Laurence Sterne's Tristram Shandy, Abridged

  ‘They are a pack of liars,’ cried Trim.

  ‘They are deceived in this matter,’ said my uncle Toby, ‘as is plain from the present miserable state of military architecture amongst them; which consists of nothing more than a fossé with a brick wall without flanks – and with a supposed bastion at each, so barbarously constructed, that it looks for all the world–’

  ‘Like one of my seven castles, your honour,’ quoth Trim.

  My uncle Toby, though needing a comparison, most courteously refused Trim’s offer – till Trim telling him he had half a dozen more in Bohemia, which he knew not how to get off his hands – my uncle Toby was so touched with the corporal’s kindness that he stopped his speech upon gunpowder, and begged him to go on with his story.

  THE STORY OF THE KING OF BOHEMIA AND HIS SEVEN CASTLES, CONTINUED

  ‘This unfortunate King of Bohemia–’ said Trim.

  ‘Was he unfortunate, then?’ cried my uncle Toby.

  The corporal, wishing the word at the devil, began to run back in his mind the principal events in the King of Bohemia’s story; from which it appeared that he was the most fortunate man in the world. It stopped the corporal in his tracks: for not caring to retract the phrase – still less to explain it – and least of all, to twist his tale – he looked in my uncle Toby’s face for help, but seeing my uncle Toby awaiting help himself, after a hum and a haw, he went on:

  ‘The King of Bohemia,’ said the corporal, ‘was unfortunate in this – that taking great pleasure in navigation and all sort of sea affairs – and there happening throughout the whole kingdom of Bohemia to be no seaport town whatever–’

  ‘How the deuce should there be, Trim?’ cried my uncle Toby; ‘for Bohemia being totally inland, it could have happened no otherwise.’

  ‘There might be,’ said Trim, ‘if it had pleased God.’

  My uncle Toby never spoke of God without diffidence.

  ‘I believe not,’ he replied, after a pause; ‘for having Silesia and Moravia to the east; Lusatia and Upper Saxony to the north; Franconia to the west, and Bavaria to the south, Bohemia could not have been propelled to the sea without ceasing to be Bohemia. Nor could the sea have come up to Bohemia, without overflowing a great part of Germany, and destroying millions of defenceless inhabitants. Which would mean such a lack of compassion in him who caused it – that I think, Trim, the thing could in no way happen.’

  The corporal made the bow of conviction; and went on.

  ‘Now the King of Bohemia with his queen and courtiers happening one fine summer’s evening to walk out–’

  ‘Aye! there the word happening is right, Trim,’ cried my uncle Toby; ‘for the King of Bohemia and his queen might have walked out or not: – ’twas a matter of chance.’

  ‘King William was of the opinion, your honour,’ quoth Trim, ‘that everything was predestined for us in this world; so that he would often say to his soldiers, that “every bullet had its billet.”’

  ‘He was a great man,’ said my uncle Toby.

  ‘And I believe,’ continued Trim, ‘that the shot which disabled me at the battle of Landen, was pointed at my knee for no other purpose, but to place me in your honour’s service, where I should be taken so much better care of in my old age.’

  ‘So I believe too, Trim,’ said my uncle Toby.

  Both hearts were full of sudden overflowings; a short silence ensued.

  ‘Besides,’ resumed the corporal more cheerfully, ‘if it had not been for that single shot, I would never have been in love.’

  ‘So, thou wast once in love, Trim!’ said my uncle Toby, smiling.

  ‘Head over heels! your honour.’

  ‘Prithee when? where? – and how came it to pass? I never heard one word of it before,’ quoth my uncle.

  ‘I dare say,’ answered Trim, ‘that every drummer in the regiment knew of it.’

  ‘Then it’s high time I did,’ said my uncle Toby.

  ‘Your honour remembers the total rout and confusion of our army at Landen; everyone was left to shift for himself; and if it had not been for the regiments of Wyndham, Lumley, and Galway, which covered the retreat, the king himself could scarce have gained it – he was pressed hard, as your honour knows–’

  ‘Gallant mortal!’ cried my uncle Toby, with enthusiasm – ‘I see him galloping to bring up the remains of the English cavalry, and tear the laurel from Luxembourg’s brows – I see him riding along the line – then wheeling about, and charging Conti at the head of it – Brave! brave, by heaven! He deserves a crown.’

  ‘As richly, as a thief a halter,’ shouted Trim.

  My uncle Toby knew the corporal’s loyalty; – otherwise the comparison was not at all to his liking. The corporal regretted it, but it could not be recalled; so he went on.

  ‘As the number of wounded was prodigious, and no one had time to think of anything but his own safety, I was left upon the field. It was noon the next day before I was put into a cart with thirteen or fourteen more, to be taken to hospital. There is no part of the body, your honour, where a wound causes more intolerable anguish than upon the knee–’

  ‘Except the groin,’ said my uncle Toby.

  ‘An’ please your honour,’ replied the corporal, ‘the knee, in my opinion, must certainly be the most acute, there being so many tendons and what-d’ye-call-’ems all around it.’

  ‘It is for that reason,’ quoth my uncle Toby, ‘that the groin is infinitely more sensitive – there being not only tendons and what-d’ye-call-’ems – but moreover * * *.’

  Mrs. Wadman, who had been all this time in her arbour, instantly held her breath – unpinned her mob-cap, and stood upon one leg.

  The dispute went on with amicable and equal force betwixt my uncle Toby and Trim; till Trim at length recollecting that he had often cried at his master’s sufferings, but never shed a tear at his own, was willing to give up the point, which my uncle Toby would not allow.

  ‘’Tis proof of nothing, Trim,’ said he, ‘but thy generosity.’

  So whether the pain of a wound in the groin is greater than the pain of a wound in the knee – or vice versa – to this day remains unsettled.

  CHAPTER 20

  ‘The anguish of my knee,’ continued the corporal, ‘was excessive; and the uneasiness of the cart on the rough roads made it still worse. Every step was death to me: so that with the loss of blood, and a fever besides, all together it was more than I could bear.

  ‘Our cart halted at a peasants’ house; they helped me in, and a young woman took a cordial from her pocket to give me. Seeing it cheered me, she gave it me a second and a third time.

  ‘I told her of the anguish I was in, saying it was so intolerable to me, that I had much rather lie down and die, than go on – when, upon her attempting to lead me to the bed, I fainted away in her arms. She was a good soul! as your honour will hear,’ said the corporal, wiping his eyes.

  ‘I thought love was a joyous thing,’ quoth my uncle Toby.

  ‘’Tis the most serious thing, your honour, (sometimes), in the world. The cart with the wounded men set off without me. So when I came round, I found myself in a quiet cottage, with no one but the young woman, and the peasant and his wife. I was laid across the bed in the corner, with my wounded leg upon a chair, and the young woman beside me, holding her handkerchief dipped in vinegar to my nose, and rubbing my temples.

  ‘I took her at first for the peasant’s daughter, so had offered her a little purse with eighteen florins, which my poor brother Tom had sent me, just before he set out for Lisbon. – I never told your honour that piteous story yet.’ – Here Trim wiped his eyes again.

  ‘The young woman called the old man and his wife into the room to show them the money,’ he went on, ‘in order to gain me credit for a bed and what necessaries I should want, till I could be got to the hospital. “Come then!” said she; “I’ll be your banker – and I’ll be your nurse too.”

  ‘I thought by her manner of speaking, as well as by her dress
, that the young woman could not be the peasant’s daughter. She was in black down to her toes, with her hair concealed under a cambric border: she was one of those kind of nuns, of which, your honour knows, there are a good many in Flanders.’

  ‘By thy description, Trim,’ said my uncle Toby, ‘I dare say she was a young Beguine, who are found in the Spanish Netherlands. They differ from nuns in this, that they can quit their cloister if they choose to marry. They take care of the sick by profession – though I had rather they did it out of good-nature.’

  ‘She often told me,’ quoth Trim, ‘she did it for the love of Christ. – I did not like it.’

  ‘We’ll ask Mr. Yorick about it to-night, at my brother Shandy’s – so remind me,’ said my uncle Toby.

  ‘The young Beguine,’ continued the corporal, ‘having told me she would be my nurse, went to prepare something for me – and in a short time she came back with flannels, and having fomented my knee for a couple of hours, and made me a thin basin of gruel for my supper, she wished me rest, and promised to be with me early in the morning.

  ‘I had little rest. My fever ran very high that night – I kept seeing her – I was every moment cutting the world in two, to give her half – and crying that I had nothing but a knapsack and eighteen florins to share with her. The whole night long, I dreamed the fair Beguine, like an angel, was close by my bedside, offering me cordials – and I was only awakened from my dreams by her coming as promised, and giving them in reality. She was scarce ever away from me; and so dependent on her was I, that my heart sickened when she left the room: and yet,’ continued the corporal, making a strange observation–

  ‘– it was not love – for during the three weeks she was almost constantly with me, fomenting my knee with her hand, night and day – I can honestly say, your honour, that * * * * * * * * * * * * * ,not once.’

  ‘That was very odd, Trim,’ quoth my uncle Toby.

  ‘I think so too,’ said Mrs. Wadman.

  ‘It never did,’ said the corporal.

  CHAPTER 21

  ‘But ’tis no marvel,’ continued the corporal, seeing my uncle Toby musing – ‘for Love, your honour, is exactly like war, in this; that a soldier, even though he has escaped three weeks by Saturday night, may nevertheless be shot through his heart on Sunday morning. It happened so here, only it was on Sunday afternoon when I fell in love all at once – it burst upon me, your honour, like a bomb – scarce giving me time to say, “God bless me.”’

  ‘I thought,’ said my uncle, ‘a man never fell in love so suddenly. I prithee, tell me how this happened.’

  ‘With pleasure,’ said the corporal, bowing.

  CHAPTER 22

  ‘On a Sunday afternoon, the old man and his wife had walked out–

  ‘Everything was still as midnight about the house–

  ‘There was not so much as a duck or a duckling in the yard–

  –‘when the fair Beguine came in to see me.

  ‘My wound was then doing fairly well – the inflammation had gone, but I had an itch both above and below my knee, so insufferable that I had not slept for it.

  ‘“Let me see it,” said she, kneeling down, and laying her hand upon the part below my knee – “it only wants rubbing a little;” so covering it with the bed-clothes, she began with the forefinger of her right hand to rub under my knee, guiding her finger by the edge of the dressing.

  ‘In five or six minutes I felt the end of her second finger – and presently it was laid flat with the other, and she continued rubbing in that way round and round for a good while. It then came into my head, that I should fall in love. – I blushed when I saw how white a hand she had – I shall never see another hand so white whilst I live.’

  ‘Not in that place,’ said my uncle Toby.

  Though he was serious, the corporal could not help smiling.

  ‘The young Beguine,’ he continued, ‘seeing the rubbing helped me greatly, proceeded to rub with three fingers – till by little and little she brought down the fourth, and rubbed with her whole hand: I will never say another word upon hands again – but it was softer than satin–’

  ‘Prithee, Trim, commend it as much as thou wilt,’ said my uncle Toby; ‘I shall hear thy story with the more delight.’

  The corporal thanked his master.

  ‘The fair Beguine,’ said he, ‘continued rubbing with her whole hand under my knee, till I feared her zeal would weary her. “I would do a thousand times more,” said she, “for the love of Christ” – In saying which, she moved her hand to the part above my knee, and rubbed it also.

  ‘I perceived, then, I was beginning to be in love–

  ‘As she continued rub-rub-rubbing – I felt it spread from under her hand, your honour, to every part of my frame.

  ‘The more she rubbed, and the longer strokes she took – the more the fire kindled in my veins – till at length, by two or three strokes longer than the rest – my passion rose to the highest pitch – I seized her hand–’

  ‘– And then thou clapped it to thy lips, Trim,’ said my uncle Toby, ‘and made a speech.’

  Whether the corporal’s amour ended precisely in that way, is not important; it is enough that it contained the essence of all the love romances which have ever been wrote since the beginning of the world.

  CHAPTER 23

  As soon as the corporal had finished the story of his amour, Mrs. Wadman silently sallied forth from her arbour, passed the wicker-gate, and advanced towards my uncle Toby’s sentry-box. The effect which Trim had made in my uncle’s mind was too favourable a crisis to let slip.

  The attack was determined upon: it was facilitated still more by my uncle Toby’s ordering the corporal to move away the shovel, spade, pick-axe, and other military stores which lay scattered upon the ground. – The corporal marched – the field was clear.

  If ever Plan deserved registering in letters of gold, it was certainly the Plan of Mrs. Wadman’s attack on my uncle Toby in his sentry-box.

  Now the plan hanging up in the sentry-box at this point being the plan of Dunkirk, and the tale of Dunkirk a tale of relaxation, it opposed every impression she could make: and besides, the manoeuvre of fingers and hands in the attack of the sentry-box, was so outdone by the fair Beguine’s, in Trim’s story, that just then, that particular attack, however successful before, became the most heartless attack that could be made.

  But Mrs. Wadman had scarce opened the wicket-gate, when her mind took in the change of circumstances.

  She formed a new attack in a moment.

  CHAPTER 24

  ‘I am half distracted, captain Shandy,’ said Mrs. Wadman, holding up her handkerchief to her left eye, as she approached the door of the sentry-box. ‘A mote – or sand – or something – has got into my eye – do look into it.’

  In saying which, Mrs. Wadman edged herself close in beside my uncle Toby, and squeezed herself upon the corner of his bench. ‘Do look into it,’ said she.

  Honest soul! thou didst look into it with as much innocence as a child; and ’twere as much a sin to have hurt thee.

  I will answer for my uncle Toby, that he would have sat quietly upon a sofa from June to January, with an eye as fine as the Thracian Rodope’s beside him, without being able to tell whether it was black or blue.

  The difficulty was to get my uncle Toby to look at an eye at all.

  ’Tis surmounted. And

  I see him with his pipe in his hand, and the ashes falling out of it – looking and looking again, with twice the good-nature that ever Galileo looked for a spot in the sun.

  In vain! for Widow Wadman’s left eye shines as lucid as her right – there is neither mote, or sand, or dust, or speck floating in it. – Nothing, my dear uncle! but one delicious fire, furtively shooting out from it, into thine–

  If thou lookest, uncle Toby, one moment longer – thou art undone.

  CHAPTER 25

  An eye is exactly like a cannon, in this respect; tha
t it is not so much the eye or the cannon, in themselves, as it is the carriage of the eye – and the carriage of the cannon, by which both are able to do execution. I don’t think the comparison a bad one; however, as ’tis placed at the head of the chapter, as much for use as ornament, all I desire in return is, that whenever I speak of Mrs. Wadman’s eyes, you keep it in your fancy.

  ‘I protest, Madam,’ said my uncle Toby, ‘I can see nothing in your eye.’

  ‘It is not in the white,’ said Mrs. Wadman: my uncle Toby looked with might and main into the pupil–

  Now of all the eyes which ever were created, up to those of Venus herself – there never was an eye so fitted to rob my uncle Toby of his repose, as this one. It was not, Madam, a rolling, wanton eye – nor an eye petulant and imperious, of high claims and terrifying demands, which would have curdled at once that milk of human nature which made up my uncle Toby.

  ’Twas an eye soft and gentle – speaking not like the trumpet stop of some ill-made organ, but whispering soft like the last low accent of an expiring saint – ‘How can you live comfortless, captain Shandy, and alone, without a bosom to lean your head on – or to trust your cares to?’

  It was an eye–

  But I shall be in love with it myself, if I say another word about it.

  – It did the business for my uncle Toby.

  CHAPTER 26

  There is nothing that shows the character of my father and my uncle Toby in a more entertaining light, than their different manner under the same accident of love. I do not call love a misfortune, but am persuaded that a man’s heart is the better for it.

  Great God! what must my uncle Toby’s heart have been with love, when ’twas all benignity without it.

  My father, as appears from many of his papers, was very subject to this passion before he married – but from a little subacid kind of drollish impatience in his nature, whenever love befell him, he would never submit to it, but would pish, and huff, and bounce, and kick, and play the Devil, and write the bitterest verses that ever man wrote. There is one verse upon somebody’s eye that for two or three nights kept him from his rest; which begins thus: