Giving the lambda a fillip with my finger, I turned it upside down. So the sentence now read o nous estin augos, and is, you perceive, the fundamental doctrines in his metaphysics.
Were you ever at Rome? asked the restaurateur, as he finished his second bottle of Mousseux, and drew from the closet a larger supply of Chambertin.
But once, Monsieur Bon-Bon, but once. There was a time, said the devil, as if reciting some passage from a book there was a time when occurred an anarchy of five years, during which the republic, bereft of all its officers, had no magistracy besides the tribunes of the people, and these were not legally vested with any degree of executive power at that time, Monsieur Bon-Bon at that time only I was in Rome, and I have no earthly acquaintance, consequently, with any of its philosophy.[24]
What do you think of what do you think of hiccup! Epicurus[25]?
What do I think of whom? said the devil, in astonishment, you cannot surely mean to find any fault with Epicurus! What do I think of Epicurus! Do you mean me, sir? I am Epicurus! I am the same philosopher who wrote each of the three hundred treatises commemorated by Diogenes Laertes[26].
Thats a lie! said the metaphysician, for the wine had gotten a little into his head.
Very well! very well, sir! very well, indeed, sir! said his Majesty, apparently much flattered.
Thats a lie! repeated the restaurateur, dogmatically; thats a hiccup! a lie!
Well, well, have it your own way[27]! said the devil, pacifically, and Bon-Bon, having beaten his Majesty at argument, thought it his duty to conclude a second bottle of Chambertin.
As I was saying, resumed the visiter as I was observing a little while ago, there are some very outré notions in that book of yours, Monsieur Bon-Bon. What, for instance, do you mean by all that humbug about the soul? Pray, sir, what is the soul?
The hiccup! soul, replied the metaphysician, referring to his MS.[28], is undoubtedly
No, sir!
Indubitably
No, sir!
Indisputably
No, sir!
Evidently
No, sir!
Incontrovertibly
No, sir!
Hiccup!
No, sir!
And beyond all question, a
No sir, the soul is no such thing! (Here the philosopher, looking daggers[29], took occasion to make an end, upon the spot, of his third bottle of Chambertin.)
Then hic-cup! pray, sir what what is it?
That is neither here nor there[30], Monsieur Bon-Bon, replied his Majesty, musingly. I have tasted that is to say, I have known some very bad souls, and some too pretty good ones. Here he smacked his lips, and, having unconsciously let fall his hand upon the volume in his pocket, was seized with a violent fit of sneezing.
He continued.
There was the soul of Cratinus passable: Aristophanes racy: Plato exquisite not your Plato, but Plato the comic poet; your Plato would have turned the stomach of Cerberus faugh! Then let me see! there were Naevius, and Andronicusand Plautus, and Terentius. Then there were Lucilius, and Catullus, and Naso, and Quintus Flaccus[31], dear Quinty! as I called him when he sung a seculare for my amusement, while I toasted him, in pure good humor, on a fork. But they want flavor, these Romans. One fat Greek is worth a dozen of them, and besides will keep, which cannot be said of a Quirite[32]. Let us taste your Sauterne.
Bon-Bon had by this time made up his mind to nil admirari[33] and endeavored to hand down the bottles in question. He was, however, conscious of a strange sound in the room like the wagging of a tail. Of this, although extremely indecent in his Majesty, the philosopher took no notice: simply kicking the dog, and requesting him to be quiet. The visiter continued:
I found that Horace tasted very much like Aristotle; you know I am fond of variety. Terentius I could not have told from Menander. Naso, to my astonishment, was Nicander in disguise. Virgilius had a strong twang of Theocritus. Martial put me much in mind of Archilochus and Titus Livius was positively Polybius[34] and none other.
Hic-cup! here replied Bon-Bon, and his majesty proceeded:
But if I have a penchant, Monsieur Bon-Bon if I have a penchant, it is for a philosopher. Yet, let me tell you, sir, it is not every dev I mean it is not every gentleman who knows how to choose a philosopher. Long ones are not good; and the best, if not carefully shelled, are apt to be a little rancid on account of the gall!
Shelled!
I mean taken out of the carcass.
What do you think of a hic-cup! physician?
Dont mention them! ugh! ugh! ugh! (Here his Majesty retched violently.) I never tasted but one that rascal Hippocrates! smelt of asafoetida ugh! ugh! ugh! caught a wretched cold washing him in the Styx and after all he gave me the cholera morbus[35].
The hiccup wretch! ejaculated Bon-Bon, the hic-cup! absorption of a pill-box! and the philosopher dropped a tear.
Hic-cup! here replied Bon-Bon, and his majesty proceeded:
But if I have a penchant, Monsieur Bon-Bon if I have a penchant, it is for a philosopher. Yet, let me tell you, sir, it is not every dev I mean it is not every gentleman who knows how to choose a philosopher. Long ones are not good; and the best, if not carefully shelled, are apt to be a little rancid on account of the gall!