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.
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