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For the Southern Literary Messenger.
LION-IZING. A TALE. BY EDGAR A. POE.
 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 is Thomas
Smith, 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 bought me a
treatise
on Nosology. Before I was breached I had not only mastered the
treatise,
but had collected into a common-place book all that is said on the
subject,
by Pliny, Aristotle, Alexander Ross, Minutius Felix, Hermanus
Pictorius,
Del Rio, Villarêt, Bartholinus, and Sir Thomas Browne. I now began to feel my way in the science, and soon
came
to
understand,
that, provided a man had a nose sufficiently big, he might, by merely
following
it, arrive at a Lionship. But my attention was not confined to theories
alone. Every morning I took a dram or two, and gave my proboscis a
couple
of pulls. When I came of age my father sent for me to his study. [column
2:]'My son' — said he — 'what is the chief end of your
existence?' 'Father' — I said — 'it is the study of Nosology.' 'And what, Thomas' — he continued — 'is Nosology?' 'Sir' — I replied — 'it is the Science of Noses.' 'And can you tell me' — he asked — 'what is the
meaning of a
nose?' 'A
nose, my father' — said I — 'has been variously defined, by about a
thousand
different authors. It is now noon, or thereabouts. We shall therefore
have
time enough to get through with them all by midnight. To commence: —
The
nose, according to Bartholinus, is that protuberance, that bump, that
excrescence,
that ———' 'That will do [[,]] Thomas' — said my father. 'I am
positively
thunderstruck
at the extent of your information — I am, upon my soul. Come here! (and
he took me by the arm.) Your education may be considered as finished,
and
it is high time you should scuffle for yourself — 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, and determined to follow my nose. So I
gave it a pull or two, and wrote a pamphlet on Nosology. All Fum-Fudge
was in an uproar. Wonderful genius!' — said the Quarterly. 'Superb physiologist!' — said the New Monthly. 'Fine writer!' — said the Edinburg [[Edinburgh]]. 'Great man!' — 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 them no manner of attention, and walked
into
the shop of
an artist. The Duchess of Bless-my-soul was sitting for her
portrait. The
Marchioness
of So-and-so was holding the Duchess's poodle. The Earl of
This-and-that
was flirting with her salts, and His Royal Highness of Touch-me-not was
standing behind her chair. I merely walked towards the artist, and held
up my proboscis. 'O beautiful!' — sighed the Duchess of
Bless-my-soul. 'O pretty!' — lisped the Marchioness of So-and-so. 'Horrible!' — groaned the Earl of This-and-that. 'Abominable!' — growled his Highness of
Touch-me-not. What will you take for it?' — said the artist. 'A thousand pounds' — said I, sitting down. 'A thousand pounds?' — he inquired, turning the nose
to
the light.'Precisely' — said
I. 'Beautiful!' — said he, looking at the nose. 'A thousand pounds' — said I, twisting it to one
side. 'Admirable!' — said he. 'A thousand pounds' — said I. 'You shall have them' — said he — 'what a piece of
Virtû!'
So he paid
me the money, and made a sketch of my nose. I took rooms in Jermyn
street,
sent his Majesty the ninety-ninth edition of the Nosology with a
portrait
of the author, and his Royal Highness of Touch-me-not invited me to
dinner. We were all Lions and Recherchés. There was a Grand Turk from Stamboul. He said that
the
angels were
horses,
cocks, and bulls — that somebody [page 516:] in the sixth
heaven
had seventy thousand
heads and seventy thousand tongues — and that the earth was held up by
a
sky-blue cow with four hundred horns. There was Sir Positive Paradox. He said that all
fools
were
philosophers,
and all philosophers were fools. There was a writer on Ethics. He talked of Fire,
Unity,
and Atoms — Bi-part,
and Pre-existent soul — Affinity and Discord — Primitive Intelligence
and
Homoomeria. There was Theologos Theology. He talked of Eusebius
and
Arianus — Heresy
and the Council of Nice — Consubstantialism, Homousios, and
Homouioisios. There was Fricassée from the Rocher de Cancale. He
mentioned Latour,
Markbrunnen and Mareschino — Muriton of red tongue, and Cauliflowers
with
Velouté sauce — veal à la St. Menehoult, Marinade
à la St. Florentin,
and
orange jellies en mosaiques. There was Signor Tintontintino from Florence. He
spoke
of Cimabue,
Arpino,
Carpaccio, and Argostino — the gloom of Caravaggio — the amenity of
Albano — the
golden glories of Titian — the frows of Rubens, and the waggeries of
Jan
Steen. There was the great Geologist Feltzpar. He talked of
Hornblende
Mica-slate,
Quartz, Schist, Schorl, and Pudding-stone. There was the President of the Fum-Fudge University.
He
said that
the
moon was called Bendis in Thrace, Bubastis in Egypt, Dian in Rome, and
Artemis in Greece. There was Delphinus Polyglot. 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 the five and forty
Tragedies of Homer Junior. There was a modern Platonist. He quoted Porphyry,
Iamblichus,
Plotinus,
Proclus, Hierocles, Maximus, Tyrius, and Syrianus. There was a human-perfectibility man. He quoted
Turgot,
Price,
Priestly,
Condorcet, De Staël, and the "Ambitious Student in rather ill
health." There was myself. I talked of Pictorius, Del Rio,
Alexander Ross,
Minutius
Felix, Bartholinus, Sir Thos. Browne, and the Science of Noses. 'Marvellous clever man!' — said his Highness. 'Superb!' — said the guests: and the next morning
her
Grace of
Bless-my-soul
paid me a visit. Will you go to Almacks, pretty creature?' she said. 'Certainly' — said I. 'Nose and all?' — she asked. 'Positively' — I replied. 'Here then is a card' — she said — '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 life,' — said I. So I gave it a
pull
or two, and
found myself at Almacks. The rooms were crowded to suffocation. 'He is coming!' — said somebody on the stair case. 'He is coming!' — said somebody farther up. 'He is coming!' — said somebody farther still. 'He is come' — said the Duchess — 'he is come, the
little
love!' And
she caught me by both hands, and looked me in the nose. [column 2:]'Ah joli!' — said Mademoiselle Pas Seul. 'Dios guarda!' — said Don Stiletto. 'Diavolo!' — said Count Capricornuto.' [[sic]]'Tousand Teufel!' — said Baron Bludenuff. 'Tweedle-dee —— tweedle-dee —— tweedle-dum!' said
the
orchestra. 'Ah joli! — Dios guarda! — Diavolo! — and Tousand
Tenfel!'
repeated
Mademoiselle
Pas Seul, Don Stiletto, Count Capricornuto, and Baron Bludenuff. It was
too bad — it was not to be borne. I grew angry. 'Sir!' — said I to the Baron — 'you are a baboon.' 'Sir!' — replied he, after a pause, ——— 'Donner and
Blitzen!' This was sufficient. The next morning I shot off his
nose at six
o'clock,
and then called upon my friends. 'Bête!' — said the first. 'Fool!' — said the second. 'Ninny!' — said the third. 'Dolt!' — said the fourth. 'Noodle!' — said the fifth. 'Ass!' — said the sixth. 'Be off!' — said the seventh. At all this I felt mortified, and called upon my
father. 'Father' — I said — 'what is the chief end of my
existence!''My son' —
he replied — 'it is still the study of Nosology. But in
hitting
the Baron's nose you have overshot your mark. You have a fine nose it
is
true, but then Bludenuff has none. You are d——d, and he has become
the Lion of the day. In Fum-Fudge great is a Lion with a proboscis, but
greater by far is a Lion with no proboscis at all.' |
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