Collected Works of Poe by Edgar Allan Poe (the red fox clan .txt) 📖

heart. Your arrangement of the matter, I think, however, might be improved, and many of your notions remind me of Aristotle. That philosopher was one of my most intimate acquaintances. I liked him as much for his terrible ill temper, as for his happy knack at making a blunder. There is only one solid truth in all that he has written, and for that I gave him the hint out of pure compassion for his absurdity. I suppose, Pierre Bon-Bon, you very 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 expelled superfluous ideas through the proboscis."

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

"There was Plato, too," continued his Majesty, modestly declining the snuff-box and the compliment it implied - "there was Plato, too, for whom 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, one day, in the Parthenon, and told me he was distressed for an idea. I bade him 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 conscience smote me for having uttered a truth, even to aid a friend, and hastening back to Athens, I arrived behind the philosopher's chair as he was inditing the 'aulos.'" "Giving the lambda a fillip with my finger, I turned it upside down. So the sentence now read 'o nous estin augos', and is, you perceive, the fundamental doctrines in his metaphysics." "Were you ever at Rome?" asked the restaurateur, as he finished his second bottle of Mousseux, and drew from the closet a larger supply of Chambertin. 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 occurred an anarchy of five years, during which the republic, bereft of all its officers, had no magistracy besides the tribunes of the people, and these were not legally vested with any degree of executive power - at that time, Monsieur Bon-Bon - at that time only I was in Rome, and I have no earthly acquaintance, consequently, with any of its philosophy."*

{*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, "you cannot surely mean to find any fault with Epicurus! What do I think of Epicurus! Do you mean me, sir? - I am Epicurus! I am the same philosopher who wrote each of the three hundred treatises commemorated by Diogenes Laertes." "That's a lie!" said the metaphysician, for the wine had gotten a little into 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's a - hiccup! - a lie!" "Well, well, have it your own way!" said the devil, pacifically, and Bon-Bon, having beaten his Majesty at argument, thought it his duty to conclude a second bottle of Chambertin. "As I was saying," resumed the visiter - "as I was observing a little while ago, there are some very outre notions in that book of yours Monsieur Bon-Bon. What, for instance, do you mean by all that humbug about 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, looking daggers, took occasion to make an end, upon the spot, of his third bottle 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 bad souls, 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 Plato would have turned the stomach of Cerberus - faugh! Then let me see! there were Naevius, and Andronicus, and Plautus, and Terentius. Then there were Lucilius, and Catullus, and Naso, and Quintus Flaccus, - dear Quinty! as I called him when he sung a seculare for my amusement, while I 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 will keep, 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 endeavored to hand down the bottles in question. He was, however, conscious of a strange sound in the room like the wagging of a tail. Of this, although extremely indecent in his Majesty, the philosopher took no notice: - simply kicking the dog, and requesting him to be quiet. The visiter continued: "I found that Horace tasted very much like Aristotle; - you know I am fond of variety. Terentius I could not have told from Menander. Naso, to my astonishment, was Nicander in disguise. Virgilius had a strong twang of Theocritus. Martial put me much in mind of Archilochus - and Titus Livius 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, it is for a philosopher. Yet, let me tell you, sir, it is not every dev - I mean 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 apt to 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 retched violently.) "I never tasted but one - that rascal Hippocrates! - smelt of asafoetida - ugh! ugh! ugh! - caught a wretched cold washing him in the Styx - and after all he gave me the cholera morbus." "The - hiccup - wretch!" ejaculated Bon-Bon, "the - hic-cup! - absorption of a pill-box!" - and the philosopher dropped a tear. "After all," continued the visiter, "after all, if a dev - if a gentleman wishes to live, he must have more talents than one or two; and with us a fat face is an evidence of diplomacy." "How so?" "Why, we are sometimes exceedingly pushed for provisions. You must know that, in a climate so sultry as mine, it is frequently impossible to keep 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 be apprehended 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, and the devil half started from his seat; - however, with a slight sigh, he recovered his composure, merely saying to our hero in a low tone: "I tell you what, Pierre Bon-Bon, we must have no more swearing." The host swallowed another bumper, by way of denoting thorough comprehension and acquiescence, and the visiter continued. "Why, there are several ways of managing. The most of us starve: some put up with the pickle: for my part I purchase my spirits vivente corpore, in which case I find they keep very well." "But the body! - hiccup! - the body!" "The body, the body - well, what of the body? - oh! ah! I perceive. Why, sir, the body is not at all affected by the transaction. I have made innumerable purchases of the kind in my day, and the parties never experienced any inconvenience. There were Cain and Nimrod, and Nero, and Caligula, and Dionysius, and Pisistratus, and - and a thousand others, who never knew what it was to have a soul during the latter part of their lives; yet, sir, these men adorned society. Why possession of his faculties, mental and corporeal? Who writes a keener epigram? Who reasons more wittily? Who - but stay! I have his agreement in my pocket-book." Thus saying, he produced a red leather wallet, and took from it a number of papers. Upon some of these Bon-Bon caught a glimpse of the letters Machi - Maza- Robesp - with the words Caligula, George, Elizabeth. His Majesty selected a narrow slip of parchment, and from it read aloud the following words: "In consideration of certain mental endowments which it is unnecessary to specify, and in further consideration of one thousand louis d'or, I being aged one year and one month, do hereby make over to the bearer of this agreement all my right, title, and appurtenance in the shadow called my soul. (Signed) A...." {*4} (Here His Majesty repeated a name which I did not feel justified in indicating more unequivocally.)

{*4} Quere-Arouet?

"A clever fellow that," resumed he; "but like you, Monsieur Bon-Bon, he was mistaken about the soul. The soul a shadow, truly! The soul a shadow; Ha! ha! ha! - he! he! he! - hu! hu! hu! Only think of a fricasseed shadow!" "Only think - hiccup! - of a fricasseed shadow!" exclaimed our hero, whose faculties were becoming much illuminated by the profundity of his Majesty's discourse. "Only think of a hiccup! - fricasseed shadow!! Now, damme! - hiccup! - humph! If I would have been such a - hiccup! - nincompoop! My soul, Mr. - humph!" "Your soul, Monsieur Bon-Bon?" "Yes, sir - hiccup! - my soul is-" "What, sir?" "No shadow, damme!" "Did you mean to say-" "Yes, sir, my soul is - hiccup! - humph! - yes, sir." "Did you not intend to assert-" "My soul is - hiccup! - peculiarly qualified for - hiccup! - a-" "What, sir?" "Stew." "Ha!" "Soufflee." "Eh!" "Fricassee." "Indeed!" "Ragout and fricandeau - and see here, my good fellow! I'll let you have it- hiccup! - a bargain." Here the philosopher slapped his Majesty upon the back. "Couldn't think of such a thing," said the latter calmly, at the same time rising from his seat. The metaphysician stared. "Am supplied at present," said his Majesty. "Hiccup - e-h?" said the philosopher. "Have no funds on hand." "What?" "Besides, very unhandsome in me -" "Sir!" "To take advantage of-" "Hiccup!" "Your present disgusting and ungentlemanly situation." Here the visiter bowed and withdrew - in what manner could not precisely be ascertained - but in a well-concerted effort to discharge a bottle at "the villain," the slender chain was severed that depended from the ceiling, and the metaphysician prostrated by the downfall of the lamp.

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SOME WORDS WITH A MUMMY.

THE _symposium_ of the preceding evening had been a little too much for my nerves. I had a wretched headache, and was desperately drowsy. Instead of going out therefore to spend the evening as I had proposed, it occurred to me that I could not do a wiser thing than just eat a mouthful of supper and go immediately to bed.

A light supper of course. I am exceedingly fond of Welsh rabbit. More than a pound at once, however, may not at all times be advisable. Still, there can be no material objection to two. And really between two and three, there is merely a single unit of difference. I ventured, perhaps, upon four. My wife will have it five; -- but, clearly, she