, and Obadiah had helped it by leaving the door
a little a-jar, so that my mother heard enough of it to imagine herself the
subject of the conversation; so laying the edge of her finger across her
two lips--holding in her breath, and bending her head a little downwards,
with a twist of her neck--(not towards the door, but from it, by which
means her ear was brought to the chink)--she listened with all her powers:-
-the listening slave, with the Goddess of Silence at his back, could not
have given a finer thought for an intaglio.

In this attitude I am determined to let her stand for five minutes:  till I
bring up the affairs of the kitchen (as Rapin does those of the church) to
the same period.



Chapter 3.VI.

Though in one sense, our family was certainly a simple machine, as it
consisted of a few wheels; yet there was thus much to be said for it, that
these wheels were set in motion by so many different springs, and acted one
upon the other from such a variety of strange principles and impulses--that
though it was a simple machine, it had all the honour and advantages of a
complex one,--and a number of as odd movements within it, as ever were
beheld in the inside of a Dutch silk-mill.

Amongst these there was one, I am going to speak of, in which, perhaps, it
was not altogether so singular, as in many others; and it was this, that
whatever motion, debate, harangue, dialogue, project, or dissertation, was
going forwards in the parlour, there was generally another at the same
time, and upon the same subject, running parallel along with it in the
kitchen.

Now to bring this about, whenever an extraordinary message, or letter, was
delivered in the parlour--or a discourse suspended till a servant went out-
-or the lines of discontent were observed to hang upon the brows of my
father or mother--or, in short, when any thing was supposed to be upon the
tapis worth knowing or listening to, 'twas the rule to leave the door, not
absolutely shut, but somewhat a-jar--as it stands just now,--which, under
covert of the bad hinge, (and that possibly might be one of the many
reasons why it was never mended,) it was not difficult to manage; by which
means, in all these cases, a passage was generally left, not indeed as wide
as the Dardanelles, but wide enough, for all that, to carry on as much of
this windward trade, as was sufficient to save my father the trouble of
governing his house;--my mother at this moment stands profiting by it.--
Obadiah did the same thing, as soon as he had left the letter upon the
table which brought the news of my brother's death, so that before my
father had well got over his surprise, and entered upon his harangue,--had
Trim got upon his legs, to speak his sentiments upon the subject.

A curious observer of nature, had he been worth the inventory of all Job's
stock--though by the bye, your curious observers are seldom worth a groat--
would have given the half of it, to have heard Corporal Trim and my father,
two orators so contrasted by nature and education, haranguing over the same
bier.

My father--a man of deep reading--prompt memory--with Cato, and Seneca, and
Epictetus, at his fingers ends.--

The corporal--with nothing--to remember--of no deeper reading than his
muster-roll--or greater names at his fingers end, than the contents of it.

The one proceeding from period to period, by metaphor and allusion, and
striking the fancy as he went along (as men of wit and fancy do) with the
entertainment and pleasantry of his pictures and images.

The other, without wit or antithesis, or point, or turn, this way or that;
but leaving the images on one side, and the picture on the other, going
straight forwards as nature could lead him, to the heart.  O Trim! would to
heaven thou had'st a better historian!--would!--thy historian had a better
pair of breeches!--O ye critics! will nothing melt you?



Chapter 3.VII.

--My young master in London is dead? said Obadiah.--

--A green sattin night-gown of my mother's, which had been twice scoured,
was the first idea which Obadiah's exclamation brought into Susannah's
head.--Well might Locke write a chapter upon the imperfections of words.--
Then, quoth Susannah, we must all go into mourning.--But note a second
time:  the word mourning, notwithstanding Susannah made use of it herself--
failed also of doing its office; it excited not one single idea, tinged
either with grey or black,--all was green.--The green sattin night-gown
hung there still.

--O! 'twill be the death of my poor mistress, cried Susannah.--My mother's
whole wardrobe followed.--What a procession! her red damask,--her orange
tawney,--her white and yellow lutestrings,--her brown taffata,--her bone-
laced caps, her bed-gowns, and comfortable under-petticoats.--Not a rag was
left behind.--'No,--she will never look up again,' said Susannah.

We had a fat, foolish scullion--my father, I think, kept her for her
simplicity;--she had been all autumn struggling with a dropsy.--He is dead,
said Obadiah,--he is certainly dead!--So am not I, said the foolish
scullion.

--Here is sad news, Trim, cried Susannah, wiping her eyes as Trim stepp'd
into the kitchen,--master Bobby is dead and buried--the funeral was an
interpolation of Susannah's--we shall have all to go into mourning, said
Susannah.

I hope not, said Trim.--You hope not! cried Susannah earnestly.--The
mourning ran not in Trim's head, whatever it did in Susannah's.--I hope--
said Trim, explaining himself, I hope in God the news is not true.  I heard
the letter read with my own ears, answered Obadiah; and we shall have a
terrible piece of work of it in stubbing the ox-moor.--Oh! he's dead, said
Susannah.--As sure, said the scullion, as I'm alive.

I lament for him from my heart and my soul, said Trim, fetching a sigh.--
Poor creature!--poor boy!--poor gentleman!

--He was alive last Whitsontide! said the coachman.--Whitsontide! alas!
cried Trim, extending his right arm, and falling instantly into the same
attitude in which he read the sermon,--what is Whitsontide, Jonathan (for
that was the coachman's name), or Shrovetide, or any tide or time past, to
this?  Are we not here now, continued the corporal (striking the end of his
stick perpendicularly upon the floor, so as to give an idea of health and
stability)--and are we not--(dropping his hat upon the ground) gone! in a
moment!--'Twas infinitely striking!  Susannah burst into a flood of tears.-
-We are not stocks and stones.--Jonathan, Obadiah, the cook-maid, all
melted.--The foolish fat scullion herself, who was scouring a fish-kettle
upon her knees, was rous'd with it.--The whole kitchen crowded about the
corporal.

Now, as I perceive plainly, that the preservation of our constitution in
church and state,--and possibly the preservation of the whole world--or
what is the same thing, the distribution and balance of its property and
power, may in time to come depend greatly upon the right understanding of
this stroke of the corporal's eloquence--I do demand your attention--your
worships and reverences, for any ten pages together, take them where you
will in any other part of the work, shall sleep for it at your ease.

I said, 'we were not stocks and stones'--'tis very well.  I should have
added, nor are we angels, I wish we were,--but men clothed with bodies, and
governed by our imaginations;--and what a junketing piece of work of it
there is, betwixt these and our seven senses, especially some of them, for
my own part, I own it, I am ashamed to confess.  Let it suffice to affirm,
that of all the senses, the eye (for I absolutely deny the touch, though
most of your Barbati, I know, are for it) has the quickest commerce with
the soul,--gives a smarter stroke, and leaves something more inexpressible
upon the fancy, than words can either convey--or sometimes get rid of.

--I've gone a little about--no matter, 'tis for health--let us only carry
it back in our mind to the mortality of Trim's hat--'Are we not here now,--
and gone in a moment?'--There was nothing in the sentence--'twas one of
your self-evident truths we have the advantage of hearing every day; and if
Trim had not trusted more to his hat than his head--he made nothing at all
of it.

--'Are we not here now;' continued the corporal, 'and are we not'--
(dropping his hat plumb upon the ground--and pausing, before he pronounced
the word)--'gone! in a moment?'  The descent of the hat was as if a heavy
lump of clay had been kneaded into the crown of it.--Nothing could have
expressed the sentiment of mortality, of which it was the type and fore-
runner, like it,--his hand seemed to vanish from under it,--it fell dead,--
the corporal's eye fixed upon it, as upon a corpse,--and Susannah burst
into a flood of tears.

Now--Ten thousand, and ten thousand times ten thousand (for matter and
motion are infinite) are the ways by which a hat may be dropped upon the
ground, without any effect.--Had he flung it, or thrown it, or cast it, or
skimmed it, or squirted it, or let it slip or fall in any possible
direction under heaven,--or in the best direction that could be given to
it,--had he dropped it like a goose--like a puppy--like an ass--or in doing
it, or even after he had done, had he looked like a fool--like a ninny--
like a nincompoop--it had fail'd, and the effect upon the heart had been
lost.

Ye who govern this mighty world and its mighty concerns with the engines of
eloquence,--who heat it, and cool it, and melt it, and mollify it,--and
then harden it again to your purpose--

Ye who wind and turn the passions with this great windlass, and, having
done it, lead the owners of them, whither ye think meet.

Ye, lastly, who drive--and why not, Ye also who are driven, like turkeys to
market with a stick and a red clout--meditate--meditate, I beseech you,
upon Trim's hat.



Chapter 3.VIII.

Stay--I have a small account to settle with the reader before Trim can go
on with his harangue.--It shall be done in two minutes.

Amongst many other book-debts, all of which I shall discharge in due time,-
-I own myself a debtor to the world for two items,--a chapter upon chamber-
maids and button-holes, which, in the former part of my work, I promised
and fully intended to pay off this year:  but some of your worships and
reverences telling me, that the two subjects, especially so connected
together, might endanger the morals of the world,--I pray the chapter upon
chamber-maids and button-holes may be forgiven me,--and that they will
accept of the last chapter in lieu of it; which is nothing, an't please
your reverences, but a chapter of chamber-maids, green gowns, and old hats.

Trim took his hat off the ground,--put it upon his head,--and then went on
with his oration upon death, in manner and form following.



Chapter 3.IX.

--To us, Jonathan, who know not what want or care is--who live here in the
service of two of the best of masters--(bating in my own case his majesty
King William the Third, whom I had the honour to serve both in Ireland and
Flanders)--I own it, that from Whitsontide to within three weeks of
Christmas,--'tis not long--'tis like nothing;--but to those, Jonathan, who
know what death is, and what havock and destruction he can make, before a
man can well wheel about--'tis like a whole age.--O Jonathan! 'twould make
a good-natured man's heart bleed, to consider, continued the corporal
(standing perpendicularly), how low many a brave and upright fellow has
been laid since that time!--And trust me, Susy, added the corporal, turning
to Susannah, whose eyes were swimming in water,--before that time comes
round again,--many a bright eye will be dim.--Susannah placed it to the
right side of the page--she wept--but she court'sied too.--Are we not,
continued Trim, looking still at Susannah--are we not like a flower of the
field--a tear of pride stole in betwixt every two tears of humiliation--
else no tongue could have described Susannah's affliction--is not all flesh
grass?--Tis clay,--'tis dirt.--They all looked directly at the scullion,--
the scullion had just been scouring a fish-kettle.--It was not fair.--

--What is the finest face that ever man looked at!--I could hear Trim talk
so for ever, cried Susannah,--what is it! (Susannah laid her hand upon
Trim's shoulder)--but corruption?--Susannah took it off.

Now I love you for this--and 'tis this delicious mixture within you which
makes you dear creatures what you are--and he who hates you for it--all I
can say of the matter is--That he has either a pumpkin for his head--or a
pippin for his heart,--and whenever he is dissected 'twill be found so.



Chapter 3.X.

Whether Susannah, by taking her hand too suddenly from off the corporal's
shoulder (by the whisking about of her passions)--broke a little the chain
of his reflexions--

Or whether the corporal began to be suspicious, he had got into the
doctor's quarters, and was talking more like the chaplain than himself--

Or whether. . .Or whether--for in all such cases a man of invention and
parts may with pleasure fill a couple of pages with suppositions--which of
all these was the cause, let the curious physiologist, or the curious any
body determine--'tis certain, at least, the corporal went on thus with his
harangue.

For my own part, I declare it, that out of doors, I value not death at
all:--not this. . .added the corporal, snapping his fingers,--but with an
air which no one but the corporal could have given to the sentiment.--In
battle, I value death not this. . .and let him not take me cowardly, like
poor Joe Gibbins, in scouring his gun.--What is he?  A pull of a trigger--a
push of a bayonet an inch this way or that--makes the difference.--Look
along the line--to the right--see!  Jack's down! well,--'tis worth a
regiment of horse to him.--No--'tis Dick.  Then Jack's no worse.--Never
mind which,--we pass on,--in hot pursuit the wound itself which brings him
is not felt,--the best way is to stand up to him,--the man who flies, is in
ten times more danger than the man who marches up into his jaws.--I've
look'd him, added the corporal, an hundred times in the face,--and know
what he is.--He's nothing, Obadiah, at all in the field.--But he's very
frightful in a house, quoth Obadiah.--I never mind it myself, said
Jonathan, upon a coach-box.--It must, in my opinion, be most natural in
bed, replied Susannah.--And could I escape him by creeping into the worst
calf's skin that ever was made into a knapsack, I would do it there--said
Trim--but that is nature.

--Nature is nature, said Jonathan.--And that is the reason, cried Susannah,
I so much pity my mistress.--She will never get the better of it.--Now I
pity the captain the most of any one in the family, answered Trim.--Madam
will get ease of heart in weeping,--and the Squire in talking about it,--
but my poor master will keep it all in silence to himself.--I shall hear
him sigh in his bed for a whole month together, as he did for lieutenant Le
Fever.  An' please your honour, do not sigh so piteously, I would say to
him as I laid besides him.  I cannot help it, Trim, my master would say,--
'tis so melancholy an accident--I cannot get it off my heart.--Your honour
fears not death yourself.--I hope, Trim, I fear nothing, he would say, but
the doing a wrong thing.--Well, he would add, whatever betides, I will take
care of Le Fever's boy.--And with that, like a quieting draught, his honour
would fall asleep.

I like to hear Trim's stories about the captain, said Susannah.--He is a
kindly-hearted gentleman, said Obadiah, as ever lived.--Aye, and as brave a
one too, said the corporal, as ever stept before a platoon.--There never
was a better officer in the king's army,--or a better man in God's world;
for he would march up to the mouth of a cannon, though he saw the lighted
match at the very touch-hole,--and yet, for all that, he has a heart as
soft as a child for other people.--He would not hurt a chicken.--I would
sooner, quoth Jonathan, drive such a gentleman for seven pounds a year--
than some for eight.--Thank thee, Jonathan! for thy twenty shillings,--as
much, Jonathan, said the corporal, shaking him by the hand, as if thou
hadst put the money into my own pocket.--I would serve him to the day of my
death out of love.  He is a friend and a brother to me,--and could I be
sure my poor brother Tom was dead,--continued the corporal, taking out his
handkerchief,--was I worth ten thousand pounds, I would leave every
shilling of it to the captain.--Trim could not refrain from tears at this
testamentary proof he gave of his affection to his master.--The whole
kitchen was affected.--Do tell us the story of the poor lieutenant, said
Susannah.--With all my heart, answered the corporal.

Susannah, the cook, Jonathan, Obadiah, and corporal Trim, formed a circle
about the fire; and as soon as the scullion had shut the kitchen door,--the
corporal begun.



Chapter 3.XI.

I am a Turk if I had not as much forgot my mother, as if Nature had
plaistered me up, and set me down naked upon the banks of the river Nile,
without one.--Your most obedient servant, Madam--I've cost you a great deal
of trouble,--I wish it may answer;--but you have left a crack in my back,--
and here's a great piece fallen off here before,--and what must I do with
this foot?--I shall never reach England with it.

For my own part, I never wonder at any thing;--and so often has my judgment
deceived me in my life, that I always suspect it, right or wrong,--at least
I am seldom hot upon cold subjects.  For all this, I reverence truth as
much as any body; and when it has slipped us, if a man will but take me by
the hand, and go quietly and search for it, as for a thing we have both
lost, and can neither of us do well without,--I'll go to the world's end
with him:--But I hate disputes,--and therefore (bating religious points, or
such as touch society) I would almost subscribe to any thing which does not
choak me in the first passage, rather than be drawn into one--But I cannot
bear suffocation,--and bad smells worst of all.--For which reasons, I
resolved from the beginning, That if ever the army of martyrs was to be
augmented,--or a new one raised,--I would have no hand in it, one way or
t'other.
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