The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman - Laurence Sterne [113]
Dolet mihi, ait miles, tympanistam nanum et valgum alloquens, virum adeo urbanum vaginam perdidisse; itinerari haud poterit nudâ acinaci, neque vaginam
SLAWKENBERGIUS’s
TALE
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.2
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—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 ribban, to which a short scymetar was hung: He put his hand into his pocket, and with great courtesy touching the forepart 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 bandyleg’d drummer, that so courteous a soul should have lost his scabbard3—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 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 æstimo, ait ille tympanista, e pergamenâ factitius est.
Prout christianus sum, inquit miles, nasus ille, ni sexties major sit, 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 & 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;4 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 uxorem ejus, audiret.
Nequaquam, ait ille, in muli collum fræna demittens, & 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.
Peregrinus illi non respondit. Votum faciebat tunc temporis sancto Nicolao, quo facto, sinum dextram inserens, e quâ negligenter pependit acinaces, lento 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-leg’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