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.