The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy, gentleman

solution, said my father.—’Tis he, continued my uncle _Toby_, looking up, and not regarding my father’s interruption, who makes us all, and frames and puts us together in such forms and proportions, and for such ends, as is agreeable to his infinite wisdom,.——’Tis a pious account, cried my father, but not philosophical—there is more religion in it than sound science. ’Twas no inconsistent part of my uncle _Toby_’s character——that he feared God, and reverenced religion.——So the moment my father finished his remark——my uncle _Toby_ fell a whistling _Lillabullero_ with more zeal (though more out of tune) than usual.— What is become of my wife’s thread-paper? C H A P. XXXV NO matter—as an appendage to seamstressy, the thread-paper might be of some consequence to my mother—of none to my father, as a mark in _Slawkenbergius. Slawkenbergius_ in every page of him was a rich treasure of inexhaustible knowledge to my father—he could not open him amiss; and he would often say in closing the book, that if all the arts and sciences in the world, with the books which treated of them, were lost—should the wisdom and policies of governments, he would say, through disuse, ever happen to be forgot, and all that statesmen had wrote or caused to be written, upon the strong or the weak sides of courts and kingdoms, should they be forgot also—and _Slawkenbergius_ only left——there would be enough in him in all conscience, he would say, to set the world a-going again. A treasure therefore was he indeed! an institute of all that was necessary to be known of noses, and every thing else—at _matin_, noon, and vespers was _Hafen Slawkenbergius_ his recreation and delight: ’twas for ever in his hands——you would have sworn, Sir, it had been a canon’s prayer-book—so worn, so glazed, so contrited and attrited was it with fingers and with thumbs in all its parts, from one end even unto the other. I am not such a bigot to _Slawkenbergius_ as my father;——there is a fund in him, no doubt: but in my opinion, the best, I don’t say the most profitable, but the most amusing part of _Hafen Slawkenbergius_, is his tales——and, considering he was a _German_, many of them told not without fancy:——these take up his second book, containing nearly one half of his folio, and are comprehended in ten decads, each decad containing ten tales——Philosophy is not built upon tales; and therefore ’twas certainly wrong in _Slawkenbergius_ to send them into the world by that name!——there are a few of them in his eighth, ninth, and tenth decads, which I own seem rather playful and sportive, than speculative—but in general they are to be looked upon by the learned as a detail of so many independent facts, all of them turning round somehow or other upon the main hinges of his subject, and added to his work as so many illustrations upon the doctrines of noses. As we have leisure enough upon our hands——if you give me leave, madam, I’ll tell you the ninth tale of his tenth decad. S L A W K E N B E R G I I F A B E L L A[8] _VESPERA quâdam frigidula, posteriori in parte mensis_ Augusti, _peregrinus, mulo fusco colore incidens, manticâ a tergo, paucis indusiis, binis calceis, braccisque sericis coccineis repleta_, Argentoratum _ingressus est._ _Militi eum percontanti, quum portus intraret dixit, se apud Nasorum promontorium fuisse, Francofurtum proficisci, et Argentoratum, transitu ad fines Sarmatiæ mensis intervallo, reversurum._ _Miles peregrini in faciem suspexit——Di boni, nova forma nasi!_ _At multum mihi profuit, inquit peregrinus, carpum amento extrahens, e quo pependit acinaces: Loculo manum inseruit; et magna cum urbanitate, pilei parte anteriore tactâ manu sinistrâ, ut extendit dextram, militi florinum dedit et processit._ _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._ _Non immerito, benigne peregrine, respondit miles._ _Nihili aestimo, ait ille tympanista, e pergamenâ factitius est._ _Prout christianus sum, inquit miles, nasus ille, ni sexties major fit, meo esset conformis._ _Crepitare audivi ait tympanista._ _Mehercule! sanguinem emisit, respondit miles._ _Miseret me, inquit tympanista, qui non ambo tetigimus!_ _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._ _Quantus nasus! æque longus est, ait tubicina, ac tuba._ _Et ex eodem metallo, ait tubicen, velut sternutamento audias._ _Tantum abest, respondit illa, quod fistulam dulcedine vincit._ _Æneus est, ait tubicen._ _Nequaquam, respondit uxor._ _Rursum affirmo, ait tubicen, quod æneus est._ _Rem penitus explorabo; prius, enim digito tangam, ait uxor, quam dormivero._ _Mulus peregrini gradu lento progressus est, ut unumquodque verbum controversiæ, non tantum inter militem et tympanistam, verum etiam inter tubicinem et uxorum ejus, audiret._ _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? air uxor burgomagistri._ _Peregrinus illi non respondit. Votum faciebat tunc temporis sancto Nicolao; quo facto, sinum dextrum inserens, e quâ negligenter pependit acinaces, lento gradu processit per plateam Argentorati latam quæ ad diversorium templo ex adversum ducit._ _Peregrinus mulo descendens stabulo includi, et manticam inferri jussit: quâ apertâ et coccineis sericis femoralibus extractis cum argento laciniato_ Περιζομαυτε, _his sese induit, statimque, acinaci in manu, ad forum deambulavit._ _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._ _Francofurtum proficiscor, ait ille, et Argentoratum quatuor abhinc hebdomadis revertar._ _Bene curasti hoc jumentam? (ait) muli faciem manu demulcens—me, manticamque meam, plus sexcentis mille passibus portavit._ _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?_ _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?_ _Dolus inest, anime mi, ait hospes—nasus est falsus._ _Verus est, respondit uxor——_ _Ex abiete factus est, ait ille, terebinthinum olet—_ _Carbunculus inest, ait uxor._ _Mortuus est nasus, respondit hospes._ _Vivus est ait illa,—et si ipsa vivam tangam._ _Votum feci sancto Nicolao, ait peregrinus, nasum meum intactum fore usque ad—Quodnam tempus? illico respondit illa._ _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._ S L A W K E N B E R G I U S’s T A L E 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._ 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._ The centinel looked up into the stranger’s face——he never saw such a Nose in his life! —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. 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. It is well worth it, gentle stranger, replied the centinel. ——’Tis not worth a single stiver, said the bandy-legg’d drummer——’tis a nose of parchment. As I am a true catholic—except that it is six times as big—’tis a nose, said the centinel, like my own. —I heard it crackle, said the drummer. By dunder, said the centinel, I saw it bleed. What a pity, cried the bandy-legg’d drummer, we did not both touch it! 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. _Benedicity!_——What a nose! ’tis as long, said the trumpeter’s wife, as a trumpet. And of the same metal said the trumpeter, as you hear by its sneezing. ’Tis as soft as a flute, said she. —’Tis brass, said the trumpeter. —’Tis a pudding’s end, said his wife. I tell thee again, said the trumpeter, ’tis a brazen nose, 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