The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 5 Read online

  "The tip o' the mornin' to ye," says I, "Mrs. Tracle," and thin I madesich an illigant obaysance that it wud ha quite althegither bewilderedthe brain o' ye.

  "Wully woo, pully woo, plump in the mud," says the little furrennerFrinchman, "and sure Mrs. Tracle," says he, that he did, "isn't thisgintleman here jist his reverence Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt,and isn't he althegither and entirely the most particular frind andacquaintance that I have in the houl world?"

  And wid that the widdy, she gits up from the sofy, and makes the swatestcurthchy nor iver was seen; and thin down she sits like an angel;and thin, by the powers, it was that little spalpeen MounseerMaiter-di-dauns that plumped his silf right down by the right side ofher. Och hon! I ixpicted the two eyes o' me wud ha cum'd out of my headon the spot, I was so dispirate mad! Howiver, "Bait who!" says I, afterawhile. "Is it there ye are, Mounseer Maiter-di-dauns?" and so down Iplumped on the lift side of her leddyship, to be aven with the willain.Botheration! it wud ha done your heart good to percave the illigantdouble wink that I gived her jist thin right in the face with both eyes.

  But the little ould Frinchman he niver beginned to suspict me at allat all, and disperate hard it was he made the love to her leddyship."Woully wou," says he, "Pully wou," says he, "Plump in the mud," says he.

  "That's all to no use, Mounseer Frog, mavourneen," thinks I; and Italked as hard and as fast as I could all the while, and throth it wasmesilf jist that divarted her leddyship complately and intirely, byrason of the illigant conversation that I kipt up wid her all about thedear bogs of Connaught. And by and by she gived me such a swate smile,from one ind of her mouth to the ither, that it made me as bould as apig, and I jist took hould of the ind of her little finger in the mostdillikitest manner in natur, looking at her all the while out o' thewhites of my eyes.

  And then ounly percave the cuteness of the swate angel, for no soonerdid she obsarve that I was afther the squazing of her flipper, than sheup wid it in a jiffy, and put it away behind her back, jist as much asto say, "Now thin, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, there's a bitther chancefor ye, mavourneen, for it's not altogether the gentaal thing to beafther the squazing of my flipper right full in the sight of that littlefurrenner Frinchman, Mounseer Maiter-di-dauns."

  Wid that I giv'd her a big wink jist to say, "lit Sir Pathrick alone forthe likes o' them thricks," and thin I wint aisy to work, and you'd havedied wid the divarsion to behould how cliverly I slipped my right armbetwane the back o' the sofy, and the back of her leddyship, and there,sure enough, I found a swate little flipper all a waiting to say, "thetip o' the mornin' to ye, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt." Andwasn't it mesilf, sure, that jist giv'd it the laste little bit of asquaze in the world, all in the way of a commincement, and not to be toorough wid her leddyship? and och, botheration, wasn't it the gentaalestand dilikittest of all the little squazes that I got in return? "Bloodand thunder, Sir Pathrick, mavourneen," thinks I to mesilf, "fait it'sjist the mother's son of you, and nobody else at all at all, that's thehandsomest and the fortunittest young bog-throtter that ever cum'd outof Connaught!" And with that I givd the flipper a big squaze, and a bigsquaze it was, by the powers, that her leddyship giv'd to me back. Butit would ha split the seven sides of you wid the laffin' tobehould, jist then all at once, the consated behavior of MounseerMaiter-di-dauns. The likes o' sich a jabbering, and a smirking, and aparley-wouing as he begin'd wid her leddyship, niver was known beforeupon arth; and divil may burn me if it wasn't me own very two peepersthat cotch'd him tipping her the wink out of one eye. Och, hon! if itwasn't mesilf thin that was mad as a Kilkenny cat I shud like to betould who it was!

  "Let me infarm you, Mounseer Maiter-di-dauns," said I, as purlite asiver ye seed, "that it's not the gintaal thing at all at all, and notfor the likes o' you inny how, to be afther the oggling and a gogglingat her leddyship in that fashion," and jist wid that such another squazeas it was I giv'd her flipper, all as much as to say, "isn't it SirPathrick now, my jewel, that'll be able to the proticting o' you, mydarlint?" and then there cum'd another squaze back, all by way of theanswer. "Thrue for you, Sir Pathrick," it said as plain as iver a squazesaid in the world, "Thrue for you, Sir Pathrick, mavourneen, and it'sa proper nate gintleman ye are--that's God's truth," and with that sheopened her two beautiful peepers till I belaved they wud ha' cum'd outof her hid althegither and intirely, and she looked first as mad as acat at Mounseer Frog, and thin as smiling as all out o' doors at mesilf.

  "Thin," says he, the willian, "Och hon! and a wolly-wou, pully-wou," andthen wid that he shoved up his two shoulders till the divil the bit ofhis hid was to be diskivered, and then he let down the two corners ofhis purraty-trap, and thin not a haporth more of the satisfaction couldI git out o' the spalpeen.

  Belave me, my jewel, it was Sir Pathrick that was unreasonable mad thin,and the more by token that the Frinchman kipt an wid his winking at thewiddy; and the widdy she kept an wid the squazing of my flipper, as muchas to say, "At him again, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, mavourneen:" so Ijust ripped out wid a big oath, and says I;

  "Ye little spalpeeny frog of a bog-throtting son of a bloody noun!"--andjist thin what d'ye think it was that her leddyship did? Troth shejumped up from the sofy as if she was bit, and made off throughthe door, while I turned my head round afther her, in a complatebewilderment and botheration, and followed her wid me two peepers. Youpercave I had a reason of my own for knowing that she couldn't git downthe stares althegither and intirely; for I knew very well that I hadhould of her hand, for the divil the bit had I iver lit it go. And saysI; "Isn't it the laste little bit of a mistake in the world that ye'vebeen afther the making, yer leddyship? Come back now, that's a darlint,and I'll give ye yur flipper." But aff she wint down the stairs like ashot, and thin I turned round to the little Frinch furrenner. Och hon!if it wasn't his spalpeeny little paw that I had hould of in my own--whythin--thin it wasn't--that's all.

  And maybe it wasn't mesilf that jist died then outright wid the laffin',to behold the little chap when he found out that it wasn't the widdy atall at all that he had had hould of all the time, but only Sir PathrickO'Grandison. The ould divil himself niver behild sich a long face as hepet an! As for Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, it wasn't forthe likes of his riverence to be afther the minding of a thrifle of amistake. Ye may jist say, though (for it's God's thruth), that afore Ileft hould of the flipper of the spalpeen (which was not till afther herleddyship's futman had kicked us both down the stairs), I giv'd it such anate little broth of a squaze as made it all up into raspberry jam.

  "Woully wou," says he, "pully wou," says he--"Cot tam!"

  And that's jist the thruth of the rason why he wears his lift hand in asling.

  BON-BON.

  Quand un bon vin meuble mon estomac, Je suis plus savant que Balzac-- Plus sage que Pibrac; Mon brass seul faisant l'attaque De la nation Coseaque, La mettroit au sac; De Charon je passerois le lac, En dormant dans son bac; J'irois au fier Eac, Sans que mon coeur fit tic ni tac, Presenter du tabac. French Vaudeville

  THAT Pierre Bon-Bon was a _restaurateur_ of uncommon qualifications,no man who, during the reign of----, frequented the little Cafe in thecul-de-sac Le Febvre at Rouen, will, I imagine, feel himself at libertyto dispute. That Pierre Bon-Bon was, in an equal degree, skilled inthe philosophy of that period is, I presume, still more especiallyundeniable. His _pates a la fois_ were beyond doubt immaculate; butwhat pen can do justice to his essays _sur la Nature_--his thoughts sur_l'Ame_--his observations _sur l'Esprit?_ If his _omelettes_--if his_fricandeaux_ were inestimable, what _litterateur_ of that day would nothave given twice as much for an "_Idee de Bon-Bon_" as for all the trashof "_Idees_" of all the rest of the _savants?_ Bon-Bon had ransackedlibraries which no other man had ransacked--had more than any otherwould have entertained a notion of reading--had understood more thanany other would have conceived the possibility of understanding; andalthou
gh, while he flourished, there were not wanting some authors atRouen to assert "that his _dicta_ evinced neither the purity of theAcademy, nor the depth of the Lyceum"--although, mark me, his doctrineswere by no means very generally comprehended, still it did not followthat they were difficult of comprehension. It was, I think, on accountof their self-evidency that many persons were led to consider themabstruse. It is to Bon-Bon--but let this go no farther--it is to Bon-Bonthat Kant himself is mainly indebted for his metaphysics. The former wasindeed not a Platonist, nor strictly speaking an Aristotelian--nor didhe, like the modern Leibnitz, waste those precious hours which mightbe employed in the invention of a _fricasee_ or, _facili gradu_, theanalysis of a sensation, in frivolous attempts at reconciling theobstinate oils and waters of ethical discussion. Not at all. Bon-Bon wasIonic--Bon-Bon was equally Italic. He reasoned _a priori_--He reasonedalso _a posteriori_. His ideas were innate--or otherwise. He believed inGeorge of Trebizonde--He believed in Bossarion [Bessarion]. Bon-Bon wasemphatically a--Bon-Bonist.

  I have spoken of the philosopher in his capacity of _restaurateur_. Iwould not, however, have any friend of mine imagine that, in fulfillinghis hereditary duties in that line, our hero wanted a proper estimationof their dignity and importance. Far from it. It was impossible to sayin which branch of his profession he took the greater pride. In hisopinion the powers of the intellect held intimate connection with thecapabilities of the stomach. I am not sure, indeed, that he greatlydisagreed with the Chinese, who held that the soul lies in the abdomen.The Greeks at all events were right, he thought, who employed the samewords for the mind and the diaphragm. (*1) By this I do not mean toinsinuate a charge of gluttony, or indeed any other serious chargeto the prejudice of the metaphysician. If Pierre Bon-Bon had hisfailings--and what great man has not a thousand?--if Pierre Bon-Bon,I say, had his failings, they were failings of very littleimportance--faults indeed which, in other tempers, have often beenlooked upon rather in the light of virtues. As regards one of thesefoibles, I should not even have mentioned it in this history but for theremarkable prominency--the extreme _alto relievo_--in which it juttedout from the plane of his general disposition. He could never let slipan opportunity of making a bargain.

  {*1} MD

  Not that he was avaricious--no. It was by no means necessary to thesatisfaction of the philosopher, that the bargain should be to his ownproper advantage. Provided a trade could be effected--a trade of anykind, upon any terms, or under any circumstances--a triumphant smilewas seen for many days thereafter to enlighten his countenance, and aknowing wink of the eye to give evidence of his sagacity.

  At any epoch it would not be very wonderful if a humor so peculiar asthe one I have just mentioned, should elicit attention and remark.At the epoch of our narrative, had this peculiarity not attractedobservation, there would have been room for wonder indeed. It was soonreported that, upon all occasions of the kind, the smile of Bon-Bon waswont to differ widely from the downright grin with which he would laughat his own jokes, or welcome an acquaintance. Hints were thrown out ofan exciting nature; stories were told of perilous bargains made ina hurry and repented of at leisure; and instances were adduced ofunaccountable capacities, vague longings, and unnatural inclinationsimplanted by the author of all evil for wise purposes of his own.

  The philosopher had other weaknesses--but they are scarcely worthy ourserious examination. For example, there are few men of extraordinaryprofundity who are found wanting in an inclination for the bottle.Whether this inclination be an exciting cause, or rather a valid proofof such profundity, it is a nice thing to say. Bon-Bon, as far as I canlearn, did not think the subject adapted to minute investigation;--nordo I. Yet in the indulgence of a propensity so truly classical, itis not to be supposed that the restaurateur would lose sight of thatintuitive discrimination which was wont to characterize, at one and thesame time, his essais and his omelettes. In his seclusions the Vin deBourgogne had its allotted hour, and there were appropriate moments forthe Cotes du Rhone. With him Sauterne was to Medoc what Catullus was toHomer. He would sport with a syllogism in sipping St. Peray, but unravelan argument over Clos de Vougeot, and upset a theory in a torrent ofChambertin. Well had it been if the same quick sense of proprietyhad attended him in the peddling propensity to which I have formerlyalluded--but this was by no means the case. Indeed to say the truth,that trait of mind in the philosophic Bon-Bon did begin at length toassume a character of strange intensity and mysticism, and appeareddeeply tinctured with the diablerie of his favorite German studies.

  To enter the little Cafe in the cul-de-sac Le Febvre was, at the periodof our tale, to enter the sanctum of a man of genius. Bon-Bon was a manof genius. There was not a sous-cusinier in Rouen, who could not havetold you that Bon-Bon was a man of genius. His very cat knew it, andforebore to whisk her tail in the presence of the man of genius. Hislarge water-dog was acquainted with the fact, and upon the approachof his master, betrayed his sense of inferiority by a sanctity ofdeportment, a debasement of the ears, and a dropping of the lower jawnot altogether unworthy of a dog. It is, however, true that much of thishabitual respect might have been attributed to the personal appearanceof the metaphysician. A distinguished exterior will, I am constrained tosay, have its way even with a beast; and I am willing to allow muchin the outward man of the restaurateur calculated to impress theimagination of the quadruped. There is a peculiar majesty about theatmosphere of the little great--if I may be permitted so equivocal anexpression--which mere physical bulk alone will be found at all timesinefficient in creating. If, however, Bon-Bon was barely three feet inheight, and if his head was diminutively small, still it was impossibleto behold the rotundity of his stomach without a sense of magnificencenearly bordering upon the sublime. In its size both dogs and menmust have seen a type of his acquirements--in its immensity a fittinghabitation for his immortal soul.

  I might here--if it so pleased me--dilate upon the matter of habiliment,and other mere circumstances of the external metaphysician. I mighthint that the hair of our hero was worn short, combed smoothly overhis forehead, and surmounted by a conical-shaped white flannel cap andtassels--that his pea-green jerkin was not after the fashion of thoseworn by the common class of restaurateurs at that day--that the sleeveswere something fuller than the reigning costume permitted--that thecuffs were turned up, not as usual in that barbarous period, withcloth of the same quality and color as the garment, but faced in a morefanciful manner with the particolored velvet of Genoa--that his slipperswere of a bright purple, curiously filigreed, and might have beenmanufactured in Japan, but for the exquisite pointing of the toes, andthe brilliant tints of the binding and embroidery--that his breecheswere of the yellow satin-like material called aimable--that his sky-bluecloak, resembling in form a dressing-wrapper, and richly bestudded allover with crimson devices, floated cavalierly upon his shoulders likea mist of the morning--and that his tout ensemble gave rise to theremarkable words of Benevenuta, the Improvisatrice of Florence, "thatit was difficult to say whether Pierre Bon-Bon was indeed a bird ofParadise, or rather a very Paradise of perfection." I might, I say,expatiate upon all these points if I pleased,--but I forbear, merelypersonal details may be left to historical novelists,--they are beneaththe moral dignity of matter-of-fact.

  I have said that "to enter the Cafe in the cul-de-sac Le Febvre was toenter the sanctum of a man of genius"--but then it was only the manof genius who could duly estimate the merits of the sanctum. A sign,consisting of a vast folio, swung before the entrance. On one side ofthe volume was painted a bottle; on the reverse a pate. On the backwere visible in large letters Oeuvres de Bon-Bon. Thus was delicatelyshadowed forth the two-fold occupation of the proprietor.

  Upon stepping over the threshold, the whole interior of the buildingpresented itself to view. A long, low-pitched room, of antiqueconstruction, was indeed all the accommodation afforded by the Cafe. Ina corner of the apartment stood the bed of the metaphysician. An armyof curtains, together with a canopy a la Grecque, gave it an air at oncec
lassic and comfortable. In the corner diagonary opposite, appeared,in direct family communion, the properties of the kitchen and thebibliotheque. A dish of polemics stood peacefully upon the dresser.Here lay an ovenful of the latest ethics--there a kettle of dudecimomelanges. Volumes of German morality were hand and glove withthe gridiron--a toasting-fork might be discovered by the side ofEusebius--Plato reclined at his ease in the frying-pan--and contemporarymanuscripts were filed away upon the spit.

  In other respects the Cafe de Bon-Bon might be said to differ littlefrom the usual restaurants of the period. A fireplace yawned oppositethe door. On the right of the fireplace an open cupboard displayed aformidable array of labelled bottles.

  It was here, about twelve o'clock one night during the severe winterthe comments of his neighbours upon his singular propensity--that PierreBon-Bon, I say, having turned them all out of his house, locked the doorupon them with an oath, and betook himself in no very pacific mood tothe comforts of a leather-bottomed arm-chair, and a fire of blazingfagots.

  It was one of those terrific nights which are only met with once ortwice during a century. It snowed fiercely, and the house tottered toits centre with the floods of wind that, rushing through the cranniesin the wall, and pouring impetuously down the chimney, shook awfully thecurtains of the philosopher's bed, and disorganized the economy of hispate-pans and papers. The huge folio sign that swung without, exposed tothe fury of the tempest, creaked ominously, and gave out a moaning soundfrom its stanchions of solid oak.