Now, Bon-Bon, do you behold the
thoughts--the thoughts, I say,--the ideas--the reflections--which are
being engendered in her pericranium?
thoughts--the thoughts, I say,--the ideas--the reflections--which are
being engendered in her pericranium?
Poe - 5
In short, Pierre Bon-Bon
not only saw plainly that his Majesty had no eyes whatsoever, but
could discover no indications of their having existed at any previous
period--for the space where eyes should naturally have been was, I am
constrained to say, simply a dead level of flesh.
It was not in the nature of the metaphysician to forbear making some
inquiry into the sources of so strange a phenomenon, and the reply of
his Majesty was at once prompt, dignified, and satisfactory.
"Eyes! my dear Bon-Bon--eyes! did you say? --oh! --ah! --I perceive! The
ridiculous prints, eh, which are in, circulation, have given you a false
idea of my personal appearance? Eyes! --true. Eyes, Pierre Bon-Bon,
are very well in their proper place--that, you would say, is the
head? --right--the head of a worm. To you, likewise, these optics
are indispensable--yet I will convince you that my vision is more
penetrating than your own. There is a cat I see in the corner--a pretty
cat--look at her--observe her well.
Now, Bon-Bon, do you behold the
thoughts--the thoughts, I say,--the ideas--the reflections--which are
being engendered in her pericranium? There it is, now--you do not! She
is thinking we admire the length of her tail and the profundity of
her mind. She has just concluded that I am the most distinguished of
ecclesiastics, and that you are the most superficial of metaphysicians.
Thus you see I am not altogether blind; but to one of my profession, the
eyes you speak of would be merely an incumbrance, liable at any time to
be put out by a toasting-iron, or a pitchfork. To you, I allow, these
optical affairs are indispensable. Endeavor, Bon-Bon, to use them
well;--my vision is the soul. "
Hereupon the guest helped himself to the wine upon the table, and
pouring out a bumper for Bon-Bon, requested him to drink it without
scruple, and make himself perfectly at home.
"A clever book that of yours, Pierre," resumed his Majesty, tapping our
friend knowingly upon the shoulder, as the latter put down his glass
after a thorough compliance with his visiter's injunction. "A clever
book that of yours, upon my honor. It's a work after my own heart. Your
arrangement of the matter, I think, however, might be improved, and many
of your notions remind me of Aristotle. That philosopher was one of my
most intimate acquaintances. I liked him as much for his terrible ill
temper, as for his happy knack at making a blunder. There is only one
solid truth in all that he has written, and for that I gave him the hint
out of pure compassion for his absurdity. I suppose, Pierre Bon-Bon, you
very well know to what divine moral truth I am alluding?
not only saw plainly that his Majesty had no eyes whatsoever, but
could discover no indications of their having existed at any previous
period--for the space where eyes should naturally have been was, I am
constrained to say, simply a dead level of flesh.
It was not in the nature of the metaphysician to forbear making some
inquiry into the sources of so strange a phenomenon, and the reply of
his Majesty was at once prompt, dignified, and satisfactory.
"Eyes! my dear Bon-Bon--eyes! did you say? --oh! --ah! --I perceive! The
ridiculous prints, eh, which are in, circulation, have given you a false
idea of my personal appearance? Eyes! --true. Eyes, Pierre Bon-Bon,
are very well in their proper place--that, you would say, is the
head? --right--the head of a worm. To you, likewise, these optics
are indispensable--yet I will convince you that my vision is more
penetrating than your own. There is a cat I see in the corner--a pretty
cat--look at her--observe her well.
Now, Bon-Bon, do you behold the
thoughts--the thoughts, I say,--the ideas--the reflections--which are
being engendered in her pericranium? There it is, now--you do not! She
is thinking we admire the length of her tail and the profundity of
her mind. She has just concluded that I am the most distinguished of
ecclesiastics, and that you are the most superficial of metaphysicians.
Thus you see I am not altogether blind; but to one of my profession, the
eyes you speak of would be merely an incumbrance, liable at any time to
be put out by a toasting-iron, or a pitchfork. To you, I allow, these
optical affairs are indispensable. Endeavor, Bon-Bon, to use them
well;--my vision is the soul. "
Hereupon the guest helped himself to the wine upon the table, and
pouring out a bumper for Bon-Bon, requested him to drink it without
scruple, and make himself perfectly at home.
"A clever book that of yours, Pierre," resumed his Majesty, tapping our
friend knowingly upon the shoulder, as the latter put down his glass
after a thorough compliance with his visiter's injunction. "A clever
book that of yours, upon my honor. It's a work after my own heart. Your
arrangement of the matter, I think, however, might be improved, and many
of your notions remind me of Aristotle. That philosopher was one of my
most intimate acquaintances. I liked him as much for his terrible ill
temper, as for his happy knack at making a blunder. There is only one
solid truth in all that he has written, and for that I gave him the hint
out of pure compassion for his absurdity. I suppose, Pierre Bon-Bon, you
very well know to what divine moral truth I am alluding?
