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- 1850
- THE DUC DE L'OMLETTE
- by Edgar Allan Poe
-
- And stepped at once into a cooler clime. Cowper
-
-
- KEATS fell by a criticism. Who was it died of "The Andromache"?* Ignoble
- souls!- De L'Omelette perished of an ortolan. L'histoire en est breve.
- Assist me, Spirit of Apicius!
-
-
- *Montfleury. The author of the Parnasse Reforme makes him thus speak in
- Hades:- "L'homme donc qui voudrait savoir ce dont Je suis morte, qu'il
- ne demande pas si'l fut de fievre ou de podagre ou d'autre chose, mais
- qui'l entende que ce fut de 'L'Andromache.'"
-
-
- A golden cage bore the little winged wanderer, enamored, melting,
- indolent, to the Chaussee D'Antin, from its home in far Peru. From its
- queenly possessor La Bellissima, to the Duc De L'Omelette, six peers of
- the empire conveyed the happy bird.
-
- That night the Duc was to sup alone. In the privacy of his bureau he
- reclined languidly on that ottoman for which he sacrificed his loyalty
- in outbidding his king- the notorious ottoman of Cadet.
-
- He buries his face in the pillow. The clock strikes! Unable to restrain
- his feelings, his Grace swallows an olive. At this moment the door
- gently opens to the sound of soft music, and lo! the most delicate of
- birds is before the most enamored of men! But what inexpressible dismay
- now overshadows the countenance of the Duc?- "Horreur!- chien!-
- Baptiste!- l'oiseau! ah, bon Dieu! cet oiseau modeste que tu as
- deshabille de ses plumes, et que tu as servi sans papier!" It is
- superfluous to say more:- the Duc expired in a paroxysm of disgust.
-
- "Ha! ha! ha!" said his Grace on the third day after his decease.
-
- "He! he! he!" replied the Devil faintly, drawing himself up with an air
- of hauteur.
-
- "Why, surely you are not serious," retorted De L'Omelette. "I have
- sinned- c'est vrai- but, my good sir, consider!- you have no actual
- intention of putting such- such barbarous threats into execution."
-
- "No what?" said his majesty- "come, sir, strip!"
-
- "Strip, indeed! very pretty i' faith! no, sir, I shall not strip. Who
- are you, pray, that I, Duc De L'Omelette, Prince de Foie-Gras, just come
- of age, author of the 'Mazurkiad,' and Member of the Academy, should
- divest myself at your bidding of the sweetest pantaloons ever made by
- Bourdon, the daintiest robe-de-chambre ever put together by Rombert- to
- say nothing of the taking my hair out of paper- not to mention the
- trouble I should have in drawing off my gloves?"
-
- "Who am I?- ah, true! I am Baal-Zebub, Prince of the Fly. I took thee,
- just now, from a rose-wood coffin inlaid with ivory. Thou wast curiously
- scented, and labelled as per invoice. Belial sent thee,- my Inspector of
- Cemeteries. The pantaloons, which thou sayest were made by Bourdon, are
- an excellent pair of linen drawers, and thy robe-de-chambre is a shroud
- of no scanty dimensions."
-
- "Sir!" replied the Duc, "I am not to be insulted with impunity!- Sir! I
- shall take the earliest opportunity of avenging this insult!- Sir! you
- shall hear from me! in the meantime au revoir!"- and the Duc was bowing
- himself out of the Satanic presence, when he was interrupted and brought
- back by a gentleman in waiting. Hereupon his Grace rubbed his eyes,
- yawned, shrugged his shoulders, reflected. Having become satisfied of
- his identity, he took a bird's eye view of his whereabouts.
-
- The apartment was superb. Even De L'Omelette pronounced it bien comme il
- faut. It was not its length nor its breadth,- but its height- ah, that
- was appalling!- There was no ceiling- certainly none- but a dense
- whirling mass of fiery-colored clouds. His Grace's brain reeled as he
- glanced upward. From above, hung a chain of an unknown blood-red metal-
- its upper end lost, like the city of Boston, parmi les nues. From its
- nether extremity swung a large cresset. The Duc knew it to be a ruby;
- but from it there poured a light so intense, so still, so terrible,
- Persia never worshipped such- Gheber never imagined such- Mussulman
- never dreamed of such when, drugged with opium, he has tottered to a bed
- of poppies, his back to the flowers, and his face to the God Apollo. The
- Duc muttered a slight oath, decidedly approbatory.
-
- The corners of the room were rounded into niches. Three of these were
- filled with statues of gigantic proportions. Their beauty was Grecian,
- their deformity Egyptian, their tout ensemble French. In the fourth
- niche the statue was veiled; it was not colossal. But then there was a
- taper ankle, a sandalled foot. De L'Omelette pressed his hand upon his
- heart, closed his eyes, raised them, and caught his Satanic Majesty- in
- a blush.
-
- But the paintings!- Kupris! Astarte! Astoreth!- a thousand and the same!
- And Rafaelle has beheld them! Yes, Rafaelle has been here, for did he
- not paint the ---? and was he not consequently damned? The paintings-
- the paintings! O luxury! O love!- who, gazing on those forbidden
- beauties, shall have eyes for the dainty devices of the golden frames
- that besprinkled, like stars, the hyacinth and the porphyry walls?
-
- But the Duc's heart is fainting within him. He is not, however, as you
- suppose, dizzy with magnificence, nor drunk with the ecstatic breath of
- those innumerable censers. C'est vrai que de toutes ces choses il a
- pense beaucoup- mais! The Duc De L'Omelette is terror-stricken; for,
- through the lurid vista which a single uncurtained window is affording,
- lo! gleams the most ghastly of all fires!
-
- Le pauvre Duc! He could not help imagining that the glorious, the
- voluptuous, the never-dying melodies which pervaded that hall, as they
- passed filtered and transmuted through the alchemy of the enchanted
- window-panes, were the wailings and the howlings of the hopeless and the
- damned! And there, too!- there!- upon the ottoman!- who could he be?-
- he, the petitmaitre- no, the Deity- who sat as if carved in marble, et
- qui sourit, with his pale countenance, si amerement?
-
- Mais il faut agir- that is to say, a Frenchman never faints outright.
- Besides, his Grace hated a scene- De L'Omelette is himself again. There
- were some foils upon a table- some points also. The Duc s'echapper. He
- measures two points, and, with a grace inimitable, offers his Majesty
- the choice. Horreur! his Majesty does not fence!
-
- Mais il joue!- how happy a thought!- but his Grace had always an
- excellent memory. He had dipped in the "Diable" of Abbe Gualtier.
- Therein it is said "que le Diable n'ose pas refuser un jeu d'ecarte."
-
- But the chances- the chances! True- desperate: but scarcely more
- desperate than the Duc. Besides, was he not in the secret?- had he not
- skimmed over Pere Le Brun?- was he not a member of the Club Vingt-un?
- "Si je perds," said he, "je serai deux fois perdu- I shall be doubly
- dammed- voila tout! (Here his Grace shrugged his shoulders.) Si je
- gagne, je reviendrai a mes ortolans- que les cartes soient preparees!"
-
- His Grace was all care, all attention- his Majesty all confidence. A
- spectator would have thought of Francis and Charles. His Grace thought
- of his game. His Majesty did not think; he shuffled. The Duc cut.
-
- The cards were dealt. The trump is turned- it is- it is- the king! No-
- it was the queen. His Majesty cursed her masculine habiliments. De
- L'Omelette placed his hand upon his heart.
-
- They play. The Duc counts. The hand is out. His Majesty counts heavily,
- smiles, and is taking wine. The Duc slips a card.
-
- "C'est a vous a faire," said his Majesty, cutting. His Grace bowed,
- dealt, and arose from the table en presentant le Roi.
-
- His Majesty looked chagrined.
-
- Had Alexander not been Alexander, he would have been Diogenes; and the
- Duc assured his antagonist in taking leave, "que s'il n'eut ete De
- L'Omelette il n'aurait point d'objection d'etre le Diable."
-
-
-
- -THE END-
-