As a result of never eating a bread dumpling after four, or even after three, or two, or, if he anticipated a specific astronomical event that night, one, or noon, or even eleven in the morning, or even after ten, the astronomer had seen a great deal of the night sky, “more of the night sky than anyone in history,” though of course seeing so much was a consequence not only of his evening diet but of his instrument, too, the observational instrument that he himself, as he would shortly explain, the old astronomer told Leibniz, all competing priority claims notwithstanding since they were all uniformly lies, pure and utter lies, had conceived, designed, and wrestled into being in the wake of the emergence in the night sky of the new object. “I have seen a great deal with the aid, as I shall explain, of this splendid instrument,” said the astronomer, patting the telescope, in Leibniz’s account, “and I continue to see a great deal.” As if to prove it he peered into his telescope, picked up his quill, and wrote something down in his large ledger.