– But what is this, to that future and dreaded page, where I look towards the velvet pall, decorated with the military ensigns of thy master – the first of men – where, I shall see thee, faithful servant! laying his sword with a trembling hand across his coffin, and then returning pale as ashes to follow his hearse, as he directed thee; where all my father’s systems shall be baffled by his sorrows; and, in spite of his philosophy, I shall behold him twice taking his spectacles from off his nose, to wipe his eyes – when I see him sadly cast in the rosemary – O Toby! in what corner of the world shall I seek thy fellow?
Gracious powers! which open the lips of the dumb, and make the stammerer speak plain – when I shall arrive at this dreaded page, help me then.
CHAPTER 26
The corporal, who the night before had resolved to keep up something like an incessant firing upon the enemy during the attack, – had no further idea how at that time, other than smoking tobacco out of one of my uncle Toby’s six cannon beside his sentry-box.
Upon turning it over in his mind, he soon decided that by means of his two Turkish tobacco-pipes, along with three smaller tubes of leather added to their lower ends, with the same number of tin-pipes fitted to the touch-holes, and sealed with clay next the cannon, and then tied with waxed silk at their insertions into the Morocco tube – he should be able to fire the six field-pieces all together, as easily as firing one.
Let no man say from what tags and jags human knowledge may not be advanced. Let no man, who has read of my father’s first and second beds of justice, ever say from what strange sources light may not be struck, to illuminate the arts and sciences. Heaven! thou knowest how I love them – and that I would this moment give my shirt–
‘Thou art a fool, Shandy,’ says Eugenius, ‘for thou hast only a dozen shirts in the world.’
No matter for that, Eugenius. – But to this project.
The corporal sat up the best part of the night, in bringing it to perfection; and having charged his cannon to the top with tobacco, he went contentedly to bed.
CHAPTER 27
The corporal had slipped out ten minutes before my uncle Toby, to fix his apparatus, and just give the enemy a shot or two before my uncle came.
He had drawn the six field-pieces all close up together in front of the sentry-box, leaving a gap of about a yard and a half betwixt the three on the right and left, for the convenience of charging, &c., and also possibly to make two batteries, which he might think double the honour of one.
In the rear and facing this gap, with his back to the door of the sentry-box, the corporal had taken his post. He held the ivory pipe, leading to the battery on the right, betwixt the finger and thumb of his right hand, and the ebony pipe, which led to the battery on the left, in his other hand. With his right knee firm upon the ground, as if in the front rank of his platoon, the corporal, with his Montero-cap upon his head, was furiously playing off his two batteries at the same time against the counter-guard, where the attack was to be made that morning.
His first intention, as I said, was no more than giving the enemy a single puff or two; but the pleasure of the puffs, as well as the puffing, had insensibly got hold of the corporal, and had drawn him on from puff to puff, into the very height of the attack, by the time my uncle Toby joined him.
’Twas well for my father, that my uncle Toby was not due to write his will that day.
CHAPTER 28
My uncle Toby took the ivory pipe out of the corporal’s hand – looked at it for half a minute, and returned it.
Then he took it from the corporal again, and raised it half way to his mouth – and hastily gave it back a second time.
The corporal redoubled the attack; my uncle Toby smiled – then looked grave – then smiled for a moment – then looked serious for a long time.
‘Give me the ivory pipe, Trim,’ said my uncle Toby. Never did my uncle’s mouth water so much for a pipe in his life. He retired into the sentry-box with the pipe in his hand.
Dear uncle Toby! don’t go into the sentry-box with the pipe; – you can’t trust a man with such a thing in such a corner.
CHAPTER 29
I beg the reader will assist me here, to wheel off my uncle Toby’s ordnance behind the scenes, – to remove his sentry-box, and clear his military apparatus out of the way; that done, my dear friend Garrick, we’ll sweep the stage, draw up the curtain, and exhibit my uncle Toby dressed in a new character, in which the world can have no idea how he will act. And yet, if pity be akin to love, and bravery likewise, you have seen enough of my uncle Toby to trace these family likenesses betwixt the passions.
There was, Madam, in my uncle Toby, a singleness of heart which misled him so far out of the little serpentine tracks in which things of this nature usually go on, you can have no conception of it. There was a plainness and simplicity of thinking, with such a trusting ignorance of the foldings of the heart of woman; – and so naked and defenceless did he stand before you (when a siege was out of his head), that you might have shot my uncle, Madam, ten times in a day.
With all this, my uncle Toby had that unparalleled modesty of nature I once told you of, which stood eternal sentry upon his feelings, so that you might as well–
But where am I going? these reflections crowd in upon me ten pages at least too soon, and take up time which I ought to give to facts.
CHAPTER 30
Of the few men whose breasts never felt the sting of love, the great heroes of ancient and modern stories have carried off nine parts in ten of the honour; and I wish I had the key of my study for five minutes, to tell you their names – recollect them I cannot – so accept these, for the present, in their stead.
There was the great king Aldrovandus, and Bosphorus, and Cappadocius, and Dardanus, and Pontus, and Asius, to say nothing of the iron-hearted Charles the XIIth, whom the Countess of K***** herself could make nothing of. There was Babylonicus, Mediterraneus, Persicus, and Prusicus, not one of whom ever bowed down to the goddess Love – the truth is, they had all something else to do. – And so had my uncle Toby – till Fate – till Fate, I say, envying his name the glory of being handed down to posterity with Aldrovandus’s and the rest, basely patched up the peace of Utrecht.
– Believe me, Sirs, ’twas the worst deed she did that year.
CHAPTER 31
Amongst the many ill consequences of the treaty of Utrecht, it almost gave my uncle Toby a surfeit of sieges; and though he recovered his appetite afterwards, it left its scar upon his heart. To the end of his life he never could hear Utrecht mentioned, or even read an article of news from the Utrecht Gazette, without sighing as if his heart would break.
My father, who was a great Motive-monger, and generally knew your motive for laughing or crying much better than you knew it yourself – would always console my uncle Toby upon these occasions as if he imagined my uncle Toby grieved for nothing so much as the loss of his hobby-horse.
‘Never mind, brother Toby,’ he would say; ‘by God’s blessing we shall have another war break out again one of these days. – For I defy ’em, my dear Toby, to take countries without taking towns, or towns without sieges.’
My uncle Toby did not take this kindly. He thought the stroke at his hobby-horse ungenerous, because in striking the horse he hit the rider too, and in the most dishonourable part possible; so upon these occasions, he always laid down his pipe upon the table to defend himself with more fire than usual.
I told the reader that my uncle Toby was not eloquent. Certainly it was not easy for him to make long harangues, and he hated florid speeches; but there were times where the stream overflowed the man, and ran so counter to its usual course, that my uncle Toby, for a time, was equal to Tertullus.
My father was so highly pleased with one of these speeches of my uncle Toby’s, which he delivered one evening to him and Yorick, that he wrote it down before he went to bed.
I have had the good fortune to find it amongst my father’s papers, with here and there an insertio
n of his own, betwixt two crooks, thus [ ].
It is labelled,
MY BROTHER TOBY’S JUSTIFICATION OF HIS OWN PRINCIPLES AND CONDUCT IN WISHING TO CONTINUE THE WAR
I may safely say, I have read this oration of my uncle Toby’s a hundred times, and think it so fine a model of defence – it shows so sweet and gallant a temperament, that I give it to the world, word for word as I find it.
CHAPTER 32
MY UNCLE TOBY’S APOLOGETICAL ORATION
I am aware, brother Shandy, that when a military man wishes, as I have done, for war, it has a bad appearance; and that, no matter how just his motives may be, he stands in an uneasy position in vindicating himself.
Therefore, if a soldier is prudent, which he may be without being a jot the less brave, he will not utter his wish in the hearing of an enemy; for an enemy will not believe him. He will be cautious of doing it even to a friend, lest he may suffer in his esteem.
But if his heart is overcharged, and a secret sigh for arms must have its vent, he will reserve it for the ear of a brother, who knows his character, and what his true principles of honour are: what I hope mine are, brother Shandy, would be unbecoming in me to say – I have been much worse, I know, than I ought, and somewhat worse, perhaps, than I think.
But such as I am, you, my dear brother, who sucked the same breast as me, and with whom I have been brought up from my cradle, and from whom I have concealed no action of my life – such as I am, you must by this time know me, with all my vices and weaknesses of age, temper and understanding.
Tell me then, my dear brother Shandy, which of them was at fault when I condemned the peace of Utrecht, and grieved that the war was not carried on a little longer? Did you think it unworthy of your brother, that in wishing for war, he should wish for more of his fellow-creatures to be slain, or driven from their peaceful habitations, merely for his own pleasure? Tell me, brother Shandy, upon what deed of mine do you base it? [The devil a deed do I know of, dear Toby – wrote my father – except one for a hundred pounds, which I lent thee to carry on these cursed sieges.]
If, when I was a school-boy, I could not hear a drum beat, without my heart beating with it – was it my fault, or Nature’s?
When Guy, Earl of Warwick, and the Seven Champions of England, were handed around the school, were they not all purchased with my own pocket-money? Was that selfish, brother Shandy? When we read over the siege of Troy, was I not as much concerned for the destruction of the Greeks and Trojans as any boy in the school? Was I not given three strokes of a ferula for calling Helen a bitch for it? Did any one of you shed more tears for Hector? And when king Priam came to the camp to beg his body, and returned weeping back to Troy without it – you know, brother, I could not eat my dinner.
Did that show me to be cruel? Or because, brother Shandy, my heart panted for war, did that prove it could not ache for the distresses of war too?
O brother! ’tis one thing for a soldier to gather laurels, and ’tis another to scatter cypress. [Who told thee, my dear Toby, that cypress was used by the ancients on mournful occasions?]
’Tis one thing, brother Shandy, for a soldier to hazard his own life – to leap first into the trench, where he is sure to be cut in pieces: ’tis one thing, from a thirst of glory, to enter the breach first, and march bravely on with drums and trumpets: – and ’tis another thing to reflect on the miseries of war; to view the desolations of whole countries, and consider the hardships which the soldier himself is forced (for sixpence a day, if he can get it) to undergo.
Need I be told, dear Yorick, that so soft and gentle a creature, born to love, mercy, and kindness, as man is, was not shaped for this? But why did you not add, Yorick, – if not by Nature – that he is so by Necessity?
For what is war? what is it, Yorick, when fought upon principles of liberty and honour, but the getting together of quiet and harmless people, with their swords in their hands, to keep the ambitious and the turbulent within bounds? And heaven is my witness, brother Shandy, that the pleasure I have taken in these things, and that infinite delight, in particular, which has attended my sieges on my bowling-green, has arose within me, and I hope in the corporal too, from our awareness that we were answering the great purposes of our creation.
CHAPTER 33
I told the Christian reader – hoping he is Christian; – if he is not, I am sorry for it, and beg he will consider the matter, and not lay the blame entirely upon this book–
I told him, Sir – for in truth, when a man is telling a story in the strange way I do mine, he is obliged continually to be going backwards and forwards to keep all tight together in the reader’s fancy – which if I did not take heed to do more than at first, there is so much unfixed and equivocal matter starting up, with so many breaks and gaps, and so little service do the stars afford, which, nevertheless, I hang up in some of the darkest passages, knowing that the world is apt to lose its way, with all the light the noon-day sun can give it – and now you see, I am lost myself!
But ’tis my father’s fault; and whenever my brains come to be dissected, you will perceive that he has left a large uneven thread running along the whole length of the web, so that you cannot cut out a * * (there I hang up a couple of lights again) without it being seen or felt.
You see ’tis morally impracticable for me to wind this round to where I set out–
I begin the chapter over again.
CHAPTER 34
I told the Christian reader in the beginning of the chapter which preceded my uncle Toby’s apologetical oration, that the peace of Utrecht almost parted my uncle Toby from his hobby-horse.
There is an indignant way in which a man sometimes dismounts his horse, which as good as says, ‘I’ll go afoot all my life, before I would ride a single mile upon your back again.’
Now my uncle Toby could not be said to dismount his horse in this manner, or indeed, at all – rather, his horse flung him – and somewhat viciously. It created a sort of shyness betwixt my uncle Toby and his hobby-horse. He had no use for him from March to November, except now and then to take a short ride out, just to see that the fortifications and harbour of Dunkirk were correctly demolished.
The French were so backwards all that summer in setting about it, and Monsieur Tugghe, the Deputy at Dunkirk, presented so many affecting petitions to the queen, beseeching her to cause her thunder-bolts to fall only upon the martial works; and the queen having pity, and her ministers not wishing to have the town dismantled, for these private reasons, * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * – it was three full months after my uncle Toby and the corporal had constructed the town, ready to be destroyed, that the commandants, deputies and negotiators would permit him to do so.
–Fatal inactivity!
The corporal was all for beginning the demolition, by making a breach in the ramparts.
‘No, that will never do,’ said my uncle Toby, ‘for then the English garrison will not be safe an hour; because if the French are treacherous–’
‘They are as treacherous as devils, your honour,’ said the corporal.
‘It gives me concern to hear it, Trim,’ said my uncle Toby, ‘for they don’t lack personal bravery; and if a breach is made in the ramparts, they may enter it, and make themselves masters of the place.’
‘Let them enter, if they dare,’ said the corporal, brandishing his spade.
‘In cases like this, corporal,’ said my uncle Toby, ‘a commandant must act with prudence. We will begin with the outworks towards the sea and the land, and demolish the most distant, Fort Louis, first – and the rest, one by one, as we retreat towards the town; then we’ll fill up the harbour – retire into the citadel, and blow it up: and then, corporal, we’ll embark for England.’
‘We are there,’ quoth the corporal, recollecting himself.
‘Very true,’ said my
uncle Toby, looking at the church.
CHAPTER 35
A delusive, delicious consultation or two of this kind, betwixt my uncle Toby and Trim, upon the demolition of Dunkirk, for a moment recalled the ideas of those pleasures which were slipping from under him.
Yet all went on heavily. Stillness and Silence entered the solitary parlour, and drew their gauzy mantle over my uncle Toby’s head; and Listlessness sat quietly down beside him in his arm-chair.
No longer did Amberg and Rhinberg and Limbourg and the rest hurry on the blood. No longer did saps, and mines, and palisades, keep out this fair enemy of man’s repose. No more could my uncle Toby, after passing the French lines, as he ate his egg at supper, then break into the heart of France, march up to the gates of Paris, and fall asleep with nothing but ideas of glory. No more could he dream that he had fixed the royal standard upon the tower of the Bastille, and awake with it streaming in his head.
–Softer visions – gentler vibrations – stole sweetly in upon his slumbers. The trumpet of war fell from his hands; he took up the lute, sweet instrument! of all the most delicate! the most difficult!
– How wilt thou touch it, my dear uncle Toby?
CHAPTER 36
Now, because I have once or twice said that I was confident the following memoirs of my uncle Toby’s courtship of widow Wadman, whenever I got time to write them, would turn out one of the most complete accounts of the practice of love and love-making that ever was addressed to the world – do you imagine that I shall set out with a description of what love is? whether part God and part Devil, as Plotinus puts it–
– Or supposing the whole of love to be as ten – as Ficinus does – ‘How many parts of it are one, and how many the other’ – or whether it is all one great Devil from head to tail, as Plato says: but Plato appears to have been a man of much the same temper as doctor Baynyard, who being a great enemy to blisters, imagined that half a dozen of ’em at once would draw a man to his grave, and rashly concluded that the Devil himself was nothing but one great bouncing blister beetle.