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 saintlike 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 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 marketplace 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 codpiece on, and forthwith, with his short scymetar in his hand, walked out on 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, etc. , 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.