[1.] Vide [page 105].

[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.

[3.] Vide Locke.

[BOOK IV] [ SLAWKENBERGII FABELLA][1] BOOK IV SLAWKENBERGIUS’S TALE
Vespera quâdam frigidulâ, posteriori in parte mensis Augusti, peregrinus, mulo fusco colore insidens, manticâ a tergo, paucis indusiis, binis calceis, braccisque sericis coccineis repleta, Argentoratum ingressus est. It was one cool refreshing evening, at the close of a very sultry day, in the latter end of the month of August, when a stranger, mounted upon a dark mule, with a small cloak-bag behind him, containing a few shirts, a pair of shoes, and a crimson-sattin pair of breeches, entered the town of Strasburg.
Militi eum percontanti, quum portas intraret dixit, se apud Nasorum promontorium fuisse, Francofurtum proficisci, et Argentoratum, transitu ad fines Sarmatiæ mensis intervallo, reversurum. He told the centinel, who questioned him as he entered the gates, that he had been at the Promontory of Noses—was going on to Frankfort——and should be back again at Strasburg that day month, in his way to the borders of Crim Tartary.
Miles peregrini in faciem suspexit——Dî boni, nova forma nasi! The centinel looked up into the stranger’s face——he never saw such a Nose in his life!
At multum mihi profuit, inquit peregrinus, carpum amento extrahens, e quo pependit acinaces: Loculo manum inseruit; et magnâ cum urbanitate, pilei parte anteriore tactâ manu sinistrâ, ut extendit dextram, militi florinum dedit et processit. —I have made a very good venture of it, quoth the stranger—so slipping his wrist out of the loop of a black ribbon, to which a short scymetar was hung, he put his hand into his pocket, and with great courtesy touching the fore part of his cap with his left hand, as he extended his right——he put a florin into the centinel’s hand, and passed on.
Dolet mihi, ait miles, tympanistam nanum et valgum alloquens, virum adeo urbanum vaginam perdidisse: itinerari haud poterit nudâ acinaci; neque vaginam toto Argentorato, habilem inveniet.———Nullam unquam habui, respondit peregrinus respiciens———seque comiter inclinans—hoc more gesto, nudam acinacem elevans, mulo lentò progrediente, ut nasum tueri possim. It grieves me, said the centinel, speaking to a little dwarfish bandy-legg’d drummer, that so courteous a soul should have lost his scabbard———he cannot travel without one to his scymetar, and will not be able to get a scabbard to fit it in all Strasburg.——I never had one, replied the stranger, looking back to the centinel, and putting his hand up to his cap as he spoke——I carry it, continued he, thus——holding up his naked scymetar, his mule moving on slowly all the time—on purpose to defend my nose.
Non immerito, benigne peregrine, respondit miles. It is well worth it, gentle stranger, replied the centinel.
Nihili æstimo, ait ille tympanista, e pergamenâ factitius est. ——’Tis not worth a single stiver, said the bandy-legg’d drummer——’tis a nose of parchment.
Prout christianus sum, inquit miles, nasus ille, ni sexties major sit, meo esset conformis. As I am a true catholic—except that it is six times as big—’tis a nose, said the centinel, like my own.
Crepitare audivi ait tympanista. —I heard it crackle, said the drummer.
Mehercule! sanguinem emisit, respondit miles. By dunder, said the centinel, I saw it bleed.
Miseret me, inquit tympanista, qui non ambo tetigimus! What a pity, cried the bandy-legg’d drummer, we did not both touch it!
Eodem temporis puncto, quo hæc res argumentata fuit inter militem et tympanistam, disceptabatur ibidem tubicine et uxore suâ qui tunc accesserunt, et peregrino prætereunte, restiterunt. At the very time that this dispute was maintaining by the centinel and the drummer—was the same point debating betwixt a trumpeter and a trumpeter’s wife, who were just then coming up, and had stopped to see the stranger pass by.
Quantus nasus! æque longus est, ait tubicina, ac tuba. Benedicity!———What a nose! ’tis as long, said the trumpeter’s wife, as a trumpet.
Et ex eodem metallo, ait tubicen, velut sternutamento audias. And of the same metal, said the trumpeter, as you hear by its sneezing.
Tantum abest, respondit illa, quod fistulam dulcedine vincit. ’Tis as soft as a flute, said she.
Æneus est, ait tubicen. —’Tis brass, said the trumpeter.
Nequaquam, respondit uxor. —’Tis a pudding’s end, said his wife.
Rursum affirmo, ait tubicen, quod æneus est. I tell thee again, said the trumpeter, ’tis a brazen nose.
Rem penitus explorabo; prius, enim digito tangam, ait uxor, quam dormivero. I’ll know the bottom of it, said the trumpeter’s wife, for I will touch it with my finger before I sleep.
Mulus peregrini gradu lento progressus est, ut unumquodque verbum controversiæ, non tantum inter militem et tympanistam, verum etiam inter tubicinem et uxorem ejus, audiret. The stranger’s mule moved on at so slow a rate, that he heard every word of the dispute, not only betwixt the centinel and the drummer, but betwixt the trumpeter and trumpeter’s wife.
Nequaquam, ait ille, in muli collum fræna demittens, et manibus ambabus in pectus positis, (mulo lentè progrediente) nequaquam, ait ille respiciens, non necesse est ut res isthæc dilucidata foret. Minime gentium! meus nasus nunquam tangetur, dum spiritus hos reget artus—Ad quid agendum? ait uxor burgomagistri. No! said he, dropping his reins upon his mule’s neck, and laying both his hands upon his breast, the one over the other, in a saint-like position (his mule going on easily all the time) No! said he, looking up—I am not such a debtor to the world——slandered and disappointed as I have been—as to give it that conviction——no! said he, my nose shall never be touched whilst Heaven gives me strength——To do what? said a burgomaster’s wife.
Peregrinus illi non respondit. Votum faciebat tunc temporis sancto Nicolao; quo facto, in sinum dextrum inserens, e quâ negligenter pependit acinaces, lento gradu processit per plateam Argentorati latam quæ ad diversorium templo ex adversum ducit. The stranger took no notice of the burgomaster’s wife———he was making a vow to Saint Nicolas; which done, having uncrossed his arms with the same solemnity with which he crossed them, he took up the reins of his bridle with his left hand, and putting his right hand into his bosom, with his scymetar hanging loosely to the wrist of it, he rode on, as slowly as one foot of the mule could follow another, thro’ the principal streets of Strasburg, till chance brought him to the great inn in the market-place over against the church.
Peregrinus mulo descendens stabulo includi, et manticam inferri jussit: quâ apertâ et coccineis sericis femoralibus extractis cum argenteo laciniato Περιζώματα, his sese induit, statimque, acinaci in manu, ad forum deambulavit. The moment the stranger alighted, he ordered his mule to be led into the stable, and his cloak-bag to be brought in; then opening, and taking out of it his crimson-sattin breeches, with a silver-fringed—(appendage to them, which I dare not translate)—he put his breeches, with his fringed codpiece on, and forthwith, with his short scymetar in his hand, walked out on to the grand parade.
Quod ubi peregrinus esset ingressus, uxorem tubicinis obviam euntem aspicit; illico cursum flectit, metuens ne nasus suus exploraretur, atque ad diversorium regressus est—exuit se vestibus; braccas coccineas sericas manticæ imposuit mulumque educi jussit. The stranger had just taken three turns upon the parade, when he perceived the trumpeter’s wife at the opposite side of it—so turning short, in pain lest his nose should be attempted, he instantly went back to his inn—undressed himself, packed up his crimson-sattin breeches, &c., in his cloak-bag, and called for his mule.
Francofurtum proficiscor, ait ille, et Argentoratum quatuor abhinc hebdomadis revertar. I am going forwards, said the stranger, for Frankfort——and shall be back at Strasburg this day month.
Bene curasti hoc jumentum? (ait) muli faciem manu demulcens—me, manticamque mean, plus sexcentis mille passibus portavit. I hope, continued the stranger, stroking down the face of his mule with his left hand as he was going to mount it, that you have been kind to this faithful slave of mine—it has carried me and my cloak-bag, continued he, tapping the mule’s back, above six hundred leagues.
Longa via est! respondet hospes, nisi plurimum esset negoti.—Enimvero, ait peregrinus, a Nasorum promontorio redii, et nasum speciosissimum, egregiosissimumque quem unquam quisquam sortitus est, acquisivi. ——’Tis a long journey, Sir, replied the master of the inn——unless a man has great business.——Tut! tut! said the stranger, I have been at the Promontory of Noses; and have got me one of the goodliest, thank Heaven, that ever fell to a single man’s lot.
Dum peregrinus hanc miram rationem de seipso reddit, hospes et uxor ejus, oculis intentis, peregrini nasum contemplantur——Per sanctos sanctasque omnes, ait hospitis uxor, nasis duodecim maximis in toto Argentorato major est!—estne, ait illa mariti in aurem insusurrans, nonne est nasus prægrandis? Whilst the stranger was giving this odd account of himself, the master of the inn and his wife kept both their eyes fixed full upon the stranger’s nose——By saint Radagunda, said the inn-keeper’s wife to herself, there is more of it than in any dozen of the largest noses put together in all Strasburg! is it not, said she, whispering her husband in his ear, is it not a noble nose?
Dolus inest, anime mî, ait hospes—nasus est falsus. ’Tis an imposture, my dear, said the master of the inn——’tis a false nose.
Verus est, respondit uxor—— ’Tis a true nose, said his wife.
Ex abiete factus est, ait ille, terebinthinum olet——— ’Tis made of fir-tree, said he, I smell the turpentine.———
Carbunculus inest, ait uxor. There’s a pimple on it, said she.
Mortuus est nasus, respondit hospes. ’Tis a dead nose, replied the inn-keeper.
Vivus est ait illa,—et si ipsa vivam tangam. ’Tis a live nose, and if I am alive myself, said the inn-keeper’s wife, I will touch it.
Votum feci sancto Nicolao, ait peregrinus, nasum meum intactum fore usque ad—Quodnam tempus? illico respondit illa. I have made a vow to saint Nicolas this day, said the stranger, that my nose shall not be touched till—Here the stranger, suspending his voice, looked up.———Till when? said she hastily.
Minimo tangetur, inquit ille (manibus in pectus compositis) usque ad illam horam———Quam horam? ait illa———Nullam, respondit peregrinus, donec pervenio ad—Quem locum,—obsecro? ait illa——Peregrinus nil respondens mulo conscenso discessit. It never shall be touched, said he, clasping his hands and bringing them close to his breast, till that hour—What hour? cried the inn-keeper’s wife.—Never!—never! said the stranger, never till I am got—For Heaven’s sake, into what place? said she———The stranger rode away without saying a word.

The stranger had not got half a league on his way towards Frankfort before all the city of Strasburg was in an uproar about his nose. The Compline bells were just ringing to call the Strasburgers to their devotions, and shut up the duties of the day in prayer:—no soul in all Strasburg heard ’em—the city was like a swarm of bees———men, women, and children (the Compline bells tinkling all the time) flying here and there—in at one door, out at another——this way and that way—long ways and cross ways—up one street, down another street——in at this alley, out of that———did you see it? did you see it? did you see it? O! did you see it?———who saw it? who did see it? for mercy’s sake, who saw it?

Alack o’day! I was at vespers!—I was washing, I was starching, I was scouring, I was quilting——God help me! I never saw it——I never touch’d it!——would I had been a centinel, a bandy-legg’d drummer, a trumpeter, a trumpeter’s wife, was the general cry and lamentation in every street and corner of Strasburg.

Whilst all this confusion and disorder triumphed throughout the great city of Strasburg, was the courteous stranger going on as gently upon his mule in his way to Frankfort, as if he had no concern at all in the affair———talking all the way he rode in broken sentences, sometimes to his mule—sometimes to himself—sometimes to his Julia.

O Julia, my lovely Julia!—nay, I cannot stop to let thee bite that thistle——that ever the suspected tongue of a rival should have robbed me of enjoyment when I was upon the point of tasting it.——

——Pugh!—’tis nothing but a thistle—never mind it——thou shalt have a better supper at night.

——Banish’d from my country——my friends——from thee.——