The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy, gentleman

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