CHAPTER 7
Whilst my uncle Toby was whistling Lillabullero, Dr. Slop was stamping, and cursing Obadiah most dreadfully. – It would have cured you, Sir, for ever of the vile sin of swearing, to have heard him; I am determined therefore to relate the whole affair to you.
When Dr. Slop’s maid gave the green baize bag with her master’s instruments in it to Obadiah, she very sensibly exhorted him to put his head and one arm through the strings, and ride with it slung across his body; and undoing the bow-knot, she helped him on with it. However, this loosened the mouth of the bag; so, lest anything should bolt out as Obadiah galloped back, they took it off again: and with great care and caution, they pursed up the mouth of the bag and tied the two strings with half a dozen hard knots, which Obadiah pulled together with all his strength.
This solved the problem as they intended; but caused some evils which neither had foreseen. Although the bag was tied tight at its neck, the instruments had so much room to move in at the bottom that Obadiah could not go at a trot without a terrible jingle; but when he sped up, and pricked his horse into a full gallop – by Heaven! Sir, the jingle was incredible. As the poor fellow said,– ‘he was not able to hear himself whistle.’
CHAPTER 8
As Obadiah preferred whistling to any other music, he set to work to contrive a means by which he could enjoy it.
In all distresses where small cords are wanted, nothing is so apt to enter a man’s head as his hat-band. Obadiah did not hesitate to use his. So taking hold of the bag and instruments, and gripping them together with one hand, and with his other hand and his teeth pulling the hat-band down over them, he tied and cross-tied them all fast together from one end to the other with such a multiplicity of roundabouts and cross turns, with a knot at every intersection, that Dr. Slop must have had three-fifths of Job’s patience to have unloosed them.
No man living who had seen that bag, who knew with what great speed Nature can hasten childbirth when she thinks proper, would have had the least doubt about which between Dr. Slop and Nature would have won the race. My mother, Madam, would have been delivered sooner than the green bag, by at least twenty knots.
The victim of small accidents, Tristram Shandy! thou wilt ever be! Had that happened – thy affairs would have not been so depressed – (at least by the depression of thy nose); nor the fortunes of thy house so often, so vexatiously abandoned – but ’tis over, all but the account of ’em, which cannot be given to the curious till I am got out into the world.
CHAPTER 9
The moment Dr. Slop cast his eyes upon his bag, the very same thought occurred to him.
‘’Tis God’s mercy,’ quoth he (to himself) ‘that Mrs. Shandy has had so bad a time of it, – or else she might have given birth seven times, before these knots could be untied.’
– But here you must distinguish – the thought floated only in Dr. Slop’s mind, without sail or ballast, as a simple proposition; millions of which, as your worship knows, are every day swimming quietly in a man’s understanding, without being carried backwards or forwards, till some little gusts of passion or interest drive them on.
A sudden trampling in the room above did this very action.
‘By all that’s unfortunate,’ quoth Dr. Slop, ‘unless I make haste, the thing will actually happen.’
CHAPTER 10
In the case of knots, – by which, in the first place, I do not mean slip-knots – because in the course of my life and opinions– my opinions concerning them will come in more properly when I mention the catastrophe of my great uncle Mr. Hammond Shandy, a little man, but of high fancy – he rushed into the duke of Monmouth’s affair:– secondly, nor do I mean bow-knots; there is so little skill required to unloose them that they are beneath my notice.
But by knots I mean good, honest, devilish tight, hard knots, like Obadiah’s; – in which there is no quibbling provision made by the duplication and return of the two ends of the strings through the annulus, to get them undone by. – I hope you understand me.
In the case of these knots, and of the obstructions such knots cast in our way through life – every hasty man can whip out his penknife and cut through them.
– ’Tis wrong. Believe me, Sirs, the most virtuous way is to take our teeth or our fingers to them. Dr. Slop had lost his teeth in a hard labour; his favourite instrument, extracting in a wrong direction, and unfortunately slipping, had knocked out three of the best of them with its handle. – He tried his fingers: alas, his nails were cut close.
‘The deuce take it! I can make nothing of it,’ cried Dr. Slop. – The trampling overhead increased. – ‘Pox take the fellow! I shall never get the knots untied as long as I live.’ – My mother groaned. – ‘Lend me your penknife – I must cut them – psha! Lord! I have cut my thumb to the bone – curse the fellow – I wish the scoundrel hanged – or shot – I wish all the devils in hell had him for a blockhead!’
My father had a great respect for Obadiah, and could not bear to hear him abused in such a manner; to say nothing of the indignity it offered to himself.
He was determined to have revenge.
‘Small curses, Dr. Slop, upon great occasions,’ quoth he, ‘are a waste of our strength to no purpose.’
‘I know,’ replied Dr. Slop.
‘They are like sparrow-shot,’ quoth my uncle Toby, ‘fired against a bastion.’
‘They serve,’ continued my father, ‘to stir the temper – not relieve it: for my own part, I seldom curse at all. I think it bad – but if I fall into it by surprise, I generally keep enough presence of mind to make it answer my purpose – that is, I swear on till I find myself easy. A wise man, however, would always try to vent these humours in proportion to the size and ill intent of the offence.’
‘Injuries come only from the heart,’ quoth my uncle Toby.
‘For this reason,’ continued my father, with the most Cervantick gravity, ‘I have the greatest respect for that gentleman who sat down and composed fit forms of swearing suitable for all cases, from the lowest to the highest provocation. He kept these forms by him on the chimney-piece, within his reach, ready for use.’
‘I never knew,’ replied Dr. Slop, ‘that such a thing was ever thought of.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ answered my father; ‘I was reading, though not using, one of them to my brother Toby this morning, whilst he poured out the tea – ’tis here upon the shelf; but if I remember right, ’tis too violent for a cut of the thumb.’
‘Not at all,’ quoth Dr. Slop; ‘the devil take the fellow.’
‘Then,’ answered my father, ‘’tis at your service, Dr. Slop – on condition you will read it aloud.’
Rising up and reaching down a form of excommunication of the church of Rome, a copy of which my father had procured from the church of Rochester, writ by Ernelphus the bishop – with a most serious look, he put it into Dr. Slop’s hands.
Dr. Slop wrapped his thumb up in his handkerchief, and without any suspicion, read aloud, as follows – my uncle Toby whistling Lillabullero as loud as he could all the time.
CAP. XI
EXCOMMUNICATIO
Ex auctoritate Dei omnipotentis, Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, et sanctorum canonum, sanctaeque et intemeratae Virginis Dei genetricis Mariae,–
CHAPTER 11
‘“By the authority of God Almighty, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, and of the holy canons, and of the undefiled Virgin Mary, mother of our Saviour.” I think there is no need to read aloud,’ quoth Dr. Slop to my father, dropping the paper to his knee, ‘as you have read it so lately, Sir. I may as well read it to myself.’
‘No,’ replied my father; ‘there is something so whimsical, especially in the latter part of it, I should enjoy a second reading.’
Dr. Slop did not altogether like it; but when my uncle Toby offered to give over whistling, and read it himself, Dr. Slop thought he might as well read it under the cover of my uncle’s whistling; so raising the paper to his face to hide h
is chagrin, he read it aloud as follows, – my uncle Toby whistling Lillabullero, though not quite so loud as before.
‘“By the authority of God Almighty, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, and of the undefiled Virgin Mary, mother of our Saviour, and of all the celestial angels, archangels, thrones, dominions, powers, cherubins and seraphins, and of all the holy patriarchs, prophets, apostles and evangelists, and of the holy innocents, and all the saints – May he (Obadiah) be damned (for tying these knots). We excommunicate him, and from the thresholds of the holy church of God Almighty we sequester him, that he may be tormented and delivered over with those who reject the Lord God. And as fire is quenched with water, so let the light of him be put out for evermore, unless he shall repent (Obadiah, of the knots which he has tied). Amen.
‘“May the Father who created man, curse him. May the Son who suffered for us, curse him. May the Holy Ghost, who was given to us in baptism, curse him (Obadiah). May the holy cross which Christ ascended, curse him.
‘“May the holy and eternal Virgin Mary, mother of God, curse him. May all the angels and archangels, and all the heavenly armies, curse him.”’ [‘Our armies swore terribly in Flanders,’ cried my uncle Toby, ‘but not like this. I could not curse my dog so.’]
‘“May St. John and St. Peter and St. Paul, and St. Andrew, and all Christ’s apostles curse him. And may the other disciples and evangelists, who by their preaching converted the world, and may the holy company of martyrs and confessors who are found pleasing to God Almighty, curse him (Obadiah).
‘“May the holy choir of virgins, who for the honour of Christ have despised the things of the world, damn him. May all the saints beloved of God, damn him. May the heavens and earth, and all the holy things therein, damn him (Obadiah).
‘“May he (Obadiah) be damned wherever he be – whether in the house or the stables, the garden or the field, or the highway, the path, in the wood, or the water, or in the church. May he be cursed in living, in dying.”’ [Here my uncle Toby kept whistling one long note to the end of the sentence – with Dr. Slop like a running bass all the way.]
‘“May he be cursed in eating, in drinking, in being hungry, in being thirsty, in fasting, in sleeping, in walking, in standing, in sitting, in lying, in working, in resting, in pissing, in shitting, and in blood-letting!”
‘“May he (Obadiah) be cursed in all the faculties of his body!
‘“May he be cursed in the hair of his head! May he be cursed in his brains, in his temples, in his forehead, in his ears, in his eye-brows, in his cheeks, in his jaw-bones, in his nostrils, in his fore-teeth and grinders, in his lips, in his throat, in his shoulders, in his wrists, in his arms, in his hands, in his fingers!
‘“May he be damned in his mouth, in his breast, in his heart and stomach!
‘“May he be cursed in his groin–”’ [‘God forbid!’ quoth my uncle Toby], ‘“– in his thighs, in his genitals”’ [my father shook his head], ‘“and in his hips, his knees, his legs, and feet, and toe-nails!
‘“May the Son of the living God, with all the glory of his Majesty”’–
[Here my uncle Toby, throwing back his head, gave a monstrous, long, loud Whew – w – w. By the golden beard of Jupiter and Juno and by the beards of the other heathen deities, which by the bye was no small number, what with the beards of your celestial gods, town-gods and country-gods, and celestial goddesses – all of which beards, when counted together, made no less than thirty thousand effective beards in the Pagan establishment – every beard of which claimed the rights of being sworn by – by all these beards together – I vow that of the two bad cassocks I am worth in the world, I would have given the better of them to have been there, and heard my uncle Toby’s accompaniment.]
–‘“curse him!” continued Dr. Slop, “and may heaven, with all its powers, rise up against him, curse and damn him (Obadiah) unless he repent and make satisfaction! Amen.”’
‘I declare,’ quoth my uncle Toby, ‘I could not curse the devil himself so bitterly.’
‘But he is cursed, and damned already, to all eternity,’ replied Dr. Slop.
‘I am sorry for it,’ quoth my uncle Toby.
Dr. Slop drew up his mouth, and was just beginning to return my uncle Toby’s whistle – when the door hastily opening in the next chapter but one put an end to the affair.
CHAPTER 12
Now don’t let us give ourselves airs, and pretend that the oaths we use in this land of liberty are our own; don’t imagine that because we have the spirit to swear them, we had the wit to invent them too.
I’ll undertake to prove it to any man, except to a connoisseur: – though I declare I object to a connoisseur in swearing, as I would do to a connoisseur in painting, the whole set of ’em are so hung round and befetished with the trinkets of criticism, – or to drop my metaphor, which by the bye is a pity – their heads, Sir, are stuck so full of rules, which they apply upon all occasions, that a work of genius had better go to the devil at once, than stay to be pricked and tortured to death by ’em.
‘And how did Garrick speak the soliloquy last night?’
‘Oh, my lord, most ungrammatically! betwixt the substantive and the adjective, which should agree in number, case, and gender, he made a breach; and betwixt the nominative case, which your lordship knows should govern the verb, he paused in the epilogue a dozen times, three seconds by a stop-watch, my lord, each time!’
‘But was the sense suspended also? Did no expression of face or voice fill up the chasm? Did you look?’
‘I looked only at the stop-watch, my lord.’
‘Excellent observer! – And what of this new book the whole world makes such a fuss about?’
‘Oh! ’tis out of all plumb, my lord, – not one of the four corners was a right angle. And as for the epic poem your lordship bid me look at – upon measuring its length, breadth, height, and depth, ’tis out, my lord, in every one of its dimensions.’
‘Admirable connoisseur! And did you take a look at the grand picture on your way?’
‘’Tis a melancholy daub, my lord! not one principle of the pyramid in any group! – and there is none of the colouring of Titian – the expression of Rubens – the grace of Raphael – or the corregiescity of Corregio.’
Grant me patience, Heaven! Of all the cants which are canted in this canting world, the cant of criticism is the most tormenting! I would walk fifty miles to kiss the hand of the man who will generously give his imagination into his author’s hands, and be pleased without caring why!
Great Apollo! – give me one stroke of native humour, with a single spark of thy own fire – and send Mercury, with the rules and compasses, with my compliments to – never mind.
Now I will undertake to prove that all the oaths which we have been puffing off these last two hundred and fifty years as originals – except God’s flesh and God’s fish, which were oaths monarchical – I say, there is not an oath or curse amongst them, which has not been copied over and over again out of Ernulphus a thousand times: but, like all copies, how infinitely short of the force of the original!
It is thought to be no bad oath to say ‘God damn you.’ But set it beside Ernulphus’s ‘God Almighty the Father damn you – God the Son damn you – God the Holy Ghost damn you’ – you see ’tis nothing. There is an orientality in his that we cannot rise up to: besides, he had such a thorough knowledge of the human frame, its membranes, nerves, ligaments, and joints, that when Ernulphus cursed, no part escaped him.
– ’Tis true there is something of a hardness in his manner – and, as in Michael Angelo, a lack of grace – but then there is such gusto!
My father considered Ernulphus’s work as an institute of swearing. He suspected that Ernulphus, by order of the pope, had with great learning and diligence collected together all the laws of it; for the same reason that the emperor Justinian ordered his chancellor to collect the Roman laws together – lest, through the rust of time, and the fatality of all things committed to oral tradi
tion, they should be lost to the world for ever.
For this reason my father would often affirm that there was not an oath, from the great and tremendous oath of William the Conqueror (‘By the splendour of God’) down to the lowest oath of a scavenger (‘Damn your eyes’) which was not to be found in Ernulphus. In short, he would add – ‘I defy a man to swear out of it.’
The hypothesis is, like most of my father’s, singular and ingenious; nor have I any objection to it, except that it overturns my own.
CHAPTER 13
– ‘Bless my soul! – my poor mistress is ready to faint – and her pains are gone – and the bottle of julap is broke – and the nurse has cut her arm–’ (‘and I, my thumb,’ cried Dr. Slop,) – ‘and the child is where it was,’ continued Susannah, ‘and the midwife has fallen backwards upon the fender, and bruised her hip as black as your hat.’
‘I’ll look at it,’ quoth Dr. Slop.
‘There is no need of that,’ replied Susannah; ‘you had better look at my mistress. But the midwife would gladly first tell you how things are, so desires you would go upstairs and speak to her.’
Human nature is the same in all professions.
The midwife had earlier been put over Dr. Slop’s head. – ‘No,’ replied Dr. Slop, ‘’twould be proper if the midwife came down to me.’
‘I like subordination,’ quoth my uncle Toby, ‘and without it, after the reduction of Lisle, I know not what might have become of the garrison of Ghent, in the mutiny in the year Ten.’
‘Nor do I know, Captain Shandy,’ replied Dr. Slop, (parodying my uncle Toby’s hobby-horsical reflection, though full as hobby-horsical himself) ‘what might have become of the garrison above stairs, in the mutiny and confusion I find things are in at present, but for the subordination of fingers and thumbs to ****** – the application of which, Sir, with this accident of mine, comes in so à propos, that without it, the cut upon my thumb might have been felt by the Shandy family, as long as they had a name.’
CHAPTER 14