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; andalthough, 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 onceclassic 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.
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 every 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.
Why, there are several ways of managing. The most of us starve: someput up with the pickle: for my part I purchase my spirits viventecorpore, 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 madeinnumerable purchases of the kind in my day, and the parties neverexperienced any inconvenience. There were Cain and Nimrod, and Nero, andCaligula, and Dionysius, and Pisistratus, and--and a thousand others,who never knew what it was to have a soul during the latter part oftheir lives; yet, sir, these men adorned society. Why possession ofhis faculties, mental and corporeal? Who writes a keener epigram?Who reasons more wittily? Who--but stay! I have his agreement in mypocket-book.
Thus saying, he produced a red leather wallet, and took from it a numberof papers. Upon some of these Bon-Bon caught a glimpse of the lettersMachi--Maza--Robesp--with the words Caligula, George, Elizabeth. HisMajesty selected a narrow slip of parchment, and from it read aloud thefollowing words:
In consideration of certain mental endowments which it is unnecessaryto specify, and in further consideration of one thousand louis d'or, Ibeing aged one year and one month, do hereby make over to the bearerof this agreement all my right, title, and appurtenance in the shadowcalled my soul. (Signed) A.... {*4} (Here His Majesty repeated a namewhich 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 ashadow; Ha! ha! ha!--he! he! he!--hu! hu! hu! Only think of a fricasseedshadow!
Only think--hiccup!--of a fricasseed shadow! exclaimed our hero,whose faculties were becoming much illuminated by the profundity of hisMajesty's discourse.
Only think of a hiccup!--fricasseed shadow!! Now,damme!--hiccup!--humph! If I would have been sucha--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 haveit--hiccup!--a bargain. Here the philosopher slapped his Majesty uponthe back.
Couldn't think of such a thing, said the latter calmly, at the sametime 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 preciselybe ascertained--but in a well-concerted effort to discharge a bottleat the villain, the slender chain was severed that depended from theceiling, and the metaphysician prostrated by the downfall of the lamp.