~~ Edgar Allan Poe
(1850)
-all people went
Upon their ten toes in wild wondernment.Bishop Hall's Satires.
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, 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 both hands. My mother saw this and called me a
genius:- my father wept for joy and presented me with a
treatise on Nosology. This I mastered before I was
breeched.
I now began to feel my way in the science, and
soon came to understand that, provided a man had a nose
sufficiently conspicuous, he might by merely following it,
arrive at a Lionship. But my attention was not confined to
theories alone. Every morning I gave my proboscis a couple of
pulls and swallowed a half-dozen of drams.
When I came of age my father asked me, one day, if
I would step with him into his study.
"My son," he said, when we were seated, "what is
the chief end of your existence?"
"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 variously defined by about a thousand different
authors." [Here I pulled out my watch.] "It is now noon, or
thereabouts- 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 excresence-
that-"
"Will do, Robert," interupted the old gentleman.
"I am thunderstruck at the extent of your information- I am
positively- upon my 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 now be considered as finished- it is
high time you should scuffle for yourself- and you cannot do a
better thing than merely follow your nose- 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. I
resolved to be guided by the paternal advice. I determined to
follow my nose. I gave it a pull or two upon the spot, 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 people no attention whatever- I just stepped into
the shop of an artist.
The Duchess of Bless-my-Soul was sitting for her
portrait; the Marquis of So-and-So was holding the Duchess'
poodle; the Earl of This-and-That was flirting with her salts;
and his Royal Highness of Touch-me-Not was leaning 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 a microscope.
"None," said I, turning it up.
"Admirable!" he ejaculated, thrown quite off his
guard by the beauty of the 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 me a check upon the spot, and took a sketch
of my nose. I engaged rooms in Jermyn street, and sent her
Majesty the ninety-ninth edition of the "Nosology," with a
portrait of the proboscis. That sad little rake, the Prince of
Wales, invited me to dinner.
We are 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 were philosophers, and that all philosophers were
fools.
There was Aestheticus Ethix. He spoke 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; Puseyism
and consubstantialism; Homousios and Homouioisios.
There was Fricassee from the Rocher de Cancale. He
mentioned Muriton of red tongue; cauliflowers with veloute
sauce; veal a la St. Menehoult; marinade a la St. Florentin;
and orange jellies en mosaiques.
There was Bibulus O'Bumper. He touched upon Latour
and Markbrunnen; upon Mosseux and Chambertin; upon Richbourg
and St. George; upon Haubrion, Leonville, and Medoc; upon Barac
and Preignac; upon Grave, upon Sauterne, upon Lafitte, and upon
St. Peray. He shook his head at Clos de Vougeot, and told with
his eyes shut, the difference between Sherry and
Amontillado.
There was Signor Tintontintino from Florence. He
discoursed of Cimabue, Arpino, Carpaccio, and Argostino- of the
gloom of Caravaggio, of the amenity of Albano, of the colors of
Titian, of the frows of Rubens, and of the waggeries of Jan
Steen.
There was the President of the Fum-Fudge
University. He was of the opinion that the moon was called
Bendis in Thrace, Bubastis in Egypt, Dian in Rome, and Artemis
in Greece.
There was a Grand Turk from Stamboul. He could not
help thinking that the angels were horses, cocks, and bulls;
that somebody in the sixth heaven had seventy thousand heads;
and that the earth was supported by a sky-blue cow with an
incalculable number of green horns.
There was Delphinus Polyglott. He told us what had
become of the eighty-three lost tragedies of Aeschylus; of the
fifty-four orations of Isaeus; 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
of the five and forty tragedies of Homer Junior.
There was Ferdinand Fitz-Fossillus Feltspar. He
informed us all about internal fires and tertiary formations;
about aeriforms, fluidiforms, and solidforms; about quartz and
marl; about schist and schorl; about gypsum and trap; about
talc and calc; about blende and horn-blende; about micaslate
and pudding-stone; about cyanite and lepidolite; about
haematite and tremolite; about antimony and calcedony; about
manganese and whatever you please.
There was myself. I spoke of myself;- of myself,
of myself, of myself;- of Nosology, of my pamphlet, and of
myself. I turned up my nose, and I spoke of myself.
"Marvellous clever man!" said the Prince.
"Superb!" said his guests;- and next morning her
Grace of Bless-my-soul paid me a visit.
"Will you go to Almack's, pretty creature?" she
said, tapping 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. 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, 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 farther up.
"He is coming!" said somebody farther still.
"He is come!" exclaimed the Duchess, "He is come,
the little love!"- and, seizing me firmly by both hands, she
kissed me thrice upon the 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 hitting the Elector upon the nose you have
overshot your mark. You have a fine nose, it is true; but then
Bluddennuff has none. You are damned, and he has become the
hero of the day. I grant you that in Fum-Fudge the greatness 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
at all."