The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 5 Read online

It was in no placid temper, I say, that the metaphysician drew up hischair to its customary station by the hearth. Many circumstances of aperplexing nature had occurred during the day, to disturb the serenityof his meditations. In attempting des oeufs a la Princesse, he hadunfortunately perpetrated an omelette a la Reine; the discovery of aprinciple in ethics had been frustrated by the overturning of a stew;and last, not least, he had been thwarted in one of those admirablebargains which he at all times took such especial delight in bringingto a successful termination. But in the chafing of his mind at theseunaccountable vicissitudes, there did not fail to be mingled some degreeof that nervous anxiety which the fury of a boisterous night is so wellcalculated to produce. Whistling to his more immediate vicinity thelarge black water-dog we have spoken of before, and settling himselfuneasily in his chair, he could not help casting a wary and unquiet eyetoward those distant recesses of the apartment whose inexorable shadowsnot even the red firelight itself could more than partially succeed inovercoming. Having completed a scrutiny whose exact purpose was perhapsunintelligible to himself, he drew close to his seat a small tablecovered with books and papers, and soon became absorbed in the taskof retouching a voluminous manuscript, intended for publication on themorrow.

  He had been thus occupied for some minutes when "I am in no hurry,Monsieur Bon-Bon," suddenly whispered a whining voice in the apartment.

  "The devil!" ejaculated our hero, starting to his feet, overturning thetable at his side, and staring around him in astonishment.

  "Very true," calmly replied the voice.

  "Very true!--what is very true?--how came you here?" vociferated themetaphysician, as his eye fell upon something which lay stretched atfull length upon the bed.

  "I was saying," said the intruder, without attending to theinterrogatives,--"I was saying that I am not at all pushed fortime--that the business upon which I took the liberty of calling, is ofno pressing importance--in short, that I can very well wait until youhave finished your Exposition."

  "My Exposition!--there now!--how do you know?--how came you tounderstand that I was writing an Exposition?--good God!"

  "Hush!" replied the figure, in a shrill undertone; and, arising quicklyfrom the bed, he made a single step toward our hero, while an iron lampthat depended over-head swung convulsively back from his approach.

  The philosopher's amazement did not prevent a narrow scrutiny of thestranger's dress and appearance. The outlines of his figure, exceedinglylean, but much above the common height, were rendered minutely distinct,by means of a faded suit of black cloth which fitted tight to the skin,but was otherwise cut very much in the style of a century ago. Thesegarments had evidently been intended for a much shorter person thantheir present owner. His ankles and wrists were left naked for severalinches. In his shoes, however, a pair of very brilliant buckles gave thelie to the extreme poverty implied by the other portions of his dress.His head was bare, and entirely bald, with the exception of a hinderpart, from which depended a queue of considerable length. A pairof green spectacles, with side glasses, protected his eyes from theinfluence of the light, and at the same time prevented our hero fromascertaining either their color or their conformation. About the entireperson there was no evidence of a shirt, but a white cravat, of filthyappearance, was tied with extreme precision around the throat andthe ends hanging down formally side by side gave (although I dare sayunintentionally) the idea of an ecclesiastic. Indeed, many other pointsboth in his appearance and demeanor might have very well sustained aconception of that nature. Over his left ear, he carried, after thefashion of a modern clerk, an instrument resembling the stylus of theancients. In a breast-pocket of his coat appeared conspicuously asmall black volume fastened with clasps of steel. This book, whetheraccidentally or not, was so turned outwardly from the person as todiscover the words "Rituel Catholique" in white letters upon the back.His entire physiognomy was interestingly saturnine--even cadaverouslypale. The forehead was lofty, and deeply furrowed with the ridgesof contemplation. The corners of the mouth were drawn down into anexpression of the most submissive humility. There was also a clasping ofthe hands, as he stepped toward our hero--a deep sigh--and altogether alook of such utter sanctity as could not have failed to be unequivocallypreposessing. Every shadow of anger faded from the countenance ofthe metaphysician, as, having completed a satisfactory survey of hisvisiter's person, he shook him cordially by the hand, and conducted himto a seat.

  There would however be a radical error in attributing this instantaneoustransition of feeling in the philosopher, to any one of those causeswhich might naturally be supposed to have had an influence. Indeed,Pierre Bon-Bon, from what I have been able to understand of hisdisposition, was of all men the least likely to be imposed upon by anyspeciousness of exterior deportment. It was impossible that so accuratean observer of men and things should have failed to discover, upon themoment, the real character of the personage who had thus intruded uponhis hospitality. To say no more, the conformation of his visiter's feetwas sufficiently remarkable--he maintained lightly upon his head aninordinately tall hat--there was a tremulous swelling about the hinderpart of his breeches--and the vibration of his coat tail was a palpablefact. Judge, then, with what feelings of satisfaction our hero foundhimself thrown thus at once into the society of a person for whom he hadat all times entertained the most unqualified respect. He was, however,too much of the diplomatist to let escape him any intimation of hissuspicions in regard to the true state of affairs. It was not his cue toappear at all conscious of the high honor he thus unexpectedly enjoyed;but, by leading his guest into the conversation, to elicit someimportant ethical ideas, which might, in obtaining a place in hiscontemplated publication, enlighten the human race, and at the same timeimmortalize himself--ideas which, I should have added, his visitor'sgreat age, and well-known proficiency in the science of morals, mightvery well have enabled him to afford.

  Actuated by these enlightened views, our hero bade the gentleman sitdown, while he himself took occasion to throw some fagots upon the fire,and place upon the now re-established table some bottles of Mousseux.Having quickly completed these operations, he drew his chair vis-a-visto his companion's, and waited until the latter should open theconversation. But plans even the most skilfully matured are oftenthwarted in the outset of their application--and the restaurateur foundhimself nonplussed by the very first words of his visiter's speech.

  "I see you know me, Bon-Bon," said he; "ha! ha! ha!--he! he! he!--hi!hi! hi!--ho! ho! ho!--hu! hu! hu!"--and the devil, dropping at once thesanctity of his demeanor, opened to its fullest extent a mouth fromear to ear, so as to display a set of jagged and fang-like teeth,and, throwing back his head, laughed long, loudly, wickedly, anduproariously, while the black dog, crouching down upon his haunches,joined lustily in the chorus, and the tabby cat, flying off at atangent, stood up on end, and shrieked in the farthest corner of theapartment.

  Not so the philosopher; he was too much a man of the world either tolaugh like the dog, or by shrieks to betray the indecorous trepidationof the cat. It must be confessed, he felt a little astonishment to seethe white letters which formed the words "Rituel Catholique" on thebook in his guest's pocket, momently changing both their color and theirimport, and in a few seconds, in place of the original title the wordsRegitre des Condamnes blazed forth in characters of red. This startlingcircumstance, when Bon-Bon replied to his visiter's remark, imparted tohis manner an air of embarrassment which probably might, not otherwisehave been observed.

  "Why sir," said the philosopher, "why sir, to speak sincerely--I Iimagine--I have some faint--some very faint idea--of the remarkablehonor-"

  "Oh!--ah!--yes!--very well!" interrupted his Majesty; "say no more--Isee how it is." And hereupon, taking off his green spectacles, he wipedthe glasses carefully with the sleeve of his coat, and deposited them inhis pocket.

  If Bon-Bon had been astonished at the incident of the book, hisamazement was now much increased by the spectacle which here presenteditself to view. In raising
his eyes, with a strong feeling of curiosityto ascertain the color of his guest's, he found them by no means black,as he had anticipated--nor gray, as might have been imagined--nor yethazel nor blue--nor indeed yellow nor red--nor purple--nor white--norgreen--nor any other color in the heavens above, or in the earthbeneath, or in the waters under the earth. In short, Pierre Bon-Bonnot only saw plainly that his Majesty had no eyes whatsoever, butcould discover no indications of their having existed at any previousperiod--for the space where eyes should naturally have been was, I amconstrained to say, simply a dead level of flesh.

  It was not in the nature of the metaphysician to forbear making someinquiry into the sources of so strange a phenomenon, and the reply ofhis Majesty was at once prompt, dignified, and satisfactory.

  "Eyes! my dear Bon-Bon--eyes! did you say?--oh!--ah!--I perceive! Theridiculous prints, eh, which are in, circulation, have given you a falseidea of my personal appearance? Eyes!--true. Eyes, Pierre Bon-Bon,are very well in their proper place--that, you would say, is thehead?--right--the head of a worm. To you, likewise, these opticsare indispensable--yet I will convince you that my vision is morepenetrating than your own. There is a cat I see in the corner--a prettycat--look at her--observe her well. Now, Bon-Bon, do you behold thethoughts--the thoughts, I say,--the ideas--the reflections--which arebeing engendered in her pericranium? There it is, now--you do not! Sheis thinking we admire the length of her tail and the profundity ofher mind. She has just concluded that I am the most distinguished ofecclesiastics, and that you are the most superficial of metaphysicians.Thus you see I am not altogether blind; but to one of my profession, theeyes you speak of would be merely an incumbrance, liable at any time tobe put out by a toasting-iron, or a pitchfork. To you, I allow, theseoptical affairs are indispensable. Endeavor, Bon-Bon, to use themwell;--my vision is the soul."

  Hereupon the guest helped himself to the wine upon the table, andpouring out a bumper for Bon-Bon, requested him to drink it withoutscruple, and make himself perfectly at home.

  "A clever book that of yours, Pierre," resumed his Majesty, tapping ourfriend knowingly upon the shoulder, as the latter put down his glassafter a thorough compliance with his visiter's injunction. "A cleverbook that of yours, upon my honor. It's a work after my own heart. Yourarrangement of the matter, I think, however, might be improved, and manyof your notions remind me of Aristotle. That philosopher was one of mymost intimate acquaintances. I liked him as much for his terrible illtemper, as for his happy knack at making a blunder. There is only onesolid truth in all that he has written, and for that I gave him the hintout of pure compassion for his absurdity. I suppose, Pierre Bon-Bon, youvery well know to what divine moral truth I am alluding?"

  "Cannot say that I--"

  "Indeed!--why it was I who told Aristotle that by sneezing, men expelledsuperfluous ideas through the proboscis."

  "Which is--hiccup!--undoubtedly the case," said the metaphysician, whilehe poured out for himself another bumper of Mousseux, and offered hissnuff-box to the fingers of his visiter.

  "There was Plato, too," continued his Majesty, modestly declining thesnuff-box and the compliment it implied--"there was Plato, too, forwhom I, at one time, felt all the affection of a friend. You knew Plato,Bon-Bon?--ah, no, I beg a thousand pardons. He met me at Athens, oneday, in the Parthenon, and told me he was distressed for an idea. I badehim write, down that o nous estin aulos. He said that he would do so,and went home, while I stepped over to the pyramids. But my consciencesmote me for having uttered a truth, even to aid a friend, and hasteningback to Athens, I arrived behind the philosopher's chair as he wasinditing the 'aulos.'"

  "Giving the lambda a fillip with my finger, I turned it upside down. Sothe sentence now read 'o nous estin augos', and is, you perceive, thefundamental doctrines in his metaphysics."

  "Were you ever at Rome?" asked the restaurateur, as he finished hissecond bottle of Mousseux, and drew from the closet a larger supply ofChambertin.

  "But once, Monsieur Bon-Bon, but once. There was a time," said the devil,as if reciting some passage from a book--"there was a time when occurredan anarchy of five years, during which the republic, bereft of all itsofficers, had no magistracy besides the tribunes of the people, andthese were not legally vested with any degree of executive power--atthat time, Monsieur Bon-Bon--at that time only I was in Rome, and I haveno earthly acquaintance, consequently, with any of its philosophy." (*2)

  {*2} Ils ecrivaient sur la Philosophie (_Cicero, Lucretius, Seneca_) mais c'etait la Philosophie Grecque.--_Condorcet_.

  "What do you think of--what do you think of--hiccup!--Epicurus?"

  "What do I think of whom?" said the devil, in astonishment, "youcannot surely mean to find any fault with Epicurus! What do I think ofEpicurus! Do you mean me, sir?--I am Epicurus! I am the same philosopherwho wrote each of the three hundred treatises commemorated by DiogenesLaertes."

  "That's a lie!" said the metaphysician, for the wine had gotten a littleinto his head.

  "Very well!--very well, sir!--very well, indeed, sir!" said his Majesty,apparently much flattered.

  "That's a lie!" repeated the restaurateur, dogmatically; "that'sa--hiccup!--a lie!"

  "Well, well, have it your own way!" said the devil, pacifically, andBon-Bon, having beaten his Majesty at argument, thought it his duty toconclude a second bottle of Chambertin.

  "As I was saying," resumed the visiter--"as I was observing a littlewhile ago, there are some very outre notions in that book of yoursMonsieur Bon-Bon. What, for instance, do you mean by all that humbugabout the soul? Pray, sir, what is the soul?"

  "The--hiccup!--soul," replied the metaphysician, referring to his MS.,"is undoubtedly-"

  "No, sir!"

  "Indubitably-"

  "No, sir!"

  "Indisputably-"

  "No, sir!"

  "Evidently-"

  "No, sir!"

  "Incontrovertibly-"

  "No, sir!"

  "Hiccup!--"

  "No, sir!"

  "And beyond all question, a-"

  "No sir, the soul is no such thing!" (Here the philosopher, lookingdaggers, took occasion to make an end, upon the spot, of his thirdbottle of Chambertin.)

  "Then--hic-cup!--pray, sir--what--what is it?"

  "That is neither here nor there, Monsieur Bon-Bon," replied his Majesty,musingly. "I have tasted--that is to say, I have known some very badsouls, and some too--pretty good ones." Here he smacked his lips, and,having unconsciously let fall his hand upon the volume in his pocket,was seized with a violent fit of sneezing.

  He continued.

  "There was the soul of Cratinus--passable: Aristophanes--racy:Plato--exquisite--not your Plato, but Plato the comic poet; your Platowould have turned the stomach of Cerberus--faugh! Then let me see! therewere Naevius, and Andronicus, and Plautus, and Terentius. Then therewere Lucilius, and Catullus, and Naso, and Quintus Flaccus,--dearQuinty! as I called him when he sung a seculare for my amusement, whileI toasted him, in pure good humor, on a fork. But they want flavor,these Romans. One fat Greek is worth a dozen of them, and besides willkeep, which cannot be said of a Quirite.--Let us taste your Sauterne."

  Bon-Bon had by this time made up his mind to nil admirari and endeavoredto hand down the bottles in question. He was, however, conscious of astrange sound in the room like the wagging of a tail. Of this,although extremely indecent in his Majesty, the philosopher took nonotice:--simply kicking the dog, and requesting him to be quiet. Thevisiter continued:

  "I found that Horace tasted very much like Aristotle;--you know I amfond of variety. Terentius I could not have told from Menander. Naso, tomy astonishment, was Nicander in disguise. Virgilius had a strong twangof Theocritus. Martial put me much in mind of Archilochus--and TitusLivius was positively Polybius and none other."

  "Hic-cup!" here replied Bon-Bon, and his majesty proceeded:

  "But if I have a penchant, Monsieur Bon-Bon--if I have a penchant, itis for a philosopher. Yet, let me tell you, sir, it is not ev
ery dev--Imean it is not every gentleman who knows how to choose a philosopher.Long ones are not good; and the best, if not carefully shelled, are aptto be a little rancid on account of the gall!"

  "Shelled!"

  "I mean taken out of the carcass."

  "What do you think of a--hic-cup!--physician?"

  "Don't mention them!--ugh! ugh! ugh!" (Here his Majesty retchedviolently.) "I never tasted but one--that rascal Hippocrates!--smelt ofasafoetida--ugh! ugh! ugh!--caught a wretched cold washing him in theStyx--and after all he gave me the cholera morbus."

  "The--hiccup--wretch!" ejaculated Bon-Bon, "the--hic-cup!--absorption ofa pill-box!"--and the philosopher dropped a tear.

  "After all," continued the visiter, "after all, if a dev--if a gentlemanwishes to live, he must have more talents than one or two; and with us afat face is an evidence of diplomacy."

  "How so?"

  "Why, we are sometimes exceedingly pushed for provisions. You must knowthat, in a climate so sultry as mine, it is frequently impossible tokeep a spirit alive for more than two or three hours; and after death,unless pickled immediately (and a pickled spirit is not good),they will--smell--you understand, eh? Putrefaction is always to beapprehended when the souls are consigned to us in the usual way."

  "Hiccup!--hiccup!--good God! how do you manage?"

  Here the iron lamp commenced swinging with redoubled violence, andthe devil half started from his seat;--however, with a slight sigh, herecovered his composure, merely saying to our hero in a low tone: "Itell you what, Pierre Bon-Bon, we must have no more swearing."

  The host swallowed another bumper, by way of denoting thoroughcomprehension and acquiescence, and the visiter continued.