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Chapter 4.XXIV. I had not gone above two leagues and a half, before the man with his gun began to look at his priming. I had three several times loiter'd terribly behind; half a mile at least every time; once, in deep conference with a drum-maker, who was making drums for the fairs of Baucaira and Tarascone--I did not understand the principles-- The second time, I cannot so properly say, I stopp'd--for meeting a couple of Franciscans straitened more for time than myself, and not being able to get to the bottom of what I was about--I had turn'd back with them-- The third, was an affair of trade with a gossip, for a hand-basket of Provence figs for four sous; this would have been transacted at once; but for a case of conscience at the close of it; for when the figs were paid for, it turn'd out, that there were two dozen of eggs covered over with vine-leaves at the bottom of the basket--as I had no intention of buying eggs--I made no sort of claim of them--as for the space they had occupied-- what signified it? I had figs enow for my money-- --But it was my intention to have the basket--it was the gossip's intention to keep it, without which, she could do nothing with her eggs--and unless I had the basket, I could do as little with my figs, which were too ripe already, and most of 'em burst at the side: this brought on a short contention, which terminated in sundry proposals, what we should both do-- --How we disposed of our eggs and figs, I defy you, or the Devil himself, had he not been there (which I am persuaded he was), to form the least probable conjecture: You will read the whole of it--not this year, for I am hastening to the story of my uncle Toby's amours--but you will read it in the collection of those which have arose out of the journey across this plain--and which, therefore, I call my Plain Stories. How far my pen has been fatigued, like those of other travellers, in this journey of it, over so barren a track--the world must judge--but the traces of it, which are now all set o' vibrating together this moment, tell me 'tis the most fruitful and busy period of my life; for as I had made no convention with my man with the gun, as to time--by stopping and talking to every soul I met, who was not in a full trot--joining all parties before me--waiting for every soul behind--hailing all those who were coming through cross-roads--arresting all kinds of beggars, pilgrims, fiddlers, friars--not passing by a woman in a mulberry-tree without commending her legs, and tempting her into conversation with a pinch of snuff--In short, by seizing every handle, of what size or shape soever, which chance held out to me in this journey--I turned my plain into a city--I was always in company, and with great variety too; and as my mule loved society as much as myself, and had some proposals always on his part to offer to every beast he met--I am confident we could have passed through Pall-Mall, or St. James's-Street, for a month together, with fewer adventures--and seen less of human nature. O! there is that sprightly frankness, which at once unpins every plait of a Languedocian's dress--that whatever is beneath it, it looks so like the simplicity which poets sing of in better days--I will delude my fancy, and believe it is so. 'Twas in the road betwixt Nismes and Lunel, where there is the best Muscatto wine in all France, and which by the bye belongs to the honest canons of Montpellier--and foul befal the man who has drunk it at their table, who grudges them a drop of it. --The sun was set--they had done their work; the nymphs had tied up their hair afresh--and the swains were preparing for a carousal--my mule made a dead point--'Tis the fife and tabourin, said I--I'm frighten'd to death, quoth he--They are running at the ring of pleasure, said I, giving him a prick--By saint Boogar, and all the saints at the backside of the door of purgatory, said he--(making the same resolution with the abbesse of Andouillets) I'll not go a step further--'Tis very well, sir, said I--I never will argue a point with one of your family, as long as I live; so leaping off his back, and kicking off one boot into this ditch, and t'other into that--I'll take a dance, said I--so stay you here. A sun-burnt daughter of Labour rose up from the groupe to meet me, as I advanced towards them; her hair, which was a dark chesnut approaching rather to a black, was tied up in a knot, all but a single tress. We want a cavalier, said she, holding out both her hands, as if to offer them--And a cavalier ye shall have; said I, taking hold of both of them. Hadst thou, Nannette, been array'd like a duchesse! --But that cursed slit in thy petticoat! Nannette cared not for it. We could not have done without you, said she, letting go one hand, with self-taught politeness, leading me up with the other. A lame youth, whom Apollo had recompensed with a pipe, and to which he had added a tabourin of his own accord, ran sweetly over the prelude, as he sat upon the bank--Tie me up this tress instantly, said Nannette, putting a piece of string into my hand--It taught me to forget I was a stranger--The whole knot fell down--We had been seven years acquainted. The youth struck the note upon the tabourin--his pipe followed, and off we bounded--'the duce take that slit!' The sister of the youth, who had stolen her voice from heaven, sung alternately with her brother--'twas a Gascoigne roundelay. Viva la Joia! Fidon la Tristessa! The nymphs join'd in unison, and their swains an octave below them-- I would have given a crown to have it sew'd up--Nannette would not have given a sous--Viva la joia! was in her lips--Viva la joia! was in her eyes. A transient spark of amity shot across the space betwixt us--She look'd amiable!--Why could I not live, and end my days thus? Just Disposer of our joys and sorrows, cried I, why could not a man sit down in the lap of content here--and dance, and sing, and say his prayers, and go to heaven with this nut-brown maid? Capriciously did she bend her head on one side, and dance up insidious--Then 'tis time to dance off, quoth I; so changing only partners and tunes, I danced it away from Lunel to Montpellier--from thence to Pescnas, Beziers--I danced it along through Narbonne, Carcasson, and Castle Naudairy, till at last I danced myself into Perdrillo's pavillion, where pulling out a paper of black lines, that I might go on straight forwards, without digression or parenthesis, in my uncle Toby's amours-- I begun thus-- Chapter 4.XXV. --But softly--for in these sportive plains, and under this genial sun, where at this instant all flesh is running out piping, fiddling, and dancing to the vintage, and every step that's taken, the judgment is surprised by the imagination, I defy, notwithstanding all that has been said upon straight lines (Vid. Vol. III.) in sundry pages of my book--I defy the best cabbage planter that ever existed, whether he plants backwards or forwards, it makes little difference in the account (except that he will have more to answer for in the one case than in the other)--I defy him to go on coolly, critically, and canonically, planting his cabbages one by one, in straight lines, and stoical distances, especially if slits in petticoats are unsew'd up--without ever and anon straddling out, or sidling into some bastardly digression--In Freeze-land, Fog-land, and some other lands I wot of--it may be done-- But in this clear climate of fantasy and perspiration, where every idea, sensible and insensible, gets vent--in this land, my dear Eugenius--in this fertile land of chivalry and romance, where I now sit, unskrewing my ink- horn to write my uncle Toby's amours, and with all the meanders of Julia's track in quest of her Diego, in full view of my study window--if thou comest not and takest me by the hand-- What a work it is likely to turn out! Let us begin it. Chapter 4.XXVI. It is with Love as with Cuckoldom-- But now I am talking of beginning a book, and have long had a thing upon my mind to be imparted to the reader, which, if not imparted now, can never be imparted to him as long as I live (whereas the Comparison may be imparted to him any hour in the day)--I'll just mention it, and begin in good earnest. The thing is this. That of all the several ways of beginning a book which are now in practice throughout the known world, I am confident my own way of doing it is the best--I'm sure it is the most religious--for I begin with writing the first sentence--and trusting to Almighty God for the second. 'Twould cure an author for ever of the fuss and folly of opening his street-door, and calling in his neighbours and friends, and kinsfolk, with the devil and all his imps, with their hammers and engines, &c. only to observe how one sentence of mine follows another, and how the plan follows the whole. I wish you saw me half starting out of my chair, with what confidence, as I grasp the elbow of it, I look up--catching the idea, even sometimes before it half way reaches me-- I believe in my conscience I intercept many a thought which heaven intended for another man. Pope and his Portrait (Vid. Pope's Portrait.) are fools to me--no martyr is ever so full of faith or fire--I wish I could say of good works too--but I have no Zeal or Anger--or Anger or Zeal-- And till gods and men agree together to call it by the same name--the errantest Tartuffe, in science--in politics--or in religion, shall never kindle a spark within me, or have a worse word, or a more unkind greeting, than what he will read in the next chapter. Chapter 4.XXVII. --Bon jour!--good morrow!--so you have got your cloak on betimes!--but 'tis a cold morning, and you judge the matter rightly--'tis better to be well mounted, than go o' foot--and obstructions in the glands are dangerous--And how goes it with thy concubine--thy wife,--and thy little ones o' both sides? and when did you hear from the old gentleman and lady--your sister, aunt, uncle, and cousins--I hope they have got better of their colds, coughs, claps, tooth-aches, fevers, stranguries, sciaticas, swellings, and sore eyes. --What a devil of an apothecary! to take so much blood--give such a vile purge--puke--poultice--plaister--night-draught--clyster--blister?--And why so many grains of calomel? santa Maria! and such a dose of opium! peri- clitating, pardi! the whole family of ye, from head to tail--By my great- aunt Dinah's old black velvet mask! I think there is no occasion for it. Now this being a little bald about the chin, by frequently putting off and on, before she was got with child by the coachman--not one of our family would wear it after. To cover the Mask afresh, was more than the mask was worth--and to wear a mask which was bald, or which could be half seen through, was as bad as having no mask at all-- This is the reason, may it please your reverences, that in all our numerous family, for these four generations, we count no more than one archbishop, a Welch judge, some three or four aldermen, and a single mountebank-- In the sixteenth century, we boast of no less than a dozen alchymists. Chapter 4.XXVIII. 'It is with Love as with Cuckoldom'--the suffering party is at least the third, but generally the last in the house who knows any thing about the matter: this comes, as all the world knows, from having half a dozen words for one thing; and so long, as what in this vessel of the human frame, is Love--may be Hatred, in that--Sentiment half a yard higher--and Nonsense-- no, Madam,--not there--I mean at the part I am now pointing to with my forefinger--how can we help ourselves? Of all mortal, and immortal men too, if you please, who ever soliloquized upon this mystic subject, my uncle Toby was the worst fitted, to have push'd his researches, thro' such a contention of feelings; and he had infallibly let them all run on, as we do worse matters, to see what they would turn out--had not Bridget's pre-notification of them to Susannah, and Susannah's repeated manifestoes thereupon to all the world, made it necessary for my uncle Toby to look into the affair. Chapter 4.XXIX. Why weavers, gardeners, and gladiators--or a man with a pined leg (proceeding from some ailment in the foot)--should ever have had some tender nymph breaking her heart in secret for them, are points well and duly settled and accounted for, by ancient and modern physiologists. A water-drinker, provided he is a profess'd one, and does it without fraud or covin, is precisely in the same predicament: not that, at first sight, there is any consequence, or show of logic in it, 'That a rill of cold water dribbling through my inward parts, should light up a torch in my Jenny's--' --The proposition does not strike one; on the contrary, it seems to run opposite to the natural workings of causes and effects-- But it shews the weakness and imbecility of human reason. --'And in perfect good health with it?' --The most perfect,--Madam, that friendship herself could wish me-- 'And drink nothing!--nothing but water?' --Impetuous fluid! the moment thou pressest against the flood-gates of the brain--see how they give way!-- In swims Curiosity, beckoning to her damsels to follow--they dive into the center of the current-- Fancy sits musing upon the bank, and with her eyes following the stream, turns straws and bulrushes into masts and bow-sprits--And Desire, with vest held up to the knee in one hand, snatches at them, as they swim by her, with the other-- O ye water drinkers! is it then by this delusive fountain, that ye have so often governed and turn'd this world about like a mill-wheel--grinding the faces of the impotent--bepowdering their ribs--bepeppering their noses, and changing sometimes even the very frame and face of nature-- If I was you, quoth Yorick, I would drink more water, Eugenius--And, if I was you, Yorick, replied Eugenius, so would I. Which shews they had both read Longinus-- For my own part, I am resolved never to read any book but my own, as long as I live. Chapter 4.XXX. I wish my uncle Toby had been a water-drinker; for then the thing had been accounted for, That the first moment Widow Wadman saw him, she felt something stirring within her in his favour--Something!--something. --Something perhaps more than friendship--less than love--something--no matter what--no matter where--I would not give a single hair off my mule's tail, and be obliged to pluck it off myself (indeed the villain has not many to spare, and is not a little vicious into the bargain), to be let by your worships into the secret-- But the truth is, my uncle Toby was not a water-drinker; he drank it neither pure nor mix'd, or any how, or any where, except fortuitously upon some advanced posts, where better liquor was not to be had--or during the time he was under cure; when the surgeon telling him it would extend the fibres, and bring them sooner into contact--my uncle Toby drank it for quietness sake. Now as all the world knows, that no effect in nature can be produced without a cause, and as it is as well known, that my uncle Toby was neither a weaver--a gardener, or a gladiator--unless as a captain, you will needs have him one--but then he was only a captain of foot--and besides, the whole is an equivocation--There is nothing left for us to suppose, but that my uncle Toby's leg--but that will avail us little in the present hypothesis, unless it had proceeded from some ailment in the foot--whereas his leg was not emaciated from any disorder in his foot--for my uncle Toby's leg was not emaciated at all. It was a little stiff and awkward, from a total disuse of it, for the three years he lay confined at my father's house in town; but it was plump and muscular, and in all other respects as good and promising a leg as the other. I declare, I do not recollect any one opinion or passage of my life, where my understanding was more at a loss to make ends meet, and torture the chapter I had been writing, to the service of the chapter following it, than in the present case: one would think I took a pleasure in running into difficulties of this kind, merely to make fresh experiments of getting out of 'em--Inconsiderate soul that thou art! What! are not the unavoidable distresses with which, as an author and a man, thou art hemm'd in on every side of thee--are they, Tristram, not sufficient, but thou must entangle thyself still more? Is it not enough that thou art in debt, and that thou hast ten cart-loads of thy fifth and sixth volumes (Alluding to the first edition.) still-- still unsold, and art almost at thy wit's ends, how to get them off thy hands? To this hour art thou not tormented with the vile asthma that thou gattest in skating against the wind in Flanders? and is it but two months ago, that in a fit of laughter, on seeing a cardinal make water like a quirister (with both hands) thou brakest a vessel in thy lungs, whereby, in two hours, thou lost as many quarts of blood; and hadst thou lost as much more, did not the faculty tell thee--it would have amounted to a gallon?-- Chapter 4.XXXI. --But for heaven's sake, let us not talk of quarts or gallons--let us take the story straight before us; it is so nice and intricate a one, it will scarce bear the transposition of a single tittle; and, somehow or other, you have got me thrust almost into the middle of it-- --I beg we may take more care. Chapter 4.XXXII. My uncle Toby and the corporal had posted down with so much heat and precipitation, to take possession of the spot of ground we have so often spoke of, in order to open their campaign as early as the rest of the allies; that they had forgot one of the most necessary articles of the whole affair, it was neither a pioneer's spade, a pickax, or a shovel-- --It was a bed to lie on: so that as Shandy-Hall was at that time unfurnished; and the little inn where poor Le Fever died, not yet built; my uncle Toby was constrained to accept of a bed at Mrs. Wadman's, for a night or two, till corporal Trim (who to the character of an excellent valet, groom, cook, sempster, surgeon, and engineer, super-added that of an excellent upholsterer too), with the help of a carpenter and a couple of taylors, constructed one in my uncle Toby's house. A daughter of Eve, for such was widow Wadman, and 'tis all the character I intend to give of her-- --'That she was a perfect woman--' had better be fifty leagues off--or in her warm bed--or playing with a case-knife--or any thing you please--than make a man the object of her attention, when the house and all the furniture is her own. There is nothing in it out of doors and in broad day-light, where a woman has a power, physically speaking, of viewing a man in more lights than one- -but here, for her soul, she can see him in no light without mixing something of her own goods and chattels along with him--till by reiterated acts of such combination, he gets foisted into her inventory-- --And then good night. But this is not matter of System; for I have delivered that above--nor is it matter of Breviary--for I make no man's creed but my own--nor matter of Fact--at least that I know of; but 'tis matter copulative and introductory to what follows. Chapter 4.XXXIII. I do not speak it with regard to the coarseness or cleanness of them--or the strength of their gussets--but pray do not night-shifts differ from day-shifts as much in this particular, as in any thing else in the world; that they so far exceed the others in length, that when you are laid down in them, they fall almost as much below the feet, as the day-shifts fall short of them? Widow Wadman's night-shifts (as was the mode I suppose in King William's and Queen Anne's reigns) were cut however after this fashion; and if the fashion is changed (for in Italy they are come to nothing)--so much the worse for the public; they were two Flemish ells and a half in length, so that allowing a moderate woman two ells, she had half an ell to spare, to do what she would with. Now from one little indulgence gained after another, in the many bleak and decemberley nights of a seven years widow-hood, things had insensibly come to this pass, and for the two last years had got establish'd into one of the ordinances of the bed-chamber--That as soon as Mrs. Wadman was put to bed, and had got her legs stretched down to the bottom of it, of which she always gave Bridget notice--Bridget, with all suitable decorum, having first open'd the bed-clothes at the feet, took hold of the half-ell of cloth we are speaking of, and having gently, and with both her hands, drawn it downwards to its furthest extension, and then contracted it again side- long by four or five even plaits, she took a large corking-pin out of her sleeve, and with the point directed towards her, pinn'd the plaits all fast together a little above the hem; which done, she tuck'd all in tight at the feet, and wish'd her mistress a good night. This was constant, and without any other variation than this; that on shivering and tempestuous nights, when Bridget untuck'd the feet of the bed, &c. to do this--she consulted no thermometer but that of her own passions; and so performed it standing--kneeling--or squatting, according to the different degrees of faith, hope, and charity, she was in, and bore towards her mistress that night. In every other respect, the etiquette was sacred, and might have vied with the most mechanical one of the most inflexible bed-chamber in Christendom. The first night, as soon as the corporal had conducted my uncle Toby up stairs, which was about ten--Mrs. Wadman threw herself into her arm-chair, and crossing her left knee with her right, which formed a resting-place for her elbow, she reclin'd her cheek upon the palm of her hand, and leaning forwards, ruminated till midnight upon both sides of the question. The second night she went to her bureau, and having ordered Bridget to bring her up a couple of fresh candles and leave them upon the table, she took out her marriage-settlement, and read it over with great devotion: and the third night (which was the last of my uncle Toby's stay) when Bridget had pull'd down the night-shift, and was assaying to stick in the corking pin-- --With a kick of both heels at once, but at the same time the most natural kick that could be kick'd in her situation--for supposing ......... to be the sun in its meridian, it was a north-east kick--she kick'd the pin out of her fingers--the etiquette which hung upon it, down--down it fell to the ground, and was shiver'd into a thousand atoms. From all which it was plain that widow Wadman was in love with my uncle Toby.Prev Next All
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