Poe, Edgar Allen - The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe
Page 124
shall discharge this decanter of wine at your image in yonder mirror,
and thus fulfil all the spirit, if not the exact letter, of
resentment for your insult, while the necessity of physical violence
to your real person will be obviated."
With these words he hurled the decanter, full of wine, against the
mirror which hung directly opposite Hermann; striking the reflection
of his person with great precision, and of course shattering the
glass into fragments. The whole company at once started to their
feet, and, with the exception of myself and Ritzner, took their
departure. As Hermann went out, the Baron whispered me that I should
follow him and make an offer of my services. To this I agreed; not
knowing precisely what to make of so ridiculous a piece of business.
The duellist accepted my aid with his stiff and ultra recherche air,
and, taking my arm, led me to his apartment. I could hardly forbear
laughing in his face while he proceeded to discuss, with the
profoundest gravity, what he termed "the refinedly peculiar
character" of the insult he had received. After a tiresome harangue
in his ordinary style, he took down from his book shelves a number of
musty volumes on the subject of the duello, and entertained me for a
long time with their contents; reading aloud, and commenting
earnestly as he read. I can just remember the titles of some of the
works. There were the "Ordonnance of Philip le Bel on Single Combat";
the "Theatre of Honor," by Favyn, and a treatise "On the Permission
of Duels," by Andiguier. He displayed, also, with much pomposity,
Brantome's "Memoirs of Duels," -- published at Cologne, 1666, in the
types of Elzevir -- a precious and unique vellum-paper volume, with a
fine margin, and bound by Derome. But he requested my attention
particularly, and with an air of mysterious sagacity, to a thick
octavo, written in barbarous Latin by one Hedelin, a Frenchman, and
having the quaint title, "Duelli Lex Scripta, et non; aliterque."
From this he read me one of the drollest chapters in the world
concerning "Injuriae per applicationem, per constructionem, et per
se," about half of which, he averred, was strictly applicable to his
own "refinedly peculiar" case, although not one syllable of the whole
matter could I understand for the life of me. Having finished the
chapter, he closed the book, and demanded what I thought necessary to
be done. I replied that I had entire confidence in his superior
delicacy of feeling, and would abide by what he proposed. With this
answer he seemed flattered, and sat down to write a note to the
Baron. It ran thus:
Sir, -- My friend, M. P.-, will hand you this note. I find it
incumbent upon me to request, at your earliest convenience, an
explanation of this evening's occurrences at your chambers. In the
event of your declining this request, Mr. P. will be happy to
arrange, with any friend whom you may appoint, the steps preliminary
to a meeting.
With sentiments of perfect respect,
Your most humble servant,
JOHANN HERMAN.
To the Baron Ritzner von Jung,
Not knowing what better to do, I called upon Ritzner with this
epistle. He bowed as I presented it; then, with a grave countenance,
motioned me to a seat. Having perused the cartel, he wrote the
following reply, which I carried to Hermann.
SIR, -- Through our common friend, Mr. P., I have received your note
of this evening. Upon due reflection I frankly admit the propriety of
the explanation you suggest. This being admitted, I still find great
difficulty, (owing to the refinedly peculiar nature of our
disagreement, and of the personal affront offered on my part,) in so
wording what I have to say by way of apology, as to meet all the
minute exigencies, and all the variable shadows, of the case. I have
great reliance, however, on that extreme delicacy of discrimination,
in matters appertaining to the rules of etiquette, for which you have
been so long and so pre-eminently distinguished. With perfect
certainty, therefore, of being comprehended, I beg leave, in lieu of
offering any sentiments of my own, to refer you to the opinions of
Sieur Hedelin, as set forth in the ninth paragraph of the chapter of
"Injuriae per applicationem, per constructionem, et per se," in his
"Duelli Lex scripta, et non; aliterque." The nicety of your
discernment in all the matters here treated, will be sufficient, I am
assured, to convince you that the mere circumstance of me referring
you to this admirable passage, ought to satisfy your request, as a
man of honor, for explanation.
With sentiments of profound respect,
Your most obedient servant,
VON JUNG.
The Herr Johann Hermann
Hermann commenced the perusal of this epistle with a scowl, which,
however, was converted into a smile of the most ludicrous
self-complacency as he came to the rigmarole about Injuriae per
applicationem, per constructionem, et per se. Having finished
reading, he begged me, with the blandest of all possible smiles, to
be seated, while he made reference to the treatise in question.
Turning to the passage specified, he read it with great care to
himself, then closed the book, and desired me, in my character of
confidential acquaintance, to express to the Baron von Jung his
exalted sense of his chivalrous behavior, and, in that of second, to
assure him that the explanation offered was of the fullest, the most
honorable, and the most unequivocally satisfactory nature.
Somewhat amazed at all this, I made my retreat to the Baron. He
seemed to receive Hermann's amicable letter as a matter of course,
and after a few words of general conversation, went to an inner room
and brought out the everlasting treatise "Duelli Lex scripta, et non;
aliterque." He handed me the volume and asked me to look over some
portion of it. I did so, but to little purpose, not being able to
gather the least particle of meaning. He then took the book himself,
and read me a chapter aloud. To my surprise, what he read proved to
be a most horribly absurd account of a duel between two baboons. He
now explained the mystery; showing that the volume, as it appeared
prima facie, was written upon the plan of the nonsense verses of Du
Bartas; that is to say, the language was ingeniously framed so as to
present to the ear all the outward signs of intelligibility, and even
of profundity, while in fact not a shadow of meaning existed. The key
to the whole was found in leaving out every second and third word
alternately, when there appeared a series of ludicrous quizzes upon a
single combat as practised in modern times.
The Baron afterwards informed me that he had purposely thrown the
treatise in Hermann's way two or three weeks before the adventure,
and that he was satisfied, from the general tenor of his
conversation, that he had studied it with the deepest attention, and
firmly believed it to be a work of unusual merit. Upon this hint he
proceeded. Hermann w
ould have died a thousand deaths rather than
acknowledge his inability to understand anything and everything in
the universe that had ever been written about the duello.
Littleton Barry.
~~~ End of Text ~~~
======
DIDDLING
CONSIDERED AS ONE OF THE EXACT SCIENCES.
Hey, diddle diddle
The cat and the fiddle
SINCE the world began there have been two Jeremys. The one wrote a
Jeremiad about usury, and was called Jeremy Bentham. He has been much
admired by Mr. John Neal, and was a great man in a small way. The
other gave name to the most important of the Exact Sciences, and was
a great man in a great way -- I may say, indeed, in the very greatest
of ways.
Diddling -- or the abstract idea conveyed by the verb to diddle -- is
sufficiently well understood. Yet the fact, the deed, the thing
diddling, is somewhat difficult to define. We may get, however, at a
tolerably distinct conception of the matter in hand, by defining- not
the thing, diddling, in itself -- but man, as an animal that diddles.
Had Plato but hit upon this, he would have been spared the affront of
the picked chicken.
Very pertinently it was demanded of Plato, why a picked chicken,
which was clearly "a biped without feathers," was not, according to
his own definition, a man? But I am not to be bothered by any similar
query. Man is an animal that diddles, and there is no animal that
diddles but man. It will take an entire hen-coop of picked chickens
to get over that.
What constitutes the essence, the nare, the principle of diddling is,
in fact, peculiar to the class of creatures that wear coats and
pantaloons. A crow thieves; a fox cheats; a weasel outwits; a man
diddles. To diddle is his destiny. "Man was made to mourn," says the
poet. But not so: -- he was made to diddle. This is his aim -- his
object- his end. And for this reason when a man's diddled we say he's
"done."
Diddling, rightly considered, is a compound, of which the ingredients
are minuteness, interest, perseverance, ingenuity, audacity,
nonchalance, originality, impertinence, and grin.
Minuteness: -- Your diddler is minute. His operations are upon a
small scale. His business is retail, for cash, or approved paper at
sight. Should he ever be tempted into magnificent speculation, he
then, at once, loses his distinctive features, and becomes what we
term "financier." This latter word conveys the diddling idea in every
respect except that of magnitude. A diddler may thus be regarded as a
banker in petto -- a "financial operation," as a diddle at
Brobdignag. The one is to the other, as Homer to "Flaccus" -- as a
Mastodon to a mouse -- as the tail of a comet to that of a pig.
Interest: -- Your diddler is guided by self-interest. He scorns to
diddle for the mere sake of the diddle. He has an object in view- his
pocket -- and yours. He regards always the main chance. He looks to
Number One. You are Number Two, and must look to yourself.
Perseverance: -- Your diddler perseveres. He is not readily
discouraged. Should even the banks break, he cares nothing about it.
He steadily pursues his end, and
Ut canis a corio nunquam absterrebitur uncto. so he never lets go of
his game.
Ingenuity: -- Your diddler is ingenious. He has constructiveness
large. He understands plot. He invents and circumvents. Were he not
Alexander he would be Diogenes. Were he not a diddler, he would be a
maker of patent rat-traps or an angler for trout.
Audacity: -- Your diddler is audacious. -- He is a bold man. He
carries the war into Africa. He conquers all by assault. He would not
fear the daggers of Frey Herren. With a little more prudence Dick
Turpin would have made a good diddler; with a trifle less blarney,
Daniel O'Connell; with a pound or two more brains Charles the
Twelfth.
Nonchalance: -- Your diddler is nonchalant. He is not at all nervous.
He never had any nerves. He is never seduced into a flurry. He is
never put out -- unless put out of doors. He is cool -- cool as a
cucumber. He is calm -- "calm as a smile from Lady Bury." He is easy-
easy as an old glove, or the damsels of ancient Baiae.
Originality: -- Your diddler is original -- conscientiously so. His
thoughts are his own. He would scorn to employ those of another. A
stale trick is his aversion. He would return a purse, I am sure, upon
discovering that he had obtained it by an unoriginal diddle.
Impertinence. -- Your diddler is impertinent. He swaggers. He sets
his arms a-kimbo. He thrusts. his hands in his trowsers' pockets. He
sneers in your face. He treads on your corns. He eats your dinner, he
drinks your wine, he borrows your money, he pulls your nose, he kicks
your poodle, and he kisses your wife.
Grin: -- Your true diddler winds up all with a grin. But this nobody
sees but himself. He grins when his daily work is done -- when his
allotted labors are accomplished -- at night in his own closet, and
altogether for his own private entertainment. He goes home. He locks
his door. He divests himself of his clothes. He puts out his candle.
He gets into bed. He places his head upon the pillow. All this done,
and your diddler grins. This is no hypothesis. It is a matter of
course. I reason a priori, and a diddle would be no diddle without a
grin.
The origin of the diddle is referrable to the infancy of the Human
Race. Perhaps the first diddler was Adam. At all events, we can trace
the science back to a very remote period of antiquity. The moderns,
however, have brought it to a perfection never dreamed of by our
thick-headed progenitors. Without pausing to speak of the "old saws,"
therefore, I shall content myself with a compendious account of some
of the more "modern instances."
A very good diddle is this. A housekeeper in want of a sofa, for
instance, is seen to go in and out of several cabinet warehouses. At
length she arrives at one offering an excellent variety. She is
accosted, and invited to enter, by a polite and voluble individual at