Poe, Edgar Allen - The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe

by Volume 01-05 (lit)

  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 sp
ecify, 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.

  ~~~ End of Text ~~~

  ======

  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 has confounded two

  very distinct affairs. The abstract number, five, I am willing to admit;

  but, concretely, it has reference to bottles of Brown Stout, without

  which, in the way of condiment, Welsh rabbit is to be eschewed.

  Having thus concluded a frugal meal, and donned my night-cap, with the

  serene hope of enjoying it till noon the next day, I placed my head upon

  the pillow, and, through the aid of a capital conscience, fell into a

  profound slumber forthwith.

  But when were the hopes of humanity fulfilled? I could not have completed

  my third snore when there came a furious ringing at the street-door bell,

  and then an impatient thumping at the knocker, which awakened me at once.

  In a minute afterward, and while I was still rubbing my eyes, my wife

  thrust in my face a note, from my old friend, Doctor Ponnonner. It ran

  thus:

  "Come to me, by all means, my dear good friend, as soon as you

  receive this. Come and help us to rejoice. At last, by long persevering

  diplomacy, I have gained the assent of the Directors of the City Museum,

  to my examination of the Mummy -- you know the one I mean. I have

  permission to unswathe it and open it, if desirable. A few friends only

  will be present -- you, of course. The Mummy is now at my house, and we

  shall begin to unroll it at eleven to-night.

  "Yours, ever,

  PONNONNER.

  By the time I had reached the "Ponnonner," it struck me that I was as wide

  awake as a man need be. I leaped out of bed in an ecstacy, overthrowing

  all in my way; dressed myself with a rapidity truly marvellous; and set

  off, at the top of my speed, for the doctor's.

  There I found a very eager company assembled. They had been awaiting me

  with much impatience; the Mummy was extended upon the dining-table; and

  the moment I entered its examination was commenced.

  It was one of a pair brought, several years previously, by Captain Arthur

  Sabretash, a cousin of Ponnonner's from a tomb near Eleithias, in the

  Lybian mountains, a considerable distance above Thebes on the Nile. The

  grottoes at this point, although less magnificent than the Theban

  sepulchres, are of higher interest, on account of affording more numerous

  illustrations of the private life of the Egyptians. The chamber from which

  our specimen was taken, was said to be very rich in such illustrations;

  the walls being completely covered with fresco paintings and bas-reliefs,

  while statues, vases, and Mosaic work of rich patterns, indicated the vast

  wealth of the deceased.

  The treasure had been deposited in the Museum precisely in the same

  condition in which Captain Sabretash had found it; -- that is to say, the

  coffin had not been disturbed. For eight years it had thus stood, subject

  only externally to public inspection. We had now, therefore, the complete

  Mummy at our disposal; and to those who are aware how very rarely the

  unransacked antique reaches our shores, it will be evident, at once that

  we had great reason to congratulate ourselves upon our good fortune.

  Approaching the table, I saw on it a large box, or case, nearly seven feet

  long, and perhaps three feet wide, by two feet and a half deep. It was

  oblong -- not coffin-shaped. The material was at first supposed to be the

  wood of the sycamore (_platanus_), but, upon cutting into it, we found it

  to be pasteboard, or, more properly, _papier mache_, composed of papyrus.

  It was thickly ornamented with paintings, representing funeral scenes, and

  other mournful subjects -- interspersed among which, in every variety of

  position, were certain series of hieroglyphical characters, intended, no

  doubt, for the name of the departed. By good luck, Mr. Gliddon formed one

  of our party; and he had no difficulty in translating the letters, which

  were simply phonetic, and represented the word _Allamistakeo_.

  We had some difficulty in getting this case open without injury; but

  having at length accomplished the task, we came to a second,

  coffin-shaped, and very considerably les
s in size than the exterior one,

  but resembling it precisely in every other respect. The interval between

  the two was filled with resin, which had, in some degree, defaced the

  colors of the interior box.

  Upon opening this latter (which we did quite easily), we arrived at a

  third case, also coffin-shaped, and varying from the second one in no

  particular, except in that of its material, which was cedar, and still

  emitted the peculiar and highly aromatic odor of that wood. Between the

  second and the third case there was no interval -- the one fitting

  accurately within the other.

  Removing the third case, we discovered and took out the body itself. We

  had expected to find it, as usual, enveloped in frequent rolls, or

  bandages, of linen; but, in place of these, we found a sort of sheath,

  made of papyrus, and coated with a layer of plaster, thickly gilt and

  painted. The paintings represented subjects connected with the various

  supposed duties of the soul, and its presentation to different divinities,

  with numerous identical human figures, intended, very probably, as

  portraits of the persons embalmed. Extending from head to foot was a