The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 5Poe, Edgar Allan
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The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 5
Poe, Edgar Allan
American fiction -- 19th century; American poetry; Fantasy fiction; Horror tales, American
Upon stepping over the threshold, the whole interior of the building
presented itself to view. A long, low-pitched room, of antique
construction, was indeed all the accommodation afforded by the _café_. In a
corner of the apartment stood the bed of the metaphysician. An army of
curtains, together with a canopy _à la Grècque_, gave it an air at once
classic and comfortable. In the corner diagonary opposite, appeared, in
direct family communion, the properties of the kitchen and the
_bibliotheque_. A dish of polemics stood peacefully upon the dresser. Here
lay an ovenful of the latest ethics—there a kettle of dudecimo
_mélanges_. Volumes of German morality were hand and glove with the gridiron—a
toasting-fork might be discovered by the side of Eusebius—Plato
reclined at his ease in the frying-pan—and contemporary manuscripts
were filed away upon the spit.
In other respects the _Café de Bon-Bon_ might be said to differ little from
the usual restaurants of the period. A fireplace yawned opposite the door.
On the right of the fireplace an open cupboard displayed a formidable
array of labelled bottles.
It was here, about twelve o’clock one night during the severe
winter of ——, that Pierre Bon-Bon, after having listened to
the comments of his neighbours upon his singular propensity—that
Pierre Bon-Bon, I say, having turned them all out of his house, locked
the door upon them with an oath, and betook himself in no very pacific
mood to the comforts of a leather-bottomed arm-chair, and a fire of
blazing fagots.
It was one of those terrific nights which are only met with once or twice
during a century. It snowed fiercely, and the house tottered to its centre
with the floods of wind that, rushing through the crannies in the wall,
and pouring impetuously down the chimney, shook awfully the curtains of
the philosopher’s bed, and disorganized the economy of his pate-pans and
papers. The huge folio sign that swung without, exposed to the fury of the
tempest, creaked ominously, and gave out a moaning sound from its
stanchions of solid oak.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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