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[page 19:]
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LIONIZING.
 ————— all
people went
Upon their ten toes in wild
wonderment.
Bishop Hall's
Satires.
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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 {{1840-01: , // 1842-02: ; }}
for my name is {{1840-01: Thomas //
1842-02: John }} 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 {{1840-01: ; my //
1842-02: . My }} mother saw this, and called me a
genius; my father
wept for joy, and bought me a treatise on Nosology. Before I was
breeched
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. {{1842-02: * }}
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 [page 20:] 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 asked me, one day, if I would step with him into his
study.
"My son," said he, when we {{1840-01:
got there, // 1842-02: were seated }} "what is
the
chief end of your existence?"
"Father," I said, "it is the study of
Nosology."
"And what, {{1840-01: Thomas //
1842-02: John }} ," he continued, "is {{1840-01: nosology //
1842-02: 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 {{1840-01:
, (here // 1842-02: . (Here }} I pulled out my
watch).
It is now noon, or thereabouts {{1842-02:
; }} — 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
——"
"That will do, {{1840-01:
Thomas // 1842-02: John }} ," said the old
gentleman.
"I
am thunderstruck at the extent of your information {{1840-01: — // 1842-02: . }}
I am positively —
upon my soul. Come here! (and he took me by the arm). Your education
may
now be considered as finished, and it is high time that 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 [page 21:]
or
two, and wrote a pamphlet on Nosology. {{1842-02:
[[new paragraph begins, with appropriate indentation]] }}
All Fum-Fudge was in an uproar.
"Wonderful genius!" said the
Quarterly.
"Superb physiologist!" said the New
Monthly.
"Fine writer!" said the 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.
"O pretty!" lisped the Marchioness.
"O horrible!" groaned the Earl.
"O abominable!" growled his Royal
Highness.
"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. [page
22:]
"A thousand pounds," said I.
"You shall have them," said he, "what
a piece of virtu!" So he paid me the money, and made a sketch
of my nose. I
took rooms in Jermyn street, sent her Majesty the ninety-ninth edition
of the Nosology with a portrait of the author's nose, 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 in the sixth
heaven
had seventy thousand heads and seventy thousand tongues — and that the
earth was held up by a sky-blue cow, having four hundred horns.
There was Sir Positive Paradox. He
said that all
fools were philosophers, and {{1842-02:
that }} 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 {{1840-01: mosaiques
// 1842-02: mosäiques }}
. [page 23:]
There was Signor Tintontintino from
Florence. He
spoke of Cimabué, 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 internal fires and tertiary formations; of aëriforms,
fluidiforms,
and solidiforms; of quartz and marl; of schist and schorl; of gypsum,
hornblende,
micaslate, 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 Polyglott. He
told us what
had
become of the eighty-three lost tragedies of Æschylus; of the
fifty-four
orations of Isœus; 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,
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 myself. I spoke of
Pictorius, Del Rio,
Alexander Ross, Minutius Felix, Bartholinus, Sir Thomas Browne, and the
Science of Noses. [page 24:]
"Marvellous clever man!" said his
Highness.
"Superb!" said his guests; and the
next morning
her
grace of Bless-my-Soul paid me a visit.
"Will you go to Almack's, pretty
creature?" she
said,
chucking 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 {{1840-01:
, // 1842-02: ; }} 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 pull 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 further
up.
"He is coming!" said somebody further
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.
"Ah joli!" said Mademoiselle Pas
Seul.
"Dios guarda!" said Don Stiletto.
"Diavolo!" said Count Capricornuto.
"Tousand teufel!" said Baron
Bludennuff.
"Tweedle-dee — tweedle-dee —
tweedle-dum!" said
the
Orchestra.
"Ah joli! Dios guarda! Diavolo! and
Tousand
teufel!"
repeated Mademoiselle Pas Seul, Don Stiletto, Count Capricornuto, and
Baron
Bludennuff. This applause — it was obstreperous; it was not the
[page 25:] thing; it was too
bad; it was
not
to be borne. I grew angry.
"Sir!" said I to the Baron, "you are
a baboon."
"Sir!" he replied after a pause,
"Donner und
blitzen!" {{1842-02: [[new paragraph
begins, with appropriate indentation]] }}
This was sufficient. We exchanged cards. 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 so
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 Bludennuff has none. You are d——d;
and
he has become the lion of the day. In Fum-Fudge great is a lion with a
big proboscis, but {{1840-01: greater
by far is a lion with // 1842-02: he should not even attempt a
rivalry with a lion who has }} no proboscis at all." |
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