I’ll know the bottom of it, said the trumpeter’s wife, for I will touch
it with my finger before I sleep.
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.
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.
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 the 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.
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 cod-piece on, and forth-with, with his
short scymetar in his hand, walked out to the grand parade.
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.
I am going forwards, said the stranger, for _Frankfort_——and shall be
back at _Strasburg_ this day month.
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.
——’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.
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?
’Tis an imposture, my dear, said the master of the inn——’tis a false
nose.
’Tis a true nose, said his wife.
’Tis made of fir-tree, said he, I smell the turpentine.——
There’s a pimple on it, said she.
’Tis a dead nose, replied the inn-keeper.
’Tis a live nose, and if I am alive myself, said the inn-keeper’s,
wife, I will touch it.
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.
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.——
Poor devil, thou’rt sadly tired with thy journey!——come—get on a little
faster—there’s nothing in my cloak-bag but two shirts——a crimson-sattin
pair of breeches, and a fringed——Dear Julia!
——But why to _Frankfort?_—is it that there is a hand unfelt, which
secretly is conducting me through these meanders and unsuspected
tracts?
——Stumbling! by saint _Nicolas!_ every step—why at this rate we shall
be all night in getting in——
——To happiness——or am I to be the sport of fortune and slander—destined
to be driven forth unconvicted——unheard——untouch’d——if so, why did I
not stay at _Strasburg_, where justice—but I had sworn! Come, thou
shalt drink—to _St. Nicolas_—O Julia!——What dost thou prick up thy ears
at?——’tis nothing but a man, &c.
The stranger rode on communing in this manner with his mule and
Julia—till he arrived at his inn, where, as soon as he arrived, he
alighted——saw his mule, as he had promised it, taken good care of——took
off his cloak-bag, with his crimson-sattin breeches, &c. in it—called
for an omelet to his supper, went to his bed about twelve o’clock, and
in five minutes fell fast asleep.
It was about the same hour when the tumult in _Strasburg_ being abated
for that night,—the _Strasburgers_ had all got quietly into their
beds—but not like the stranger, for the rest either of their minds or
bodies; queen _Mab_, like an elf as she was, had taken the stranger’s
nose, and without reduction of its bulk, had that night been at the
pains of slitting and dividing it into as many noses of different cuts
and fashions, as there were heads in _Strasburg_ to hold them. The
abbess of _Quedlingberg_, who with the four great dignitaries of her
chapter, the prioress, the deaness, the sub-chantress, and senior
canonness, had that week come to _Strasburg_ to consult the university
upon a case of conscience relating to their placket- holes——was ill all
the night.
The courteous stranger’s nose had got perched upon the top of the
pineal gland of her brain, and made such rousing work in the fancies of
the four great dignitaries of her chapter, they could not get a wink of
sleep the whole night thro’ for it——there was no keeping a limb still
amongst them——in short, they got up like so many ghosts.
The penitentiaries of the third order of saint _Francis_——the nuns of
mount _Calvary_——the _Præmonstratenses_——the _Clunienses_[9]——the
_Carthusians_, and all the severer orders of nuns, who lay that night
in blankets or hair-cloth, were still in a worse condition than the
abbess of _Quedlingberg_—by tumbling and tossing, and tossing and
tumbling from one side of their beds to the other the whole night
long——the several sisterhoods had scratch’d and maul’d themselves all
to death——they got out of their beds almost flay’d alive—every body
thought saint _Antony_ had visited them for probation with his
fire——they had never once, in short, shut their eyes the whole night
long from vespers to matins.
The nuns of saint _Ursula_ acted the wisest—they never attempted to go
to bed at all.
The dean of _Strasburg_, the prebendaries, the capitulars and
domiciliars (capitularly assembled in the morning to consider the case
of butter’d buns) all wished they had followed the nuns of saint
_Ursula_’s example.——
In the hurry and confusion every thing had been in the night before,
the bakers had all forgot to lay their leaven—there were no butter’d
buns to be had for breakfast in all _Strasburg_—the whole close of the
cathedral was in one eternal commotion——such a cause of restlessness
and disquietude, and such a zealous inquiry into that cause of the
restlessness, had never happened in _Strasburg_, since _Martin Luther_,
with his doctrines, had turned the city upside down.
If the stranger’s nose took this liberty of thrusting himself thus into
the dishes[10] of religious orders, &c. what a carnival did his nose
make of it, in those of the laity!—’tis more than my pen, worn to the
stump as it is, has power to describe; tho’, I acknowledge, (_cries_
Slawkenbergius _with more gaiety of thought than I could have expected
from him_) that there is many a good simile now subsisting in the world
which might give my countrymen some idea of it; but at the close of
such a folio as this, wrote for their sakes, and in which I have spent
the greatest part of my life——tho’ I own to them the simile is in
being, yet would it not be unreasonable in them to expect I should have
either time or inclination to search for it? Let it suffice to say,
that the riot and disorder it occasioned in the _Strasburgers_
fantasies was so general—such an overpowering mastership had it got of
all the faculties of the _Strasburgers_ minds—so many strange things,
with equal confidence on all sides, and with equal eloquence in all
places, were spoken and sworn to concerning it, that turned the whole
stream of all discourse and wonder towards it—every soul, good and
bad—rich and poor—learned and unlearned——doctor and student——mistress
and maid——gentle and simple——nun’s flesh and woman’s flesh, in
_Strasburg_ spent their time in hearing tidings about it—every eye in
_Strasburg_ languished to see it——every finger——every thumb in
_Strasburg_ burned to touch it.
Now what might add, if any thing may be thought necessary to add, to so
vehement a desire—was this, that the centinel, the bandy-legg’d
drummer, the trumpeter, the trumpeter’s wife, the burgomaster’s widow,
the master of the inn, and the master of the inn’s wife, how widely
soever they all differed every one from another in their testimonies
and description of the stranger’s nose—they all agreed together in two
points—namely, that he was gone to _Frankfort_, and would not return to
_Strasburg_ till that day month; and secondly, whether his nose was
true or false, that the stranger himself was one of the most perfect
paragons of beauty—the finest-made man—the most genteel!—the most
generous of his purse—the most courteous in his carriage, that had ever
entered the gates of _Strasburg_—that as he rode, with scymetar slung
loosely to his wrist, thro’ the streets—and walked with his
crimson-sattin breeches across the parade—’twas with so sweet an air of
careless modesty, and so manly withal——as would have put the heart in
jeopardy (had his nose not stood in his way) of every virgin who had
cast her eyes upon him.
I call not upon that heart which is a stranger to the throbs and
yearnings of curiosity, so excited, to justify the abbess of
_Quedlingberg_, the prioress, the deaness, and sub-chantress, for
sending at noon-day for the trumpeter’s wife: she went through the
streets of _Strasburg_ with her husband’s trumpet in her hand,——the
best apparatus the straitness of the time would allow her, for the
illustration of her theory—she staid no longer than three days.
The centinel and bandy-legg’d drummer!——nothing on this side of old
_Athens_ could equal them! they read their lectures under the
city-gates to comers and goers, with all the pomp of a _Chrysippus_ and
a _Crantor_ in their porticos.
The master of the inn, with his ostler on his left-hand, read his also
in the same stile—under the portico or gateway of his stable-yard—his
wife, hers more privately in a back room: all flocked to their
lectures; not promiscuously—but to this or that, as is ever the way, as
faith and credulity marshal’d them——in a word, each _Strasburger_ came
crouding for intelligence—and every _Strasburger_ had the intelligence
he wanted.
’Tis worth remarking, for the benefit of all demonstrators in natural
philosophy, &c. that as soon as the trumpeter’s wife had finished the
abbess of _Quedlingberg_’s private lecture, and had begun to read in
public, which she did upon a stool in the middle of the great
parade,——she incommoded the other demonstrators mainly, by gaining
incontinently the most fashionable part of the city of _Strasburg_ for
her auditory—But when a demonstrator in philosophy (cries
_Slawkenbergius_) has a _trumpet_ for an apparatus, pray what rival in
science can pretend to be heard besides him?
Whilst the unlearned, thro’ these conduits of intelligence, were all
busied in getting down to the bottom of the well, where TRUTH keeps her
little court——were the learned in their way as busy in pumping her up
thro’ the conduits of dialect induction——they concerned themselves not
with facts——they reasoned——
Not one profession had thrown more light upon this subject than the
Faculty—had not all their disputes about it run into the affair of
_Wens_ and œdematous swellings, they could not keep clear of them for
their bloods and souls——the stranger’s nose had nothing to do either
with wens or œdematous swellings.
It was demonstrated however very satisfactorily, that such a ponderous
mass of heterogenous matter could not be congested and conglomerated to
the nose, whilst the infant was _in Utera_, without destroying the
statical balance of the fœtus, and throwing it plump upon its head nine
months before the time.——
——The opponents granted the theory——they denied the consequences.
And if a suitable provision of veins, arteries, &c. said they, was not
laid in, for the due nourishment of such a nose, in the very first
stamina and rudiments of its formation, before it came into the world
(bating the case of Wens) it could not regularly grow and be sustained
afterwards.
This was all answered by a dissertation upon nutriment, and the effect
which nutriment had in extending the vessels, and in the increase and
prolongation of the muscular parts to the greatest growth and expansion
imaginable—In the triumph of which theory, they went so far as to
affirm, that there was no cause in nature, why a nose might not grow to
the size of the man himself.
The respondents satisfied the world this event could never happen to
them so long as a man had but one stomach and one pair of lungs——For
the stomach, said they, being the only organ destined for the reception
of food, and turning it into chyle—and the lungs the only engine of
sanguification—it could possibly work off no more, than what the
appetite brought it: or admitting the possibility of a man’s
overloading his stomach, nature had set bounds however to his lungs—the
engine was of a determined size and strength, and could elaborate but a
certain quantity in a given time——that is, it could produce just as
much blood as was sufficient for one single man, and no more; so that,
if there was as much nose as man——they proved a mortification must
necessarily ensue; and forasmuch as there could not be a support for
both, that the nose must either fall off from the man, or the man
inevitably fall off from his nose.
Nature accommodates herself to these emergencies, cried the
opponents—else what do you say to the case of a whole stomach—a whole
pair of lungs, and but half a man, when both his legs have been
unfortunately shot off?
He dies of a plethora, said they—or must spit blood, and in a fortnight
or three weeks go off in a consumption.——
——It happens otherwise—replied the opponents.——
It ought not, said they.
The more curious and intimate inquirers after nature and her doings,
though they went hand in hand a good way together, yet they all divided
about the nose at last, almost as much as the Faculty itself.
They amicably laid it down, that there was a just and geometrical
arrangement and proportion of the several parts of the human frame to
its several destinations, offices, and functions, which could not be
transgressed but within certain limits—that nature, though she
sported——she sported within a certain circle;—and they could not agree
about the diameter of it.
The logicians stuck much closer to the point before them than any of
the classes of the literati;——they began and ended with the word Nose;
and had it not been for a _petitio principii_, which one of the ablest
of them ran his head against in the beginning of the combat, the whole
controversy had been settled at once.
A nose, argued the logician, cannot bleed without blood—and not only
blood—but blood circulating in it to supply the phænomenon with a
succession of drops—(a stream being but a quicker succession of drops,
that is included, said he.)——Now death, continued the logician, being
nothing but the stagnation of the blood——
I deny the definition——Death is the separation of the soul from the
body, said his antagonist——Then we don’t agree about our weapons, said
the logician—Then there is an end of the dispute, replied the
antagonist.
The civilians were still more concise: what they offered being more in
the nature of a decree——than a dispute.
Such a monstrous nose, said they, had it been a true nose, could not
possibly have been suffered in civil society——and if false—to impose
upon society with such false signs and tokens, was a still greater
violation of its rights, and must have had still less mercy shewn it.
The only objection to this was, that if it proved any thing, it proved
the stranger’s nose was neither true nor false.
This left room for the controversy to go on. It was maintained by the
advocates of the ecclesiastic court, that there was nothing to inhibit
a decree, since the stranger _ex mero motu_ had confessed he had been
at the Promontory of Noses, and had got one of the goodliest, &c.
&c.——To this it was answered, it was impossible there should be such a
place as the Promontory of Noses, and the learned be ignorant where it
lay. The commissary of the bishop of _Strasburg_ undertook the
advocates, explained this matter in a treatise upon proverbial phrases,
shewing them, that the Promontory of Noses was a mere allegorick
expression, importing no more than that nature had given him a long
nose: in proof of which, with great learning, he cited the underwritten
authorities,[11] which had decided the point incontestably, had it not
appeared that a dispute about some franchises of dean and chapter-lands
had been determined by it nineteen years before.
It happened——I must say unluckily for Truth, because they were giving
her a lift another way in so doing; that the two universities of
_Strasburg_——the _Lutheran_, founded in the year 1538 by _Jacobus
Surmis_, counsellor of the senate,——and the _Popish_, founded by
_Leopold_, arch-duke of _Austria_, were, during all this time,
employing the whole depth of their knowledge (except just what the
affair of the abbess of _Quedlingberg_’s placket-holes required)——in
determining the point of _Martin Luther_’s damnation.
The _Popish_ doctors had undertaken to demonstrate _à priori_, that
from the necessary influence of the planets on the twenty-second day of
_October_ 1483——when the moon was in the twelfth house, _Jupiter,
Mars_, and _Venus_ in the third, the _Sun, Saturn_, and _Mercury_, all
got together in the fourth—that he must in course, and unavoidably, be
a damn’d man—and that his doctrines, by a direct corollary, must be
damn’d doctrines too.
By inspection into his horoscope, where five planets were in coition
all at once with Scorpio[12] (in reading this my father would always
shake his head) in the ninth house, with the _Arabians_ allotted to
religion—it appeared that _Martin Luther_ did not care one stiver about
the matter——and that from the horoscope directed to the conjunction of
_Mars_—they made it plain likewise he must die cursing and
blaspheming——with the blast of which his soul (being steep’d in guilt)
sailed before the wind, in the lake of hell-fire.
The little objection of the _Lutheran_ doctors to this, was, that it
must certainly be the soul of another man, born _Oct._ 22, 83. which
was forced to sail down before the wind in that manner—inasmuch as it
appeared from the register of _Islaben_ in the county of _Mansfelt_,
that _Luther_ was not born in the year 1483, but in 84; and not on the
22d day of _October_, but on the 10th of _November_, the eve of
_Martinmas_ day, from whence he had the name of _Martin._
[——I must break off my translation for a moment; for if I did not, I
know I should no more be able to shut my eyes in bed, than the abbess
of _Quedlingberg_——It is to tell the reader; that my father never read
this passage of _Slawkenbergius_ to my uncle _Toby_, but with
triumph——not over my uncle _Toby_, for he never opposed him in it——but
over the whole world.
—Now you see, brother _Toby_, he would say, looking up, “that christian
names are not such indifferent things;”——had _Luther_ here been called
by any other name but _Martin_, he would have been damn’d to all
eternity——Not that I look upon _Martin_, he would add, as a good
name——far from it——’tis something better than a neutral, and but a
little——yet little as it is you see it was of some service to him.
My father knew the weakness of this prop to his hypothesis, as well as
the best logician could shew him——yet so strange is the weakness of man
at the same time, as it fell in his way, he could not for his life but
make use of it; and it was certainly for this reason, that though there
are many stories in _Hafen Slawkenbergius_’s Decades full as
entertaining as this I am translating, yet there is not one amongst
them which my father read over with half the delight——it flattered two
of his strangest hypotheses together——his NAMES and his NOSES.——I will
be bold to say, he might have read all the books in the _Alexandrian_
Library, had not fate taken other care of them, and not have met with a
book or passage in one, which hit two such nails as these upon the head
at one stroke.]
The two universities of _Strasburg_ were hard tugging at this affair of
_Luther_’s navigation. The Protestant doctors had demonstrated, that he
had not sailed right before the wind, as the Popish doctors had
pretended; and as every one knew there was no sailing full in the teeth
of it—they were going to settle, in case he had sailed, how many points
he was off; whether _Martin_ had doubled the cape, or had fallen upon a
lee-shore; and no doubt, as it was an enquiry of much edification, at
least to those who understood this sort of NAVIGATION, they had gone on
with it in spite of the size of the stranger’s nose, had not the size
of the stranger’s nose drawn off the attention of the world from what
they were about—it was their business to follow.
The abbess of _Quedlingberg_ and her four dignitaries was no stop; for
the enormity of the stranger’s nose running full as much in their
fancies as their case of conscience——the affair of their placket-holes
kept cold—in a word, the printers were ordered to distribute their
types——all controversies dropp’d.
’Twas a square cap with a silver tassel upon the crown of it—to a
nut-shell—to have guessed on which side of the nose the two
universities would split.
’Tis above reason, cried the doctors on one side.
’Tis below reason, cried the others.
’Tis faith, cried one.
’Tis a fiddle-stick, said the other.
’Tis possible, cried the one.
’Tis impossible, said the other.
God’s power is infinite, cried the Nosarians, he can do any thing.
He can do nothing, replied the Anti-nosarians, which implies
contradictions.
He can make matter think, said the Nosarians.
As certainly as you can make a velvet cap out of a sow’s ear, replied
the Anti-nosarians.
He cannot make two and two five, replied the Popish doctors.——’Tis
false, said their other opponents.——
Infinite power is infinite power, said the doctors who maintained the
_reality_ of the nose.—It extends only to all possible things, replied
the _Lutherans._
By God in heaven, cried the Popish doctors, he can make a nose, if he
thinks fit, as big as the steeple of _Strasburg._
Now the steeple of _Strasburg_ being the biggest and the tallest
church-steeple to be seen in the whole world, the Anti-nosarians denied
that a nose of 575 geometrical feet in length could be worn, at least
by a middle-siz’d man——The Popish doctors swore it could—The _Lutheran_
doctors said No;—it could not.
This at once started a new dispute, which they pursued a great way,
upon the extent and limitation of the moral and natural attributes of
God—That controversy led them naturally into _Thomas Aquinas_, and
_Thomas Aquinas_ to the devil.
The stranger’s nose was no more heard of in the dispute—it just served
as a frigate to launch them into the gulph of school-divinity——and then
they all sailed before the wind.
Heat is in proportion to the want of true knowledge.
The controversy about the attributes, &c. instead of cooling, on the
contrary had inflamed the _Strasburgers_ imaginations to a most
inordinate degree——The less they understood of the matter the greater
was their wonder about it—they were left in all the distresses of
desire unsatisfied——saw their doctors, the _Parchmentarians_, the
_Brassarians_, the _Turpentarians_, on one side—the Popish doctors on
the other, like _Pantagruel_ and his companions in quest of the oracle
of the bottle, all embarked out of sight.
——The poor _Strasburgers_ left upon the beach!
——What was to be done?—No delay—the uproar increased——every one in
disorder——the city gates set open.——
Unfortunate _Strasbergers!_ was there in the store-house of nature——was
there in the lumber-rooms of learning——was there in the great arsenal
of chance, one single engine left undrawn forth to torture your
curiosities, and stretch your desires, which was not pointed by the
hand of Fate to play upon your hearts?——I dip not my pen into my ink to
excuse the surrender of yourselves—’tis to write your panegyrick. Shew
me a city so macerated with expectation——who neither eat, or drank, or
slept, or prayed, or hearkened to the calls either of religion or
nature, for seven-and-twenty days together, who could have held out one
day longer.
On the twenty-eighth the courteous stranger had promised to return to
_Strasburg._
Seven thousand coaches (_Slawkenbergius_ must certainly have made some
mistake in his numeral characters) 7000 coaches——15000 single-horse
chairs—20000 waggons, crowded as full as they could all hold with
senators, counsellors, syndicks—beguines, widows, wives, virgins,
canons, concubines, all in their coaches—The abbess of _Quedlingberg_,
with the prioress, the deaness and sub-chantress, leading the
procession in one coach, and the dean of _Strasburg_, with the four
great dignitaries of his chapter, on her left-hand—the rest following
higglety-pigglety as they could; some on horseback——some on foot——some
led——some driven——some down the _Rhine_——some this way——some that——all
set out at sun-rise to meet the courteous stranger on the road.
Haste we now towards the catastrophe of my tale——I say _Catastrophe_
(cries _Slawkenbergius_) inasmuch as a tale, with parts rightly
disposed, not only rejoiceth (_gaudet_) in the _Catastrophe_ and
_Peripeitia_ of a DRAMA, but rejoiceth moreover in all the essential
and integrant parts of it——it has its _Protasis, Epitasis, Catastasis_,
its _Catastrophe_ or _Peripeitia_ growing one out of the other in it,
in the order _Aristotle_ first planted them——without which a tale had
better never be told at all, says _Slawkenbergius_, but be kept to a
man’s self.
In all my ten tales, in all my ten decades, have I _Slawkenbergius_
tied down every tale of them as tightly to this rule, as I have done
this of the stranger and his nose.
——From his first parley with the centinel, to his leaving the city of
_Strasburg_, after pulling off his crimson-sattin pair of breeches, is
the _Protasis_ or first entrance——where the characters of the _Personæ
Dramatis_ are just touched in, and the subject slightly begun.
The _Epitasis_, wherein the action is more fully entered upon and
heightened, till it arrives at its state or height called the
_Catastasis_, and which usually takes up the 2d and 3d act, is included
within that busy period of my tale, betwixt the first night’s uproar
about the nose, to the conclusion of the trumpeter’s wife’s lectures
upon it in the middle of the grand parade: and from the first embarking
of the learned in the dispute—to the doctors finally sailing away, and
leaving the _Strasburgers_ upon the beach in distress, is the
_Catastasis_ or the ripening of the incidents and passions for their
bursting forth in the fifth act.
This commences with the setting out of the _Strasburgers_ in the
_Frankfort_ road, and terminates in unwinding the labyrinth and
bringing the hero out of a state of agitation (as _Aristotle_ calls it)
to a state of rest and quietness.
This, says _Hafen Slawkenbergius_, constitutes the _Catastrophe_ or
_Peripeitia_ of my tale—and that is the part of it I am going to
relate.
We left the stranger behind the curtain asleep——he enters now upon the
stage.
—What dost thou prick up thy ears at?—’tis nothing but a man upon a
horse——was the last word the stranger uttered to his mule. It was not
proper then to tell the reader, that the mule took his master’s word
for it; and without any more _ifs_ or _ands_, let the traveller and his
horse pass by.
The traveller was hastening with all diligence to get to _Strasburg_
that night. What a fool am I, said the traveller to himself, when he
had rode about a league farther, to think of getting into _Strasburg_
this night.—_Strasburg!_——the great _Strasburg!_——_Strasburg_, the
capital of all _Alsatia!_ _Strasburg_, an imperial city! _Strasburg_, a
sovereign state! _Strasburg_, garrisoned with five thousand of the best
troops in all the world!—Alas! if I was at the gates of _Strasburg_
this moment, I could not gain admittance into it for a ducat—nay a
ducat and half—’tis too much—better go back to the last inn I have
passed——than lie I know not where——or give I know not what. The
traveller, as he made these reflections in his mind, turned his horse’s
head about, and three minutes after the stranger had been conducted
into his chamber, he arrived at the same inn.
——We have bacon in the house, said the host, and bread——and till eleven
o’clock this night had three eggs in it——but a stranger, who arrived an
hour ago, has had them dressed into an omelet, and we have nothing.——
Alas! said the traveller, harassed as I am, I want nothing but a
bed.——I have one as soft as is in _Alsatia_, said the host.
——The stranger, continued he, should have slept in it, for ’tis my best
bed, but upon the score of his nose.——He has got a defluxion, said the
traveller.——Not that I know, cried the host.——But ’tis a camp-bed, and
_Jacinta_, said he, looking towards the maid, imagined there was not
room in it to turn his nose in.——Why so? cried the traveller, starting
back.—It is so long a nose, replied the host.——The traveller fixed his
eyes upon _Jacinta_, then upon the ground—kneeled upon his right
knee—had just got his hand laid upon his breast——Trifle not with my
anxiety, said he rising up again.——’Tis no trifle, said _Jacinta_, ’tis
the most glorious nose!——The traveller fell upon his knee again—laid
his hand upon his breast—then, said he, looking up to heaven, thou hast
conducted me to the end of my pilgrimage—’Tis _Diego._
The traveller was the brother of the _Julia_, so often invoked that
night by the stranger as he rode from _Strasburg_ upon his mule; and
was come, on her part, in quest of him. He had accompanied his sister
from _Valadolid_ across the _Pyrenean_ mountains through _France_, and
had many an entangled skein to wind off in pursuit of him through the
many meanders and abrupt turnings of a lover’s thorny tracks.
——_Julia_ had sunk under it——and had not been able to go a step farther
than to _Lyons_, where, with the many disquietudes of a tender heart,
which all talk of——but few feel—she sicken’d, but had just strength to
write a letter to _Diego_; and having conjured her brother never to see
her face till he had found him out, and put the letter into his hands,
_Julia_ took to her bed.
_Fernandez_ (for that was her brother’s name)——tho’ the camp-bed was as
soft as any one in _Alsace_, yet he could not shut his eyes in it.——As
soon as it was day he rose, and hearing _Diego_ was risen too, he
entered his chamber, and discharged his sister’s commission.
The letter was as follows:
“Seig. DIEGO,
“Whether my suspicions of your nose were justly excited or not——’tis
not now to inquire—it is enough I have not had firmness to put them to
farther tryal.
“How could I know so little of myself, when I sent my _Duenna_ to
forbid your coming more under my lattice? or how could I know so little
of you, _Diego_, as to imagine you would not have staid one day in
_Valadolid_ to have given ease to my doubts?—Was I to be abandoned,
_Diego_, because I was deceived? or was it kind to take me at my word,
whether my suspicions were just or no, and leave me, as you did, a prey
to much uncertainty and sorrow?
“In what manner _Julia_ has resented this——my brother, when he puts
this letter into your hands, will tell you; He will tell you in how few
moments she repented of the rash message she had sent you——in what
frantic haste she flew to her lattice, and how many days and nights
together she leaned immoveably upon her elbow, looking through it
towards the way which _Diego_ was wont to come.
“He will tell you, when she heard of your departure—how her spirits
deserted her——how her heart sicken’d——how piteously she mourned——how
low she hung her head. O _Diego!_ how many weary steps has my brother’s
pity led me by the hand languishing to trace out yours; how far has
desire carried me beyond strength——and how oft have I fainted by the
way, and sunk into his arms, with only power to cry out—O my _Diego!_
“If the gentleness of your carriage has not belied your heart, you will
fly to me, almost as fast as you fled from me—haste as you will——you
will arrive but to see me expire.——’Tis a bitter draught, _Diego_, but
oh! ’tis embittered still more by dying _un_———”
She could proceed no farther.
_Slawkenbergius_ supposes the word intended was unconvinced, but her
strength would not enable her to finish her letter.
The heart of the courteous _Diego_ over-flowed as he read the
letter——he ordered his mule forthwith and _Fernandez_’s horse to be
saddled; and as no vent in prose is equal to that of poetry in such
conflicts——chance, which as often directs us to remedies as to
_diseases_, having thrown a piece of charcoal into the window——_Diego_
availed himself of it, and whilst the hostler was getting ready his
mule, he eased his mind against the wall as follows.