by Edgar Allan Poe
(1850)
Pleurez, pleurez, mes yeux, et fondez vous en eau!
La moitie de ma vie a mis l'autre au tombeau.CORNEILLE
I CANNOT just now remember when or where I
first made the acquaintance of that truly fine-looking fellow,
Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith. Some one did
introduce me to the gentleman, I am sure- at some public
meeting, I know very well- held about something of great
importance, no doubt- at some place or other, I feel convinced,
whose name I have unaccountably forgotten. The truth is- that
the introduction was attended, upon my part, with a degree of
anxious embarrassment which operated to prevent any definite
impressions of either time or place. I am constitutionally
nervous- this, with me, is a family failing, and I can't help
it. In especial, the slightest appearance of mystery- of any
point I cannot exactly comprehend- puts me at once into a
pitiable state of agitation.
There was something, as it were, remarkable- yes,
remarkable, although this is but a feeble term to express my
full meaning- about the entire individuality of the personage
in question. He was, perhaps, six feet in height, and of a
presence singularly commanding. There was an air distingue
pervading the whole man, which spoke of high breeding, and
hinted at high birth. Upon this topic- the topic of Smith's
personal appearance- I have a kind of melancholy satisfaction
in being minute. His head of hair would have done honor to a
Brutus,- nothing could be more richly flowing, or possess a
brighter gloss. It was of a jetty black,- which was also the
color, or more properly the no-color of his unimaginable
whiskers. You perceive I cannot speak of these latter without
enthusiasm; it is not too much to say that they were the
handsomest pair of whiskers under the sun. At all events, they
encircled, and at times partially overshadowed, a mouth utterly
unequalled. Here were the most entirely even, and the most
brilliantly white of all conceivable teeth. From between them,
upon every proper occasion, issued a voice of surpassing
clearness, melody, and strength. In the matter of eyes, also,
my acquaintance was pre-eminently endowed. Either one of such a
pair was worth a couple of the ordinary ocular organs. They
were of a deep hazel exceedingly large and lustrous; and there
was perceptible about them, ever and anon, just that amount of
interesting obliquity which gives pregnancy to expression.
The bust of the General was unquestionably the
finest bust I ever saw. For your life you could not have found
a fault with its wonderful proportion. This rare peculiarity
set off to great advantage a pair of shoulders which would have
called up a blush of conscious inferiority into the countenance
of the marble Apollo. I have a passion for fine shoulders, and
may say that I never beheld them in perfection before. The arms
altogether were admirably modelled. Nor were the lower limbs
less superb. These were, indeed, the ne plus ultra of good
legs. Every connoisseur in such matters admitted the legs to be
good. There was neither too much flesh nor too little,- neither
rudeness nor fragility. I could not imagine a more graceful
curve than that of the os femoris, and there was just that due
gentle prominence in the rear of the fibula which goes to the
conformation of a properly proportioned calf. I wish to God my
young and talented friend Chiponchipino, the sculptor, had but
seen the legs of Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C.
Smith.
But although men so absolutely fine-looking are
neither as plenty as reasons or blackberries, still I could not
bring myself to believe that the remarkable something to which
I alluded just now,- that the odd air of je ne sais quoi which
hung about my new acquaintance,- lay altogether, or indeed at
all, in the supreme excellence of his bodily endowments.
Perhaps it might be traced to the manner,- yet here again I
could not pretend to be positive. There was a primness, not to
say stiffness, in his carriage- a degree of measured and, if I
may so express it, of rectangular precision attending his every
movement, which, observed in a more diminutive figure, would
have had the least little savor in the world of affectation,
pomposity, or constraint, but which, noticed in a gentleman of
his undoubted dimensions, was readily placed to the account of
reserve, hauteur- of a commendable sense, in short, of what is
due to the dignity of colossal proportion.
The kind friend who presented me to General Smith
whispered in my ear some few words of comment upon the man. He
was a remarkable man- a very remarkable man- indeed one of the
most remarkable men of the age. He was an especial favorite,
too, with the ladies- chiefly on account of his high reputation
for courage.
"In that point he is unrivalled- indeed he is a
perfect desperado- a downright fire-eater, and no mistake,"
said my friend, here dropping his voice excessively low, and
thrilling me with the mystery of his tone.
"A downright fire-eater, and no mistake. Showed
that, I should say, to some purpose, in the late tremendous
swamp-fight, away down South, with the Bugaboo and Kickapoo
Indians." [Here my friend opened his eyes to some extent.]
"Bless my soul!- blood and thunder, and all that!- prodigies of
valor!- heard of him of course?- you know he's the man-"
"Man alive, how do you do? why, how are ye? very
glad to see ye, indeed!" here interrupted the General himself,
seizing my companion by the hand as he drew near, and bowing
stiffly but profoundly, as I was presented. I then thought (and
I think so still) that I never heard a clearer nor a stronger
voice, nor beheld a finer set of teeth: but I must say that I
was sorry for the interruption just at that moment, as, owing
to the whispers and insinuations aforesaid, my interest had
been greatly excited in the hero of the Bugaboo and Kickapoo
campaign.
However, the delightfully luminous conversation of
Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith soon completely
dissipated this chagrin. My friend leaving us immediately, we
had quite a long tete-a-tete, and I was not only pleased but
really-instructed. I never heard a more fluent talker, or a man
of greater general information. With becoming modesty, he
forebore, nevertheless, to touch upon the theme I had just then
most at heart- I mean the mysterious circumstances attending
the Bugaboo war- and, on my own part, what I conceive to be a
proper sense of delicacy forbade me to broach the subject;
although, in truth, I was exceedingly tempted to do so. I
perceived, too, that the gallant soldier preferred topics of
philosophical interest, and that he delighted, especially, in
commenting upon the rapid march of mechanical invention.
Indeed, lead him where I would, this was a point to which he
invariably came back.
"There is nothing at all like it," he would say,
"we are a wonderful people, and live in a wonderful age.
Parachutes and rail-roads-mantraps and spring-guns! Our
steam-boats are upon every sea, and the Nassau balloon packet
is about to run regular trips (fare either way only twenty
pounds sterling) between London and Timbuctoo. And who shall
calculate the immense influence upon social life- upon arts-
upon commerce- upon literature- which will be the immediate
result of the great principles of electro-magnetics! Nor, is
this all, let me assure you! There is really no end to the
march of invention. The most wonderful- the most ingenious- and
let me add, Mr.- Mr.- Thompson, I believe, is your name- let me
add, I say the most useful- the most truly useful- mechanical
contrivances are daily springing up like mushrooms, if I may so
express myself, or, more figuratively, like- ah- grasshoppers-
like grasshoppers, Mr. Thompson- about us and ah- ah- ah-
around us!"
Thompson, to be sure, is not my name; but it is
needless to say that I left General Smith with a heightened
interest in the man, with an exalted opinion of his
conversational powers, and a deep sense of the valuable
privileges we enjoy in living in this age of mechanical
invention. My curiosity, however, had not been altogether
satisfied, and I resolved to prosecute immediate inquiry among
my acquaintances, touching the Brevet Brigadier General
himself, and particularly respecting the tremendous events
quorum pars magna fuit, during the Bugaboo and Kickapoo
campaign.
The first opportunity which presented opportunity
which presented itself, and which (horresco referens) I did not
in the least scruple to seize, occurred at the Church of the
Reverend Doctor Drummummupp, where I found myself established,
one Sunday, just at sermon time, not only in the pew, but by
the side of that worthy and communicative little friend of
mine, Miss Tabitha T. Thus seated, I congratulated myself, and
with much reason, upon the very flattering state of affairs. If
any person knew any thing about Brevet Brigadier General John
A. B. C. Smith, that person it was clear to me, was Miss
Tabitha T. We telegraphed a few signals and then commenced,
soto voce, a brisk tete-a-tete.
"Smith!" said she in reply to my very earnest
inquiry: "Smith!- why, not General John A. B. C.? Bless me, I
thought you knew all about him! This is a wonderfully inventive
age! Horrid affair that!- a bloody set of wretches, those
Kickapoos!- fought like a hero- prodigies of valor- immortal
renown. Smith!- Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C.! Why,
you know he's the man-
"Man," here broke in Doctor Drummummupp, at the
top of his voice, and with a thump that came near knocking the
pulpit about our ears; "man that is born of a woman hath but a
short time to live; he cometh up and is cut down like a
flower!" I started to the extremity of the pew, and perceived
by the animated looks of the divine, that the wrath which had
nearly proved fatal to the pulpit had been excited by the
whispers of the lady and myself. There was no help for it; so I
submitted with a good grace, and listened, in all the martyrdom
of dignified silence, to the balance of that very capital
discourse.
Next evening found me a somewhat late visitor at
the Rantipole Theatre, where I felt sure of satisfying my
curiosity at once, by merely stepping into the box of those
exquisite specimens of affability and omniscience, the Misses
Arabella and Miranda Cognoscenti. That fine tragedian, Climax,
was doing Iago to a very crowded house, and I experienced some
little difficulty in making my wishes understood; especially as
our box was next the slips, and completely overlooked the
stage.
"Smith!" said Miss Arabella, as she at
comprehended the purport of my query; "Smith?- why, not General
John A. B. C.?"
"Smith!" inquired Miranda, musingly. "God bless
me, did you ever behold a finer figure?"
"Never, madam, but do tell me-"
"Or so inimitable grace?"
"Never, upon my word!- But pray, inform me-"
"Or so just an appreciation of stage effect?"
"Madam!"
"Or a more delicate sense of the true beauties of
Shakespeare? Be so good as to look at that leg!"
"The devil!" and I turned again to her sister.
"Smith!" said she, "why, not General John A. B.
C.? Horrid affair that, wasn't it?- great wretches, those
Bugaboos- savage and so on- but we live in a wonderfully
inventive age!- Smith!- O yes! great man!- perfect desperado-
immortal renown- prodigies of valor! Never heard!" [This was
given in a scream.] "Bless my soul! why, he's the man-"
"-mandragora
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou ow'dst yesterday!"
here roared our Climax just in my ear, and shaking his fist in my face all the time, in a way that I couldn't stand, and I wouldn't. I left the Misses Cognoscenti immediately, went behind the scenes forthwith, and gave the beggarly scoundrel such a thrashing as I trust he will remember till the day of his death.
At the soiree of the lovely widow, Mrs.
Kathleen O'Trump, I was confident that I should meet with no
similar disappointment. Accordingly, I was no sooner seated at
the card-table, with my pretty hostess for a vis-a-vis, than I
propounded those questions the solution of which had become a
matter so essential to my peace.
"Smith!" said my partner, "why, not General John
A. B. C.? Horrid affair that, wasn't it?- diamonds did you
say?- terrible wretches those Kickapoos!- we are playing whist,
if you please, Mr. Tattle- however, this is the age of
invention, most certainly the age, one may say- the age par
excellence- speak French?- oh, quite a hero- perfect
desperado!- no hearts, Mr. Tattle? I don't believe it!-
Immortal renown and all that!- prodigies of valor! Never
heard!!- why, bless me, he's the man-"
"Mann?- Captain Mann!" here screamed some little
feminine interloper from the farthest corner of the room. "Are
you talking about Captain Mann and the duel?- oh, I must hear-
do tell- go on, Mrs. O'Trump!- do now go on!" And go on Mrs.
O'Trump did- all about a certain Captain Mann, who was either
shot or hung, or should have been both shot and hung. Yes! Mrs.
O'Trump, she went on, and I- I went off. There was no chance of
hearing any thing farther that evening in regard to Brevet
Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith.
Still I consoled myself with the reflection that
the tide of ill-luck would not run against me forever, and so
determined to make a bold push for information at the rout of
that bewitching little angel, the graceful Mrs. Pirouette.
"Smith!" said Mrs. P., as we twirled about
together in a pas de zephyr, "Smith?- why, not General John A.
B. C.? Dreadful business that of the Bugaboos, wasn't it?-
dreadful creatures, those Indians!- do turn out your toes! I
really am ashamed of you- man of great courage, poor fellow!-
but this is a wonderful age for invention- O dear me, I'm out
of breath- quite a desperado- prodigies of valor- never
heard!!- can't believe it- I shall have to sit down and
enlighten you- Smith! why, he's the man-"
"Man-Fred, I tell you!" here bawled out Miss
Bas-Bleu, as I led Mrs. Pirouette to a seat. "Did ever anybody
hear the like? It's Man-Fred, I say, and not at all by any
means Man-Friday." Here Miss Bas-Bleu beckoned to me in a very
peremptory manner; and I was obliged, will I nill I, to leave
Mrs. P. for the purpose of deciding a dispute touching the
title of a certain poetical drama of Lord Byron's. Although I
pronounced, with great promptness, that the true title was
Man-Friday, and not by any means Man-Fred yet when I returned
to seek Mrs. Pirouette she was not to be discovered, and I made
my retreat from the house in a very bitter spirit of animosity
against the whole race of the Bas-Bleus.
Matters had now assumed a really serious aspect,
and I resolved to call at once upon my particular friend, Mr.
Theodore Sinivate; for I knew that here at least I should get
something like definite information.
"Smith!" said he, in his well known peculiar way
of drawling out his syllables; "Smith!- why, not General John
A. B. C.? Savage affair that with the Kickapo-o-o-os, wasn't
it? Say, don't you think so?- perfect despera-a-ado- great
pity, 'pon my honor!- wonderfully inventive age!- pro-o-digies
of valor! By the by, did you ever hear about Captain
Ma-a-a-a-n?"
"Captain Mann be d-d!" said I; "please to go on
with your story."
"Hem!- oh well!- quite la meme cho-o-ose, as we
say in France. Smith, eh? Brigadier-General John A. B. C.? I
say"- [here Mr. S. thought proper to put his finger to the side
of his nose]- "I say, you don't mean to insinuate now, really
and truly, and conscientiously, that you don't know all about
that affair of Smith's, as well as I do, eh? Smith? John
A-B-C.? Why, bless me, he's the ma-a-an-"
"Mr. Sinivate," said I, imploringly, "is he the
man in the mask?"
"No-o-o!" said he, looking wise, "nor the man in
the mo-o-on."
This reply I considered a pointed and positive
insult, and so left the house at once in high dudgeon, with a
firm resolve to call my friend, Mr. Sinivate, to a speedy
account for his ungentlemanly conduct and ill breeding.
In the meantime, however, I had no notion of being
thwarted touching the information I desired. There was one
resource left me yet. I would go to the fountain head. I would
call forthwith upon the General himself, and demand, in
explicit terms, a solution of this abominable piece of mystery.
Here, at least, there should be no chance for equivocation. I
would be plain, positive, peremptory- as short as pie-crust- as
concise as Tacitus or Montesquieu.
It was early when I called, and the General was
dressing, but I pleaded urgent business, and was shown at once
into his bedroom by an old negro valet, who remained in
attendance during my visit. As I entered the chamber, I looked
about, of course, for the occupant, but did not immediately
perceive him. There was a large and exceedingly odd looking
bundle of something which lay close by my feet on the floor,
and, as I was not in the best humor in the world, I gave it a
kick out of the way.
"Hem! ahem! rather civil that, I should say!" said
the bundle, in one of the smallest, and altogether the funniest
little voices, between a squeak and a whistle, that I ever
heard in all the days of my existence.
"Ahem! rather civil that I should observe."
I fairly shouted with terror, and made off, at a
tangent, into the farthest extremity of the room.
"God bless me, my dear fellow!" here again
whistled the bundle, "what- what- what- why, what is the
matter? I really believe you don't know me at all."
What could I say to all this- what could I? I
staggered into an armchair, and, with staring eyes and open
mouth, awaited the solution of the wonder.
"Strange you shouldn't know me though, isn't it?"
presently resqueaked the nondescript, which I now perceived was
performing upon the floor some inexplicable evolution, very
analogous to the drawing on of a stocking. There was only a
single leg, however, apparent.
"Strange you shouldn't know me though, isn't it?
Pompey, bring me that leg!" Here Pompey handed the bundle a
very capital cork leg, already dressed, which it screwed on in
a trice; and then it stood upright before my eyes.
"And a bloody action it was," continued the thing,
as if in a soliloquy; "but then one mustn't fight with the
Bugaboos and Kickapoos, and think of coming off with a mere
scratch. Pompey, I'll thank you now for that arm. Thomas"
[turning to me] "is decidedly the best hand at a cork leg; but
if you should ever want an arm, my dear fellow, you must really
let me recommend you to Bishop." Here Pompey screwed on an
arm.
"We had rather hot work of it, that you may say.
Now, you dog, slip on my shoulders and bosom. Pettit makes the
best shoulders, but for a bosom you will have to go to
Ducrow."
"Bosom!" said I.
"Pompey, will you never be ready with that wig?
Scalping is a rough process, after all; but then you can
procure such a capital scratch at De L'Orme's."
"Scratch!"
"Now, you nigger, my teeth! For a good set of
these you had better go to Parmly's at once; high prices, but
excellent work. I swallowed some very capital articles, though,
when the big Bugaboo rammed me down with the butt end of his
rifle."
"Butt end! ram down!! my eye!!"
"O yes, by the way, my eye- here, Pompey, you
scamp, screw it in! Those Kickapoos are not so very slow at a
gouge; but he's a belied man, that Dr. Williams, after all; you
can't imagine how well I see with the eyes of his make."
I now began very clearly to perceive that the
object before me was nothing more nor less than my new
acquaintance, Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith. The
manipulations of Pompey had made, I must confess, a very
striking difference in the appearance of the personal man. The
voice, however, still puzzled me no little; but even this
apparent mystery was speedily cleared up.
"Pompey, you black rascal," squeaked the General,
"I really do believe you would let me go out without my
palate."
Hereupon, the negro, grumbling out an apology,
went up to his master, opened his mouth with the knowing air of
a horse-jockey, and adjusted therein a somewhat
singular-looking machine, in a very dexterous manner, that I
could not altogether comprehend. The alteration, however, in
the entire expression of the General's countenance was
instantaneous and surprising. When he again spoke, his voice
had resumed all that rich melody and strength which I had
noticed upon our original introduction.
"D-n the vagabonds!" said he, in so clear a tone
that I positively started at the change, "D-n the vagabonds!
they not only knocked in the roof of my mouth, but took the
trouble to cut off at least seven-eighths of my tongue. There
isn't Bonfanti's equal, however, in America, for really good
articles of this description. I can recommend you to him with
confidence," [here the General bowed,] "and assure you that I
have the greatest pleasure in so doing."
I acknowledged his kindness in my best manner, and
took leave of him at once, with a perfect understanding of the
true state of affairs- with a full comprehension of the mystery
which had troubled me so long. It was evident. It was a clear
case. Brevet Brigadier General John A. B. C. Smith was the man-
the man that was used up.