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 181 forthwith, with his short scymetar in his hand, walked out on to the grand parade. 180
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. 182
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?