The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman

  CHAP. XV.

  IN popp’d Corporal Trim with Stevinus: —But ’twas too late,—all the discourse had been exhausted without him, and was running into a new channel.

  —You may take the book home again, Trim, said my uncle Toby, nodding to him.

  But pri’thee, Corporal, quoth my father, drolling,—look first into it, and see if thou can’st spy aught of a sailing chariot in it.

  Corporal Trim, by being in the service, had learned too bey,— and not to remonstrate;——so taking the book to a side-table, and running over the leaves; an’ please your Honour, said Trim, I can see no such thing;—however, continued the Corporal, drolling a little in his turn, I’ll make sure work of it, an’ please your Honour;—so taking hold of the two covers of the book, one in each hand, and letting the leaves fall down, as he bent the covers back, he gave the book a good sound shake.

  There is something fallen out, however, said Trim, an’ please your Honour; but it is not a chariot, or any thing like one:— Pri’thee Corporal, said my father, smiling, what is it then?—I think, answered Trim, stooping to take it up,—’tis more like a sermon,—for it begins, with a text of scripture, and the chapter and verse;—and then goes on, not as a chariot,—but like a sermon directly.

  The company smiled.

  I cannot conceive how it is possible, quoth my uncle Toby, for such a thing as a sermon to have got into my Stevinus.

  I think ’tis a sermon, replied Trim;—but if it please your Honours, as it is a fair hand, I will read you a page;—for Trim, you must know, loved to hear himself read almost as well as talk.

  I have ever a strong propensity, said my father, to look into things which cross my way, by such strange fatalities as these;— and as we have nothing better to do, at least till Obadiah gets back, I should be obliged to you, brother, if Dr. Slop has no objection to it, to order the Corporal to give us a page or two of it,—if he is as able to do it, as he seems willing. An’ please your Honour, quoth Trim, I officiated two whole campaigns in Flanders, as Clerk to the Chaplain of the Regiment.—He can read it, quoth my uncle Toby, as well as I can.—Trim, I assure you, was the best scholar in my company, and should have had the next Halberd,1 but for the poor fellow’s misfortune. Corporal Trim laid his hand upon his heart, and made a humble bow to his Master;––then laying down his hat upon the floor, and taking up the sermon in his left hand, in order to have his right at liberty,—he advanced, nothing doubting, into the middle of the room, where he could best see, and be best seen by, his audience.

  CHAP. XVI.

  ——If you have any objection,—said my father, addressing himself to Dr. Slop: Not in the least, replied Dr. Slop;—for it does not appear on which side of the question it is wrote;—— it may be a composition of a divine of our church, as well as yours,—so that we run equal risks.——’Tis wrote upon neither side, quoth Trim, for ’tis only upon Conscience, an’ please your Honours.

  Trim’s reason put his audience into good humour,—all but Dr. Slop, who, turning his head about towards Trim, look’d a little angry.

  Begin, Trim,——and read distinctly, quoth my father;—I will, an’ please your Honour, replied the Corporal, making a bow, and bespeaking attention with a slight movement of his right hand.

  CHAP. XVII.

  ——But before the Corporal begins, I must first give you a description of his attitude;1——otherwise he will naturally stand represented, by your imagination, in an uneasy posture,— stiff,—perpendicular,—dividing the weight of his body equally upon both legs;—his eye fix’d, as if on duty;—his look determined,—clinching the sermon in his left hand, like his firelock:—In a word, you would be apt to paint Trim, as if he was standing in his platoon ready for action:——His attitude was as unlike all this as you can conceive.

  He stood before them with his body swayed, and bent forwards just so far, as to make an angle of 85 degrees and a half upon the plain of the horizon;——which sound orators, to whom I address this, know very well, to be the true persuasive angle of incidence;—in any other angle you may talk and preach;—’tis certain,—and it is done every day;—but with what effect,—I leave the world to judge!

  The necessity of this precise angle of 85 degrees and a half to a mathematical exactness,—does it not shew us, by the way,—how the arts and sciences mutually befriend each other?

  How the duce Corporal Trim, who knew not so much as an acute angle from an obtuse one, came to hit it so exactly;—or whether it was chance or nature, or good sense or imitation, &c. shall be commented upon in that part of this cyclopædia of arts and sciences,2 where the instrumental parts of the eloquence of the senate, the pulpit, the bar, the coffee-house, the bedchamber, and fire-side, fall under consideration.

  He stood,—for I repeat it, to take the picture of him in at one view, with his body sway’d, and somewhat bent forwards,—his right leg firm under him, sustaining seven-eighths of his whole weight,—the foot of his left leg, the defect of which was no disadvantage to his attitude, advanced a little,—not laterally, nor forwards, but in a line betwixt them;—his knee bent, but that not violently,—but so as to fall within the limits of the line of beauty;3—and I add, of the line of science too;—for consider, it had one eighth part of his body to bear up;—so that in this case the position of the leg is determined,—because the foot could be no further advanced, or the knee more bent, than what would allow him, mechanically, to receive an eighth part of his whole weight under it,—and to carry it too.

  This I recommend to painters;—need I add,—to orators?—I think not; for, unless they practise it,—they must fall upon their noses.

  So much for Corporal Trim’s body and legs.—He held the sermon loosely,—not carelessly, in his left hand, raised something above his stomach, and detach’d a little from his breast;— his right arm falling negligently by his side, as nature and the laws of gravity order’d it,—but with the palm of it open and turned towards his audience, ready to aid the sentiment, in case it stood in need.

  Corporal Trim’s eyes and the muscles of his face were in full harmony with the other parts of him;—he look’d frank,— unconstrained,—something assured,—but not bordering upon assurance.

  Let not the critick ask how Corporal Trim could come by all this; I’ve told him it shall be explained;—but so he stood before my father, my uncle Toby, and Dr. Slop,—so swayed his body, so contrasted his limbs, and with such an oratorical sweep throughout the whole figure,—a statuary might have modell’d from it;——nay, I doubt whether the oldest Fellow of a College,—or the Hebrew Professor himself, could have much mended it.

  Trim made a bow, and read as follows:

  The SERMON.4

  HEBREWS xiii. 18.

  ———For we trust we have a good Conscience.——

  “Trust!—Trust we have a good conscience!” [Certainly, Trim, quoth my father, interrupting him, you give that sentence a very improper accent; for you curl up your nose, man, and read it with such a sneering tone, as if the Parson was going to abuse the Apostle.

  He is, an’ please your Honour, replied Trim. Pugh! said my father, smiling.

  Sir, quoth Dr. Slop, Trim is certainly in the right; for the writer, (who I perceive is a Protestant) by the snappish manner in which he takes up the Apostle, is certainly going to abuse him,—if this treatment of him has not done it already. But from whence, replied my father, have you concluded so soon Dr. Slop, that the writer is of our Church?—for aught I can see yet,—he may be of any Church:—Because, answered Dr. Slop, if he was of ours,—he durst no more take such a licence,—than a bear by his beard:——If, in our communion, Sir, a man was to insult an Apostle,——a saint,—or even the paring of a saint’s nail,—he would have his eyes scratched out.——What, by the saint? quoth my uncle Toby. No; replied Dr. Slop,—he would have an old house over his head.5 Pray is the Inquisition an antient building, answered my uncle Toby, or is it a modern one?—I know nothing of architecture6 replied Dr. Slop.—— An’ plea
se your Honours, quoth Trim, the Inquisition is the vilest——Pri’thee spare thy description, Trim, I hate the very name of it, said my father.—No matter for that, answered Dr. Slop,—it has its uses; for tho’ I’m no great advocate for it, yet in such a case as this, he would soon be taught better manners; and I can tell him, if he went on at that rate, would be flung into the Inquisition for his pains. God help him then, quoth my uncle Toby. Amen, added Trim; for, heaven above knows, I have a poor brother who has been fourteen years a captive in it.––I never heard one word of it before,7 said my uncle Toby, hastily:—How came he there, Trim? ——O, Sir! the story will make your heart bleed,—as it has made mine a thousand times;—but it is too long to be told now;—your Honour shall hear it from first to last some day when I am working besides you in our fortifications;——but the short of the story is this:——That my brother Tom went over a servant to Lisbon,—and then married a Jew’s widow, who kept a small shop, and sold sausages, which, some how or other, was the cause of his being taken in the middle of the night out of his bed, where he was lying with his wife and two small children, and carried directly to the Inquisition, where, God help him, continued Trim, fetching a sigh from the bottom of his heart,—the poor honest lad lies confined at this hour;—he was as honest a soul, added Trim, (pulling out his handkerchief) as ever blood warm’d.——

  ——The tears trickled down Trim’s cheeks faster than he could well wipe them away:—A dead silence in the room ensued for some minutes.——Certain proof of pity!

  Come, Trim, quoth my father, after he saw the poor fellow’s grief had got a little vent,—read on,—and put this melancholy story out of thy head:—I grieve that I interrupted thee;—but pri’thee begin the sermon again;—for if the first sentence in it is matter of abuse, as thou sayest, I have a great desire to know what kind of provocation the Apostle has given.

  Corporal Trim wiped his face, and returning his handkerchief into his pocket, and, making a bow as he did it,—he began again.]

  The SERMON.

  HEBREWS xiii. 18.

  ——— For we trust we have a good Conscience.——

  “Trust! trust we have a good conscience! Surely if there is is any thing in this life which a man may depend upon, and to the knowledge of which he is capable of arriving upon the most indisputable evidence, it must be this very thing,— whether he has a good conscience or no.”

  [I am positive I am right quoth Dr. Slop.]

  “If a man thinks at all, he cannot well be a stranger to the true state of this account;—he must be privy to his own thoughts and desires;—he must remember his past pursuits, and know certainly the true springs and motives which, in general, have governed the actions of his life.”

  [I defy him, without an assistant, quoth Dr. Slop.]

  “In other matters we may be deceived by false appearances; and, as the Wise Man complains, hardly do we guess aright at the things that are upon the earth, and with labour do we find the things that are before us. 8 But here the mind has all the evidence and facts within herself;––is conscious of the web she has wove;—knows its texture and fineness, and the exact share which every passion has had in working upon the several designs which virtue or vice has plann’d9 before her.”

  [The language is good, and I declare Trim reads very well, quoth my father.]

  “Now,—as conscience is nothing else but the knowledge which the mind has within herself of this; and the judgment, either of approbation or censure, which it unavoidably makes upon the successive actions of our lives; ’tis plain you will say, from the very terms of the proposition,—whenever this inward testimony goes against a man, and he stands self-accused,—that he must necessarily be a guilty man.—And, on the contrary, when the report is favourable on his side, and his heart condemns him not;—that it is not a matter of trust, as the Apostle intimates,—but a matter of certainty and fact, that the conscience is good, and that the man must be good also.”10

  [Then the Apostle is altogether in the wrong, I suppose, quoth Dr. Slop, and the Protestant divine is in the right. Sir, have patience, replied my father, for I think it will presently appear that St. Paul and the Protestant divine are both of an opinion. —As nearly so, quoth Dr. Slop, as East is to West;—but this, continued he, lifting both hands, comes from the liberty of the press.

  It is no more, at the worst, replied my uncle Toby, than the liberty of the pulpit; for it does not appear that the sermon is printed, or ever likely to be.

  Go on, Trim, quoth my father.]

  “At first sight this may seem to be a true state of the case; and I make no doubt but the knowledge of right and wrong is so truly impressed upon the mind of man,—that did no such thing ever happen, as that the conscience of a man, by long habits of sin, might (as the scripture assures it may)11 insensibly become hard;—and, like some tender parts of his body, by much stress and continual hard usage, lose, by degrees, that nice sense and perception with which God and nature endow’d it:——Did this never happen;—or was it certain that self-love could never hang the least bias upon the judgment;—or that the little interests below, could rise up and perplex the faculties of our upper regions, and encompass them about with clouds and thick darkness: 12—Could no such thing as favour and affection enter this sacred COURT:—Did WIT disdain to take a bribe in it;—or was asham’d to shew its face as an advocate for an unwarrantable enjoyment:——Or, lastly, were we assured, that INTEREST stood always unconcern’d whilst the cause was hearing,—and that PASSION never got into the judgment-seat, and pronounc’d sentence in the stead of reason, which is supposed always to preside and determine upon the case:—Was this truly so, as the objection must suppose;—no doubt then, the religious and moral state of a man would be exactly what he himself esteem’d it;—and the guilt or innocence of every man’s life could be known, in general, by no better measure, than the degrees of his own approbation and censure.

  “I own, in one case, whenever a man’s conscience does accuse him, (as it seldom errs on that side) that he is guilty; and, unless in melancholy and hypochondriack cases, we may safely pronounce upon it, that there is always sufficient grounds for the accusation.

  “But the converse of the proposition will not hold true;—— namely, that whenever there is guilt the conscience must accuse; and if it does not, that a man is therefore innocent.—This is not fact:—So that the common consolation which some good christian or other, is hourly administering to himself,—that he thanks God his mind does not misgive him; and that, consequently, he has a good conscience, because he has a quiet one,— is fallacious;—and as current as the inference is, and as infallible as the rule appears at first sight, yet, when you look nearer to it, and try the truth of this rule upon plain facts,—you see it liable to so much error from a false application;——the principle upon which it goes so often perverted;—the whole force of it lost, and sometimes so vilely cast away, that it is painful to produce the common examples from human life which confirm the account.

  “A man shall be vicious and utterly debauched in his principles;—exceptionable in his conduct to the world; shall live shameless, in the open commission of a sin which no reason or pretence can justify;—a sin, by which, contrary to all the workings of humanity, he shall ruin for ever the deluded partner of his guilt;—rob her of her best dowry; and not only cover her own head with dishonour,—but involve a whole virtuous family in shame and sorrow for her sake.—Surely, you will think conscience must lead such a man a troublesome life;—he can have no rest night or day from its reproaches.

  “Alas! CONSCIENCE had something else to do, all this time, than break in upon him; as Elijah reproached the God Baal,—this domestick God was either talking, or pursuing, or was in a journey, or peradventure he slept and could not be awoke. 13

  “Perhaps He was gone out in company with Honour to fight a duel;—to pay off some debt at play;——or dirty annuity, the bargain of his lust: Perhaps CONSCIENCE all this time was engaged at home, talking loud against p
etty larceny, and executing vengeance upon some such puny crimes as his fortune and rank in life secured him against all temptation of committing; so that he lives as merrily, [if he was of our church tho’, quoth Dr. Slop, he could not]—“sleeps as soundly in his bed;— and at last meets death as unconcernedly;—perhaps much more so than a much better man.”

  [All this is impossible with us, quoth Dr. Slop, turning to my father,—the case could not happen in our Church.——It happens in ours, however, replied my father, but too often.—I own, quoth Dr. Slop, (struck a little with my father’s frank acknowledgment)—that a man in the Romish Church may live as badly;—but then he cannot easily die so.— ’Tis little matter, replied my father, with an air of indifference,—how a rascal dies.—I mean, answer’d Dr. Slop, he would be denied the benefits of the last sacraments.––-Pray how many have you in all, said my uncle Toby,—for I always forget?——Seven,14answered Dr. Slop.—Humph!—said my uncle Toby;––tho’ not accented as a note of acquiescence,—but as an interjection of that particular species of surprize, when a man, in looking into a drawer, finds more of a thing than he expected.––Humph! replied my uncle Toby. Dr. Slop, who had an ear, understood my uncle Toby as well as if he had wrote a whole volume against the seven sacraments.——Humph! replied Dr. Slop, (stating my uncle Toby’s argument over again to him)—Why, Sir, are there not seven cardinal virtues?—Seven mortal sins?—Seven golden candle-sticks?—Seven heavens?—’Tis more than I know, replied my uncle Toby.—Are there not seven wonders of the world?——Seven days of the creation?—Seven planets?15— Seven plagues?—That there are, quoth my father, with a most affected gravity. But pri’thee, continued he, go on with the rest of thy characters, Trim.]

  “Another is sordid, unmerciful, (here Trim waved his right hand) a strait-hearted, selfish wretch, incapable either of private friendship or publick spirit. Take notice how he passes by the widow and orphan in their distress, and sees all the miseries incident to human life without a sigh or a prayer.” [And please your Honours, cried Trim, I think this is a viler man than the other.]