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 ofJunius 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 bothhands. My mother saw this and called me a genius: my father wept for joyand presented me with a treatise on Nosology. This I mastered before Iwas breeched.
I now began to feel my way in the science, and soon came to understandthat, provided a man had a nose sufficiently conspicuous he might, bymerely following it, arrive at a Lionship. But my attention was notconfined to theories alone. Every morning I gave my proboscis a coupleof pulls and swallowed a half dozen of drams.
When I came of age my father asked me, one day, If I would step with himinto his study.
"My son," said he, when we were seated, "what is the chief end of yourexistence?"
"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 variouslydefined by about a thousand different authors." [Here I pulled out mywatch.] "It is now noon or thereabouts--we shall have time enough toget through with them all before midnight. To commence then:--Thenose, according to Bartholinus, is that protuberance--that bump--thatexcrescence--that--"
"Will do, Robert," interrupted the good old gentleman. "I amthunderstruck at the extent of your information--I am positively--uponmy 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 nowbe considered as finished--it is high time you should scuffle foryourself--and you cannot do a better thing than merely follow yournose--so--so--so--" [Here he kicked me down stairs and out of thedoor]--"so get out of my house, and God bless you!"
As I felt within me the divine afflatus, I considered this accidentrather fortunate than otherwise. I resolved to be guided by the paternaladvice. I determined to follow my nose. I gave it a pull or two upon thespot, 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 peopleno attention whatever--I just stepped into the shop of an artist.
The Duchess of Bless-my-Soul was sitting for her portrait; the Marquisof So-and-So was holding the Duchess' poodle; the Earl of This-and-Thatwas flirting with her salts; and his Royal Highness of Touch-me-Not wasleaning 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 amicroscope.
"None," said I, turning it up.
"Admirable!" he ejaculated, thrown quite off his guard by the beauty ofthe 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 mea check upon the spot, and took a sketch of my nose. I engaged roomsin Jermyn street, and sent her Majesty the ninety-ninth edition of the"Nosology," with a portrait of the proboscis.--That sad little rake, thePrince of Wales, invited me to dinner.
We were all lions and recherches.
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 werephilosophers, and that all philosophers were fools.
There was AEstheticus Ethix. He spoke of fire, unity, and atoms; bi-partand pre-existent soul; affinity and discord; primitive intelligence andhomoeomeria.
There was Theologos Theology. He talked of Eusebius and Arianus; heresyand the Council of Nice; Puseyism and consubstantialism; Homousios andHomouioisios.
There was Fricassee from the Rocher de Cancale. He mentioned Muriton ofred tongue; cauliflowers with veloute sauce; veal a la St. Menehoult;marinade a la St. Florentin; and orange jellies en mosaeiques.
There was Bibulus O'Bumper. He touched upon Latour and Markbruennen; uponMousseux and Chambertin; upon Richbourg and St. George; upon Haubrion,Leonville, and Medoc; upon Barac and Preignac; upon Grave, uponSauterne, upon Lafitte, and upon St. Peray. He shook his head at Clos deVougeot, and told, with his eyes shut, the difference between Sherry andAmontillado.
There was Signor Tintontintino from Florence. He discoursed of Cimabue,Arpino, Carpaccio, and Argostino--of the gloom of Caravaggio, of theamenity of Albano, of the colors of Titian, of the frows of Rubens, andof the waggeries of Jan Steen.
There was the President of the Fum-Fudge University. He was of opinionthat the moon was called Bendis in Thrace, Bubastis in Egypt, Dian inRome, and Artemis in Greece. There was a Grand Turk from Stamboul. Hecould not help thinking that the angels were horses, cocks, and bulls;that somebody in the sixth heaven had seventy thousand heads; and thatthe earth was supported by a sky-blue cow with an incalculable number ofgreen horns.
There was Delphinus Polyglott. He told us what had become of theeighty-three lost tragedies of AEschylus; of the fifty-four orations ofIsaeus; of the three hundred and ninety-one speeches of Lysias; of thehundred and eighty treatises of Theophrastus; of the eighth book of theconic sections of Apollonius; of Pindar's hymns and dithyrambics; and ofthe five and forty tragedies of Homer Junior.
There was Ferdinand Fitz-Fossillus Feltspar. He informed us all aboutinternal fires and tertiary formations; about aeeriforms, fluidiforms,and solidiforms; about quartz and marl; about schist and schorl; aboutgypsum and trap; about talc and calc; about blende and horn-blende;about mica-slate and pudding-stone; about cyanite and lepidolite; abouthematite and tremolite; about antimony and calcedony; about manganeseand whatever you please.
There was myself. I spoke of myself;--of myself, of myself, ofmyself;--of Nosology, of my pamphlet, and of myself. I turned up mynose, and I spoke of myself.
"Marvellous clever man!" said the Prince.
"Superb!" said his guests:--and next morning her Grace of Bless-my-Soulpaid me a visit.
"Will you go to Almack's, pretty creature?" she said, tapping me underthe chin.
"Upon honor," said I.
"Nose and al
l?" 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, andfound 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 littlelove!"--and, seizing me firmly by both hands, she kissed me thrice uponthe 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.
"Bete!" 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 hittingthe Elector upon the nose you have overshot your mark. You have a finenose, it is true; but then Bluddennuff has none. You are damned, andhe has become the hero of the day. I grant you that in Fum-Fudge thegreatness 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 atall."
The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 4 Page 2
