The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy [122]
father and his christian-names--I have no thoughts of treading upon Francis the First--nor in the affair of the nose--upon Francis the Ninth--nor in the character of my uncle Toby--of characterizing the militiating spirits of my country--the wound upon his groin, is a wound to every comparison of that kind--nor by Trim--that I meant the duke of Ormond--or that my book is wrote against predestination, or free-will, or taxes--If 'tis wrote against any thing,-- 'tis wrote, an' please your worships, against the spleen! in order, by a more frequent and a more convulsive elevation and depression of the diaphragm, and the succussations of the intercostal and abdominal muscles in laughter, to drive the gall and other bitter juices from the gall- bladder, liver, and sweet-bread of his majesty's subjects, with all the inimicitious passions which belong to them, down into their duodenums.
Chapter 2.LVIII.
--But can the thing be undone, Yorick? said my father--for in my opinion, continued he, it cannot. I am a vile canonist, replied Yorick--but of all evils, holding suspence to be the most tormenting, we shall at least know the worst of this matter. I hate these great dinners--said my father--The size of the dinner is not the point, answered Yorick--we want, Mr. Shandy, to dive into the bottom of this doubt, whether the name can be changed or not--and as the beards of so many commissaries, officials, advocates, proctors, registers, and of the most eminent of our school-divines, and others, are all to meet in the middle of one table, and Didius has so pressingly invited you--who in your distress would miss such an occasion? All that is requisite, continued Yorick, is to apprize Didius, and let him manage a conversation after dinner so as to introduce the subject.--Then my brother Toby, cried my father, clapping his two hands together, shall go with us.
--Let my old tye-wig, quoth my uncle Toby, and my laced regimentals, be hung to the fire all night, Trim.
(page numbering skips ten pages)
Chapter 2.LX.
--No doubt, Sir,--there is a whole chapter wanting here--and a chasm of ten pages made in the book by it--but the book-binder is neither a fool, or a knave, or a puppy--nor is the book a jot more imperfect (at least upon that score)--but, on the contrary, the book is more perfect and complete by wanting the chapter, than having it, as I shall demonstrate to your reverences in this manner.--I question first, by-the-bye, whether the same experiment might not be made as successfully upon sundry other chapters-- but there is no end, an' please your reverences, in trying experiments upon chapters--we have had enough of it--So there's an end of that matter.
But before I begin my demonstration, let me only tell you, that the chapter which I have torn out, and which otherwise you would all have been reading just now, instead of this--was the description of my father's, my uncle Toby's, Trim's, and Obadiah's setting out and journeying to the visitation at. . ..
We'll go in the coach, said my father--Prithee, have the arms been altered, Obadiah?--It would have made my story much better to have begun with telling you, that at the time my mother's arms were added to the Shandy's, when the coach was re-painted upon my father's marriage, it had so fallen out that the coach-painter, whether by performing all his works with the left hand, like Turpilius the Roman, or Hans Holbein of Basil--or whether 'twas more from the blunder of his head than hand--or whether, lastly, it was from the sinister turn which every thing relating to our family was apt to take--it so fell out, however, to our reproach, that instead of the bend-dexter, which since Harry the Eighth's reign was honestly our due--a bend-sinister, by some of these fatalities, had been drawn quite across the field of the Shandy arms. 'Tis scarce credible that the mind of so wise a man as my father was, could be so much incommoded with so small a matter. The word coach--let it be whose it would--or coach-man, or coach-horse, or coach-hire, could never be named in
Chapter 2.LVIII.
--But can the thing be undone, Yorick? said my father--for in my opinion, continued he, it cannot. I am a vile canonist, replied Yorick--but of all evils, holding suspence to be the most tormenting, we shall at least know the worst of this matter. I hate these great dinners--said my father--The size of the dinner is not the point, answered Yorick--we want, Mr. Shandy, to dive into the bottom of this doubt, whether the name can be changed or not--and as the beards of so many commissaries, officials, advocates, proctors, registers, and of the most eminent of our school-divines, and others, are all to meet in the middle of one table, and Didius has so pressingly invited you--who in your distress would miss such an occasion? All that is requisite, continued Yorick, is to apprize Didius, and let him manage a conversation after dinner so as to introduce the subject.--Then my brother Toby, cried my father, clapping his two hands together, shall go with us.
--Let my old tye-wig, quoth my uncle Toby, and my laced regimentals, be hung to the fire all night, Trim.
(page numbering skips ten pages)
Chapter 2.LX.
--No doubt, Sir,--there is a whole chapter wanting here--and a chasm of ten pages made in the book by it--but the book-binder is neither a fool, or a knave, or a puppy--nor is the book a jot more imperfect (at least upon that score)--but, on the contrary, the book is more perfect and complete by wanting the chapter, than having it, as I shall demonstrate to your reverences in this manner.--I question first, by-the-bye, whether the same experiment might not be made as successfully upon sundry other chapters-- but there is no end, an' please your reverences, in trying experiments upon chapters--we have had enough of it--So there's an end of that matter.
But before I begin my demonstration, let me only tell you, that the chapter which I have torn out, and which otherwise you would all have been reading just now, instead of this--was the description of my father's, my uncle Toby's, Trim's, and Obadiah's setting out and journeying to the visitation at. . ..
We'll go in the coach, said my father--Prithee, have the arms been altered, Obadiah?--It would have made my story much better to have begun with telling you, that at the time my mother's arms were added to the Shandy's, when the coach was re-painted upon my father's marriage, it had so fallen out that the coach-painter, whether by performing all his works with the left hand, like Turpilius the Roman, or Hans Holbein of Basil--or whether 'twas more from the blunder of his head than hand--or whether, lastly, it was from the sinister turn which every thing relating to our family was apt to take--it so fell out, however, to our reproach, that instead of the bend-dexter, which since Harry the Eighth's reign was honestly our due--a bend-sinister, by some of these fatalities, had been drawn quite across the field of the Shandy arms. 'Tis scarce credible that the mind of so wise a man as my father was, could be so much incommoded with so small a matter. The word coach--let it be whose it would--or coach-man, or coach-horse, or coach-hire, could never be named in