o gato negro

FOR the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not - and very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow I die, and to-day I would unburthen my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events. In their consequences, these events have terrified - have tortured - have destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented little but Horror - to many they will seem less terrible than barroques. Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce my phantasm to the common-place - some intellect more calm, more logical, and far less excitable than my own, which will perceive, in the circumstances I detail with awe, nothing more than an ordinary succession of very natural causes and effects.

From my infancy I was noted for the docility and humanity of my disposition. My tenderness of heart was even so conspicuous as to make me the jest of my companions. I was especially fond of animals, and was indulged by my parents with a great variety of pets. With these I spent most of my time, and never was so happy as when feeding and caressing them. This peculiarity of character grew with my growth, and, in my manhood, I derived from it one of my principal sources of pleasure. To those who have cherished an affection for a faithful and sagacious dog, I need hardly be at the trouble of explaining the nature or the intensity of the gratification thus derivable. There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man.

I married early, and was happy to find in my wife a disposition not uncongenial with my own. Observing my partiality for domestic pets, she lost no opportunity of procuring those of the most agreeable kind. We had birds, gold-fish, a fine dog, rabbits, a small monkey, and a cat.

This latter was a remarkably large and beautiful animal, entirely black, and sagacious to an astonishing degree. In speaking of his intelligence, my wife, who at heart was not a little tinctured with superstition, made frequent allusion to the ancient popular notion, which regarded all black cats as witches in disguise. Not that she was ever serious upon this point - and I mention the matter at all for no better reason than that it happens, just now, to be remembered.

Pluto - this was the cat's name - was my favorite pet and playmate. I alone fed him, and he attended me wherever I went about the house. It was even with difficulty that I could prevent him from following me through the streets.

Our friendship lasted, in this manner, for several years, during which my general temperament and character - through the instrumentality of the Fiend Intemperance - had (I blush to confess it) experienced a radical alteration for the worse. I grew, day by day, more moody, more irritable, more regardless of the feelings of others. I suffered myself to use intemperate language to my wife. At length, I even offered her personal violence. My pets, of course, were made to feel the change in my disposition. I not only neglected, but ill-used them. For Pluto, however, I still retained sufficient regard to restrain me from maltreating him, as I made no scruple of maltreating the rabbits, the monkey, or even the dog, when by accident, or through affection, they came in my way. But my disease grew upon me - for what disease is like Alcohol! - and at length even Pluto, who was now becoming old, and consequently somewhat peevish - even Pluto began to experience the effects of my ill temper.

One night, returning home, much intoxicated, from one of my haunts about town, I fancied that the cat avoided my presence. I seized him; when, in his fright at my violence, he inflicted a slight wound upon my hand with his teeth. The fury of a demon instantly possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body; and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame. I took from my waistcoat-pocket a pen-knife, opened it, grasped the poor beast by the throat, and deliberately cut one of its eyes from the socket! I blush, I burn, I shudder, while I pen the damnable atrocity.

When reason returned with the morning - when I had slept off the fumes of the night's debauch - I experienced a sentiment half of horror, half of remorse, for the crime of which I had been guilty; but it was, at best, a feeble and equivocal feeling, and the soul remained untouched. I again plunged into excess, and soon drowned in wine all memory of the deed.

In the meantime the cat slowly recovered. The socket of the lost eye presented, it is true, a frightful appearance, but he no longer appeared to suffer any pain. He went about the house as usual, but, as might be expected, fled in extreme terror at my approach. I had so much of my old heart left, as to be at first grieved by this evident dislike on the part of a creature which had once so loved me. But this feeling soon gave place to irritation. And then came, as if to my final and irrevocable overthrow, the spirit of PERVERSENESS. Of this spirit philosophy takes no account. Yet I am not more sure that my soul lives, than I am that perverseness is one of the primitive impulses of the human heart - one of the indivisible primary faculties, or sentiments, which give direction to the character of Man. Who has not, a hundred times, found himself committing a vile or a silly action, for no other reason than because he knows he should not? Have we not a perpetual inclination, in the teeth of our best judgment, to violate that which is Law, merely because we understand it to be such? This spirit of perverseness, I say, came to my final overthrow. It was this unfathomable longing of the soul to vex itself - to offer violence to its own nature - to do wrong for the wrong's sake only - that urged me to continue and finally to consummate the injury I had inflicted upon the unoffending brute. One morning, in cool blood, I slipped a noose about its neck and hung it to the limb of a tree; - hung it with the tears streaming from my eyes, and with the bitterest remorse at my heart; - hung it because I knew that it had loved me, and because I felt it had given me no reason of offence; - hung itbecause I knew that in so doing I was committing a sin - a deadly sin that would so jeopardize my immortal soul as to place it - if such a thing were possible - even beyond the reach of the infinite mercy of the Most Merciful and Most Terrible God.

On the night of the day on which this cruel deed was done, I was aroused from sleep by the cry of fire. The curtains of my bed were in flames. The whole house was blazing. It was with great difficulty that my wife, a servant, and myself, made our escape from the conflagration. The destruction was complete. My entire worldly wealth was swallowed up, and I resigned myself thenceforward to despair. (...)

The Black Cat

Edgar Allan Poe

1845

traducido ao galego como

O gato negro

por Carlos Acevedo

Aula das Letras, Vicens Vives

Para o brutal e ao mesmo tempo doméstico relato que vou escribir, nin espero nin pido credulidade. Tolo sería eu se tal cousa esperase nun caso en que os meus propios sentidos rexeitan o que perciben. Non obstante, tolo non son, e desde logo tampouco estou a soñar. Mais vou morrer maña, e hoxe gustaríame aliviar o péso que carga a miña alma. O meu propósito inmediato consiste en expor aos ollos do mundo de xeito simple, sucinto' e sen comentarios, unha serie de meros acontecementos domésticos cuxas consecuencias me aterrorizaron, me torturaron, me destruíron. Mais non tentarei explicalos. Para min non supuxeron máis ca un horror; a moitos pareceranlles máis grotescos ca terribles. No futuro, talvez exista algunha mente que reduza a miña fantasmagoría a banalidade; algunha mente máis calma, máis lóxica e moito menos excitable ca a miña, e que perciba nas circunstancias que con espanto describo unha ordinaria sucesión de naturalísimas causas e efectos.

Desde a infancia destaques sempre polo meu natural dócil e humano. A miña tenrura de corazón era tan conspicua que suscitaba a mofa dos meus compañeiros. Tíñalles especial afecto aos animais, e os meus pais consentíanme ter unha gran variedade de mascotas. Con elas pasaba a maior parte do meu tempo, e a miña felicidade era insuperable cando lles daba de comer e lles facía festas. Tal peculiaridade do meu carácter foi crecendo comigo e, sendo xa un home, obtiven dela unha das principais fontes de pracer. Aos que algunha vez sentiron afecto por un fiel e sagaz can apenas teño que molestarme en explicarlles a natureza e a intensidade da gratificación que se pode obter. Hai algo no xeneroso e sacrificado amor dun animal que vas dereito ao corazón daquel que tivo con frecuencia a ocasión de probar a ruin amizade e a fráxil fidelidade do home.

Cases cedo, e tiven a fortuna de encontrar na miña muller un carácter afín ao meu. Ela, tras observar a miña querenza polos animáis de compañía, non perdeu a ocasión de buscar aqueles que resultan máis agradables. Tiñamos paxaros, peixiños de cores, un bo can, coellos, un pequeno mono e mais un gato.

Este último era un animal considerablemente grande e fermoso, totalmente negro, e sagaz até un punto abraiante. Canto á súa intelixencia, a miña muller, que no fondo estaba algo impregnada de superstición, facía frecuentes alusións á antiga crenza popular de que os gatos negros son meigas disfrazadas. Non é que ela tomase en serio esta cuestión, e se a menciono non é por outra razón que porque acabo de recordala agora mesmo.

Plutón, pois ese era o seu nome, era a miña mascota e o meu compañeiro favorito. Só lle daba de comer eu, e seguíame a onde queira que fose dentro da casa. Mesmo me resultaba difícil impedirlle que me seguise pola rúa.

A nosa amizade durou desta maneira varios anos, durante os cales o meu temperamento e o meu carácter, por causa da intemperanza no beberá -e ruborízome ao confesalo-, experimentaran un radical empeoramento. Co pasar dos días, fun tornándome máis amargado, máis irascible, máis indiferente perante os sentimentos alleos. Dei en tratar a miña esposa cunha linguaxe desapropiada. E por fin acabei tratándoa con violencia. Os meus animais, sobra dicilo, tiveron que padecer a miña mudanza de carácter. Non só os tiña abandonados, senón que os maltrataba. Non obstante, a Plutón seguía téndolle consideración suficiente para refrearme no maltrato, mentres que non tiña escrúpulo ningún á hora de maltratar os coellos, o mono ou mesmo o can cando por accidente, ou por afecto, se interpuñan no meu camiño. Mais a miña doenza foi a peor -e que doenza é o alcohol! Ao final, mesmo Plutón, que xa la vello e, por tanto, se tornara un pouco irritable, mesmo Plutón comezou a experimentar os efectos do meu mal temperamento.

Unha noite, de volta na casa moi bébedo, procedente dun dos meus paradoiros da vila, tiven a sensación de que o gato evitaba a miña presenza. Agarreino e entón, atemorizado coa miña violencia, inflixiume cos dentes unha leve ferida na man. Decontado apoderouse de min unha furia demoníaca. Xa non era eu. Semellaba que a alma me escapara do corpo e unha crudelísima maldade, nutrida de xenebra, excitou até a última fibra do meu ser. Tires do peto do chaleco unha navalla, abrina, agarres a coitada criatura polo pescozo e deliberadamente arrinqueille un ollo da órbita! Ruborízome, desespérome, arrepíome ao escribir tan abominables atrocidade.

Cando recuperes a razón pola mañá, despois de durmir os efluvios do meu desenfreo nocturno, experimentes unha sensación a medio camiño entre o horror e o remorso polo crime do cal era culpable. Mais tratábase, como moito, dun sentimento feble e equívoco, e a alma quedárame intacta. Entregueime de novo ao, exceso e logo afoguei en vino toda lembranza do feito.

Entrementres, o gato foi recuperándose de maneira paulatina. A tunca do ollo ausente presentaba un aspecto espantoso, mais o animal non parecía sufrir xa dor ningunha. Andaba pola casa como de costume, pero, como cabería esperar, fuxía espavorecido ante a miña proximidade. Ao principio aínda me quedaba bastante corazón para sentir pena ante a evidente animadversión' por parte dunha criatura que outrora tanto me quixera. Mais tal sentimento axiña deixou paso á irritación. E despois chegou, para a miña definitiva e irrevogable perdición, o espírito da perversidade. Deste espírito a filosofía non dá conta. Non obstante, estou tan certo de que a miña alma existe como de que a perversidade é un dos impulsos primitivos da condición humana, unha das indivisibles facultades ou sentimentos primarios que guían o carácter do home. Quen non cometeu nun cento de ocasións algunha acción vil ou estúpida, sen outra razón que o feito de saber que non debería cometela? Acaso non ternos unha inclinación constante, e oposta ao noso bo entendemento, a violarmos a lei, simplemente porque sabemos que é a lei? O espírito da perversidade, como dicía, ven para traerme a perdición definitiva. E foi esta inconmensurable querenza da alma por degradarse, por empregar a violencia contra a súa propia natureza, por facer o mal polo mal, o que me instou a continuar e finalmente consumar o dano que en lle inflixira ao inocente animal. Unha mañá, a sangue frío, púxenlle un lazo arredor do pescozo e afórqueino colgándoo da galla dunha árbore; aforqueino coas lágrimas a caerme dos ollos e co máis amargo remorso no corazón; aforqueino porque sabía que el me amara, e porque sentía que el non me dera ningún motivo de ofensa; aforqueino porque sabía que así cometía pecado, un pecado mortal que había de pór en perigo a miña alma inmortal deixándoa -se tal cousa é posible- alén do alcance da infinita misericordia do Deus máis misericordioso e terrible.

Durante a noite daquela xornada en que se cometeu esta crueldade, acordei do sono cos berros que avisaban dun incendio. As cortinas do meu dormitorio estaban a arder. Toda a casa estaba en chamas. Con gran dificultade, a miña muller, un criado e eu escapamos da conflagración. A desfeita foi completa. Todas as minas riquezas mundanas quedaron devoradas, e desde entón entregueime á desesperación. (...)

os crimes da rúa morgue

"I know not," continued Dupin, "what impression I may have made, so far, upon your own understanding; but I do not hesitate to say that legitimate deductions even from this portion of the testimony - the portion respecting the gruff and shrill voices - are in themselves sufficient to engender a suspicion which should give direction to all farther progress in the investigation of the mystery. I said 'legitimate deductions;' but my meaning is not thus fully expressed. I designed to imply that the deductions are the sole proper ones, and that the suspicion arises inevitably from them as the single result. What the suspicion is, however, I will not say just yet. I merely wish you to bear in mind that, with myself, it was sufficiently forcible to give a definite form - a certain tendency - to my inquiries in the chamber.

"Let us now transport ourselves, in fancy, to this chamber. What shall we first seek here? The means of egress employed by the murderers. It is not too much to say that neither of us believe in præternatural events. Madame and Mademoiselle L'Espanaye were not destroyed by spirits. The doers of the deed were material, and escaped materially. Then how? Fortunately, there is but one mode of reasoning upon the point, and that mode must lead us to a definite decision. - Let us examine, each by each, the possible means of egress. It is clear that the assassins were in the room where Mademoiselle L'Espanaye was found, or at least in the room adjoining, when the party ascended the stairs. It is then only from these two apartments that we have to seek issues. The police have laid bare the floors, the ceilings, and the masonry of the walls, in every direction. No secret issues could have escaped their vigilance. But, not trusting to their eyes, I examined with my own. There were, then, no secret issues. Both doors leading from the rooms into the passage were securely locked, with the keys inside. Let us turn to the chimneys. These, although of ordinary width for some eight or ten feet above the hearths, will not admit, throughout their extent, the body of a large cat. The impossibility of egress, by means already stated, being thus absolute, we are reduced to the windows. Through those of the front room no one could have escaped without notice from the crowd in the street. The murderers must have passed, then, through those of the back room. Now, brought to this conclusion in so unequivocal a manner as we are, it is not our part, as reasoners, to reject it on account of apparent impossibilities. It is only left for us to prove that these apparent 'impossibilities' are, in reality, not such.

"There are two windows in the chamber. One of them is unobstructed by furniture, and is wholly visible. The lower portion of the other is hidden from view by the head of the unwieldy bedstead which is thrust close up against it. The former was found securely fastened from within. It resisted the utmost force of those who endeavored to raise it. A large gimlet-hole had been pierced in its frame to the left, and a very stout nail was found fitted therein, nearly to the head. Upon examining the other window, a similar nail was seen similarly fitted in it; and a vigorous attempt to raise this sash, failed also. The police were now entirely satisfied that egress had not been in these directions.

The murders in the rue Morgue

Edgar Allan Poe

Philadelphia, 1841

traducida ao galego por Ana Belén Varela Miño

publicada como 

Berenice e outros relatos, 

Editorial Ir indo, 2002

“-Non sei- continuou Dupin- que impresión puiden crear ata agora no seu entendemento, pero non dubido en afirmar que se poden facer deduccións lexítimas mesmo desta parte dos testemuños, a parte qye fai referencia ás voces rouca e aguda. Xa abonda pare xerar unha sospeita que nos poida levar na dirección dun progreso maior na investigación do misterio. Dixen deducción lexitimas, pero esta expresión non plasma compleramente o meu pensamento. O que intento dicir é que estas deduccións son as únicas correctas, e que a sospeita xorde inevitablemente delas como o resultado único. Así e todo non lle vou dicir en qué consiste a sospeita. Tan só quero que teña presente, que para min, foi o suficientemente sólida para dar forma ou unha certa tendencia ás miñas investigacións no cuarto.

-Vaiamos ó cuarto coa imaxinación. ¿Que é o primeiro que temos que buscar aquí? Os medios empregados polos asasinos para fuxir. Non está de máis dicir que ningún de nós cre nos sucesos sobrenaturais. A Madame e Mademoiselle L'Espanaye non as asasinaron os espíritos. Os autores do feito eran materiais e fuxiron materialmente. ¿Pero como? Por sorte, só hai un modo de razoar esta cuestión, e este modo ten que levarnos a unha conclusión definida. Examinemos, un por un, os posibles medios para fuxir. Está claro que os asasinos estaban no cuarto onde se atopou a Madame L'Espanye, ou polo menos no cuarto do lado, cando o grupo subía as escaleiras. Polo tanto é só neses dous cuartos onde temos que investigar. A policía examinou o chan, os teitos e a cachotería das paredes por todas as partes. Non se lles puido excapar ningunha saída secreta. Pero ó non confiar nos seus ollos, fixen o meu propio exame. E, certamente, non había ningunha saída secreta. As portas que comunican os cuartos co corredor estaban ben pechadas, e coa chave posta. Vexamos as chemineas. Estas, aínda que teñen un largo normal ata uns dos metros e medio ou tres metros por riba do lar, non deixarían pasar polo seu interior un corpo dun gato grande. Ó quedar absolutamente eliminada a fuga polos medios xa citados, tan só nos quedan as fiestras. Polas do cuarto de adiante non podería escapar ninguén sen que se decatase a multitude que estaba na rúa. Polo tanto os asasinos tiveron que escapar polas do cuarto traseiro. Agora ben, chegados a esta conclusión, dun xeito tan inequívoco, non nos toca a nós, como razoadores, rexeitala polas aparentes imposibilidades. Tan só nos queda probar que estas imposibilidades aparentes, non o son en realidade.

Hai dúas xanelas no cuarto. Unha delas non está obstruída polos mobles, e queda completamente visible. A parte máis baixa da outra queda oculta ola cabeceira da pesada armazón da cama, que está pegada contra ela. A primeira estaba ben cerrada dende dentro. Resistiu os esforzos máis grandes dos que tentaron abrila. No lado esquerdo do marco fixeran un furado grande cunha barrena, e nel atopouse encaixado case por completo un cravo sólido. Ó examinar a outra xanela, apareceu un cravo similar encaixado nela, e tamén fracasou un intento vigoroso de abrila. Entón a policía quedou completamente satisfeita de que non fuxiran por alí.” 

bon bon, comentario

www.lacajadeldiablo.net

Este conto é unha sátira de Edgar Allan Poe, na que relata a historia de Pierre Bon-Bon, un home cunha gran autoestima, que se considera un filósofo e conta o seu encontro co demo. Entre ambos xérase un diálogo no que se ironiza sobre filósofos tan coñecidos como Platón e Aristóteles que, ao parecer, son o 'manxar' do Señor dos Infernos.

bon-bon

Bon-Bon

Quand un bon vin meuble mon estomac, 

Je suis plus savant que Balzac ---

Plus sage que Pibrac;

Mon brass seul faisant l'attaque

De la nation Cossaque,

La mettroit au sac;

De Charon je passerois le lac,

En dormant dans son bac;

J'irois au fier Eac,

Sans que mon coeur fit tic ni tac,

Présenter du tabac.

French Vaudeville.

THAT Pierre Bon-Bon was a restaurateur of uncommon qualifications, no man who, during the reign of ---------, frequented the little Câfé in the cul-de-sac Le Febvre at Rouen, will, I imagine, feel himself at liberty to dispute. That Pierre Bon-Bon was, in an equal degree, skilled in the philosophy of that period is, I presume, still more especially undeniable. His patés à la fois were beyond doubt immaculate; but what pen can do

justice to his essays sur la Nature --- his thoughts sur l'Ame --- his observations sur l'Esprit ? If his omelettes --- if his fricandeaux were inestimable, what littérateur of that day would not have given twice as much for an "Idée de Bon-Bon" as for all the trash of "Idées" of all the rest of the savants ? Bon-Bon had ransacked libraries which no other man had ransacked --- had more than any other would have entertained a notion of  reading- had understood more than any other would have conceived the possibility of understanding; and although, while he flourished, there were not wanting some authors at Rouen to assert "that his dicta evinced neither the purity of the Academy, nor the depth of the Lyceum" --- although, mark me, his doctrines were by no means very generally comprehended, still it did not follow that they were difficult of comprehension. It was, I think, on account of their self-evidency that many persons were led to consider them abstruse. It is to Bon-Bon --- but let this go no farther --- it is to Bon-Bon that Kant himself is mainly indebted for his metaphysics. The former was indeed not a Platonist, nor strictly speaking an Aristotelian --- nor did he, like the modern Leibnitz, waste those precious hours which might be employed in the invention of a fricasée or, facili gradu, the analysis of a sensation, in frivolous attempts at reconciling the obstinate oils and waters of ethical discussion. Not at all. Bon-Bon was Ionic --- Bon-Bon was equally Italic. He reasoned a priori --- He reasoned also a posteriori. His ideas were innate --- or otherwise. He believed in George of Trebizonde --- He believed in Bossarion [Bessarion].

Bon-Bon was emphatically a --- Bon-Bonist. I have spoken of the philosopher in his capacity of restaurateur. I would not, however, have any friend of mine imagine that, in fulfilling his hereditary duties in that line, our hero wanted a proper estimation of their dignity and importance. Far from it. It was

impossible to say in which branch of his profession he took the greater pride. In his opinion the powers of the intellect held intimate connection with the capabilities of the stomach. I am not sure, indeed, that he greatly disagreed with the Chinese, who held that the soul lies in the abdomen. The Greeks at all events were right, he thought, who employed the same words for the mind and the diaphragm.* By this I do not mean to

insinuate a charge of gluttony, or indeed any other serious charge to the prejudice of the metaphysician. If Pierre Bon-Bon had his failings --- and what great man has not a thousand? --- if Pierre Bon-Bon, I say, had his failings, they were failings of very little importance --- faults indeed which, in other tempers, have often been looked upon rather in the light of virtues. As regards one of these foibles, I should not even have mentioned it in this history but for the remarkable prominency --- the extreme alto relievo --- in which it jutted out from the plane of his general disposition. He could never let slip an opportunity of making a bargain.

Bon-bon

Edgar Allan Poe

publicado no Philadelphia Saturday Courier, decembro 1832

traducido por Eva Almazán

Bon-bon

Galaxia, 2009

Quand un bon vin meuble mon estomac,Je suis plus savant que Balzac, 
Plus sage que Pibrac; 
Mon seul bras faisant l’attaque 
De la nation Cossaque 
La mettroit au sac; 
De Charon je passerois le lac 
En dormant dans son bac; 
J’irois au fier Eac, 
Sans que mon coeur fit tic ni tac, 
Présenter du tabac. (Vaudeville francés)

Non creo que ningún dos parroquiáns que, durante o reinado de... frecuentaban o pequeno café no cul-de-sac Le Febre, en Rúan, esté disposto a negar que Pierre Bon-Bon era un restaurador de notable capacidade. Paréceme aínda máis difícil negar que Pierre Bon-Bon era igualmente ben versado na filosofía do seu tempo. Os seus pâtés de foies eran intachables, pero, ¿qué pluma podría facer xustiza aos seus ensaios sobre a Natureza, aos seus pensamentos sobre l’âme, as súas observacións sobre l’esprit? Se as súas omelettes, se os seus fricandeaux eran inestimables, ¿qué literato da época non daría o dobre por unha idea de Bon-Bon que pola despreciable suma de todas as ideas dos savants? Bon-Bon explorara bibliotecas que para outros homes eran inexploradas; lera máis do que outros podían chegar a concebir como lectura, comprendera máis do que outros houberan imaxinado posible comprender; e se ben non faltaban na época do seu florecemento algúns escritores de Rúan para quenes «a súa dicta non evidenciaba nin a pureza da Academia, nin a profundidade do Liceo», e a pesar, nótese ben, de que as súas doctrinas non eran comprendidas de maneira moi xeral, non se sigue empero de  que fosen difíciles de comprender. Penso que a súa propia evidencia facía que moitas personas as tomaran por abstrusas. Kant mismo -pero non levemos as cuosas máis alá- debe principalmente a súa metafísica a Bon-Bon. Este no era platónico nin, falando en rigor, aristotélico; tampouco, a semellanza de Leibniz, malgastaba preciosas horas que podían emplearse mellor inventando unha fricassée ou, facili gradu, analizando unha sensación, en frívolas tentativas de reconciliar todo o que hai de inconciliable nas discusiónd éticas. ¡Oh non! Bon-Bon era xónico. Bon-Bon era igualmente itálico. Razoaba a priori. Razoaba a posteriori. As súas ideas eran innatas... ou de outra maneira. Creía en Jorge de Trebizonda. Creía en Bessarion.

Bon-Bon era, enfáticamente... Bon-Bonista. 
Falei do filósofo na súa calidade de restaurador. Non quixera, empero, que algún dos meus amigos vaia a imaxinarse que, ao cumplir os seus hereditarios deberes nesta última profesión,  o noso heroe deixaba de estimar a súa dignidade e a súa importancia. ¡Lonxe delo! Sería imposible dicir cal das dúas ramas do seu traballo inspiráballe maior orgullo. Opinaba que as facultades intelectuais estaban íntimamente vinculadas coa capacidade estomacal. Incluso non creo que estiviera moi en desacordo cos chinos, para quenes o alma reside no estómago. Pensaba que, como quixera que fose, os gregos tiñan razón ao emplear a misma palabra para a mente e o diafragma . Non pretendo insinuar con esto unha acusación de glotonería, ou cualquer outra imputación grave en perxuizo do metafísico. Se Pierre Bon-Bon tiña as súas debilidades -¿e que gran home non as ten por miles?-, eran debilidades de menor cuantía, faltas que, en outros caracteres, suelen considerarse con frecuencia a luz das virtudes. Con respeto a unha destas debilidades, nin sequera a mencionaría neste relato se non fora pola súa notable prominencia, o extremo alto rilievo co que asoma no plano ds súas características xerais. Hela aquí: xamáis perdía a oportunidade de facer un trato.