— et insurgat adversus illum cœlum cum omnibus virtutibus quæ in eo moventur ad damnandum eum, nisi penituerit et ad satisfactionem venerit. Amen. Fiat, fiat. Amen.
— “curse him!” continued Dr. Slop,— “and may heaven, with all the powers which move therein, rise up against him, curse and damn him” (Obadiah) “unless he repent and make satisfaction! Amen. So be it, — so be it. Amen.”
I declare, quoth my uncle Toby, my heart would not let me curse the devil himself with so much bitterness. — He is the father of curses, replied Dr. Slop. — So am not I, replied my uncle. — But he is cursed, and damn’d 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 the compliment of his Whu — u — u — or interjectional whistle — when the door hastily opening in the next chapter but one — put an end to the affair.
[Footnote 3.2: As the genuineness of the consultation of the Sorbonne upon the question of baptism, was doubted by some, and denied by others— ’twas thought proper to print the original of this excommunication; for the copy of which Mr. Shandy returns thanks to the chapter clerk of the dean and chapter of Rochester.]
CHAPTER XII
Now don’t let us give ourselves a parcel of airs, and pretend that the oaths we make free with in this land of liberty of ours are our own; and because we have the spirit to swear them, — imagine that we have had the wit to invent them too.
I’ll undertake this moment to prove it to any man in the world, except to a connoisseur: — though I declare I object only to a connoisseur in swearing, — as I would do to a connoisseur in painting, &c., &c., the whole set of ‘em are so hung round and befetish’d with the bobs and trinkets of criticism, — or to drop my metaphor, which by the bye is a pity, — for I have fetch’d it as far as from the coast of Guiney; — their heads, Sir, are stuck so full of rules and compasses, and have that eternal propensity to apply them upon all occasions, that a work of genius had better go to the devil at once, than stand to be prick’d and tortured to death by ‘em.
— And how did Garrick speak the soliloquy last night? — Oh, against all rule, my lord, — most ungrammatically! betwixt the substantive and the adjective, which should agree together in number, case, and gender, he made a breach thus, — stopping, as if the point wanted settling; — and betwixt the nominative case, which your lordship knows should govern the verb, he suspended his voice in the epilogue a dozen times three seconds and three-fifths by a stop-watch, my lord, each time, — Admirable grammarian! — But in suspending his voice — was the sense suspended likewise? Did no expression of attitude or countenance fill up the chasm? — Was the eye silent? Did you narrowly look? — I look’d only at the stop-watch, my lord. — Excellent observer!
And what of this new book the whole world makes such a rout about? — Oh! ’tis out of all plumb, my lord, — quite an irregular thing! — not one of the angles at the four corners was a right angle. — I had my rule and compasses, &c., my lord, in my pocket. — Excellent critick!
— And for the epick poem your lordship bid me look at — upon taking the length, breadth, height, and depth of it, and trying them at home upon an exact scale of Bossu’s— ’tis out, my lord, in every one of its dimensions. — Admirable connoisseur!
— And did you step in, to take a look at the grand picture in your way back?— ’Tis a melancholy daub! my lord; not one principle of the pyramid in any one group! — and what a price! — for there is nothing of the colouring of Titian — the expression of Rubens — the grace of Raphael — the purity of Dominichino — the corregiescity of Corregio — the learning of Poussin — the airs of Guido — the taste of the Carrachis — or the grand contour of Angela. — Grant me patience, just Heaven! — Of all the cants which are canted in this canting world — though the cant of hypocrites may be the worst — the cant of criticism is the most tormenting!
I would go fifty miles on foot, for I have not a horse worth riding on, to kiss the hand of that man whose generous heart will give up the reins of his imagination into his author’s hands — be pleased he knows not why, and cares not wherefore.
Great Apollo! if thou art in a giving humour — give me — I ask no more, but one stroke of native humour, with a single spark of thy own fire along with it — and send Mercury, with the rules and compasses, if he can be spared, with my compliments to — no matter.
Now to any one else I will undertake to prove, that all the oaths and imprecations which we have been puffing off upon the world for these two hundred and fifty years last past as originals — except St. Paul’s thumb — God’s flesh and God’s fish, which were oaths monarchical, and, considering who made them, not much amiss; and as kings’ oaths, ’tis not much matter whether they were fish or flesh; — else I say, there is not an oath, or at least a curse amongst them, which has not been copied over and over again out of Ernulphus a thousand times: but, like all other copies, how infinitely short of the force and spirit of the original! — It is thought to be no bad oath — and by itself passes very well— “G — d damn you.” — 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, we cannot rise up to: besides, he is more copious in his invention — possess’d more of the excellencies of a swearer — had such a thorough knowledge of the human frame, its membranes, nerves, ligaments, knittings of the joints, and articulations, — 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 want of grace — but then there is such a greatness of gusto!
My father, who generally look’d upon everything in a light very different from all mankind, would, after all, never allow this to be an original. — He considered rather, Ernulphus’s anathema, as an institute of swearing, in which, as he suspected, upon the decline of swearing in some milder pontificate, Ernulphus, by order of the succeeding pope, had with great learning and diligence collected together all the laws of it; — for the same reason that Justinian, in the decline of the empire, had ordered his chancellor Tribonian to collect the Roman or civil laws all together into one code or digest — lest, through the rust of time — and the fatality of all things committed to oral tradition — they should be lost to the world for ever.
For this reason my father would oft-times affirm, 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 too; — nor have I any objection to it, but that it overturns my own.
CHAPTER XIII
— Bless my soul! — my poor mistress is ready to faint — and her pains are gone — and the drops are done — 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 edge of 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 give you an account how things are, so desires you would go up stairs and speak to her this moment.
Human nature is the same in all professions.
The midwife had just before been put over Dr. Slop’s head — He had not digested it, — No, replied Dr. Slop, ‘twould be full as proper, if the midwife came down to me. — I like subordination, quoth my uncle Toby, — and but for it, after the reduction of Lisle, I know not what might have become of the garrison of Ghent, in the mutiny for bread, in the year Ten. — Nor, replied Dr. Slop, (parodying my uncle Toby’s hobby-horsical reflection; though full as hobby-horsical himself)
— do I know, Captain Shandy, what might have become of the garrison above stairs, in the mutiny and confusion I find all things are in at present, but for the subordination of fingers and thumbs to * * * * * * — the application of which, Sir, under 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 the Shandy family had a name.
CHAPTER XIV
Let us go back to the * * * * * * — in the last chapter.
It is a singular stroke of eloquence (at least it was so, when eloquence flourished at Athens and Rome, and would be so now, did orators wear mantles) not to mention the name of a thing, when you had the thing about you in petto, ready to produce, pop, in the place you want it. A scar, an axe, a sword, a pink’d doublet, a rusty helmet, a pound and a half of pot-ashes in an urn, or a three-halfpenny pickle pot — but above all, a tender infant royally accoutred. — Tho’ if it was too young, and the oration as long as Tully’s second Philippick — it must certainly have beshit the orator’s mantle. — And then again, if too old, — it must have been unwieldy and incommodious to his action — so as to make him lose by his child almost as much as he could gain by it. — Otherwise, when a state orator has hit the precise age to a minute — hid his BAMBINO in his mantle so cunningly that no mortal could smell it — and produced it so critically, that no soul could say, it came in by head and shoulders — Oh Sirs! it has done wonders — It has open’d the sluices, and turn’d the brains, and shook the principles, and unhinged the politicks of half a nation.
These feats however are not to be done, except in those states and times, I say, where orators wore mantles — and pretty large ones too, my brethren, with some twenty or five-and-twenty yards of good purple, superfine, marketable cloth in them — with large flowing folds and doubles, and in a great style of design. — All which plainly shews, may it please your worships, that the decay of eloquence, and the little good service it does at present, both within and without doors, is owing to nothing else in the world, but short coats, and the disuse of trunk-hose. — We can conceal nothing under ours, Madam, worth shewing.
CHAPTER XV
Dr. Slop was within an ace of being an exception to all this argumentation: for happening to have his green bays bag upon his knees, when he began to parody my uncle Toby— ’twas as good as the best mantle in the world to him: for which purpose, when he foresaw the sentence would end in his new-invented forceps, he thrust his hand into the bag in order to have them ready to clap in, when your reverences took so much notice of the * * *, which had he managed — my uncle Toby had certainly been overthrown: the sentence and the argument in that case jumping closely in one point, so like the two lines which form the salient angle of a ravelin, — Dr. Slop would never have given them up; — and my uncle Toby would as soon have thought of flying, as taking them by force: but Dr. Slop fumbled so vilely in pulling them out, it took off the whole effect, and what was a ten times worse evil (for they seldom come alone in this life) in pulling out his forceps, his forceps unfortunately drew out the squirt along with it.
When a proposition can be taken in two senses— ’tis a law in disputation, That the respondent may reply to which of the two he pleases, or finds most convenient for him. — This threw the advantage of the argument quite on my uncle Toby’s side.— “Good God!” cried my uncle Toby, “are children brought into the world with a squirt?”
CHAPTER XVI
— Upon my honour, Sir, you have tore every bit of skin quite off the back of both my hands with your forceps, cried my uncle Toby — and you have crush’d all my knuckles into the bargain with them to a jelly. ’Tis your own fault, said Dr. Slop — you should have clinch’d your two fists together into the form of a child’s head as I told you, and sat firm. I did so, answered my uncle Toby. — Then the points of my forceps have not been sufficiently arm’d, or the rivet wants closing — or else the cut in my thumb has made me a little aukward — or possibly— ’Tis well, quoth my father, interrupting the detail of possibilities — that the experiment was not first made upon my child’s head-piece. — It would not have been a cherry-stone the worse, answered Dr. Slop. — I maintain it, said my uncle Toby, it would have broke the cerebellum (unless indeed the skull had been as hard as a granado) and turn’d it all into a perfect posset. — Pshaw! replied Dr. Slop, a child’s head is naturally as soft as the pap of an apple; — the sutures give way — and besides, I could have extracted by the feet after. — Not you, said she. — I rather wish you would begin that way, quoth my father.
Pray do, added my uncle Toby.
CHAPTER XVII
— And pray, good woman, after all, will you take upon you to say, it may not be the child’s hip, as well as the child’s head?— ’Tis most certainly the head, replied the midwife. Because, continued Dr. Slop (turning to my father) as positive as these old ladies generally are— ’tis a point very difficult to know — and yet of the greatest consequence to be known; — because, Sir, if the hip is mistaken for the head — there is a possibility (if it is a boy) that the forceps * * * * * *
— What the possibility was, Dr. Slop whispered very low to my father, and then to my uncle Toby. — There is no such danger, continued he, with the head. — No, in truth, quoth my father — but when your possibility has taken place at the hip — you may as well take off the head too.
— It is morally impossible the reader should understand this— ’tis enough Dr. Slop understood it; — so taking the green bays bag in his hand, with the help of Obadiah’s pumps, he tripp’d pretty nimbly, for a man of his size, across the room to the door — and from the door was shewn the way, by the good old midwife, to my mother’s apartments.
CHAPTER XVIII
It is two hours, and ten minutes — and no more — cried my father, looking at his watch, since Dr. Slop and Obadiah arrived — and I know not how it happens, brother Toby — but to my imagination it seems almost an age.
— Here — pray, Sir, take hold of my cap — nay, take the bell along with it, and my pantoufles too.
Now, Sir, they are all at your service; and I freely make you a present of ‘em, on condition you give me all your attention to this chapter.
Though my father said, “he knew not how it happen’d,” — yet he knew very well how it happen’d; — and at the instant he spoke it, was pre-determined in his mind to give my uncle Toby a clear account of the matter by a metaphysical dissertation upon the subject of duration and its simple modes, in order to shew my uncle Toby by what mechanism and mensurations in the brain it came to pass, that the rapid succession of their ideas, and the eternal scampering of the discourse from one thing to another, since Dr. Slop had come into the room, had lengthened out so short a period to so inconceivable an extent.— “I know not how it happens — cried my father, — but it seems an age.”
— ’Tis owing entirely, quoth my uncle Toby, to the succession of our ideas.
My father, who had an itch, in common with all philosophers, of reasoning upon everything which happened, and accounting for it too — proposed infinite pleasure to himself in this, of the succession of ideas, and had not the least apprehension of having it snatch’d out of his hands by my uncle Toby, who (honest man!) generally took everything as it happened; — and who, of all things in the world, troubled his brain the least with abstruse thinking; — the ideas of time and space — or how we came by those ideas — or of what stuff they were made — or whether they were born with us — or we picked them up afterwards as we went along — or whether we did it in frocks — or not till we had got into breeches — with a thousand other inquiries and disputes about INFINITY, PRESCIENCE, LIBERTY, NECESSITY, and so forth, upon whose desperate and unconquerable theories so many fine heads have been turned and cracked — never did my uncle Toby’s the least injury at all; my father knew it — and was no less surprized than he was disappointed, with my uncle’s fortuitous solution.
Do you understand the theory of that affair? replied my father
.
Not I, quoth my uncle.
— But you have some ideas, said my father, of what you talk about? —
No more than my horse, replied my uncle Toby.
Gracious heaven! cried my father, looking upwards, and clasping his two hands together — there is a worth in thy honest ignorance, brother Toby— ‘twere almost a pity to exchange it for a knowledge. — But I’ll tell thee. —
To understand what time is aright, without which we never can comprehend infinity, insomuch as one is a portion of the other — we ought seriously to sit down and consider what idea it is we have of duration, so as to give a satisfactory account how we came by it. — What is that to anybody? quoth my uncle Toby. For if you will turn your eyes inwards upon your mind, continued my father, and observe attentively, you will perceive, brother, that whilst you and I are talking together, and thinking, and smoking our pipes, or whilst we receive successively ideas in our minds, we know that we do exist, and so we estimate the existence, or the continuation of the existence of ourselves, or anything else, commensurate to the succession of any ideas in our minds, the duration of ourselves, or any such other thing co-existing with our thinking — and so according to that preconceived — You puzzle me to death, cried my uncle Toby.
— ’Tis owing to this, replied my father, that in our computations of time, we are so used to minutes, hours, weeks, and months — and of clocks (I wish there was not a clock in the kingdom) to measure out their several portions to us, and to those who belong to us — that ‘twill be well, if in time to come, the succession of our ideas be of any use or service to us at all.
Complete Works of Laurence Sterne Page 23
