The Works of Edgar Allen Poe Vol. 4
Edgar Allan Poe
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THE WORKS OF
EDGAR ALLAN POE
IN FIVE VOLUMES
VOLUME FOUR
Contents
The Devil in the Belfry
Lionizing
X-ing a Paragrab
Metzengerstein
The System of Doctor Tarr and Professor Fether
The Literary Life of Thingum Bob, Esq.
How to Write a Blackwood article
A Predicament
Mystification
Diddling
The Angel of the Odd
Mellonia Tauta
The Duc de l'Omlette
The Oblong Box
Loss of Breath
The Man That Was Used Up
The Business Man
The Landscape Garden
Maelzel's Chess-Player
The Power of Words
The Colloquy of Monas and Una
The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion
Shadow.--A Parable
======
THE DEVIL IN THE BELFRY
What o'clock is it? -- _Old Saying_.
EVERYBODY knows, in a general way, that the finest place in the world
is -- or, alas, was -- the Dutch borough of Vondervotteimittiss. Yet
as it lies some distance from any of the main roads, being in a
somewhat out-of-the-way situation, there are perhaps very few of my
readers who have ever paid it a visit. For the benefit of those who
have not, therefore, it will be only proper that I should enter into
some account of it. And this is indeed the more necessary, as with
the hope of enlisting public sympathy in behalf of the inhabitants, I
design here to give a history of the calamitous events which have so
lately occurred within its limits. No one who knows me will doubt
that the duty thus self-imposed will be executed to the best of my
ability, with all that rigid impartiality, all that cautious
examination into facts, and diligent collation of authorities, which
should ever distinguish him who aspires to the title of historian.
By the united aid of medals, manuscripts, and inscriptions, I am
enabled to say, positively, that the borough of Vondervotteimittiss
has existed, from its origin, in precisely the same condition which
it at present preserves. Of the date of this origin, however, I
grieve that I can only speak with that species of indefinite
definiteness which mathematicians are, at times, forced to put up
with in certain algebraic formulae. The date, I may thus say, in
regard to the remoteness of its antiquity, cannot be less than any
assignable quantity whatsoever.
Touching the derivation of the name Vondervotteimittiss, I confess
myself, with sorrow, equally at fault. Among a multitude of opinions
upon this delicate point- some acute, some learned, some sufficiently
the reverse -- I am able to select nothing which ought to be
considered satisfactory. Perhaps the idea of Grogswigg- nearly
coincident with that of Kroutaplenttey -- is to be cautiously
preferred. -- It runs: -- "Vondervotteimittis -- Vonder, lege Donder
-- Votteimittis, quasi und Bleitziz- Bleitziz obsol: -- pro Blitzen."
This derivative, to say the truth, is still countenanced by some
traces of the electric fluid evident on the summit of the steeple of
the House of the Town-Council. I do not choose, however, to commit
myself on a theme of such importance, and must refer the reader
desirous of information to the "Oratiunculae de Rebus
Praeter-Veteris," of Dundergutz. See, also, Blunderbuzzard "De
Derivationibus," pp. 27 to 5010, Folio, Gothic edit., Red and Black
character, Catch-word and No Cypher; wherein consult, also, marginal
notes in the autograph of Stuffundpuff, with the Sub-Commentaries of
Gruntundguzzell.
Notwithstanding the obscurity which thus envelops the date of the
foundation of Vondervotteimittis, and the derivation of its name,
there can be no doubt, as I said before, that it has always existed
as we find it at this epoch. The oldest man in the borough can
remember not the slightest difference in the appearance of any
portion of it; and, indeed, the very suggestion of such a possibility
is considered an insult. The site of the village is in a perfectly
circular valley, about a quarter of a mile in circumference, and
entirely surrounded by gentle hills, over whose summit the people
have never yet ventured to pass. For this they assign the very good
reason that they do not believe there is anything at all on the other
side.
Round the skirts of the valley (which is quite level, and paved
throughout with flat tiles), extends a continuous row of sixty little
houses. These, having their backs on the hills, must look, of course,
to the centre of the plain, which is just sixty yards from the front
door of each dwelling. Every house has a small garden before it, with
a circular path, a sun-dial, and twenty-four cabbages. The buildings
themselves are so precisely alike, that one can in no manner be
distinguished from the other. Owing to the vast antiquity, the style
of architecture is somewhat odd, but it is not for that reason the
less strikingly picturesque. They are fashioned of hard-burned little
bricks, red, with black ends, so that the walls look like a
chess-board upon a great scale. The gables are turned to the front,
and there are cornices, as big as all the rest of the house, over the
eaves and over the main doors. The windows are narrow and deep, with
very tiny panes and a great deal of sash. On the roof is a vast
quantity of tiles with long curly ears. The woodwork, throughout, is
of a dark hue and there is much carving about it, with but a trifling
variety of pattern for, time out of mind, the carvers of
Vondervotteimittiss have never been able to carve more than two
objects -- a time-piece and a cabbage. But these they do exceedingly
well, and intersperse them, with singular ingenuity, wherever they
find room for the chisel.
The dwellings are as much alike inside as out, and the furniture is
all upon one plan. The floors are of square tiles, the chairs and
tables of black-looking wood with thin crooked legs and puppy feet.
The mantelpieces are wide and high, and have not only time-pieces and
cabbages sculptured over the front, but a real time-piece, which
makes a prodigious ticking, on the top in the middle, with a
flower-pot containing a cabbage standing on each extremity by way of
outrider. Between each cabbage and the time-piece, again, is a little
China man having a large stomach with a great round hole in it,
through which is seen the dial-plate of a watch.
The fireplaces are large and deep, with fierce crooked-looking
fire-dogs. There is constantly a rousing fire, and a huge pot over
it, full of sauer-kraut and pork, to which the good woman of the
house is always busy in attending. She is a little fat old lady, with
blue eyes and a red face, and wears a huge cap like a sugar-loaf,
ornamented with purple and yellow ribbons. Her dress is of
orange-colored linsey-woolsey, made very full behind and very short
in the waist -- and indeed very short in other respects, not reaching
below the middle of her leg. This is somewhat thick, and so are her
ankles, but she has a fine pair of green stockings to cover them. Her
shoes -- of pink leather -- are fastened each with a bunch of yellow
ribbons puckered up in the shape of a cabbage. In her left hand she
has a little heavy Dutch watch; in her right she wields a ladle for
the sauerkraut and pork. By her side there stands a fat tabby cat,
with a gilt toy-repeater tied to its tail, which "the boys" have
there fastened by way of a quiz.
The boys themselves are, all three of them, in the garden attending
the pig. They are each two feet in height. They have three-cornered
cocked hats, purple waistcoats reaching down to their thighs,
buckskin knee-breeches, red stockings, heavy shoes with big silver
buckles, long surtout coats with large buttons of mother-of-pearl.
Each, too, has a pipe in his mouth, and a little dumpy watch in his
right hand. He takes a puff and a look, and then a look and a puff.
The pig- which is corpulent and lazy -- is occupied now in picking up
the stray leaves that fall from the cabbages, and now in giving a
kick behind at the gilt repeater, which the urchins have also tied to
his tail in order to make him look as handsome as the cat.
Right at the front door, in a high-backed leather-bottomed armed
chair, with crooked legs and puppy feet like the tables, is seated
the old man of the house himself. He is an exceedingly puffy little
old gentleman, with big circular eyes and a huge double chin. His
dress resembles that of the boys -- and I need say nothing farther
about it. All the difference is, that his pipe is somewhat bigger
than theirs and he can make a greater smoke. Like them, he has a
watch, but he carries his watch in his pocket. To say the truth, he
has something of more importance than a watch to attend to -- and
what that is, I shall presently explain. He sits with his right leg
upon his left knee, wears a grave countenance, and always keeps one
of his eyes, at least, resolutely bent upon a certain remarkable
object in the centre of the plain.
This object is situated in the steeple of the House of the Town
Council. The Town Council are all very little, round, oily,
intelligent men, with big saucer eyes and fat double chins, and have
their coats much longer and their shoe-buckles much bigger than the
ordinary inhabitants of Vondervotteimittiss. Since my sojourn in the
borough, they have had several special meetings, and have adopted
these three important resolutions:
"That it is wrong to alter the good old course of things:"
"That there is nothing tolerable out of Vondervotteimittiss:" and-
"That we will stick by our clocks and our cabbages."
Above the session-room of the Council is the steeple, and in the
steeple is the belfry, where exists, and has existed time out of
mind, the pride and wonder of the village -- the great clock of the
borough of Vondervotteimittiss. And this is the object to which the
eyes of the old gentlemen are turned who sit in the leather-bottomed
arm-chairs.
The great clock has seven faces -- one in each of the seven sides of
the steeple -- so that it can be readily seen from all quarters. Its
faces are large and white, and its hands heavy and black. There is a
belfry-man whose sole duty is to attend to it; but this duty is the
most perfect of sinecures -- for the clock of Vondervotteimittis was
never yet known to have anything the matter with it. Until lately,
the bare supposition of such a thing was considered heretical. From
the remotest period of antiquity to which the archives have
reference, the hours have been regularly struck by the big bell. And,
indeed the case was just the same with all the other clocks and
watches in the borough. Never was such a place for keeping the true
time. When the large clapper thought proper to say "Twelve o'clock!"
all its obedient followers opened their throats simultaneously, and
responded like a very echo. In short, the good burghers were fond of
their sauer-kraut, but then they were proud of their clocks.
All people who hold sinecure offices are held in more or less
respect, and as the belfry -- man of Vondervotteimittiss has the most
perfect of sinecures, he is the most perfectly respected of any man
in the world. He is the chief dignitary of the borough, and the very
pigs look up to him with a sentiment of reverence. His coat-tail is
very far longer -- his pipe, his shoe -- buckles, his eyes, and his
stomach, very far bigger -- than those of any other old gentleman in
the village; and as to his chin, it is not only double, but triple.
I have thus painted the happy estate of Vondervotteimittiss: alas,
that so fair a picture should ever experience a reverse!
There has been long a saying among the wisest inhabitants, that "no
good can come from over the hills"; and it really seemed that the
words had in them something of the spirit of prophecy. It wanted five
minutes of noon, on the day before yesterday, when there appeared a
very odd-looking object on the summit of the ridge of the eastward.
Such an occurrence, of course, attracted universal attention, and
every little old gentleman who sat in a leather-bottomed arm-chair
turned one of his eyes with a stare of dismay upon the phenomenon,
still keeping the other upon the clock in the steeple.
By the time that it wanted only three minutes to noon, the droll
object in question was perceived to be a very diminutive
foreign-looking young man. He descended the hills at a great rate, so
that every body had soon a good look at him. He was really the most
finicky little personage that had ever been seen in
Vondervotteimittiss. His countenance was of a dark snuff-color, and
he had a long hooked nose, pea eyes, a wide mouth, and an excellent
set of teeth, which latter he seemed anxious of displaying, as he was
grinning from ear to ear. What with mustachios and whiskers, there
was none of the rest of his face to be seen. His head was uncovered,
and his hair neatly done up in papillotes. His dress was a
tight-fitting swallow-tailed black coat (from one of whose pockets
dangled a vast length of white handkerchief), black kerseymere
knee-breeches, black stockings, and stumpy-looking pumps, with huge
bunches of black satin ribbon for bows. Under one arm he carried a
huge chapeau-de-bras, and under the other a fiddle nearly five times
as big as himself. In his left hand was a gold snuff-box, from which,
as he capered down the hill, cutting all manner of fantastic steps,
he took snuff incessantly with an air of the greatest possible
self-satisfaction. God bless me! -- here was a sight for the honest
burghers of Vondervotteimittiss!
To speak plainly, the fellow had, in spite of his grinning, an
audacious and sinister kind of face; and as he curvetted right into
the village, the old stumpy appearance of his pumps excited no little
suspicion; and many a burgher who beheld him that day would have
given a trifle for a peep beneath the white cambric handkerchief
which hung so obtrusively from the pocket of his swallow-tailed coat.
But what mainly occasioned a righteous indignation was, that the
scoundrelly popinjay, while he cut a fandango here, and a whirligig
there, did not seem to have the remotest idea in the world of such a
thing as keeping time in his steps.
The good people of the borough had scarcely a chance, however, to get
their eyes thoroughly open, when, just as it wanted half a minute of
noon, the rascal bounced, as I say, right into the midst of them;
gave a chassez here, and a balancez there; and then, after a
pirouette and a pas-de-zephyr, pigeon-winged himself right up into
the belfry of the House of the Town Council, where the
wonder-stricken belfry-man sat smoking in a state of dignity and
dismay. But the little chap seized him at once by the nose; gave it a
swing and a pull; clapped the big chapeau de-bras upon his head;
knocked it down over his eyes and mouth; and then, lifting up the big
fiddle, beat him with it so long and so soundly, that what with the
belfry-man being so fat, and the fiddle being so hollow, you would
have sworn that there was a regiment of double-bass drummers all
beating the devil's tattoo up in the belfry of the steeple of
Vondervotteimittiss.
There is no knowing to what desperate act of vengeance this
unprincipled attack might have aroused the inhabitants, but for the
important fact that it now wanted only half a second of noon. The
bell was about to strike, and it was a matter of absolute and
pre-eminent necessity that every body should look well at his watch.
It was evident, however, that just at this moment the fellow in the
steeple was doing something that he had no business to do with the
clock. But as it now began to strike, nobody had any time to attend
to his manoeuvres, for they had all to count the strokes of the bell
as it sounded.
"One!" said the clock.
"Von!" echoed every little old gentleman in every leather-bottomed
arm-chair in Vondervotteimittiss. "Von!" said his watch also; "von!"
said the watch of his vrow; and "von!" said the watches of the boys,
and the little gilt repeaters on the tails of the cat and pig.
"Two!" continued the big bell; and
"Doo!" repeated all the repeaters.
"Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten!" said the bell.
"Dree! Vour! Fibe! Sax! Seben! Aight! Noin! Den!" answered the
others.
"Eleven!" said the big one.
"Eleben!" assented the little ones.
"Twelve!" said the bell.
"Dvelf!" they replied perfectly satisfied, and dropping their voices.
"Und dvelf it is!" said all the little old gentlemen, putting up
their watches. But the big bell had not done with them yet.
"Thirteen!" said he.
"Der Teufel!" gasped the little old gentlemen, turning pale, dropping
their pipes, and putting down all their right legs from over their
left knees.
"Der Teufel!" groaned they, "Dirteen! Dirteen!! -- Mein Gott, it is
Dirteen o'clock!!"
Why attempt to describe the terrible scene which ensued? All
Vondervotteimittiss flew at once into a lamentable state of uproar.
"Vot is cum'd to mein pelly?" roared all the boys -- "I've been ongry
for dis hour!"
"Vot is com'd to mein kraut?" screamed all the vrows, "It has been
done to rags for this hour!"
"Vot is cum'd to mein pipe?" swore all the little old gentlemen,
"Donder and Blitzen; it has been smoked out for dis hour!" -- and
they filled them up again in a great rage, and sinking back in their
arm-chairs, puffed away so fast and so fiercely that the whole valley
was immediately filled with impenetrable smoke.
Meantime the cabbages all turned very red in the face, and it seemed
as if old Nick himself had taken possession of every thing in the
shape of a timepiece. The clocks carved upon the furniture took to
dancing as if bewitched, while those upon the mantel-pieces could
scarcely contain themselves for fury, and kept such a continual
striking of thirteen, and such a frisking and wriggling of their
pendulums as was really horrible to see. But, worse than all, neither
the cats nor the pigs could put up any longer with the behavior of
the little repeaters tied to their tails, and resented it by
scampering all over the place, scratching and poking, and squeaking
and screeching, and caterwauling and squalling, and flying into the
faces, and running under the petticoats of the people, and creating
altogether the most abominable din and confusion which it is possible
for a reasonable person to conceive. And to make matters still more
distressing, the rascally little scape-grace in the steeple was
evidently exerting himself to the utmost. Every now and then one
might catch a glimpse of the scoundrel through the smoke. There he
sat in the belfry upon the belfry-man, who was lying flat upon his
back. In his teeth the villain held the bell-rope, which he kept
jerking about with his head, raising such a clatter that my ears ring
again even to think of it. On his lap lay the big fiddle, at which he
was scraping, out of all time and tune, with both hands, making a
great show, the nincompoop! of playing "Judy O'Flannagan and Paddy
O'Rafferty."
Affairs being thus miserably situated, I left the place in disgust,
and now appeal for aid to all lovers of correct time and fine kraut.
Let us proceed in a body to the borough, and restore the ancient
order of things in Vondervotteimittiss by ejecting that little fellow
from the steeple.
~~~ End of Text ~~~
======
LIONIZING
-------- all people went
Upon their ten toes in wild wonderment.
--_ Bishop Hall's Satires_.
I AM - that is to say I was - a great man; but I am neither the
author of Junius nor the man in the mask; for my name, I believe, is
Robert Jones, and I was born somewhere in the city of Fum-Fudge.
The first action of my life was the taking hold of my nose with
both hands. My mother saw this and called me a genius: my father wept
for joy and presented me with a treatise on Nosology. This I mastered
before I was breeched.
I now began to feel my way in the science, and soon came to
understand that, provided a man had a nose sufficiently conspicuous
he might, by merely following it, arrive at a Lionship. But my
attention was not confined to theories alone. Every morning I gave my
proboscis a couple of pulls and swallowed a half dozen of drams.
When I came of age my father asked me, one day, If I would step
with him into his study.
"My son," said he, when we were seated, "what is the chief end of
your existence?"
"My father," I answered, "it is the study of Nosology."
"And what, Robert," he inquired, "is Nosology?"
"Sir," I said, "it is the Science of Noses."
"And can you tell me," he demanded, "what is the meaning of a
nose?"
"A nose, my father;" I replied, greatly softened, "has been
variously defined by about a thousand different authors." [Here I
pulled out my watch.] "It is now noon or thereabouts - we shall have
time enough to get through with them all before midnight. To commence
then: - The nose, according to Bartholinus, is that protuberance --
that bump - that excrescence - that - "
"Will do, Robert," interrupted the good old gentleman. "I am
thunderstruck at the extent of your information - I am positively --
upon my soul." [Here he closed his eyes and placed his hand upon his
heart.] "Come here!" [Here he took me by the arm.] "Your education
may now be considered as finished - it is high time you should
scuffle for yourself - and you cannot do a better thing than merely
follow your nose -- so - so - so - " [Here he kicked me down stairs
and out of the door] - "so get out of my house, and God bless you!"
As I felt within me the divine afflatus, I considered this
accident rather fortunate than otherwise. I resolved to be guided by
the paternal advice. I determined to follow my nose. I gave it a pull
or two upon the spot, and wrote a pamphlet on Nosology forthwith.
All Fum-Fudge was in an uproar.
"Wonderful genius!" said the Quarterly.
"Superb physiologist!" said the Westminster.
"Clever fellow!" said the Foreign.
"Fine writer!" said the Edinburgh.
"Profound thinker!" said the Dublin.
"Great man!" said Bentley.
"Divine soul!" said Fraser.
"One of us!" said Blackwood.
"Who can he be?" said Mrs. Bas-Bleu.
"What can he be?" said big Miss Bas-Bleu.
"Where can he be?" said little Miss Bas-Bleu. - But I paid these
people no attention whatever - I just stepped into the shop of an
artist.
The Duchess of Bless-my-Soul was sitting for her portrait; the
Marquis of So-and-So was holding the Duchess' poodle; the Earl of
This-and-That was flirting with her salts; and his Royal Highness of
Touch-me-Not was leaning upon the back of her chair.
I approached the artist and turned up my nose.
"Oh, beautiful!" sighed her Grace.
"Oh my!" lisped the Marquis.
"Oh, shocking!" groaned the Earl.
"Oh, abominable!" growled his Royal Highness.
"What will you take for it?" asked the artist.
"For his nose!" shouted her Grace.
"A thousand pounds," said I, sitting down.
"A thousand pounds?" inquired the artist, musingly.
"A thousand pounds," said I.
"Beautiful!" said he, entranced.
"A thousand pounds," said I.
"Do you warrant it?" he asked, turning the nose to the light.
"I do," said I, blowing it well.
"Is it quite original?" he inquired; touching it with reverence.
"Humph!" said I, twisting it to one side.
"Has no copy been taken?" he demanded, surveying it through a
microscope.
"None," said I, turning it up.
"Admirable!" he ejaculated, thrown quite off his guard by the beauty
of the manoeuvre.
"A thousand pounds," said I.
"A thousand pounds?" said he.
"Precisely," said I.
"A thousand pounds?" said he.
"Just so," said I.
"You shall have them," said he. "What a piece of virtu!" So he drew
me a check upon the spot, and took a sketch of my nose. I engaged
rooms in Jermyn street, and sent her Majesty the ninety-ninth edition
of the "Nosology," with a portrait of the proboscis. - That sad
little rake, the Prince of Wales, invited me to dinner.
We were all lions and recherchés.
There was a modern Platonist. He quoted Porphyry, Iamblicus,
Plotinus, Proclus, Hierocles, Maximus Tyrius, and Syrianus.
There was a human-perfectibility man. He quoted Turgot, Price,
Priestly, Condorcet, De Stael, and the "Ambitious Student in Ill
Health."
There was Sir Positive Paradox. He observed that all fools were
philosophers, and that all philosophers were fools.
There was Æstheticus Ethix. He spoke of fire, unity, and atoms;
bi-part and pre-existent soul; affinity and discord; primitive
intelligence and homöomeria.
There was Theologos Theology. He talked of Eusebius and Arianus;
heresy and the Council of Nice; Puseyism and consubstantialism;
Homousios and Homouioisios.
There was Fricassée from the Rocher de Cancale. He mentioned Muriton
of red tongue; cauliflowers with velouté sauce; veal à la St.
Menehoult; marinade à la St. Florentin; and orange jellies en
mosäiques.
There was Bibulus O'Bumper. He touched upon Latour and Markbrünnen;
upon Mousseux and Chambertin; upon Richbourg and St. George; upon
Haubrion, Leonville, and Medoc; upon Barac and Preignac; upon Grâve,
upon Sauterne, upon Lafitte, and upon St. Peray. He shook his head at
Clos de Vougeot, and told, with his eyes shut, the difference between
Sherry and Amontillado.
There was Signor Tintontintino from Florence. He discoursed of
Cimabué, Arpino, Carpaccio, and Argostino - of the gloom of
Caravaggio, of the amenity of Albano, of the colors of Titian, of the
frows of Rubens, and of the waggeries of Jan Steen.
There was the President of the Fum-Fudge University. He was of
opinion that the moon was called Bendis in Thrace, Bubastis in Egypt,
Dian in Rome, and Artemis in Greece. There was a Grand Turk from
Stamboul. He could not help thinking that the angels were horses,
cocks, and bulls; that somebody in the sixth heaven had seventy
thousand heads; and that the earth was supported by a sky-blue cow
with an incalculable number of green horns.
There was Delphinus Polyglott. He told us what had become of the
eighty-three lost tragedies of Æschylus; of the fifty-four orations
of Isæus; of the three hundred and ninety-one speeches of Lysias; of
the hundred and eighty treatises of Theophrastus; of the eighth book
of the conic sections of Apollonius; of Pindar's hymns and
dithyrambics; and of the five and forty tragedies of Homer Junior.
There was Ferdinand Fitz-Fossillus Feltspar. He informed us all about
internal fires and tertiary formations; about äeriforms, fluidiforms,
and solidiforms; about quartz and marl; about schist and schorl;
about gypsum and trap; about talc and calc; about blende and
horn-blende; about mica-slate and pudding-stone; about cyanite and
lepidolite; about hematite and tremolite; about antimony and
calcedony; about manganese and whatever you please.
There was myself. I spoke of myself; - of myself, of myself, of
myself; - of Nosology, of my pamphlet, and of myself. I turned up my
nose, and I spoke of myself.
"Marvellous clever man!" said the Prince.
"Superb!" said his guests: - and next morning her Grace of
Bless-my-Soul paid me a visit.
"Will you go to Almack's, pretty creature?" she said, tapping me
under the chin.
"Upon honor," said I.
"Nose and all?" she asked.
"As I live," I replied.
"Here then is a card, my life. Shall I say you will be there?"
"Dear Duchess, with all my heart."
"Pshaw, no! - but with all your nose?"
"Every bit of it, my love," said I: so I gave it a twist or two, and
found myself at Almack's. The rooms were crowded to suffocation.
"He is coming!" said somebody on the staircase.
"He is coming!" said somebody farther up.
"He is coming!" said somebody farther still.
"He is come!" exclaimed the Duchess. "He is come, the little love!" -
and, seizing me firmly by both hands, she kissed me thrice upon the
nose. A marked sensation immediately ensued.
"Diavolo!" cried Count Capricornutti.
"Dios guarda!" muttered Don Stiletto.
"Mille tonnerres!" ejaculated the Prince de Grenouille.
"Tousand teufel!" growled the Elector of Bluddennuff.
It was not to be borne. I grew angry. I turned short upon
Bluddennuff.
"Sir!" said I to him, "you are a baboon."
"Sir," he replied, after a pause, "Donner und Blitzen!"
This was all that could be desired. We exchanged cards. At
Chalk-Farm, the next morning, I shot off his nose - and then called
upon my friends.
"Bête!" said the first.
"Fool!" said the second.
"Dolt!" said the third.
"Ass!" said the fourth.
"Ninny!" said the fifth.
"Noodle!" said the sixth.
"Be off!" said the seventh.
At all this I felt mortified, and so called upon my father.
"Father," I asked, "what is the chief end of my existence?"
"My son," he replied, "it is still the study of Nosology; but in
hitting the Elector upon the nose you have overshot your mark. You
have a fine nose, it is true; but then Bluddennuff has none. You are
damned, and he has become the hero of the day. I grant you that in
Fum-Fudge the greatness of a lion is in proportion to the size of his
proboscis - but, good heavens! there is no competing with a lion who
has no proboscis at all."
~~~ End of Text ~~~
======
X-ING A PARAGRAB
AS it is well known that the 'wise men' came 'from the East,' and as
Mr. Touch-and-go Bullet-head came from the East, it follows that Mr.
Bullet-head was a wise man; and if collateral proof of the matter be
needed, here we have it -- Mr. B. was an editor. Irascibility was his
sole foible, for in fact the obstinacy of which men accused him was
anything but his foible, since he justly considered it his forte. It
was his strong point -- his virtue; and it would have required all
the logic of a Brownson to convince him that it was 'anything else.'
I have shown that Touch-and-go Bullet-head was a wise man; and the
only occasion on which he did not prove infallible, was when,
abandoning that legitimate home for all wise men, the East, he
migrated to the city of Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis, or some place
of a similar title, out West.
I must do him the justice to say, however, that when he made up his
mind finally to settle in that town, it was under the impression that
no newspaper, and consequently no editor, existed in that particular
section of the country. In establishing 'The Tea-Pot' he expected to
have the field all to himself. I feel confident he never would have
dreamed of taking up his residence in Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis
had he been aware that, in Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis, there lived
a gentleman named John Smith (if I rightly remember), who for many
years had there quietly grown fat in editing and publishing the
'Alexander-the-Great-o-nopolis Gazette.' It was solely, therefore, on
account of having been misinformed, that Mr. Bullet-head found
himself in Alex-suppose we call it Nopolis, 'for short' -- but, as he
did find himself there, he determined to keep up his character for
obst -- for firmness, and remain. So remain he did; and he did more;
he unpacked his press, type, etc., etc., rented an office exactly
opposite to that of the 'Gazette,' and, on the third morning after
his arrival, issued the first number of 'The Alexan' -- that is to
say, of 'The Nopolis Tea-Pot' -- as nearly as I can recollect, this
was the name of the new paper.
The leading article, I must admit, was brilliant -- not to say
severe. It was especially bitter about things in general -- and as
for the editor of 'The Gazette,' he was torn all to pieces in
particular. Some of Bullethead's remarks were really so fiery that I
have always, since that time, been forced to look upon John Smith,
who is still alive, in the light of a salamander. I cannot pretend to
give all the 'Tea-Pot's' paragraphs verbatim, but one of them runs
thus:
'Oh, yes! -- Oh, we perceive! Oh, no doubt! The editor over the way
is a genius -- O, my! Oh, goodness, gracious! -- what is this world
coming to? Oh, tempora! Oh, Moses!'
A philippic at once so caustic and so classical, alighted like a
bombshell among the hitherto peaceful citizens of Nopolis. Groups of
excited individuals gathered at the corners of the streets. Every one
awaited, with heartfelt anxiety, the reply of the dignified Smith.
Next morning it appeared as follows:
'We quote from "The Tea-Pot" of yesterday the subjoined paragraph:
"Oh, yes! Oh, we perceive! Oh, no doubt! Oh, my! Oh, goodness! Oh,
tempora! Oh, Moses!" Why, the fellow is all O! That accounts for his
reasoning in a circle, and explains why there is neither beginning
nor end to him, nor to anything he says. We really do not believe the
vagabond can write a word that hasn't an O in it. Wonder if this
O-ing is a habit of his? By-the-by, he came away from Down-East in a
great hurry. Wonder if he O's as much there as he does here? "O! it
is pitiful."'
The indignation of Mr. Bullet-head at these scandalous insinuations,
I shall not attempt to describe. On the eel-skinning principle,
however, he did not seem to be so much incensed at the attack upon
his integrity as one might have imagined. It was the sneer at his
style that drove him to desperation. What! -- he Touch-and-go
Bullet-head! -- not able to write a word without an O in it! He would
soon let the jackanapes see that he was mistaken. Yes! he would let
him see how much he was mistaken, the puppy! He, Touch-and-go
Bullet-head, of Frogpondium, would let Mr. John Smith perceive that
he, Bullet-head, could indite, if it so pleased him, a whole
paragraph -- aye! a whole article -- in which that contemptible vowel
should not once -- not even once -- make its appearance. But no; --
that would be yielding a point to the said John Smith. He,
Bullet-head, would make no alteration in his style, to suit the
caprices of any Mr. Smith in Christendom. Perish so vile a thought!
The O forever; He would persist in the O. He would be as O-wy as O-wy
could be.
Burning with the chivalry of this determination, the great
Touch-and-go, in the next 'Tea-Pot,' came out merely with this simple
but resolute paragraph, in reference to this unhappy affair:
'The editor of the "Tea-Pot" has the honor of advising the editor of
the "Gazette" that he (the "Tea-Pot") will take an opportunity in
tomorrow morning's paper, of convincing him (the "Gazette") that he
(the "Tea-Pot") both can and will be his own master, as regards
style; he (the "Tea-Pot") intending to show him (the "Gazette") the
supreme, and indeed the withering contempt with which the criticism
of him (the "Gazette") inspires the independent bosom of him (the
"TeaPot") by composing for the especial gratification (?) of him (the
"Gazette") a leading article, of some extent, in which the beautiful
vowel -- the emblem of Eternity -- yet so offensive to the
hyper-exquisite delicacy of him (the "Gazette") shall most certainly
not be avoided by his (the "Gazette's") most obedient, humble
servant, the "Tea-Pot." "So much for Buckingham!"'
In fulfilment of the awful threat thus darkly intimated rather than
decidedly enunciated, the great Bullet-head, turning a deaf ear to
all entreaties for 'copy,' and simply requesting his foreman to 'go
to the d-l,' when he (the foreman) assured him (the 'Tea-Pot'!) that
it was high time to 'go to press': turning a deaf ear to everything,
I say, the great Bullet-head sat up until day-break, consuming the
midnight oil, and absorbed in the composition of the really
unparalleled paragraph, which follows:-
'So ho, John! how now? Told you so, you know. Don't crow, another
time, before you're out of the woods! Does your mother know you're
out? Oh, no, no! -- so go home at once, now, John, to your odious old
woods of Concord! Go home to your woods, old owl -- go! You won't!
Oh, poh, poh, don't do so! You've got to go, you know! So go at once,
and don't go slow, for nobody owns you here, you know! Oh! John,
John, if you don't go you're no homo -- no! You're only a fowl, an
owl, a cow, a sow, -- a doll, a poll; a poor, old,
good-for-nothing-to-nobody, log, dog, hog, or frog, come out of a
Concord bog. Cool, now -- cool! Do be cool, you fool! None of your
crowing, old cock! Don't frown so -- don't! Don't hollo, nor howl nor
growl, nor bow-wow-wow! Good Lord, John, how you do look! Told you
so, you know -- but stop rolling your goose of an old poll about so,
and go and drown your sorrows in a bowl!'
Exhausted, very naturally, by so stupendous an effort, the great
Touch-and-go could attend to nothing farther that night. Firmly,
composedly, yet with an air of conscious power, he handed his MS. to
the devil in waiting, and then, walking leisurely home, retired, with
ineffable dignity to bed.
Meantime the devil, to whom the copy was entrusted, ran up stairs to
his 'case,' in an unutterable hurry, and forthwith made a
commencement at 'setting' the MS. 'up.'
In the first place, of course, -- as the opening word was 'So,' -- he
made a plunge into the capital S hole and came out in triumph with a
capital S. Elated by this success, he immediately threw himself upon
the little-o box with a blindfold impetuosity -- but who shall
describe his horror when his fingers came up without the anticipated
letter in their clutch? who shall paint his astonishment and rage at
perceiving, as he rubbed his knuckles, that he had been only thumping
them to no purpose, against the bottom of an empty box. Not a single
little-o was in the little-o hole; and, glancing fearfully at the
capital-O partition, he found that to his extreme terror, in a
precisely similar predicament. Awe -- stricken, his first impulse was
to rush to the foreman.
'Sir!' said he, gasping for breath, 'I can't never set up nothing
without no o's.'
'What do you mean by that?' growled the foreman, who was in a very
ill humor at being kept so late.
'Why, sir, there beant an o in the office, neither a big un nor a
little un!'
'What -- what the d-l has become of all that were in the case?'
'I don't know, sir,' said the boy, 'but one of them ere "G'zette"
devils is bin prowling 'bout here all night, and I spect he's gone
and cabbaged 'em every one.'
'Dod rot him! I haven't a doubt of it,' replied the foreman, getting
purple with rage 'but I tell you what you do, Bob, that's a good boy
-- you go over the first chance you get and hook every one of their
i's and (d-n them!) their izzards.'
'Jist so,' replied Bob, with a wink and a frown -- 'I'll be into 'em,
I'll let 'em know a thing or two; but in de meantime, that ere
paragrab? Mus go in to-night, you know -- else there'll be the d-l to
pay, and-'
'And not a bit of pitch hot,' interrupted the foreman, with a deep
sigh, and an emphasis on the 'bit.' 'Is it a long paragraph, Bob?'
'Shouldn't call it a wery long paragrab,' said Bob.
'Ah, well, then! do the best you can with it! We must get to press,'
said the foreman, who was over head and ears in work; 'just stick in
some other letter for o; nobody's going to read the fellow's trash
anyhow.'
'Wery well,' replied Bob, 'here goes it!' and off he hurried to his
case, muttering as he went: 'Considdeble vell, them ere expressions,
perticcler for a man as doesn't swar. So I's to gouge out all their
eyes, eh? and d-n all their gizzards! Vell! this here's the chap as
is just able for to do it.' The fact is that although Bob was but
twelve years old and four feet high, he was equal to any amount of
fight, in a small way.
The exigency here described is by no means of rare occurrence in
printing-offices; and I cannot tell how to account for it, but the
fact is indisputable, that when the exigency does occur, it almost
always happens that x is adopted as a substitute for the letter
deficient. The true reason, perhaps, is that x is rather the most
superabundant letter in the cases, or at least was so in the old
times -- long enough to render the substitution in question an
habitual thing with printers. As for Bob, he would have considered it
heretical to employ any other character, in a case of this kind, than
the x to which he had been accustomed.
'I shell have to x this ere paragrab,' said he to himself, as he read
it over in astonishment, 'but it's jest about the awfulest o-wy
paragrab I ever did see': so x it he did, unflinchingly, and to press
it went x-ed.
Next morning the population of Nopolis were taken all aback by
reading in 'The Tea-Pot,' the following extraordinary leader:
'Sx hx, Jxhn! hxw nxw? Txld yxu sx, yxu knxw. Dxn't crxw, anxther
time, befxre yxu're xut xf the wxxds! Dxes yxur mxther knxw yxu're
xut? Xh, nx, nx! -- sx gx hxme at xnce, nxw, Jxhn, tx yxur xdixus xld
wxxds xf Cxncxrd! Gx hxme tx yxur wxxds, xld xwl, -- gx! Yxu wxn't?
Xh, pxh, pxh, Jxhn, dxn't dx sx! Yxu've gxt tx gx, yxu knxw, sx gx at
xnce, and dxn't gx slxw; fxr nxbxdy xwns yxu here, yxu knxw. Xh,
Jxhn, Jxhn, Jxhn, if yxu dxn't gx yxu're nx hxmx -- nx! Yxu're xnly a
fxwl, an xwl; a cxw, a sxw; a dxll, a pxll; a pxxr xld
gxxd-fxr-nxthing-tx-nxbxdy, lxg, dxg, hxg, xr frxg, cxme xut xf a
Cxncxrd bxg. Cxxl, nxw -- cxxl! Dx be cxxl, yxu fxxl! Nxne xf yxur
crxwing, xld cxck! Dxn't frxwn sx -- dxn't! Dxn't hxllx, nxr hxwl,
nxr grxwl, nxr bxw-wxw-wxw! Gxxd Lxrd, Jxhn, hxw yxu dx lxxk! Txld
yxu sx, yxu knxw, -- but stxp rxlling yxur gxxse xf an xld pxll abxut
sx, and gx and drxwn yxur sxrrxws in a bxwl!'
The uproar occasioned by this mystical and cabalistical article, is
not to be conceived. The first definite idea entertained by the
populace was, that some diabolical treason lay concealed in the
hieroglyphics; and there was a general rush to Bullet-head's
residence, for the purpose of riding him on a rail; but that
gentleman was nowhere to be found. He had vanished, no one could tell
how; and not even the ghost of him has ever been seen since.
Unable to discover its legitimate object, the popular fury at length
subsided; leaving behind it, by way of sediment, quite a medley of
opinion about this unhappy affair.
One gentleman thought the whole an X-ellent joke.
Another said that, indeed, Bullet-head had shown much X-uberance of
fancy.
A third admitted him X-entric, but no more.
A fourth could only suppose it the Yankee's design to X-press, in a
general way, his X-asperation.
'Say, rather, to set an X-ample to posterity,' suggested a fifth.
That Bullet-head had been driven to an extremity, was clear to all;
and in fact, since that editor could not be found, there was some
talk about lynching the other one.
The more common conclusion, however, was that the affair was, simply,
X-traordinary and in-X-plicable. Even the town mathematician
confessed that he could make nothing of so dark a problem. X, every.
body knew, was an unknown quantity; but in this case (as he properly
observed), there was an unknown quantity of X.
The opinion of Bob, the devil (who kept dark about his having 'X-ed
the paragrab'), did not meet with so much attention as I think it
deserved, although it was very openly and very fearlessly expressed.
He said that, for his part, he had no doubt about the matter at all,
that it was a clear case, that Mr. Bullet-head 'never could be
persuaded fur to drink like other folks, but vas continually
a-svigging o' that ere blessed XXX ale, and as a naiteral
consekvence, it just puffed him up savage, and made him X (cross) in
the X-treme.'
~~~ End of Text ~~~
======
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