——I maintain it, the conceits of a rough-bearded man, are seven years more terse and juvenile for one single operation; and if they did not run a risk of being quite shaved away, might be carried up by continual shavings, to the highest pitch of sublimity—How Homer could write with so long a beard, I don’t know——and as it makes against my hypothesis, I as little care——But let us return to the Toilet.
Ludovicus Sorbonensis makes this entirely an affair of the body (ἐξωτερικὴ πρᾶξις) as he calls it——but he is deceived: the soul and body are joint-sharers in everything they get: A man cannot dress, but his ideas get cloath’d at the same time; and if he dresses like a gentleman, every one of them stands presented to his imagination, genteelized along with him—so that he has nothing to do, but take his pen, and write like himself.
For this cause, when your honours and reverences would know whether I writ clean and fit to be read, you will be able 455 to judge full as well by looking into my Laundress’s bill, as my book: there was one single month in which I can make it appear, that I dirtied one and thirty shirts with clean writing; and after all, was more abus’d, cursed, criticis’d, and confounded, and had more mystic heads shaken at me, for what I had wrote in that one month, than in all the other months of that year put together.
——But their honours and reverences had not seen my bills.
CHAPTER XIV
As I never had any intention of beginning the Digression I am making all this preparation for, till I come to the 15th chapter——I have this chapter to put to whatever use I think proper——I have twenty this moment ready for it——I could write my chapter of Button-holes in it——
Or my chapter of Pishes, which should follow them——
Or my chapter of Knots, in case their reverences have done with them——they might lead me into mischief: the safest way is to follow the track of the learned, and raise objections against what I have been writing, tho’ I declare beforehand, I know no more than my heels how to answer them.
And first, it may be said, there is a pelting kind of thersitical satire, as black as the very ink ’tis wrote with——(and by the bye, whoever says so, is indebted to the muster-master general of the Grecian army, for suffering the name of so ugly and foul-mouth’d a man as Thersites to continue upon his roll——for it has furnish’d him with an epithet)——in these productions he will urge, all the personal washings and scrubbings upon earth do a sinking genius no sort of good——but just the contrary, inasmuch as the dirtier the fellow is, the better generally he succeeds in it.
To this, I have no other answer——at least ready——but that the Archbishop of Benevento wrote his nasty Romance of the Galatea, as all the world knows, in a purple coat, waistcoat, and purple pair of breeches; and that the penance set him of writing a commentary upon the book of the Revelations, as severe as it was look’d upon by one part of the world, was far from being deem’d so by the other, upon the single account of that Investment.
Another objection, to all this remedy, is its want of universality; forasmuch as the shaving part of it, upon which so much stress is laid, by an unalterable law of nature excludes 456 one half of the species entirely from its use: all I can say is, that female writers, whether of England, or of France, must e’en go without it———
As for the Spanish ladies——I am in no sort of distress——
CHAPTER XV
The fifteenth chapter is come at last; and brings nothing with it but a sad signature of “How our pleasures slip from under us in this world!”
For in talking of my digression——I declare before heaven I have made it! What a strange creature is mortal man! said she.
’Tis very true, said I——but ’twere better to get all these things out of our heads, and return to my uncle Toby.
CHAPTER XVI
When my uncle Toby and the corporal had marched down to the bottom of the avenue, they recollected their business lay the other way; so they faced about and marched up straight to Mrs. Wadman’s door.
I warrant your honour; said the corporal, touching his Montero-cap with his hand, as he passed him in order to give a knock at the door——My uncle Toby, contrary to his invariable way of treating his faithful servant, said nothing good or bad: the truth was, he had not altogether marshal’d his ideas; he wish’d for another conference, and as the corporal was mounting up the three steps before the door—he hem’d twice—a portion of my uncle Toby’s most modest spirits fled, at each expulsion, towards the corporal; he stood with the rapper of the door suspended for a full minute in his hand, he scarce knew why. Bridget stood perdue within, with her finger and her thumb upon the latch, benumb’d with expectation; and Mrs. Wadman, with an eye ready to be deflowered again, sat breathless behind the window-curtain of her bed-chamber, watching their approach.
Trim! said my uncle Toby——but as he articulated the word, the minute expired, and Trim let fall the rapper.
My uncle Toby perceiving that all hopes of a conference were knock’d on the head by it———whistled Lillabullero. 457
CHAPTER XVII
As Mrs. Bridget’s finger and thumb were upon the latch, the corporal did not knock as oft as perchance your honour’s taylor——I might have taken my example something nearer home; for I owe mine, some five and twenty pounds at least, and wonder at the man’s patience——
——But this is nothing at all to the world: only ’tis a cursed thing to be in debt, and there seems to be a fatality in the exchequers of some poor princes, particularly those of our house, which no Economy can bind down in irons: for my own part, I’m persuaded there is not any one prince, prelate, pope, or potentate, great or small upon earth, more desirous in his heart of keeping straight with the world than I am——or who takes more likely means for it. I never give above half a guinea——or walk with boots——or cheapen tooth-picks——or lay out a shilling upon a band-box the year round; and for the six months I’m in the country, I’m upon so small a scale, that with all the good temper in the world, I outdo Rousseau, a bar length———for I keep neither man or boy, or horse, or cow, or dog, or cat, or anything that can eat or drink, except a thin poor piece of a Vestal (to keep my fire in), and who has generally as bad an appetite as myself——but if you think this makes a philosopher of me——I would not my good people! give a rush for your judgments.
True philosophy——but there is no treating the subject whilst my uncle is whistling Lillabullero.
——Let us go into the house. 458
CHAPTER XVIII <p><img src="images/onedot.gif" width="12" height="450" alt = "[blank space]"></p> 459
CHAPTER XIX <p><img src="images/onedot.gif" width="12" height="450" alt = "[blank space]"></p> 460
CHAPTER XX
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