“There is no doubt of it, sir. I wish you good morning,” cried the man, bustling out of the room with an air of peculiar satisfaction.
“Good morning to you, Marble,” exclaimed the collector, still closely examining the painting; “and if you have any thing rare, be sure to let me know. But, if it be in sculpture, I should prefer seeing something with a nose to it; and if it be a painting, although this is a capital subject, I should like it to be a little more easily made out.”
“I will endeavour to meet your wishes,” said the dealer; and he made his bow.
“Capital subject!” continued the connoisseur, still intently poring over his puzzling purchase: “capital subject—but I don’t see it very clearly yet. There is a something there, and there is a something here; but—hullo, gentlemen!” he exclaimed, noticing his visitors for the first time. “I beg pardon; but I really did not know you were in the room. Have you brought me any curiosities—any thing rare or antique?”
“This letter will explain to you our business,” replied Oriel Porphyry, handing a note across the table.
“Sit down, my good sir, sit down,” cried the antiquarian; and, on his visitors complying with his request, he proceeded slowly to read the letter; and, during the period he took in its perusal, Oriel amused himself with examining the extraordinary contents of the room in which he was sitting. The chamber was low and dark, and every corner in it was filled with books heaped up together, without the slightest attempt at arrangement; some glittering with handsome bindings, new and unsoiled; and others old and ragged, covered with dirt, and dark with age. With these were pictures, some leaning against the wall, some upon chairs, others one upon another upon the floor, surrounded by huge fragments of stone, broken pieces of statuary, bronzes, ancient weapons, specimens of pottery, and a variety of other antiquities. Here was a full-length statue deprived of a leg, there an antique bust with half a nose; in one place a vase gaping with a conspicuous fracture, in another a sepulchral urn chipped out of all resemblance to what it once was. Of all the varied contents of the room, there remained nothing that had not in some manner been rendered useless, if at any time it had been considered of value, or, if perfect, had the slightest pretensions to be considered antique. But the most amusing piece of antiquity in this collection was evidently the proprietor, whose face and head expressed a more perfect appearance of want of intellect than the most skilful sculptor could have produced. His nose was a bulging lump of flesh, that looked like any thing but the thing for which it was intended; his eyes were deep set in his head, and were continually gazing in a settled stare of foolish wonder and delight; and his mouth, which was more than usually large, when its possessor was not talking stood invitingly half open, as if to ensnare all the flies in its neighbourhood. And with these characteristics there was a pompous manner with which he said his foolish nothings, that rendered the man more highly ridiculous.
“So you have come to purchase, instead of to sell,” exclaimed he with much astonishment. “I had rather you had brought me some rare antiques to enrich my museum—the Posthumous Museum, as it is called. Do they talk of it in Columbia?”
“I cannot say I ever heard it mentioned,” said Oriel, endeavouring to conceal a smile.
“Ah! posterity will do me honour; and it is for posterity I labour,” added the manufacturer. “But I will give orders about what you require by and by. In the meantime, you must take up your abode with me, that you may be enabled to appreciate all the wonderful things I have collected in my museum for the benefit of posterity, that, when you return to your country, you may say how invaluable is the Posthumous Museum, and how enlightened and liberal is he who has spent a large fortune in collecting together its precious contents! I shall have a conversazione this evening, when you will meet with some of the most celebrated literati in this great empire; till then, I will endeavour to amuse you by making you aware of the value of this unrivalled collection of antiquities. In the first place, you behold this dagger,” said he, showing an ordinary weapon of that description. “Well, this is the identical dagger that Macbeth saw in the air when he exclaimed, ‘Is this a dagger that I see before me?’ and so on.”
“But Macbeth merely imagined that he beheld such a weapon,” observed Oriel, amused at the credulity of his host.