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THE GORDON LESTER FORD
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FROM EMILY E. F. SKEEL
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AND THEIR FOUR PARENTS


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THE COMPLETE WORKS
OF
EDGAR ALLAN POE
VOLUME II.











HE COMPLETE

WORKS OFilllHI
Cigar ailan $oe
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EDITED BY
JAMES A. HARRISON
Professor in the University
M \(j '/ Virginia
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PROSE TALES
Volume One
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2566941,
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Copyright, 1902
By Thomas Y. Crowell & Co.


CONTENTS.
Page
Poj's Place in American Literature vii
Poe's Introduction to the Tales of the Folio Club xxxr
VIS. Found in a Bottle i
Berenice 16
Morella 27
Some Passages in the Life of a Lion (Lioniting) . 35
The Unparalleled Adventures of One Hans Pfaall 42
The Assignation. (The Visionary) .... 109
Bon-Bon 125
Shadow. A Parable 147
Loss of Breath. A Tale neither in nor out of
"Blackwood" 151
King Pest. A Tale containing an Allegory . . 168
Mettengerstein 185
The Due De L'Omelette 197
Four Beasts in One; The Homo-Cameleopard . 203
A Tale of Jerusalem 214
Silence. A Fable 220
A Descent into the Maelstrom 225
Ligeia 248
How to Write a Blackwood Article 269
A Predicament. The Scythe of Time . . . . 283


vi CONTENTS.
Notes: ].« r
Abbreviations used in the Notes 298
Introduction to the Notes 299
MS. found in a Bottle 307
Berenice 313
Morella 318
Some Passages in the Life of a Lion (Lioniting) 323
Hans Pfaall 330
The Assignation. (The Visionary) .... 345
Bon-Bon 348
Shadow. A Parable (A Fable) 355
Loss of Breath 356
King Pest 367
Mettengerstein 370
Due De L'Omelette 373
Four Beasts in One (Ephnanes) 375
A Tale of Jerusalem 378
Silence (Siope) — A Fable 380
A Descent into the Maelstrom 383
Ligeia 385
[How to Write a Blackwood Article (The
Signora Zenobia)], and [A Predicament (The
Scythe of Time)] 391
Verbal Variations of the Stoddard, Ingram,
and Stedman & Woodberry Editions from
Griswold 395-399


POE'S PLACE IN AMERICAN
LITERATURE.
One fact about oar literature has not received ade-
quate attention, — the fact that it had no childhood.
In its beginnings it was the record of a people who
had long passed the age of play and dreams, and were
given over to pressing and exacting work. We are a
young nation, but an old people; and our books, as
distinguished from English books, are the products of
a mature people in a new world. The world in which
books are written has much to do with their quality,
their themes, and their form ; but the substance of the
books of power is the deposit of experience in the
hearts and minds of a race. In American literature
we have a fresh field and an old race; we have new
conditions, and an experience which antedates them.
We were educated in the Old World, and a man
carries his education with him. He cannot escape it,
and would lose incalculably if he could.
The kind of originality which inheres in a new race
and runs into novel forms we do not and shall not
possess; the kind of originality which issues out of
direct and hand-to-hand dealing with nature and life
we may hope to develop on the scale of the Greeks or
the English. A great literature must be waited for,
md while we are waiting it is wise to be hopeful of


viii POE'S PLACE
the future; for expectation is often a kind of prophecy,
and to believe in the possibility of doing the best things
in the best way is in itself a kind of preparation. To
say that literature in this country, to the close of this
century, is the product of an old race is not to charge
it with lack of first-hand insight and force, but to ex-
plain some of its characteristics.
Goethe speaks of his mother's joyousness and love
of stories. Her temperament was the gift which irra-
diated the pedantic father's bequest of order, industry,
and method to the author of " Faust.'' Art is the con-
stant assertion that man has a right to live as well as to
work; that the value of work depends largely upon
spontaneity ; and that the springs which gush from the
soil have the greatest power of assuaging the thirst of
the soul. This element of the uncalculated, the spon-
taneous, the uncontrolled, or at least undirected play
of human energy finds full and free expression in the
literature of the youth of races, and is the special and
prime quality of literature at that stage of development.
As the man is born first in the boy's temper and spirit
and ideals, and born again in the struggles of experi-
ence, so the creative imagination of a race is shaped,
colored, and formed largely in the earliest contacts of
that race with nature and with life; with the order
about it, and the inward and outward happenings of
its life. Work and play, the conscious putting forth
of energy and the unconscious responsiveness to all
manner of impressions, must be kept in equilibrium,
if there is to be continuous and rich productiveness.
But the pressure of suffering and toil is so great upon
the mature race, as upon the mature man, that it can
be met only by a great accumulation in youth of
idealism and joy. In the popular epics and in the early


IN AMERICAN LITERATURE. ix
ballads there is a freshness, a vitality, an uncalculated
and captivating charm, which make the reader of a
more sophisticated age feel that in reading or hearing
them he is near the springs of literature.
That there are close and vital ties between all the
arts of expression and the life behind them; that the
poem and the story reflect in interior and elusive but
very real ways the quality of the race which fashioned
them; that genius itself, although in a sense independ-
ent of character, is conditioned, for its full, free, and
highest expression, upon character, the large majority
of students of literature are agreed. But these struc-
tural laws are never obvious in the great works of art;
they are obeyed, not because they have been arbitrarily
imposed by an authority from without, but because
they are at one with the deepest artistic impulses and
necessities. Shakespeare does not need to remind
himself that he is an Englishman in order to write
like one ; he has but to follow the line of least resist-
ance in expression, and his work will be English to
the core.
Literature may be said to approach perfection in the
degree in which it reveals the life behind it, and at
the same time conceals all trace of intention, contriv-
ance, or method in making its revelation. In the
highest work of all kinds obedience is spontaneous and
apparently unconscious; for it is of the very essence
of art that all traces of the workman should be effaced.
A great poem has the volume, the flow, the deep and
silent fulness, of a river; one cannot calculate the
force of the springs which feed it; one gets from it
only a continuous impression of exhaustless and effort-
less power. One has but to glance at the upper
Rhone to feel that the Alps are feeding it. In the


X POES PLACE
literature of races in their youth there may be no greater
power than in the literature of the same races at ma-
turity, but there is likely to be more buoyancy, confident
ease, overflowing vitality, than at a later period; and
these earlier works enrich all later work by the quali-
ties they bring into the race consciousness. There
was something in Homer which the dramatists could
not reproduce, but which profited them much; there
was a joy, a delight in life, a fragrance of the morn-
ing, in Chaucer which, reappearing in Shakespeare,
make the weight of tragedy bearable. It is well for a
race, as for a man, that it has childhood behind it, and
that in those first outpourings of energy in play the
beauty of the new day and the young world sinks into
its heart and becomes part of its deepest consciousness;
for it is out of these memories and dreams that the
visions of art issue. The artist is always a child in
freshness of feeling ; in unworldly delight in the things
which do not add to one's estate, but which make for
inward joy and peace; in that easy possession of the
world which brings with it the sense of freedom, the
right to be happy, and the faith that life is greater than
its works, and a man more important than his toil.
A race, like an individual, must get this consciousness
of possession before the work of the day becomes im-
perative and absorbing. The man who has not learned
to play in childhood is not likely to learn to play in
maturity ; and without the spirit of play — the putting
forth of energy as an end in itself, and for the sake of
the joy which lies in pure activity — there can be no
art. For work becomes art only when it is trans-
formed into play.
Our race has had its youth, its dreams and visions;
but that youth was lived on another continent; so far


IN AMERICAN LITERATURE. xi
as the record of experience in our literature is con-
cerned, we have always been mature people at hard
work. The beginnings of our art are to be found,
therefore, not in epics, ballads, songs, and stories, but
in records of exploration, reports of pioneers, chron-
icles and histories; in Captain John Smith's "True
Relation of such Occurrences and Accidents of Note
as Hath Happened in Virginia ;" in William Brad-
ford's " History of Plymouth;" in John Winthrop's
"History of New England," a narrative not without
touches of youth, — "We had now fair sunshine
weather, and so pleasant a sweet air as did much re-
fresh us, and there came a smell off the shore like the
smell of a garden;" in Cotton Mather's "Mag-
nalia;" in "Poor Richard's Almanac;" in Mrs.
Bradstreet's rhymed history of "The Four Monar-
chies ;" in Michael Wigglesvvorth's "Day of
Doom," of which Lowell said that it became "the
solace of every fireside, the flicker of the pine knots by
which it was conned perhaps adding a livelier relish to
its premonitions of eternal combustion." There are
touches of beauty in Jonathan Edwards at his best;
there is a spiritual charm in John Woolman's Journal;
the directness and simplicity of genuine literature are
in Franklin's Autobiography; in Freneau and Hop-
kinson there are strains which, in a more fortunate
time, might easily have turned to melody; there were
great notes struck by the writers and orators of the
Revolutionary period, — by Jefferson, Madison, Ham-
ilton, Henry. But in all this early expression of the
English race in the New World there is a clear,
definite purpose, an ulterior aim, a subordination of
the art to the religious or political intention, which
stamp the writing of the time as essentially secondary.


xii POE'S. PLACE
Art involves forgetfulness of immediate ends ; complete
surrender to the inward impulse to give form to the
beautiful idea or image of truth because it is beautiful.
Of the naivete of the old ballad, the careless rapture
of Chaucer when the lark sings and the meadows
grow sweet with the breath of May, the free and
joyous play of imagination in Shakespeare, there is no
trace in early writing on this continent. That writ-
ing was serious and weighty, often touching the heights
of eloquence in noble argument for the inviolability of
those rights which are the heritage of the English
race; but the spontaneity, the freedom, the joyous-
ness, of creative art were not in it. They could not
be in it ; the men who wrote our early chronicles and
histories, who took part in the great debates which
preceded the Revolution, and made the speeches which
were heard from Williamsburg to Boston, had other
work to do.
In Charles Brockden Brown a new note is heard,
— a note of mystery and tragedy ; as if into the work-
ing world of the new continent the old elements of
fate had come, to give experience a deeper tinge, and
to make men aware that in the fresh as in the long-
tilled soil the seeds of conflict and sorrow are sown.
There is none of the joyousness of youth in Brown's
romances; but there is the sense of power, the play
of the imagination, the passion for expression for its
own sake, which are the certain signs of literature.
There is, above all, the daemonic element, that elusive,
incalculable, mysterious element in the soul of the
artist, which is present in all art; and which, when
it dominates the artist, forms those fascinating, mys-
terious personalities, from Aristophanes to Poe, who
make us feel the futility of all easy endeavors to for-


IN AMERICAN LITERATURE. ziii
makte the laws of art, or to explain with assurance
the relations of genius to inheritance, environment,
education, and temperament. In art, as in all prod-
ucts of the creative force, there is a mystery which
we cannot dispel. If we could analyze genius, we
should destroy it. To the time of the publication of
Wieland, or the Transformation, it is easy to explain
the written expression of American life, to show how
it was directed and shaped by conditions in the New
World ; but with the publication of Wieland the inex-
plicable appears, the creative spirit begins to reveal
itself. Charles Brockden Brown did not master his
material and organize it, and his work falls short of
that harmony of spirit and form which is the evidence
of a true birth of beauty; but there are flashes of in-
sight in it, touches of careless felicity, which witness
the possession of a real gift.
The prophecy which the discerning reader finds in
Brown's sombre romances was fulfilled in the work of
Poe and Hawthorne. It is conceivable that a student
of the Puritan mind might have foreseen the coming
of Hawthorne; for the great romancer, who was to
search the Puritan conscience as with a lighted candle,
was rooted and grounded historically in the world
behind him. There was that in Hawthorne, how-
ever, which could not have been predicted : there was
the mysterious co-working of temperament, insight,
individual consciousness, and personality which con-
stitutes what we call genius. On one side of Haw-
thorne's work there are lines of historical descent which
may be clearly traced; on the other there is the inex-
plicable miracle, the miracle of art, the creation of
the new and beautiful form.
It is the first and perhaps the most obvious distinc-


xiv POE'S PLACE
tion of Edgar Allan Poe that his creative work baffles
all attempts to relate it historically to antecedent con-
ditions; that it detached itself almost completely from
the time and place in which it made its appearance,
and sprang suddenly and mysteriously from a soil
which had never borne its like before.
There was nothing in the America of the third de-
cade of the century which seemed to predict "The
City in the Sea," "Israfel," and the lines "To
Helen." It is true, work of genuine literary quality
had been produced, and a notable group of writers of
gift and quality had appeared. Irving had brought
back the old joyousness and delight in life for its own
sake in "Knickerbocker's History of New York" and
in the "Sketch Book;" Cooper had uncovered the
romantic element in our history in "The Spy;"
"Thanatopsis" had betrayed an unexpected touch of
maturity ; Emerson was meditating at Concord that thin
volume on " Nature," so full of his penetrating insight
into the spiritual symbolism of natural phenomena and
processes; Longfellow had returned from those first
years of foreign residence which had enriched his fancy,
and through the sympathetic quality of his mind were
to make him the interpreter of the Old World to the
New. Hawthorne, born five years earlier than Poe,
— so like him in certain aspects of his genius, so un-
like him in temperament and character, — destined to
divide with him the highest honors of American author-
ship, was hidden in that fortunate obscurity in which
his delicate and sensitive genius found perhaps the
best conditions for its ripening. "The Twice-Told
Talcs" did not appear until 1837. Lowell was a
schoolboy, a college student, and a reluctant follower
of the law; the "Biglow Papers," his most original


IN AMERICAN LITERATURE. xv
and distinctive contribution to our literature, being still
a fall decade in the future. Oliver Wendell Holmes,
born in the same year with Poe, — that annus mirabilis
which gave the world Poe, Holmes, Tennyson,
Lincoln, Gladstone, Darwin, Mendelssohn, and
Chopin, — had touched the imagination of the
country by the ringing protest against the destruc-
tion of the " Constitution" in "Old Ironsides," and
in the same decade revealed his true lyric gift in " The
Last Leaf." Whittier was a young Quaker, of gentle
nature but intense convictions, who was speaking to
hostile audiences and braving the perils of mob vio-
lence in his advocacy of the antislavcry cause.
These names suggest the purity and aspiration, the
high idealism and the tender domestic piety, which
were soon to give early American literature its distinc-
tive notes. To these earlier poets, romancers, and es-
sayists were, later, to be added the name of Sidney
Lanier, whose affluent nature needed another decade
for its complete unfolding and co-ordination; and of
Walt Whitman, who was so rich in the elemental
qualities of imagination, and so rarely master of them.
There was something distinctive in each of these
writers, — something which had no place in literature
before they came, and is not likely to be repeated;
and yet, from Bryant to Whitman, there were certain
obvious relationships, both spiritual and historical, be-
tween each writer and his environment. Each was
representative of some deep impulse finding its way to
action ; of some rising passion which leaped into speech
before it turned to the irrevocable deed.
To the men who were young between 1830 and
1840, there was something in the air which broke up
the deeps of feeling and set free the torpid imagination.


xvi POE'S PLACE
For the first time iu the New World it became easy
and natural for men to sing. Hitherto the imagination
had been invoked to give wings and fire to high argu-
ment for the rights of men ; now the imagination began
to speak, by virtue of its own inward impulse, of
the things of its own life. In religion, in the social
consciousness, in public life, there were stirrings of
conscience which revealed a deepening life of the spirit
among the new people. The age of provincialism, of
submission to the judgment and acceptance of the taste
of older and more cultivated communities, was coming
to an end. Dr. Holmes called the address delivered
before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Harvard College
in August, 1837, "our declaration of intellectual in-
dependence." That independence was already par-
tially achieved when Emerson spoke those memorable
words : —
"Perhaps the time is already come . . . when
the sluggard intellect of this continent will look from
under its iron lids and fulfill the postponed expectation
of the world with something better than the exertions
of mechanical skill. Our day of dependence, our
long apprenticeship to the learning of other lands,
draws to a close. The millions that around us are
rushing into life cannot always be fed on the sere
remains of foreign harvests. Events, actions, arise
that must be sung, that will sing themselves. Who
can doubt that poetry will revive and lead in a new
age, as the star in the constellation Harp, which now
flames in our zenith, astronomers announce, shall one
day be the polestar for a thousand years ?''
This striving of the spirit, breaking away from the
old forms and feeling after new ways of speech, was
shared by all the New England writers. Beneath


IN AMERICAN LITERATURE. xvii
his apparent detachment from the agitations of his
time, Dr. Holmes was as much a breaker of old
images as Lowell or Whittier; and Hawthorne, art-
ist that he was to the last touch of his pen, is still the
product of Puritanism. The breath of the new time
was soft and fecundating on the old soil, and the
flowers that were soon afield had the hue of the sky
and the shy and delicate fragrance of the New England
climate in them.
Poe stood alone among his contemporaries by reason
of the fact that, while his imagination was fertilized by
the movement of the time, his work was not, in theme
or sympathy, representative of the forces behind it.
The group of gifted men, with whom he had for the
most part only casual connections, reflected the age
behind them or the time in which they lived; Poe
shared with them the creative impulse without sharing
the specific interests and devotions of the period. He
was primarily and distinctively the artist of his time;
the man who cared for his art, not for what he
could say through it, but for what it had to say
through him. 'Emerson, Lowell, Holmes, Whittier,
Bryant, Irving, and, in certain aspects of his genius,
Hawthorne might have been predicted; reading our
early history in the light of our later development,
their coming seems to have been foreordained by the
conditions of life on the new continent; and, later,
Whitman and Lanier stand for and are bound up in
the fortunes of the New World, and its new order
of political and social life. Poe alone, among men
of his eminence, could not have been foreseen.
This fact suggests his limitations, but it also brings
into clear view the unique individuality of his genius
and the originality of his work. His contemporaries
voi. II.—b


xvffi POE'S PLACE
are explicable; Poe is inexplicable. He remains the
most sharply defined personalis in our literary history.
His rene and his imaginative prose stand oat in bold
relief against a background which neither suggests nor
interprets them. One may go further, and affirm that
both Terse and prose hare a place by themselves in the
literature of the world.
There are, it is true, evidences of Poe,s sensitive -
ness to the English landscape, and to certain English
philosophical and literary influences. The five years
spent in the Manor House school in the suburbs of the
London of the early part of the century gave the future
writer of " William Wilson" and "The Fair of the
House of Usher" a store of reminiscences and im-
pressions of landscape and architecture which touched
some of his later work with atmospheric effects of the
most striking kind, and gave that work a sombre and
significant background of immense artistic value. It is
not difficult to find in his earlier verse, as Mr. Stedman
has suggested, the influence of Byron and Moore, whose
songs were in the heart of that romantic generation.
It is easy also to lay bare Poe,s indebtedness to Cole-
ridge. This is only saying, however, that no man of
imagination ever grows up in isolation; every sensitive
spirit shares in the impulses of its time, and receives its
education for its own work at the hands of older teach-
ers. When all is said, however, Poe remains a man
of singularly individual genius, owing little to his
immediate or even to his remoter environment; an
artist who felt keenly the spirit of his art as it has found
refuge in beautiful forms, but who detached himself
with consistent insistence from the influence of other
artists.
Until Poe began his brief and pathetic career, the


IN AMERICAN LITERATURE. zix
genius of Virginia and of the South had found expres-
sion chiefly in the moulding of national institutions and
the shaping of national affairs; and it may be said with-
out exaggeration that rarely in the history of the world
has public life been enriched by so many men of com-
manding intellect and natural aptitude for great affairs.
The high intelligence, the wide grasp of principles,
and the keen, practical sense of the earlier Southern
statesmen gave the stirring and formative periods of
our early history epic dignity. In such a society
Bacon might have found food for those organ-toned
essays on the greatness of states and the splendor of
national fortunes and responsibilities. It was due
largely to the Virginians that the earlier public dis-
cussions and the later public papers so often partook of
the quality of literature. In Poe, however, the genius
of the South seemed to pass abruptly from great affairs
of state into the regions of pure imagination. In
"The City in the Sea," "Israfel," and the verses
"To Helen" —to rejall three of Poe's earliest and
most representative poems — there is complete detach-
ment from the earlier interests and occupations, and
complete escape into the world of ideality. It is part
of the charm of these perfect creations that they are free
from all trace of time and toil. Out of the new world
of work and strife magical doors were flung wide into
the fairy-land of pure song; out of the soil tilled with
heroic labor and courage a fountain suddenly gushed
from unsuspected springs.
In this disclosure of the unforeseen in our literary
development, in the possession of the daemonic ele-
ment in art, Poe stands alone in our literature, unre-
lated to his environment and detached from his time;
the most distinctive and individual writer who has yet
appeared in this country.


xx POE'S PLACE
Among the elements which go to the making of the
true work of art, the daemonic holds a first place. It
is the essential and peculiar quality of genius, – the
quality which lies beyond the reach of the most exact-
ing and intelligent work, as it lies beyond the search
of analysis. A trained man may learn the secrets of
form; he may become an adept in the skill of his
craft; but the final felicity of touch, the ultimate
grace of effortless power, elude and baffle him. Shake-
speare is never so wonderful as in those perfect lines,
those exquisite images and similes, those fragrant sen-
tences akin with the flowers in their freshness, and
in their purity with waters which carry the stars in
their depths, which light comedy and tragedy and
history as with a light beyond the sun. Other aspects
of his work may be explained; but the careless rapture
of such phrases as
“And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn; "
“Daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,”
leaves us wondering and baffled. We have no key to
them. This natural magic, this divine ease in doing
the most difficult things, is the exclusive property of
the man of genius, and is his only in his most fortu-
nate hours. No man can command this consummate
bloom on human speech ; it lies on his work as it lies
on the fields, because the creative spirit has passed that
way. It came again and again to Wordsworth during
fifteen marvellous years; and when it passed it left him


IN AMERICAN LITERATURE. zxi
cold and mechanical. It is the pure spirit of art mov-
ing like the wind where it listeth, and, like the wind,
dying into silence again. This magic was in Poe, and
its record remains, and will remain, one of our most
precious literary possessions. The bulk of the work
upon which it rests is not great; its ethical significance
is not always evident; it is not representative after the
manner of the great masters of poetry; but its quality
is perfect. The importance of half a dozen perfect
poems is not to be discovered in their mass; it lies in
the revelation of the imagination which shines in and
from them. Among a practical people, dealing with
the external relations of men, and largely absorbed in
the work of the hands, the sudden flashing of the
"light that never was on sea or land '' was a spiritual
event of high significance. That men do not live by
bread alone is the common message of religion and of art.
That message was delivered by Poe with marvellous
distinctness of speech. That he knew what*lie wanted
to say, and that he deliberately and patiently sought
the best way of saying it, is clear enough; it neither
adds to nor detracts from the artistic value of what he
did that he knew what he wanted to do. The essen-
tial fact about him and his work is, that he was pos-
sessed by the passion for beauty for its own sake, and
that at his best he had access to the region of pure
ideality.
The spiritual value of art lies not only in its power
to impart ideas, but also in its power to clear the
vision, to broaden the range of human interests, and to
liberate the imagination. Poe's work attests again the
presence of an element in the life of man and in the
work of his hand which cannot be foreseen, calculated,
or controlled; a quality not dissociated in its perfect


xxii POE'S PLACE
expression from historic or material conditions, but in
its origin independent of them. It is the witness, in
other words, of something divine and imperishable in
the mind of man, — something which allies him with
the creative energy, and permits him to share it. The
fiict that he is sometimes unworthy of this high dis-
closure of the ultimate beauty, and sometimes recreant
to his faith and his gift, diminishes the significance and
value of his work no more than a kindred infidelity
nullifies the word of prophets of another order. In
the mysterious spiritual economy of the universe, there
are co-ordinations of gift and character, relations of
spirit and environment, which elude all efforts to for-
mulate them; not because they lie outside the realm
of law, but because the mind of man has not yet been
able to explore that realm. And in this very incom-
pleteness of the philosophy of art lies that inexhaustible
spiritual suggestiveness which is at once the inspiration
of art and its burden. Poe is distinctively and in a
unique sense the artist in our literature, — the man to
whom beauty was a constant and sufficient justification
of itself.
Such a faith is not without its perils; but in a new
and working world, whose idealism had run mainly
along lines of action, it was essential and it was of high
importance. This single-mindedness of Poe in the
pursuit of perfection in phrase and form was not a
matter of mere workmanship; it was the passion to
match the word with the thought, the melody with the
feeling, so vitally and completely that the ultimate har-
mony, in which all men believe and for which all
men crave, might become once more a reality amid
the dissonances of a struggling and imperfect society.
It is the function of the prophet to declare the inexor-


IN AMERICAN LITERATURE. xxiii
able will of righteousness amid a moral disorder which
makes that will, at times, almost incredible; it is the
office of the artist to discern and reveal the ultimate
beauty in a time when all things are in the making,
and the dust and uproar of the workshop conceal
even the faint prophecies of perfection.
In the vast workshop of the new society, noisily
and turbulently co-ordinating itself, Poe's work has
been often misunderstood and undervalued: Its lack
of strenuousness, its detachment from workaday inter-
ests, its severance from ethical agitations, its remote-
ness from the common toils and experiences, have
given it to many an unreal and spectral aspect; there
has seemed to be in it a lack of seriousness which has
robbed it of spiritual significance. Its limitations in
several directions are evident enough; but all our
poetry has disclosed marked limitations. The diffi-
culty in estimating Poe's work at its true value has
lain in the fact that his seriousness was expressed in
devotion to objects not yet included in our range of
keen and quick sympathies and interests. Poe was a
pioneer in a region not yet adequately represented on
our spiritual charts. To men engrossed in the work
of making homes for themselves the creation of a Venus
of Melos might seem a very unimportant affair; its
perfection of pose and moulding might not wholly
escape them, but the emotion which swept Heine out
of himself when he first stood before it would seem to
such men hysterical and unreal. When the homes
were built, however, and men were housed in them,
they would begin to crave completeness of life, and
then the imagination would begin to discern the price-
less value of the statue which has survived the days
when gods appeared on the earth. The turmoil of


xxiv POE'S PLACE
the struggle for existence in Greece has long since died
into the all-devouring silence, but that broken figure
remains to thrill and inspire a world which has for-
gotten the name of the man who breathed the breath
of life into it. It is a visible symbol not only of the
passion for perfection, but of the sublime inference of
that passion, —the immortality of the spirit which con-
ceived, and of the race among which the perfect work
was born.
This passion, which is always striving to realize its own
imperishableness in the perfection of its work, and to
continue unbroken the record of creative activity among
men, possessed Poe in his best moments, and bore fruit
in his imaginative work. He was far in advance of
the civilization in which he lived, in his discernment
of the value of beauty to men struggling for their lives
in a world full of ugliness because full of all manner
of imperfection; he is still in advance of any general
development of the ability to feel as he felt the inward
necessity of finding harmony, and giving it reality to
the mind, the eye, and the ear. In older communi-
ties, looking at our life outside the circle of its imme-
diate needs and tasks, he has found a recognition often
denied him among his own people. If Poe has failed
to touch us in certain places where we live most deeply
and passionately, we have failed to meet him where
he lived deeply and passionately. Matthew Arnold
held that contemporary foreign opinion of a writer is
probably the nearest approach which can be made to
the judgment of posterity. The judgment of English,
French, and German critics has been, as a whole,
unanimous in accepting Poe at a much higher valua-
tion than has been placed upon him at home, where
Lowell's touch-and-go reference in the "Fable for


IN AMERICAN LITERATURE. xxv
Critics " has too often been accepted as an authoritative
and final opinion from the highest literary tribunal.
The men of Lowell's generation in New England
could not have estimated adequately the quality of
Poe's genius nor the value of his work. Their con-
ception of their art was high and their practice of it
fruitful, but their temper of mind threw them out of
sympathy with the view of art which Poe held, and
which has been illustrated in much of the most en-
chanting poetry in the literature of the world. The
masters of pure song, with whom Poe belongs, could
hardly have drawn breath in the rarefied air of the
New England of the first four decades of the Nine-
teenth century. It was an atmosphere in which
Emerson breathed freely, and the purity and insight
of his work, like that of Hawthorne's, will remain an
enduring evidence that intense moral conviction and
deep moral feeling are consistent with a true and
beautiful art. But Keats could not have lived in the
air which Emerson found so full of inspiration; and
Keats was one of the poets of the century. This is
only saying that if you have one quality in a very
high stage of development, you are likely to be
defective in other qualities equally important. A
national literature must have many notes, and Poe
struck some which in pure melodic quality had not
been heard before. As literary interests broaden in
this country, and the provincial point of view gives
place to the national, the American estimate of Poe
will approach more nearly the foreign estimate. That
estimate was based mainly on a recognition of Poe's
artistic quality and of the marked individuality of his
work. Lowell and Longfellow continued the old
literary traditions; Poe seemed to make a new tradi-


xxvi POE'S PLACE
tion. The daemonic element in him, the pure indi-
vidual force, brought with it that sense of freshness and
originality which men are always eager to feel, and to
which they often respond with exaggerated cordiality.
It is not surprising that those who are full of the pas-
sion to create, and rarely endowed with the power,
sometimes go too far in rewarding the man who does
what they long to do, but cannot. The artist always
pushes back the boundaries a little, and opens a window
here and there through which the imagination looks
out upon the world of which it dreams so gloriously,
but which it sees so rarely; and we are not prone to
mete out with mathematical exactness our praise of
those who set us free. If we lose our heads for a time
when Kipling comes with his vital touch, his passionate
interest in living things, the harm is not great. Poj
may have been overvalued by some of his eager French
and German disciples, but, after all deductions are
made, their judgment was nearer the mark than ours has
been; and it was nearer the mark because their con-
ception of literature was more inclusive and adequate.
The nature of Poe's material has had something to
do not only with foreign appreciation of his genius, but
with the impression of distinct individuality which his
work produces. Sprung from a people of naturally
optimistic temper, with unbounded confidence in their
ability to deal with the problems of life, Poe stands
solitary among men of his class in fastening, as by
instinct, upon the sombre and tragical aspects of ex-
perience. In the high light which rests upon the
New World, the mysterious gloom which enshrouds
"The Fall of the House of Usheri" "The Lady
Ligeia," and "Ulalume" is thrown into more im-
pressive relief. Against the wide content and peaceful


IN AMERICAN LITERATURE. zxvii
domesticity of this fruitful continent, the story of
"Berenice," "The Assignation," and " The Masque
of the Red Death" is projected with telling effec-
tiveness. The very limitations of Poe' s interests and
insight contribute to the dcfiniteness and striking indi-
viduality of his work. One finds in it no trace of that
vague generalizing tendency which an English critic
has recently called the " Alexandrine note" in Ameri-
can literature ; on the contrary, every touch contributes
to the sharp distinctness of the whole.
The severance between the writer and his surround-
ings, already noted, is constantly brought home to the
reader by the subjects, the persons, and the landscapes
which appear in Poe's work. Tragedy in Shake-
speare's historical plays is felt to be unusual and ex-
ceptional; it belongs to a few periods, it is wrought
out in the careers of small groups of persons; but it is
in no sense abnormal; it readily relates itself to Eng-
lish character and society. The tragic element in
Scott and Dickens has the same natural setting, the
same normal relationship to obvious social or political
conditions. The tragic element in Poe's work, on the
other hand, lies deep in the recesses of individual
temperament, and seems remote, unreal, and fantastic,
unless we approach it sympathetically. Some of it is
unreal and phantasmal; but the potentialities of Poe's
tragedy are in most men. They are, however, essen-
tially subjective ; for the action in Poe's stories is really
symbolical ; that which is significant and appalling lies
behind it. At this point Poe and Hawthorne approach
each other, and it is the pure subjectivity of the tragedy
which gives its working out at the hands of both writ-
ers a touch of remoteness, and in some cases an ele-
ment of unreality.


xxviii POE'S PLACE
Poe, like Hawthorne, gives expression to the ideal-
ity of the American mind : an ideality disclosed in very
different ways by Emerson and Lowell and Whittier;
an ideality which has made our literature pure and
high, but has robbed it so far of a certain robustness
and power shared by all the great writers of our lan-
guage beyond the sea. American literature, as con-
trasted with other literature, is touched throughout
with aspiration, but lacks solidity and passion. These
defects in Poe's work, which are often regarded as
peculiar to it, are found in the work of his contempo-
raries. It would seem as if, so far, the imagination of
the country had not been adequate to the task of pene-
trating and illuminating its immense practical energies;
or as if its activities were too vast and varied to admit
of imaginative co-ordination at this early day in our
history. Poe reacted so radically from the practical
ideals and work of his time that he took refuge in pure
ideality. The refuge of the artist is always to be
found in his art ; and to a nature so sensitive as Poe's,
a mind so delicately adjusted to its tools and its task,
and so easily thrown out of relation to them, there was
perhaps no other resource. Between the art of the
author of " Israfel" and the life about him there was a
deep abyss, which the poet never attempted 'to cross.
The material with which he constantly dealt becomes
significant alike of the extraordinary susceptibility of
his genius, and of the lack of the forms of life about
him to satisfy and inspire him. He expresses the dis-
sonance which has so far existed between the essen-
tially ideal quality of the American mind and the
intensely practical character of the task which has
fallen to Americans. If he had been born a century
later, his verse and prose might have come closer to


IN AMERICAN LITERATURE. xxix
the heart of his people, without losing that exquisite
fineness which reveals the rare and beautiful quality of
his genius. It is hardly possible to miss the signifi-
cance of the fact that two men of such temper and
gifts as Hawthorne and Poe were driven by inward
necessity to deal with the life of an earlier time, with
life in an older and riper society, or with the life of
the spirit in its most disturbed and abnormal experi-
ences. Such a fact throws a penetrating light on the
delicacy of the adjustments between a genius of great
sensitiveness and its environment, and sets at naught
the judgment, so often and so hastily reached, that
the American mind is essentially materialistic. That
judgment is impeached by the whole body of our
literature, but Poe and Hawthorne made it absolutely
untenable.
Poe's daemonic force, his passion for perfection of
form, his ideality, and the sensitiveness of his temper-
ament are all subtly combined in the quality of distinc-
tion which characterizes his best work in prose and
verse. His individuality is not only strongly marked,
but it is expressed with the utmost refinement of feel-
ing and of touch. In his prose and verse, Poe was
pre-eminently a man who not only brought artisiic in-
tegrity and capacity to his work, but suffused it with
purity, dignity, and grace. In the disconnected prod-
uct of his broken life there is not a line to be blotted
out on the score of vulgarity, lack of reticence, or even
cotnmonplaceness. In his most careless imaginative
writing the high quality of his mind is always appar-
ent. So ingrained is this distinction of tone that,
however he may waste his moral fortunes, his genius
is never cheapened nor stained. In his worst esiate
the great traditions of art were safe in his hands.


xxx POE'S PLACE
The quality of distinction was of immense import-
ance in a literature like our own, which is still in its
formative stages. Poe's exquisite craftsmanship has
made the acceptance of cheap and careless work im-
possible. Such work may secure an easy popularity
from time to time, but it can find no lodgment in the
memory of the race on this continent. To go so far
as Poe went toward perfection of form is to exclude
from the contest all save the fleetest and the strongest.
It is to do more, for the service of the artist really
begins when his work is completely finished, and
separated from his own personality: it is to keep
before a people tempted to take lower views of life
the reality of individual superiority. In a society
which holds all the doors open, and affirms in institu-
tion and structure that a man shall go where he can,
there is always the danger of confusing opportunity
with gift. The final justification of democracy lies in
its ability to clear the way for superiority; but it is
often interpreted as signifying equality of endowment
and skill. If, in the long run, democracy lowers in-
stead of advancing the standards of character and
achievement, it will be the most disastrous of political
failures. Equality of opportunity for the sake of pre-
paring the way for the highest and finest individuali-
ties will bring us, perhaps, as near a perfect social
order as we can hope to attain. Poe was such a per-
sonality ; a man whose gifts were of the most individ-
ual kind, whose tastes were fastidious, whose genius
was full of a distinction which involved and expressed
remoteness from average standards, detachment from the
rush and turmoil of practical tasks. A nation at work
with grimed hands is a noble spectacle; but if such a
people is to get anything out of life after it has secured


IN AMERICAN LITERATURE. xxxi
comfortable conditions, it must not only make room
for poets and scholars and thinkers, but it must reserve
for them its highest rewards.
Without the presence of the superior man, the
"paradise of the average man," as this country has
been called, would become a purgatory to all those
who care chiefly, not for success, but for freedom and
power and beauty. One of the greatest privileges of
the average man is to recognize and honor the superior
man, because the superior man makes it worth while to
belong to the race by giving life a dignity and splendor
which constitute a common capital for all who live.
The respect paid to men like Washington and Lincoln,
Marshall and Lee, Poe and Hawthorne, affords a true
measure of civilization in a community. Such men
invest life for the average man with romance and
beauty. Failure to recognize and honor superiority
of character, gift, and achievement is the peculiar peril
of democracies, which often confuse the aristocracy of
the divine order in the world with the aristocracy of
arbitrary and artificial origin. So long as the saints
shine in their righteousness it will be idle to attempt
to conceal their superiority; in the order of the spirit-
ual life the best survive. Of these best was Poe; a
man whose faults are sufficiently obvious, because they
bore their fruit in his career, but the quality of whose
genius and art was of the finest, if not of the greatest.
In expressing the idealism of the American mind, this
rare and subtle workman made images of such exquisite
shape and moulding that by their very perfection they
win us away from lesser and meaner ways of work.
By the fineness of his craftsmanship he revealed the
artistic potentialities of the American spirit.
Of a proud and sensitive nature, reared among a


xxxii POE'S PLACE
proud and sensitive people, Poe found in the region of
pure ideality the material which expressed most clearly
his genius, and received most perfectly the impress of
his craftsmanship. In the themes with which he
dealt, and in the manner in which he treated them, he
went far to eradicate the provincialism of taste which
was the bane of his time and section, — the bane,
indeed, of the whole country. Poe's very detach-
ment in artistic interest from the world about him was
a positive gain for the emancipation of the imagination
of the young country, so recently a province of the
Old World. His criticism was almost entirely free
from that narrow localism which values a writer be-
cause he belongs to a section, and not because his
work belongs to literature. He brought into the field
of criticism large knowledge of the best that had been
done in literature, and clear perception of the principles
of the art of writing. His touch on his contemporaries
who won the easy successes which are always within
reach in untrained communities was often caustic, as it
had need to be; but the instinct which made him the
enemy of inferior work gave him also the power of
recognizing the work of the artist, even when it came
from unknown hands. He discerned the reality of
imagination in Hawthorne and Tennyson as clearly as
he saw the vulgarity and crudity of much of the
popular writing of his time. By critical intention,
therefore, as well as by virtue of the possession of
genius, which is never provincial, Poe emancipated
himself, and went far to emancipate American litera-
ture, from the narrow spirit, the partial judgment, and
the inferior standards of a people not yet familiar with
the best that has been thought and said in the world.
To the claims of local pride he opposed the sovereign


IN AMERICAN LITERATURE, xxxiii
claims of an; against the practice of the half-inspired
and the wholly untrained he set the practice of the
masters. When the intellectual history of the coun-
try is written, he will appear as one of its foremost
liberators.
Poe's work holds a first place in our literature, not
by reason of its mass, its reality, its range, its spiritual
or ethical significance, but by reason of its complete
and beautiful individuality, the distinction of its form
and workmanship, the purity of its art. With Haw-
thorne he shares the primacy among all who have en-
riched our literature with prose or verse; but, unlike
his great contemporary, he has had to wait long for
adequate and just recognition. His time of waiting is
not yet over; for while the ethical insight of Haw-
thorne finds quick response where his artistic power
alone would fail to move, Poe must be content with
the suffrages of those who know that the art which he
practised with such magical effect is in itself a kind of
righteousness. "I could not afford to spare from my
circle," wrote Emerson to a friend, "a poet, so long
as he can offer so indisputable a token as a good poem
of his relation to what is highest in Being." To
those who understand that character is never perfect
until it is harmonious, and truth never finally revealed
until it is beautiful, Poe's significance is not obscured
nor his work dimmed by the faults and misfortunes of
his life. The obvious lessons of that pathetic career
have been well learned; it is time to seek the deeper
things for which this fatally endowed spirit stood ; for
the light is more than the medium through which it
shines.
Hamilton Wright Mabie.
vol. II. — c





POE'S INTRODUCTION
TO
"THE TALES OF THE FOLIO CLUB."
This most interesting fragment was evidently in-
tended by Poe to form the introduction to the sixteen
tales known as "The Tales of the Folio Club," bet-
ter known now as the "Tales of the Grotesque and
Arabesque."1 The MS. (now in the possession of
Mrs. Wm. M. Griswold, of Cambridge, Mass., by
whose courtesy it is here for the first time printed) is
a small quarto of four pages, printed carefully in the
most distinct and exquisite style of caligraphy, appar-
ently in the style of the six MS. Tales submitted to
the Baltimore Committee for the prize competition of
1833. The paging is unfortunately not consecutive,
nor is the matter, the pages numbered 9 and 1 o in the
MS. being written on both sides in print. Then there
is a gap, the next two pages being numbered 61 and
62, similarly printed in a tiny, delicate hand on both
sides of the page.
The gap begins at the word "forest," and the
tale follows, with variations, the piece now known as
"Silence: A Fable."
What lay between pages 11 and 61 can only be
conjectured, but one may guess that the interval
1 "The Tilet of the Folio Club" are now supposed to be the
fine uteen of this volume. — Ed.


xxxvi INTRODUCTION.
must have been filled by other "Tales of the Folio
Club."
THE FOLIO CLUB.
[fTm. M. Grirwold ATS.]
There is a Machiavelian plot
Though every hare olfact it not.
Butler.
The Folio Club is, I am sorry to say, a mere Junto
of Dunderbeadism. I think too the members are
quite as ill-looking as they are stupid. I also believe it
their settled intention to abolish Literature, subvert the
Press, and overturn the Government of Nouns and Pro-
nouns. These are my private opinions which I now
take the liberty of making public.
Yet when, about a week ago, I first became one of
this diabolical association, no person could have enter-
tained for it more profound sentiments of admiration
and respect. Why my feelings in this matter have
undergone a change will appear very obviously in the
sequel. In the meantime I shall vindicate my own
character, and the dignity of Letters.
I find, upon reference to the records, that the Folio
Club was organized as such on the day of
in the year . I like to begin with the beginning,
and have a partiality for dates. A clause in the Con-
stitution then adopted forbade the members to be other-
wise than erudite and witty: and the avowed objects
of the Confederation were 'the instruction of society,
and the amusement of themselves.' For the latter


INTRODUCTION. xxxvii
purpose a meeting is held monthly at the house of some
one of the Association, when each individual is ex-
pected to come prepared with a 'Short Prose Tale'
of his own composition. Each article thus produced
is read by its [respective] author to the company assem-
bled over a glass of wine [at a very late] l dinner.
Much rivalry will of course ensue — more particularly,
as the writer of the ' Best Thing' is appointed Pres-
ident of the Club pro tem:, an office endowed with
many dignities and little expence, and which endures
until its occupant is dispossessed by a superior morceau.
The father of the Tale held, on the contrary, to be the
least meritorious, is bound to furnish the dinner and
wine at the next similar meeting of the Society. This
is found an excellent method of occasionally supplying
the body with a new member, in the place of some
unfortunate who, forfeiting two or three entertainments
in succession, will naturally decline, at the same time,
the 'supreme honour' and the association. The
number of the Club is limited to eleven. For this
there are many good reasons which it is unnecessary
to mention, but which will of course suggest them-
selves to every person of reflection. One of them,
however, is that on the first of April, in the year three
hundred and fifty before the Deluge, there are said to
have been just eleven spots upon the sun. It will be
seen that, in giving these rapid outlines of the Society, I
have so far restrained my indignation as to speak with
unusual candour and liberality. The expose which it is
my intention to make will be sufficiently effected by a
mere detail of the Club's proceedings on the evening
of Tuesday last, when I made my debut as a member
1 These two phrases in brackets were crossed out by Poe in the
MS. — Eb.


xxxvi INTRODUCTION.
must have been filled by other "Tales of the Folio
Club."
THE FOLIO CLUB.
\JVm. M. GrirwolJ MS.]
There is a Machiavelian plot
Though every hare olfact it not.
Butler.
The Folio Club is, I am sorry to say, a mere Junto
of Dunderbeadism. I think too the members are
quite as ill-looking as they are stupid. I also believe it
their settled intention to abolish Literature, subvert the
Press, and overturn the Government of Nouns and Pro-
nouns. These are my private opinions which I now
take the liberty of making public.
Yet when, about a week ago, I first became one of
this diabolical association, no person could have enter-
tained for it more profound sentiments of admiration
and respect. Why my feelings in this matter have
undergone a change will appear very obviously in the
sequel. In the meantime I shall vindicate my own
character, and the dignity of Letters.
I find, upon reference to the records, that the Folio
Club was organited as such on the day of
in the year . I like to begin with the beginning,
and have a partiality for dates. A clause in the Con-
stitution then adopted forbade the members to be other-
wise than erudite and witty: and the avowed objects
of the Confederation were 'the instruction of society,
and the amusement of themselves.' For the latter


INTRODUCTION. xxxvii
purpose a meeting is held monthly at the house of some
one of the Association, when each individual is ex-
pected to come prepared with a 'Short Prose Tale'
of his own composition. Each article thus produced
is read by its [respective] author to the company assem-
bled over a glass of wine [at a very late] ' dinner.
Much rivalry will of course ensue— more particularly,
as the writer of the 'Best Thing' is appointed Pres-
ident of the Club pro tem:, an office endowed with
many dignities and little expence, and which endures
until its occupant is dispossessed by a superior morceau.
The father of the Tale held, on the contrary, to be the
least meritorious, is bound to furnish the dinner and
wine at the next similar meeting of the Society. This
is found an excellent method of occasionally supplying
the body with a new member, in the place of some
unfortunate who, forfeiting two or three entertainments
in succession, will naturally decline, at the same time,
the 'supreme honour' and the association. The
number of the Club is limited to eleven. For this
there are many good reasons which it is unnecessary
to mention, but which will of course suggest them-
selves to every person of reflection. One of them,
however, is that on the first of April, in the year three
hundred and fifty before the Deluge, there are said to
have been just eleven spots upon the sun. It will be
seen that, in giving these rapid outlines of the Society, I
have so far restrained my indignation as to speak with
unusual candour and liberality. The expose which it is
my intention to make will be sufficiently effected by a
mere detail of the Club's proceedings on the evening
of Tuesday last, when I made my debut as a member
1 These two phrases in brackets were crossed out by Poe in the
MS. — Ed.


xxxviii INTRODUCTION.
of that body, having been only chosen in place of the
Honourable Augustus Scratchaway, resigned.
At five P. M. I went by appointment to the house
of Mr. Rouge-et-Noir who admires Lady Morgan, and
whose Tale was condemned at the previous monthly
meeting. I found the company already assembled in
the dining-room, and must confess that the brilliancy
of the fire, the comfortable appearance of the apart-
ment, and the excellent equipments of the table, as
well as a due confidence in my own abilities, contrib-
uted to inspire me, for the time, with many pleasant
meditations. I was welcomed with great show of
cordiality, and dined with much self-congratulation at
becoming one of so wise a Society.
The members generally, were most remarkable men.
There was, first of all, Mr. Snap, the President, who
is a very lank man with a hawk nose, and was for-
merly in the service of the Down-East Review.
Then there was Mr. Convolvulus Gondola, a young
gentleman who had travelled a good deal.
Then there was De Rerum Natura, Esqr., who
wore a very singular pair of green spectacles.
Then there was a very little man in a black coat
with very black eyes.
Then there was Mr. Solomon Seadrift who had
every appearance of a fish.
Then there was Mr. Horribile Dictu, with white
eyelashes, who had graduated at Gottingcn.
Then there was Mr. Blackwood Blackwood who
had written certain articles for foreign magazines.
Then there was the host, Mr. Rouge-et-Noir, who
admired Lady Morgan.
Then there was a stout gentleman who admired Sir
Walter Scott.


INTRODUCTION. xxxix
Then there was Chronologos Chronology who ad-
mired Horace Smith, and had a very big nose which
had been in Asia Minor.
Upon the removal of the cloth Mr. Snap said to
me 'I believe there is little need of my giving you
any information, Sir, in regard to the regulations of
our Club. I think you know we intend to instruct
society, and amuse ourselves. To-night however
we propose doing the latter solely, and shall call upon
you in turn to contribute your quota. In the mean-
time I will commence operations.' Here Mr. Snap,
having pushed the bottle, produced a M. S. and read
as follows.
Here follows in the MS. the fragment of the piece now
entitled "Silence: A Fable."
The variations from the printed version of "Silence"
will be found in the Notes.


EXPLANATORY NOTE
The lack of uniformity in spelling is intentional,
being found also in the original used for copy.
At the head of each tale will be found information
as to the dates of all early printings.
The figures 1840, 1843, 1845, refer to the collected
editions of those dates: "Tales of the Grotesque and
Arabesque," 2 vols., Philadelphia, Lea & Blanchard,
1840; "Prose Romances of Edgar Allan Poe," Phila-
delphia, 1843; "Tales by Edgar A. Poe," New York,
Wiley & Putnam, 1845 (Duyckinck Selection).


MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE.
[Baltimore Saturday Pititer, October ia, 1833;
Southern Literary Messenger, December, 1835; The
Gift, 1836; 1840; Broadway Journal, II. 14.3
Qui n'a plus qu'un moment a vivre
N'a plus rien a diuimuler. — Quinault— Airt.
Of my country and of my family I have little to
say. Ill usage and length of years have driven me
from the one, and estranged me from the other.
Hereditary wealth afforded me an education of no
common order, and a contemplative turn of mind en-
abled me to methodize the stores which early study
very diligently garnered up. — Beyond all things, the
study of the German moralists gave me great delight;
not from any ill-advised admiration of their eloquent
madness, but from the ease with which my habits of
rigid thought enabled me to detect their falsities. I
have often been reproached with the aridity of my
genius; a deficiency of imagination has been imputed
to me as a crime; and the Pyrrhonism of my opinions
has at all times rendered me notorious. Indeed, a
strong relish for physical philosophy has, I fear, tinc-
tured my mind with a very common error of this age
— I mean the habit of referring occurrences, even the
least susceptible of such reference, to the principles of
that science. Upon the whole, no person could be
less liable than myself to be led away from the severe
VOl. II.— I


Z TALES.
precincts of truth by the ignes fatui of superstition.
I have thought proper to premise thus much, lest the
incredible tale I have to tell should be considered
rather the raving of a crude imagination, than the
positive experience of a mind to which the reveries
of fancy have been a dead letter and a nullity.
After many years spent in foreign travel, I sailed in
the year 18—, from the port of Batavia, in the rich
and populous island of Java, on a voyage to the Archi-
pelago of the Sunda islands. I went as passenger —
having no other inducement than a kind of nervous
restlessness which haunted me as a fiend.
Our vessel was a beautiful ship of about four hun-
dred tons, copper-fastened, and built at Bombay of
Malabar teak. She was freighted with cotton-wool
and oil, from the Lachadive islands. We had also on
board coir, jaggeree, ghee, cocoa-nuts, and a few
cases of opium. The stowage was clumsily done,
and the vessel consequently crank.
We got under way with a mere breath of wind,
and for many days stood along the eastern coast of
Java, without any other incident to beguile the monot-
ony of our course than the occasional meeting with
some of the small grabs of the Archipelago to which
we were bound.
One evening, leaning over the taffrail, I observed a
very singular, isolated cloud, to the N. W. It was
remarkable, as well for its color, as from its being the
first we had seen since our departure from Batavia. I
watched it attentively until sunset, when it spread all
at once to the eastward and westward, girting in the
horizon with a narrow strip of vapor, and looking like
a long line of low beach. My notice was soon after-
wards attracted by the dusky-red appearance of the


Manuscript Found in a Buttle.
Drawn by H'ogtt.








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One eye ºf g, caring over the tafºrail, I observed a
very sing ar, isolate: Co-3, to the N. W. It was
1, markable, as well fºr its color, as from its being the
ſus, we had seen since our departure from Batavia. I
war, hed it attentively until sunset, when it spread all
a on c to the castward and westward, girting in the
hºw ºn with a narrow strip of vapor, and looking like
a long line of lºw beach. My notice was soon after-
wall, attracted by the dusky-red appearance of the








MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE. 3
moon, and the peculiar character of the sea. The
latter was undergoing a rapid change, and the water
seemed more than usually transparent. Although I
could distinctly see the bottom, yet, heaving the lead,
I found the ship in fifteen fathoms. The air now
became intolerably hot, and was loaded with spiral
exhalations similar to those arising from heated iron.
As night came on, every breath of wind died away,
and a more entire calm it is impossible to conceive.
The flame of a candle burned upon the poop without
the least perceptible motion, and a long hair, held
between the finger and thumb, hung without the pos-
sibility of detecting a vibration. However, as the
captain said he could perceive no indication of danger,
and as we were drifting in bodily to shore, he ordered
the sails to be furled, and the anchor let go. No
watch was set, and the crew, consisting principally
of Malays, stretched themselves deliberately upon deck.
I went below — not without a full presentiment of
evil. Indeed, every appearance warranted me in
apprehending a Simoom. I told the captain my fears;
but he paid no attention to what I said, and left me
without deigning to give a reply. My uneasiness, how-
ever, prevented me from sleeping, and about midnight I
went upon deck. — As I placed my foot upon the upper
step of the companion-ladder, I was startled by a loud,
humming noise, like that occasioned by the rapid revo-
lution of a mill-wheel, and before I could ascertain its
meaning, I found the ship quivering to its centre. In
the next instant, a wilderness of foam hurled us upon
our beam-ends, and, rushing over us fore and aft,
swept the entire decks from stem to stern.
The extreme fury of the blast proved, in a great
measure, the salvation of the ship. Although com-


4 TALES.
pletely water-logged, yet, as her masts had gone by
the board, she rose, after a minute, heavily from the
sea, and, staggering awhile beneath the immense pres-
sure of the tempest, finally righted.
By what miracle I escaped destruction, it is impos-
sible to say. Stunned by the shock of the water, I
found myself, upon recovery, jammed in between the
stern-post and rudder. With great difficulty I gained
my feet, and looking dizzily around, was, at first,
struck with the idea of our being among breakers; so
terrific, beyond the wildest imagination, was the
whirlpool of mountainous and foaming ocean within
which we were engulfed. After a while, I heard the
voice of an old Swede, who had shipped with us at
the moment of our leaving port. I hallooed to him
with all my strength, and presently he came reeling
aft. We soon discovered that we were the sole
survivors of the accident. All on deck, with the
exception of ourselves, had been swept overboard ; —
the captain and mates must have perished as they slept,
for the cabins were deluged with water. Without
assistance, we could expect to do little for the security
of the ship, and our exertions were at first paralyzed
by the momentary expectation of going down. Our
cable had, of course, parted like pack-thread, at the first
breath of the hurricane, or we should have been in-
stantaneously overwhelmed. We scudded with fright-
ful velocity before the sea, and the water made clear
breaches over us. The frame-work of our stern was
shattered excessively, and, in almost every respect, we
had received considerable injury; but to our extreme
joy we found the pumps unchoked, and that we had
made no great shifting of our ballast. The main fury
of the blast had already blown over, and we appre-


MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE. 5
hended little danger from the violence of the wind;
but we looked forward to its total cessation with dis-
may; well believing, that, in our shattered condition,
we should inevitably perish in the tremendous swell
which would ensue. But this very just apprehension
seemed by no means likely to be soon verified. For
five entire days and nights — during which our only
subsistence was a small quantity of jaggeree, procured
with great difficulty from the forecastle — the hulk flew
at a rate defying computation, before rapidly succeed-
ing flaws of wind, which, without equalling the first
violence of the Simoom, were still more terrific than
any tempest I had before encountered. Our course
for the first four days was, with trifling variations, S.
E. and by S.; and we must have run down the coast
of New Holland. — On the fifth day the cold became
extreme, although the wind had hauled round a point
more to the northward. — The sun arose with a sickly
yellow lustre, and clambered a very few degrees above
the horizon — emitting no decisive light. — There
were no clouds apparent, yet the wind was upon the
increase, and blew with a fitful and unsteady fury.
About noon, as nearly as we could guess, our attention
was again arrested by the appearance of the sun. It
gave out no light, properly so called, but a dull and
sullen glow without reflection, as if all its rays were
polarized. Just before sinking within the turgid sea,
its central fires suddenly went out, as if hurriedly ex-
tinguished by some unaccountable power. It was a
dim, silver-like rim, alone, as it rushed down the
unfathomable ocean.
We waited in vain for the arrival of the sixth day
— that day to me has not arrived — to the Swede,
never did arrive. Thenceforward we were enshrouded


6 TALES.
in pitchy darkness, so that we could not have seen an
object at twenty paces from the ship. Eternal night
continued to envelop us, all unrelieved by the phos-
phoric sea-brilliancy to which we had been accustomed
in the tropics. We observed too, that, although the
tempest continued to rage with unabated violence,
there was no longer to be discovered the usual ap-
pearance of surf, or foam, which had hitherto attended
us. All around were horror, and thick gloom, and a
black sweltering desert of ebony.—Superstitious terror
crept by degrees into the spirit of the old Swede, and
my own soul was wrapped up in silent wonder. We
neglected all care of the ship, as worse than useless,
and securing ourselves, as well as possible, to the
stump of the mizen-mast, looked out bitterly into the
world of ocean. We had no means of calculating
time, nor could we form any guess of our situation.
We were, however, well aware of having made far-
ther to the southward than any previous navigators,
and felt great amazement at not meeting with the usual
impediments of ice. In the meantime every moment
threatened to be our last — every mountainous billow
hurried to overwhelm us. The swell surpassed any-
thing I had imagined possible, and that we were
not instantly buried is a miracle. My companion
spoke of the lightness of our cargo, and reminded me
of the excellent qualities of our ship; but I could not
help feeling the utter hopelessness of hope itself, and
prepared myself gloomily for that death which I thought
nothing could defer beyond an hour, as, with every
knot of way the ship made, the swelling of the black
stupendous seas became more dismally appalling. At
times we gasped for breath at an elevation beyond the
albatross — at times became dizzy with the velocity of


MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE. 7
oar descent into some watery hell, where the air grew
stagnant, and no sound disturbed the slumbers of the
kraken.
We were at the bottom of one of these abysses,
when a quick scream from my companion broke fear-
fully upon the night. "See ! see !" cried he, shriek-
ing in my ears, "Almighty God I see! see!" As
he spoke, I became aware of a dull, sullen glare of red
light which streamed down the sides of the vast chasm
where we lay, and threw a fitful brilliancy upon our
deck. Casting my eyes upwards, I beheld a spec-
tacle which froze the current of my blood. At a
terrific height directly above us, and upon the very
verge of the precipitous descent, hovered a gigantic
ship of, perhaps, four thousand tons. Although up-
reared upon the summit of a wave more than a hun-
dred times her own altitude, her apparent size still
exceeded that of any ship of the line or East India-
man in existence. Her huge hull was of a deep
dingy black, unrelieved by any of the customary carv-
ings of a ship. A single row of brass cannon protruded
from her open ports, and dashed from their polished
surfaces the fires of innumerable battle-lanterns, which
swung to and fro about her rigging. But what mainly
inspired us with horror and astonishment, was that she
bore up under a press of sail in the very teeth of that
supernatural sea, and of that ungovernable hurricane.
When we first discovered her, her bows were alone to
be seen, as she rose slowly from the dim and horrible
gulf beyond her. For a moment of intense terror she
paused upon the giddy pinnacle, as if in contemplation
of her own sublimity, then trembled and tottered, and
— came down.
At this instant, I know not what sudden self-posses-


8 TALES.
sion came over my spirit. Staggering as far aft as I
could, I awaited fearlessly the ruin that was to over-
whelm. Our own vessel was at length ceasing from
her struggles, and sinking with her head to the sea.
The shock of the descending mass struck her, conse-
quently, in that portion of her frame which was already
under water, and the inevitable result was to hurl
me, with irresistible violence, upon the rigging of the
stranger.
As I fell, the ship hove in stays, and went about;
and to the confusion ensuing I attributed my escape
from the notice of the crew. With little difficulty I
made my way unperceived to the main hatchway,
which was partially open, and soon found an opportu-
nity of secreting myself in the hold. Why I did so I
can hardly tell. An indefinite sense of awe, which at
first sight of the navigators of the ship had taken hold
of my mind, was perhaps the principle of my conceal-
ment. I was unwilling to trust myself with a race of
people who had offered, to the cursory glance I had
taken, so many points of vague novelty, doubt, and
apprehension. I therefore thought proper to contrive
a hiding-place in the hold. This I did by removing a
small portion of the shifting-boards, in such a manner
as to afford me a convenient retreat between the huge
timbers of the ship.
I had scarcely completed my work, when a footstep
in the hold forced me to make use of it. A man passed
by my place of concealment with a feeble and unsteady
gait. I could not see his face, but had an opportunity
of observing his general appearance. There was about
it an evidence of great age and infirmity. His knees
tottered beneath a load of years, and his entire frame
quivered under the burthen. He muttered to himself.


MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE. 9
in a low broken tone, some words of a language which
I could not understand, and groped in a corner among
a pile of singular-looking instruments, and decayed
charts of navigation. His manner was a wild mixture
of the peevishness of second childhood, and the solemn
dignity of a God. He at length went on deck, and
I saw him no more.
» » • » »
A feeling, for which I have no name, has taken pos-
session of my soul—a sensation which will admit of no
analysis, to which the lessons of by-gone times are in-
adequate, and for which I fear futurity itself will offer
me no key. To a mind constituted like my own, the
latter consideration is an evil. I shall never—I know
that I shall never — be satisfied with regard to the na-
ture of my conceptions. Yet it is not wonderful that
these conceptions are indefinite, since they have their
origin in sources so utterly novel. A new sense—a
new entity is added to my soul.
• • • • *
It is long since I first trod the deck of this terrible
ship, and the rays of my destiny are, I think, gathering
to a focus. Incomprehensible men! Wrapped up in
meditations of a kind wihich I cannot divine, they pass
me by unnoticed. Concealment is utter folly on my
part, for the people will not see. It was but just now
that I passed directly before the eyes of the mate—
it was no long while ago that I ventured into the cap-
tain's own private cabin, and took thence the materials
with which I write, and have written. I shall from
time to time continue this journal. It is true that I
may not find an opportunity of transmitting it to the
world, but I will not fail to make the endeavour. At


IO TALES.
the last moment I will enclose the MS. in a bottle,
and cast it within the sea.
An incident has occurred which has given me new
room for meditation. Are such things the operation
of ungoverned Chance? I had ventured upon deck
and thrown myself down, without attracting any notice,
among a pile of ratlin-stuff and old sails, in the bottom
of the yawl. While musing upon the singularity of
my fate, I unwittingly daubed with a tar-brush the
edges of a neatly-folded studding-sail which lay near
me on a barrel. The studding-sail is now bent upon
the ship, and the thoughtless touches of the brush are
spread out into the word Discovery. * * *
I have made many observations lately upon the
structure of the vessel. Although well armed, she is
not, I think, a ship of war. Her rigging, build, and
general equipment, all negative a supposition of this
kind. What she is not, I can easily perceive — what
she is I fear it is impossible to say. I know not how
it is, but in scrutinizing her strange model and singular
cast of spars, her huge size and overgrown suits of
canvass, her severely simple bow and antiquated stern,
there will occasionally flash ac(pss my mind a sensa-
tion of familiar things, and there is always mixed up
with such indistinct shadows of recollection, an unac-
countable memory of old foreign chronicles and ages
long ago. * * *
I have been looking at the timbers of the ship. She
is built of a material to which I am a stranger. There
is a peculiar character about the wood which strikes
me as rendering it unfit for the purpose to which it
has been applied. I mean its extreme porousness,


MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE. II
considered independently of the worm-eaten condition
which is a consequence of navigation in these seas,
and apart from the rottenness attendant upon age. It
will appear perhaps an observation somewhat over-
curious, but this wood would have every characteristic
of Spanish oak, if Spanish oak were distended by any
unnatural means.
In reading the above sentence a curious apothegm
of an old weather-beaten Dutch navigator comes
full upon my recollection. "It is as sure," he
was wont to say, when any doubt was entertained of
his veracity, "as sure as there is a sea where the
ship itself will grow in bulk like the living body of the
seaman." • * •
About an hour ago, I made bold to thrust myself
among a group of the crew. They paid me no man-
ner of attention, and, although I stood in the very
midst of them all, seemed utterly unconscious of
my presence. Like the one I had at first seen in
the hold, they all bore about them the marks of a
hoary old age. Their knees trembled with infirmity;
their shoulders were bent double with decrepitude;
their shrivelled skins rattled in the wind; their
voices were low, tremulous and broken; their eyes
glistened with the rheum of years; and their gray
hairs streamed terribly in the tempest. Around
them, on every part of the deck, lay scattered mathe-
matical instruments of the most quaint and obsolete
construction. • * •
I mentioned some time ago the bending of a stud-
ding-sail. From that period the ship, being thrown
dead off the wind, has continued her terrific course
due south, with every rag of canvass packed upon her,
from her trucks to her lower studding-sail booms, and


12 TALES.
rolling every moment her top-gallant yard-arms into
the most appalling hell of water which it can enter
into the mind of man to imagine. I have just left the
deck, where I find it impossible to maintain a footing,
although the crew seem to experience little inconve-
nience. It appears to me a miracle of miracles that
our enormous bulk is not swallowed up at once and
forever. We are surely doomed to hover continually
upon the brink of Eternity, without taking a final
plunge into the abyss. From billows a thousand times
more stupendous than any I have ever seen, we glide
away with the facility of the arrowy sea-gull; and the
colossal waters rear their heads above us like demons
of the deep, but like demons confined to simple threats
and forbidden to destroy. I am led to attribute these
frequent escapes to the only natural cause which can
account for such effect. — I must suppose the ship to
be within the influence of some strong current, or im-
petuous under-tow. * * *
I have seen the captain face to face, and in his own
cabin — but, as I expected, he paid me no attention.
Although in his appearance there is, to a casual ob-
server, nothing which might bespeak him more or less
than man—still a feeling of irrepressible reverence and
awe mingled with the sensation of wonder with which
I regarded him. In stature he is nearly my own
height; that is, about five feet eight inches. He is
of a well-knit and compact frame of body, neither
robust nor remarkably otherwise. But it is the singu-
larity of the expression which reigns upon the face—it
is the intense, the wonderful, the thrilling evidence of
old age, so utter, so extreme, which excites within
my spirit a sense — a sentiment ineffable. His fore-
head, although little wrinkled, seems to bear upon it


MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE. 13
the stamp of a myriad of years. — His gray hairs are
records of the past, and his grayer eyes are Sybils
of the future. The cabin floor was thickly strewn
with strange, iron-clasped folios, and mouldering
instruments of science, and obsolete long-forgotten
charts. His head was bowed down upon his hands,
and he pored, with a fiery unquiet eye, over a paper
which I took to be a commission, and which, at all
events, bore the signature of a monarch. He mut-
tered to himself, as did the first seaman whom I saw
in the hold, some low peevish syllables of a foreign
tongue, and although the speaker was close at my
elbow, his voice seemed to reach my ears from the
distance of a mile. • * *
The ship and all in it are imbued with the spirit of
Eld. The crew glide to and fro like the ghosts of
buried centuries; their eyes have an eager and un-
easy meaning; and when their fingers fall athwart
my path in the wild glare of the battle-lanterns, I
feel as I have never felt before, although I have
been all my life a dealer in antiquities, and have
imbibed the shadows of fallen columns at Balbec,
and Tadmor, and Persepolis, until my very soul has
become a ruin. • • •
When I look around me I feel ashamed of my
former apprehensions. If I trembled at the blast
which has hitherto attended us, shall I not stand
aghast at a warring of wind and ocean, to convey any
idea of which the words tornado and simoom are
trivial and ineffective? All in the immediate vicinity
of the ship is the blackness of eternal night, and a
chaos of foamless water; but, about a league on either
side of us, may be seen, indistinctly and at intervals,
stupendous ramparts of ice, towering away into the


14 TALES.
desolate sky, and looking like the walls of the uni-
verse. * * •
As I imagined, the ship proves to be in a current;
if that appellation can properly be given to a tide
which, howling and shrieking by the white ice,
thunders on to the southward with a velocity like the
headlong dashing of a cataract. * • *
To conceive the horror of my sensations is, I pre-
sume, utterly impossible; yet a curiosity to penetrate
the mysteries of these awful regions, predominates even
over my despair, and will reconcile me to the most
hideous aspect of death. It is evident that wc are
hurrying onwards to some exciting knowledge—some
never-to-be-imparted secret, whose attainment is de-
struction. Perhaps this current leads us to the southern
pole itself. It must be confessed that a supposi-
tion apparently so wild has every probability in its
favor. * * *
The crew pace the deck with unquiet and tremulous
step; but there is upon their countenances an expres-
sion more of the eagerness of hope than of the apathy
of despair.
In the meantime the wind is still in our poop, and,
as we carry a crowd of canvass, the ship is at times
lifted bodily from out the sea — Oh, horror upon
horror! the ice opens suddenly to the right, and to
the left, and we are whirling dizzily, in immense con-
centric circles, round and round the borders of a
gigantic amphitheatre, the summit of whose walla is
lost in the darkness and the distance. But little time
will be left me to ponder upon my destiny — the
circles rapidly grow small — we are plunging madly
within the grasp of the whirlpool — and amid a roar-
ing, and bellowing, and thundering of ocean and of


MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE. 15
tempest, the ship is quivering, oh God! and
going down.
Note.—The "MS. Found in a Bottle," was originally pub-
lished in 1S31 [1833], and it was not until many years after-
ward! that I became acquainted with the maps of Mercator, in
which the ocean is represented as rushing, by four mouths, into
the (northern) Polar Gulf, to be absorbed into the bowels of the
earth; the Pole itself being represented by a black rock, towering
to a prodigious height.


BERENICE.
[Southern Literary Messenger, March, 1835; 1840;
Broadway Journal, I. 14.]
Dicebant mihi sodales, si sepulchrum amies visitarem, curas meas
aliquantulum fore levatas.— Ebn Zaiat.
Misery is manifold. The wretchedness of earth is
multiform. Overreaching the wide horizon as the
rainbow, its hues are as various as the hues of that
arch,— as distinct too, yet as intimately blended.
Overreaching the wide horizon as the rainbow! How
is it that from beauty 1 have derived a type of unloveli-
ness ? — from the covenant of peace a simile of sorrow?
But as, in ethics, evil is a consequence of good, so, in
fact, out of joy is sorrow born. Either the memory
of past bliss is the anguish of to-day, or the agonies
which are have their origin in the ecstasies which might
have been.
My baptismal name is Egzus; that of my family I
will not mention. Yet there are no towers in the land
more time-honored than my gloomy, gray, hereditary
halls. Our line has been called a race of visionaries;
and in many striking particulars — in the character of
the family mansion — in the frescos of the chief saloon
— in the tapestries of the dormitories — in the chisel-
ling of some buttresses in the armory — but more
"specially in the gallery of antique paintings — in the
(.6)


BERENICE. 17
fashion of the library chamber — and, lastly, in the
very peculiar nature of the library's contents, there
is more than sufficient evidence to warrant the belief.
The recollections of my earliest years are connected
with that chamber, and with its volumes — of which
latter I will say no more. Here died my mother.
Herein was I born. But it is mere idleness to say that I
had not lived before—that the soul has no previous
existence. You deny it ?— let us not argue the matter.
Convinced myself, I seek not to convince. There is,
however, a remembrance of aerial forms — of spiritual
and meaning eyes — of sounds, musical yet sad — a
remembrance which will not be excluded; a memory
like a shadow, vague, variable, indefinite, unsteady;
and like a shadow, too, in the impossibility of my getting
rid of it while the sunlight of my reason shall exist.
In that chamber was I born. Thus awaking from
the long night of what seemed, but was not, nonentity,
at once into the very regions of fairy-land — into a
palace of imagination — into the wild dominions of
monastic thought and erudition—it is not singular
that I gazed around me with a startled and ardent eye
— that I loitered away my boyhood in books, and
dissipated my youth in reverie; but it is singular that
as years rolled away, and the noon of manhood found
me still in the mansion of my fathers — it // wonderful
what stagnation there fell upon the springs of my life
— wonderful how total an inversion took place in the
character of my commonest thought. The realities of
the world affected me as visions, and as visions only,
while the wild ideas of the land of dreams became, in
turn,— not the material of my every-day existence —
but in very deed that existence utterly and solely in itself.
vol. 11.—2








18 TALES.
Berenice and I were cousins, and we grew up to-
gether in my paternal halls. Yet differently we grew
— I ill of health, and buried in gloom — she
agile, graceful, and overflowing with energy; hers the
ramble on the hill-side — mine the studies of the
cloister — I living within my own heart, and addicted
body and soul to the most intense and painful medita-
tion — she roaming carelessly through life with no
thought of the shadows in her path, or the silent flight
of the raven-winged hours. Berenice !— I call upon
her name — Berenice!—and from the gray ruins
of memory a thousand tumultuous recollections are
startled at the sound! Ah! vividly is her
image before me now, as in the early days of her
light-heartedness and joy! Oh! gorgeous yet fantastic
beauty! Oh! sylph amid the shrubberies of Arn-
heim !— Oh! Naiad among its fountains !— and then
— then all is mystery and terror, and a tale which
should not be told. Disease — a fatal disease — fell
like the simoom upon her frame, and, even while I
gated upon her, the spirit of change swept over her,
pervading her mind, her habits, and her character, and,
in a manner the most subtle and terrible, disturbing
even the identity of her person! Alas! the destroyer
came and went, and the victim — where was she? I
knew her not — or knew her no longer as Berenice.
Among the numerous train of maladies superinduced
by that fatal and primary one which effected a revolu-
tion of so horrible a kind in the moral and physical
being of my cousin, may be mentioned as the most
distressing and obstinate in its nature, a species of epi-
lepsy not unfrequently terminating in trance itself—
trance very nearly resembling positive dissolution, and
from which her manner of recovery was, in most in-


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BERENICE. 19
stances, startlingly abrupt. In the mean time my own
disease — for I have been told that I should call it by
no other appellation —my own disease, then, grew
rapidly upon me, and assumed finally a monomaniac
character of a novel and extraordinary form — hourly
and momently gaining vigor—and at length obtain-
ing over me the most incomprehensible ascendancy.
This monomania, if I must so term it, consisted in a
morbid irritability of those properties of the mind in
metaphysical science termed the attentive. It is more
than probable that I am not understood; but I fear,
indeed, that it is in no manner possible to convey to
the mind of the merely general reader, an adequate idea
of that nervous intensity of interest with which, in my
case, the powers of meditation (not to speak technically )
busied and buried themselves, in the contemplation of
even the most ordinary objects of the universe.
To muse for long unwearied hours with my attention
riveted to some frivolous device on the margin, or in
the typography of a book; to become absorbed for the
better part of a summer's day, in a quaint shadow fall-
ing aslant upon the tapestry, or upon the door; to lose
myself for an entire night in watching the steady flame
of a lamp, or the embers of a fire; to dream away
whole days over the perfume of a flower; to repeat
monotonously some common word, until the sound,
by dint of frequent repetition, ceased to convey any
idea whatever to the mind; to lose all sense of motion
or physical existence, by means of absolute bodily qui-
escence long and obstinately persevered in ;— such were
a few of the most common and least pernicious va-
garies induced by a condition of the mental faculties,
not, indeed, altogether unparalleled, but certainly bid-
ding defiance to anything like analysis or explanation.


20 TALES.
Yet let me not be misapprehended. — The undue,
earnest, and morbid attention thus excited by objects in
their own nature frivolous, must not be confounded in
character with that ruminating propensity common to
all mankind, and more especially indulged in by per-
sons of ardent imagination. It was not even, as might
be at first supposed, an extreme condition, or exaggera-
tion of such propensity, but primarily and essentially
distinct and different. In the one instance, the dreamer,
or enthusiast, being interested by an object usually not
frivolous, imperceptibly loses sight of this object in a
wilderness of deductions and suggestions issuing there-
from, until, at the conclusion of a day dream often
replete with luxury, he finds the incitamentum or
first cause of his musings entirely vanished and forgot-
ten. In my case the primary object was invariably
frivolous, although assuming, through the medium of
my distempered vision, a refracted and unreal impor-
tance. Few deductions, if any, were made; and
those few pertinaciously returning in upon the original
object as a centre. The meditations were never pleas-
urable; and, at the termination of the reverie, the first
cause, so far from being out of sight, had attained that
supernaturally exaggerated interest which was the pre-
vailing feature of the disease. In a word, the powers
of mind more particularly exercised were, with me, as I
have said before, the attentive, and are, with the day-
dreamer, the speculative.
My books, at this epoch, if they did not actually
serve to irritate the disorder, partook, it will be per-
ceived, largely, in their imaginative and inconsequen-
tial nature, of the characteristic qualities of the disorder
itself. I well remember, among others, the treatise of
the noble Italian Ccelius Secundus Curio "fe Ampli-


BERENICE. 21
tudine Beati Regni Dei,-" St. Austin's great work,
the "City of God;" and Terrullian "de Carne
Cbriili," in which the paradoxical sentence "Mor-
lutis est Dei Jilitts; credibile est quia ineptum est: et
sepultus resurrexit; certum est quia impossibile est"
occupied my undivided time, for many weeks of labor-
ious and fruitless investigation.
Thus it will appear that, shaken from its balance
only by trivial things, my reason bore resemblance to
that ocean-crag spoken of by Ptolemy Hephestion,
which steadily resisting the attacks of human violence,
and the fiercer fury of the waters and the winds,
trembled only to the touch of the flower called
Asphodel. And although, to a careless thinker, it might
appear a matter beyond doubt, that the alteration pro-
duced by her unhappy malady, in the moral condition
of Berenice, would afford me many objects for the exer-
cise of that intense and abnormal meditation whose nature
I have been at some trouble in explaining, yet such was
not in any degree the case. In the lucid intervals of my
infirmity, her calamity, indeed, gave me pain, and,
taking deeply to heart that total wreck of her fair and
gentle life, I did not fail to ponder frequently and bit-
terly upon the wonder-working means by which so
strange a revolution had been so suddenly brought to
pass. But these reflections partook not of the idiosyn-
crasy of my disease, and were such as would have oc-
curred, under similar circumstances, to the ordinary
mass of mankind. True to its own character, my dis-
order revelled in the less important but more startling
changes wrought in the physical frame of Berenice — in
the singular and most appalling distortion of her personal
identity.
During the brightest days of her unparalleled beauty,


*2 TALES.
most surely I had never loved her. In the strange
anomaly of my existence, feelings with me, had never
been of the heart, and my passions always were of the
mind. Through the gray of the early morning —
among the trellissed shadows of the forest at noonday
— and in the silence of my library at night, she had
flitted by my eyes, and I had seen her — not as the
living and breathing Berenice, but as the Berenice of a
dream—not as a being of the earth, earthy, but as
the abstraction of such a being—not as a thing to
admire, but to analyze — not as an object of love, but
as the theme of the most abstruse although desultory
speculation. And now — now I shuddered in her
presence, and grew pale at her approach; yet bitterly
lamenting her fallen and desolate condition, I called to
mind that she had loved me long, and, in an evil
moment, I spoke to her of marriage.
And at length the period of our nuptials was ap-
proaching, when, upon an afternoon in the winter of
the year, — one of those unseasonably warm, calm,
and misty days which are the nurse of the beautiful
Halcyon, ' — I sat, (and sat, as I thought, alone,) in
the inner apartment of the library. But uplifting my
eyes I saw that Berenice stood before me.
Was it my own excited imagination — or the misty
influence of the atmosphere — or the uncertain twilight
of the chamber — or the gray draperies which fell
around her figure — that caused in it so vacillating and
indistinct an outline? I could not tell. She spoke
no word, and I — not for worlds could I have uttered a
syllable. An icy chill ran through my frame; a sense
1 For as Jotj, during the winter season, gives twice seven days
of wirmth, men have called this clement and temperate time the
nurse of the beautiful Halcyon — Simcnides.


BERENICE. 23
of insufferable anxiety oppressed me; a consuming
curiosity pervaded my soul; and sinking back upon the
chair, I remained for some time breathless and motion-
less, with my eyes riveted upon her person. Alas!
its emaciation was excessive, and not one vestige of the
former being, lurked in any single line of the contour.
My burning glances at length fell upon the face.
The forehead was high, and very pale, and singularly
placid; and the once jetty hair fell partially over it, and
overshadowed the hollow temples with innumerable
ringlets now of a vivid yellow, and jarring discordantly,
in their fantastic character, with the reigning melancholy
of the countenance. The eyes were lifeless, and lustre-
less, and seemingly pupil-less, and I shrank involuntarily
from their glassy stare to the contemplation of the thin
and shrunken lips. They parted; and in a smile of
peculiar meaning, the teeth of the changed Berenice
disclosed themselves slowly to my view. Would to
God that I had never beheld them, or that, having
done so, I had died!
The shutting of a door disturbed me, and, looking
up, I found that my cousin had departed from the
chamber. But from the disordered chamber of my
brain, had not, alas! departed, and would not be driven
away, the white and ghastly spectrum of the teeth.
Not a speck on their surface — not a shade on their
enamel — not an indenture in their edges — but what
that period of her smile had sufficed to brand in upon
my memory. I saw them now even more unequivocally
than I beheld them then. The teeth ! — the teeth!
— they were here, and there, and every where, and
visibly and palpably before me; long, narrow, and
excessively white, with the pale lips writhing about


24 TALES.
them, as in the very moment of their first terrible de-
velopment. Then came the full fury of my monomania,
and I struggled in vain against its strange and irresistible
influence. In the multiplied objects of the external
world I had no thoughts but for the teeth. For these
I longed with a phrenzied desire. All other matters
and all different interests became absorbed in their single
contemplation. They — they alone were present to
the mental eye, and they, in their sole individuality,
became the essence of my mental life. I held them
in every light. I turned them in every attitude. I
surveyed their characteristics. I dwelt upon then-
peculiarities. I pondered upon their conformation. I
mused upon the alteration in their nature. I shuddered
as I assigned to them in imagination a sensitive and
sentient power, and even when unassisted by the lips, a
capability of moral expression. Of Mad'selle Salle it has
been well said, " que tous ses pas etaient des sentiments,"
and of Berenice I more seriously believed que toutts
ses dents etaient des idees. Des idees ! — ah here was
the idiotic thought that destroyed me! Des idees !— ah
therefore it was that I coveted them so madly! I felt
that their possession could alone ever restore me to
peace, in giving me back to reason.
And the evening closed in upon me thus — and then
the darkness came, and tarried, and went — and the
day again dawned — and the mists of a second night
were now gathering around — and still I sat motionless
in that solitary room; and still I sat buried in medita-
tion, and still the pbantasma of the teeth maintained its
terrible ascendancy as, with the most vivid and hideous
distinctness, it floated about amid the changing lights
and shadows of the chamber. At length there broke
in upon my dreams a cry as of horror and dismay ; and


BERENICE. 25
thereunto, after a pause, succeeded the sound of troubled
voices, intermingled with many low moanings of sor-
row, or of pain. I arose from my seat and, throwing
open one of the doors of the library, saw standing out
in the ante-chamber a servant maiden, all in tears, who
told me that Berenice was — no more. She had been
seized with epilepsy in the early morning, and now, at
the closing in of the night, the grave was ready for
its tenant, and all the preparations for the burial were
completed.
I found myself sitting in the library, and again sit-
ting there alone. It seemed that I had newly awakened
from a confused and exciting dream. I knew that it
was now midnight, and I was well aware that since
the setting of the sun Berenice had been interred. But
of that dreary period which intervened I had no posi-
tive— at least no definite comprehension. Yet its
memory was replete with horror — horror more horri-
ble from being vague, and terror more terrible from
ambiguity. It was a fearful page in the record of my
existence, written all over with dim, and hideous, and
unintelligible recollections. I strived to decypher them,
but in vain; while ever and anon, like the spirit of a
departed sound, the shrill and piercing shriek of a female
voice seemed to be ringing in my ears. I had done
a deed — what was it? I asked myself the question
aloud, and the whispering echoes of the chamber an-
swered me, "what was it f"
On the table beside me burned a lamp, and near it
lay a little box. It was of no remarkable character,
and I had seen it frequently before, for it was the prop-
erty of the family physician; but how came it there,
upon my table, and why did I shudder in regarding


26 TALES.
it? These things were in no manner to be accounted
for, and my eyes at length dropped to the open pages
of a book, and to a sentence underscored therein. The
words were the singular but simple ones of the poet
Ebn Zaiat, " Dice bant mibi sodales si sepulcbrum amicae
visitarem, curas meas aliquantulum fore Ievatas." Why
then, as I perused them, did the hairs of my head erect
themselves on end, and the blood of my body become
congealed within my veins?
There came a light tap at the library door, and pale
as the tenant of a tomb, a menial entered upon tiptoe.
His looks were wild with terror, and he spoke to me
in a voice tremulous, husky, and very low. What said
he? — some broken sentences I heard. He told of a
wild cry disturbing the silence of the night — of the
gathering together of the household — of a search in
the direction of the sound ; — and then his tones grew
thrillingly distinct as he whispered me of a violated
grave — of a disfigured body enshrouded, yet still
breathing, still palpitating, still alive!
He pointed to my garments ; — they were muddy
and clotted with gore. I spoke not, and he took me
gently by the hand ; — it was indented with the im-
press of human nails. He directed my attention to
some object against the wall; — I looked at it for some
minutes ; — it was a spade. With a shriek I bounded
to the table, and grasped the box that lay upon it. But
I could not force it open; and in my tremor it slipped
from my hands, and fell heavily, and burst into pieces;
and from it, with a rattling sound, there rolled out some
instruments of dental surgery, intermingled with thirty-
two small, white and ivory-looking substances that
were scattered to and fro about the floor.


MORELLA.
[Southern Literary Messenger, April, 1835; Burton's
Gentleman's Magazine, November, 1 S 39; 1840; BroaJ-
ivay Journal, I. tS-]
Airro Kafr airrb ped airrov, fiovottfts act bv.
Ioelf, by itself solely, one everlastingly, and single.
Plato. Sympoi. [ail, XXIX.]
With a feeling of deep yet most singular affection I
regarded my friend Morella. Thrown by accident
into her society many years ago, my soul, from our
first meeting, burned with fires it had never before
known; but the fires were not of Eros, and bitter and
tormenting to my spirit was the gradual conviction that
I could in no manner define their unusual meaning, or
regulate their vague intensity. Yet we met; and fate
bound us together at the altar; and I never spoke of
passion, nor thought of love. She, however, shunned
society, and, attaching herself to me alone, rendered
me happy. It is a happiness to wonder ; — it is a
happiness to dream.
Morella's erudition was profound. As I hope to
live, her talents were of no common order — her pow-
ers of mind were gigantic. I felt this, and, in many
matters, became her pupil. I soon, however, found
that, perhaps on account of her Presburg education, she
placed before me a number of those mystical writings
which are usually considered the mere dross of the early
07)


z8 TALES.
German literature. These, for what reason I could
not imagine, were her favorite and constant study —
and that, in process of time they became my own,
should be attributed to the simple but effectual influence
of habit and example.
In all this, if I err not, my reason had little to do.
My convictions, or I forget myself, were in no man-
ner acted upon by the ideal, nor was any tincture of
the mysticism which I read, to be discovered, unless I
am greatly mistaken, either in my deeds or in my
thoughts. Persuaded of this, I abandoned myself im-
plicitly to the guidance of my wife, and entered with
an unflinching heart into the intricacies of her studies.
And then — then, when, poring over forbidden pages,
I felt a forbidden spirit enkindling within me — would
Morella place her cold hand upon my own, and rake
up from the ashes of a dead philosophy some low,
singular words, whose strange meaning burned them-
selves in upon my memory. And then, hour after
hour, would I linger by her side, and dwell upon the
music of her voice—until, at length, its melody was
tainted with terror, — and there fell a shadow upon
my soul — and I grew pale, and shuddered inwardly
at those too unearthly tones. And thus, joy suddenly
faded into horror, and the most beautiful became the
most hideous, as Hinnon became Ge-Henna.
It is unnecessary to state the exact character of those
disquisitions which, growing out of the volumes I have
mentioned, formed, for so long a time, almost the sole
conversation of Morella and myself. By the learned in
what might be termed theological morality they will be
readily conceived, and by the unlearned they would,
at all events, be little understood. The wild Panthe-
ism of Fichte; the modified llaliyycveata of the Pytha-


MORELLA. 29
goreans; and, above all, the doctrines of Identity as
urged by Schelling, were generally the points of dis-
cussion presenting the most of beauty to the imaginative
Morella. That identity which is termed personal,
Mr. Locke, I think, truly defines to consist in the
saneness of a rational being. And since by person we
understand an intelligent essence having reason, and
since there is a consciousness which always accompa-
nies thinking, it is this which makes us all to be that
which we call ourselves — thereby distinguishing us
from other beings that think, and giving us our personal
identity. But the principium individuationis — the no-
tion of that identity wbicb at death is or is not lost for-
ever, was to me — at all times, a consideration of
intense interest; not more from the perplexing and
exciting nature of its consequences, than from the
marked and agitated manner in which Morella men-
tioned them.
But, indeed, the time had now arrived when the
mystery of my wife's manner oppressed me as a spell.
I could no longer bear the touch of her wan fingers,
nor the low tone of her musical language, nor the lustre
of her melancholy eyes. And she knew all this, but
did not upbraid; she seemed conscious of my weak-
ness or my folly, and, smiling, called it Fate. She
seemed, also, conscious of a cause, to me unknown,
for the gradual alienation of my regard; but she gave
me no hint or token of its nature. Yet was she woman,
and pined away daily. In time, the crimson spot set-
tled steadily upon the cheek, and the blue veins upon
the pale forehead became prominent; and, one instant,
my nature melted into pity, but, in the next, I met
the glance of her meaning eyes, and then my soul
sickened and became giddy with the giddiness of one


30 TALES.
who gazes downward into some dreary and unfathom-
able abyss.
Shall I then say that I longed with an earnest and
consuming desire for the moment of Morella's decease?
I did; but the fragile spirit clung to its tenement of
clay for many days — for many weeks and irksome
months — until my tortured nerves obtained the mas-
tery over my mind, and I grew furious through delay,
and, with the heart of a fiend, cursed the days, and
the hours, and the bitter moments, which seemed to
lengthen and lengthen as her gentle life declined — like
shadows in the dying of the day.
But one autumnal evening, when the winds lay still
in heaven, Morella called me to her bed-side. There
was a dim mist over all the earth, and a warm glow
upon the waters, and, amid the rich October leaves of
the forest, a rainbow from the firmament had surely
fallen.
"It is a day of days," she said, as I approached;
"a day of all days either to live or die. It is a fair
day for the sons of earth and life — ah, more fair for
the daughters of heaven and death!"
I kissed her forehead, and she continued:
"lam dying, yet shall I live."
"Morella!"
"The days have never been when thou couldt
love me — but her whom in life thou didst abhor, in
death thou shalt adore."
"Morella!"
"I repeat that I am dying. But within me is a
pledge of that affection — ah, how little !— which
thou didst feel for me, Morella. And when my spirit
departs shall the child live — thy child and mine,
Morella's. But thy days shall be days of sorrow —


MORELLA. 31
that sorrow which is the most lasting of impressions,
as the cypress is the most enduring of trees. For the
hours of thy happiness are over; and joy is not gath-
ered twice in a life, as the roses of Paestum twice in a
year. Thou shalt no longer, then, play the Teian
with time, but, being ignorant of the myrtle and the
vine, thou shalt bear about with thee thy shroud on the
earth, as do the Moslemin at Mecca."
"Morella!" I cried, "Morella! how knowest
thou this ?"—but she turned away her face upon the
pillow, and, a slight tremor coming over her limbs, she
thus died, and I heard her voice no more.
Yet, as she had foretold, her child — to which in
dying she had given birth, and which breathed not
until the mother breathed no more — her child, a
daughter, lived. And she grew strangely in stature
and intellect, and was the perfect resemblance of her
who had departed, and I loved her with a love more
fervent than I had believed it possible to feel for any
deniten of earth.
But, ere long, the heaven of this pure affection
became darkened, and gloom, and horror, and grief,
swept over it in clouds. I said the child grew
strangely in stature and intelligence. Strange indeed
was her rapid increase in bodily size — but terrible,
oh! terrible were the tumultuous thoughts which
crowded upon me while watching the development
of her mental being. Could it be otherwise, when I
daily discovered in the conceptions of the child the
adult powers and faculties of the woman ?— when
the lessons of experience fell from the lips of infancy?
and when the wisdom or the passions of maturity I
found hourly gleaming from its full and speculative
eye? When, I say, all this became evident to my


3 2 TALES.
appalled senses — when I could no longer hide it from
my soul, nor throw it off from those perceptions which
trembled to receive it — is it to be wondered at that
suspicions, of a nature fearful and exciting, crept in
upon my spirit, or that my thoughts fell back aghast
upon the wild tales and thrilling theories of the en-
tombed Morella? I snatched from the scrutiny of the
world a being whom destiny compelled me to adore,
and in the rigorous seclusion of my home, watched
with an agonizing anxiety over all which concerned
the beloved.
And, as years rolled away, and I gazed, day after
day, upon her holy, and mild, and eloquent face, and
pored over her maturing form, day after day did I dis-
cover new points of resemblance in the child to her
mother, the melancholy and the dead. And, hourly,
grew darker these shadows of similitude, and more full,
and more definite, and more perplexing, and more
hideously terrible in their aspect. For that her smile
was like her mother's I could bear; but then I shud-
dered at its too perfect identity — that her eyes were
like Morella's I could endure ; but then they too often
looked down into the depths of my soul with Morella's
own intense and bewildering meaning. And in the
contour of the high forehead, and in the ringlets of the
silken hair, and in the wan fingers which buried them-
selves therein, and in the sad musical tones of her
speech, and above all — oh, above all — in the phrases
and expressions of the dead on the lips of the loved
and the living, I found food for consuming thought and
horror — for a worm that would not die.
Thus passed away two lustra of her life, and, as
yet, my daughter remained nameless upon the earth.
"My child " and "my love" were the designations


MORELLA. 33
usually prompted by a father's affection, and the rigid
seclusion of her days precluded all other intercourse.
Morella's name died with her at her death. Of the
mother I had never spoken to the daughter ; — it was
impossible to speak. Indeed, during the brief period
of her existence the latter had received no impressions
from the outward world save such as might have been
afforded by the narrow limits of her privacy. But at
length the ceremony of baptism presented to my mind,
in its unnerved and agitated condition, a present deliv-
erance from the terrors of my destiny. And at the
baptismal font I hesitated for a name. And many
titles of the wise and beautiful, of old and modern
times, of my own and foreign lands, came thronging
to my lips, with many, many fair titles of the gentle,
and the happy, and the good. What prompted me,
then, to disturb the memory of the buried dead?
What demon urged me to breathe that sound, which,
in its very recollection was wont to make ebb the
purple blood in torrents from the temples to the heart?
What fiend spoke from the recesses of my soul, when,
amid those dim aisles, and in the silence of the night,
I whispered within the ears of the holy man the sylla-
bles — Morella? What more than fiend convulsed
the features of my child, and overspread them with
hues of death, as starting at that scarcely audible sound,
she turned her glassy eyes from the earth to heaven,
and, falling prostrate on the black slabs of our ancestral
vault, responded — "I am here!"
Distinct, coldly, calmly distinct, fell those few
simple sounds within my ear, and thence, like molten
lead, rolled hissingly into my brain. Years — years
may pass away, but the memory of that epoch —
never! Nor was I indeed ignorant of the flowers and
vOl. ii.—3


34 TALES.
the vine — but the hemlock and the cypress over-
shadowed me night and day. And I kept no reckon-
ing of time or place, and the stars of my fate faded
from heaven, and therefore the earth grew dark, and
its figures passed by me, like flitting shadows, and
among them all I beheld only — Morella. The winds
of the firmament breathed but one sound within my
ears, and the ripples upon the sea murmured evermore
— Morella. But she died; and with my own hands
I bore her to the tomb; and I laughed with a long
and bitter laugh as I found no traces of the first, in
the charnel where I laid the second — Morella.


SOME PASSAGES IN THE LIFE
OF A LION.
(LIONIZING.)
[Southern Literary Messenger, May, 1835; 1840; 1845
Broadway Journal, I. 11. J
• All people went
Upon their ten toes in wild wonderment.
Biibvp Hair i Satires.
I am — that is to say I was — a great man; but I
am neither the author of Junius nor the man in the mask;
for my name, I believe, is Robert Jones, and I was
born somewhere in the city of Fum-Fudge.
The first action of my life was the taking hold of
my nose with both hands. My mother saw this and
called me a genius : — my father wept for joy and
presented me with a treatise on Nosology. This I
mastered before I was breeched.
I now began to feel my way in the science; and
soon came to understand that, provided a man had a
nose sufficiently conspicuous, he might, by merely fol-
lowing it, arrive at a Lionship. But my attention was
not confined to theories alone. Every morning I gave
my proboscis a couple of pulls and swallowed a half
dozen of drams.
When I came of age my father asked me, one day,
if I would step with him into his study.
"My son," said he, when we were seated, " what
is the chief end of your existence ?''
(35)


36 TALES.
"My father," I answered, "it is the study of
Nosology."
"And what, Robert," he inquired, " is Nosology i"
"Sir," I said, "it is the Science of Noses."
"And can you tell me," he demanded, "what is
the meaning of a nose ?''
"A nose, my father," I replied, greatly softened,
"has been variously defined by about a thousand dif-
ferent authors." [Here I pulled out my watch.]
"It is now noon or thereabouts—We shall have
time enough to get through with them all before mid-
night. To commence then :— The nose, according
to Bartholinus, is that protuberance—that bump —
that excrescence — that"
— "Will do, Robert," interrupted the good old
gentleman. "I am thunderstruck at the extent of your
information — I am positively — upon my soul.''
[Here he closed his eyes and placed his hand upon his
heart.] "Come here." [Here he took me by the
arm.] "Your education may now be considered as
finished — it is high time you should scuffle for your-
self— and you cannot do a better thing than merely
follow your nose — so — so — so —" [Here he
kicked me down stairs and out of the door.] — "so
get out of my house and God bless you !''
As I felt within me the divine afflatus, I considered
this accident rather fortunate than otherwise. I re-
solved to be guided by the paternal advice. I deter-
mined to follow my nose. I gave it a pull or two upon
the spot, and wrote a pamphlet on Nosology forthwith.
All Fum-Fudge was in an uproar.
"Wonderful genius!" said the Quarterly.
"Superb physiologist !" said the Westminster.
"Clever fellow!" said the Foreign.


LIONIZING. 37
"Fine writer!" said the Edinburgh.
"Profound thinker!" said the Dublin.
"Great man!" said Bentley.
"Divine soul !" said Fraser.
"One of us!" said Blackwood.
"Who can he be?" said Mrs. Bas-Bleu.
"What can he be?" said big Miss Bas-Bleu.
"Where can he be?" said little Miss Bas-Bleu.
— But I paid these people no attention whatever — I
just stepped into the shop of an artist.
The Duchess of Bless-my-soul was sitting for her
portrait; the Marquis of So-and-So was holding the
Duchess' poodle; the Earl of This-and-That was
flirting with her salts; and his Royal Highness of
Touch-me-Not was leaning upon the back of her chair.
I approached the artist and turned up my nose.
"Oh, beautiful!" sighed her Grace.
'' Oh my !'' lisped the Marquis.
"Oh shocking!" groaned the Earl.
"Oh abominable!" growled his Royal Highness.
"What will you take for it?" asked the artist.
"For his nose!" shouted her Grace.
"A thousand pounds," said I, sitting down.
"A thousand pounds?" inquired the artist, mus-
ingly.
"A thousand pounds," said I.
"Beautiful!" said he, entranced.
"A thousand pounds," said I.
"Do you warrant it?" he asked, turning the nose
to the light.
"I do," said I, blowing it well.
"Is it quite original?" he inquired, touching it
with reverence.
"Humph!" said I, twisting it to one side.


38 TALES.
"Has no copy been taken?" he demanded, sur-
veying it through a microscope.
"None," said I, turning it up.
"Admirable!" he ejaculated, thrown quite off his
guard by the beauty of the manoeuvre.
"A thousand pounds," said I.
"A thousand pounds?" said he.
"Precisely," said I.
"A thousand pounds?" said he.
"Just so," said I.
"You shall have them," said he, "what a piece
of virtu!" — So he drew me a check upon the spot,
and took a sketch of my nose. I engaged rooms
in Jermyn street, and sent her Majesty the ninety-
ninth edition of the "Nosology" with a portrait of
the proboscis. That sad little rake, the Prince of
Wales, invited me to dinner.
We were all lions and recbercbis.
There was a modern Platonist. He quoted Por-
phyry, Iamblicus, Plotinus, Proclus, Hierocles, Maxi-
mus Tyrius, and Syrianus.
There was a human-perfectibility man. He quoted
Turgot, Price, Priestley, Condorcet, De Stael, and the
"Ambitious Student in 111 Health."
There was Sir Positive Paradox. He observed that
all fools were philosophers, and that all philosophers
were fools.
There was ^Estheticus Ethix. He spoke of fire, unity,
and atoms ; bi-part and pre-existent soul; affinity and
discord; primitive intelligence and homoomeria.
There was Theologos Theology. He talked of
Eusebius and Arianus; heresy and the Council of
Nice; Puseyism and consubstantialism; Homoousios
and Homoouioisios.


LIONIZING. 39
There was Fricassee from the Rocher de Cancale.
He mentioned Muriton of red tongue; cauliflowers
with vckuti sauce; veal a la St. Menehoult; marin-
ade a la St. Florentin ; and orange jellies en mosaiques.
There was Bibulus O'Bumper. He touched upon
Latour and Markbrunen ; upon Mousseux and Cham-
bertin; upon Richebourg and St. George ; upon Hau-
brion, Leonville, and Medoc ; upon Barac and Prei-
gnac ; upon Grave, and upon St. Peray. He shook his
head at Clos de Vougeot, and told, with his eyes shut,
the difference between Sherry and Amontillado.
There was Signor Tintontintino from Florence. He
discoursed of Cimabue, Arpino, Carpaccio, and Argos-
tjno — of the gloom of Caravaggio, of the amenity of
Albano, of the colors of Titian, of the (rows of Rubens,
and of the waggeries of Jan Steen.
There was the President of the Fum Fudge Univer-
sity. He was of opinion that the moon was called
Bendis in Thrace, Bubastis in Egypt, Dian in Rome,
and Artemis in Greece.
There was a Grand Turk from Stamboul. He could
not help thinking that the angels were horses, cocks and
bulls; that somebody in the sixth heaven had seventy
thousand heads ; and that the earth was supported by a
sky-blue cow with an incalculable number of green horns.
There was Delphinus Polyglott. He told us what
had become of the eighty-three lost tragedies of jEs-
chylus; of the fifty-four orations of Isaeus; of the
three hundred and ninety-one speeches of Lysias; of
the hundred and eighty treatises of Theophrastus ; of
the eighth book of the Conic Sections of Apollonius;
of Pindar's hymns and dithyrambics; and of the five
and forty tragedies of Homer Junior.
There was Ferdinand Fitz-Fossillus Feltspar. He


4-0 TALES.
informed us all about internal fires and tertiary forma-
tions; about aeriforms, fluidiforms, and solidiforms;
about quartz and marl; about schist and schorl ; about
gypsum and trap; about talc and calc; about blende
and horn-blende ; about mica-slate and pudding-stone;
about cyanite and lepidolite; about haematite and
tremolite; about antimony and chalcedony; about man-
ganese and whatever you please.
There was myself. I spoke of myself; — of myself,
of myself, of myself; —of Nosology of my pamphlet,
and of myself. I turned up my nose and spoke of
myself.
"Marvellous clever man !" said the Prince.
"Superb !" said his guests ; and next morning her
Grace of Bless-my-soul paid me a visit.
"Will you go to Almacks, pretty creature?" she
said, tapping me under the chin.
"Upon honor," said I.
"Nose and all ?" she asked.
"As I live," I replied.
"Here then is a card, my life, shall I say you will
be there?"
"Dear Duchess, with all my heart."
"Pshaw, no !— but with all your nose?"
"Every bit of it, my love," said I : — so I gave it
a twist or two, and found myself at Almacks.
The rooms were crowded to suffocation.
"He is coming !" said somebody on the staircase.
"He is coming !" said somebody farther up.
"He is coming !" said somebody farther still.
"He is come !" exclaimed the Duchess —" he is
come, the little love !" —and seizing me firmly by
both hands, she kissed me thrice upon the nose.
A marked sensation immediately ensued.


LIONIZING. 41
"Diavo'o !" cried Count Capricornutti.
"Dios guard,!!" muttered Don Stiletto.
"Mille tonncrres!" ejaculated the Prince de Gre-
nouille.
"Tausend teufel!" growled the Elector of Blud-
dennuff.
It was not to be borne. I grew angry. I turned
short upon Bluddennuff.
"Sir !" said I to him, "you are a baboon."
"Sir," he replied, after a pause, " Donner und Blit-
ZM /"
This was all that could be desired. We exchanged
cards. At Chalk-Farm, the next morning, I shot off
his nose — and then called upon my friends.
"Bete!" said the first.
"Fool !" said the second.
"Dolt !" said the third.
"Ass !" said the fourth.
"Ninny !" said the fifth.
"Noodle !" said the sixth.
"Be off!" said the seventh.
At all this I felt mortified, and so called upon my
father.
"Father," I asked, "what is the chief end of my
existence?"
"My son," he replied, "it is still the study of
Nosology; but in hitting the Elector upon the nose
you have overshot your mark. You have a fine nose,
it is true; but then BluddennufF has none. You are
damned, and he has become the hero of the day. I
grant you that in Fum-Fudge the greatness of a lion is
in proportion to the size of his proboscis — but, Good
Heavens! there is no competing with a lion who has
no proboscis at all."


THE UNPARALLELED ADVENTURE
HANS PFAALL.
[Southern Literary Messenger, June, 1835; 1840.]
With a heart of furious fancies,
Whereof I am commander,
With a burning spear and a hone of air,
To the wilderness I wander.
Tom 0' Bedlam* 1 Song.
By late accounts from Rotterdam, that city seems to
be in a high state of philosophical excitement. In-
deed, phenomena have there occurred of a nature so
completely unexpected — so entirely novel — so utterly
at variance with preconceived opinions — as to leave no
doubt on my mind that long ere this all Europe is in
an uproar, all physics in a ferment, all reason and as-
tronomy together by the ears.
It appears that on the day of , (I
am not positive about the date,) a vast crowd of people,
for purposes not specifically mentioned, were assem-
bled in the great square of the Exchange in the well-
conditioned city of Rotterdam. The day was warm —
unusually so for the season — there was hardly a breath
of air stirring; and the multitude were in no bad humor
at being now and then besprinkled with friendly show-
(42)


HANS PFAALL. 43
ers of momentary duration, that fell from large white
masses of cloud profusely distributed about the blue
vault of the firmament. Nevertheless, about noon, a
slight but remarkable agitation became apparent in the
assembly; the clattering of ten thousand tongues suc-
ceeded; and, in an instant afterwards, ten thousand
faces were upturned towards the heavens, ten thousand
pipes descended simultaneously from the corners of ten
thousand mouths, and a shout, which could be com-
pared to nothing but the roaring of Niagara, resounded
long, loudly and furiously, through all the city and
through all the environs of Rotterdam.
The origin of this hubbub soon became sufficiently
evident. From behind the huge bulk of one of those
sharply defined masses of cloud already mentioned, was
seen slowly to emerge into an open area of blue space,
a queer, heterogeneous, but apparently solid substance,
so oddly shaped, so whimsically put together, as not
to be in any manner comprehended, and never to be
sufficiently admired, by the host of sturdy burghers
who stood open-mouthed below. What could it be?
In the name of all the devils in Rotterdam, what could
it possibly portend? No one knew; no one could
imagine; no one — not even the burgomaster Myn-
heer Superbus Von Underduk — had the slightest clew
by which to unravel the mystery; so, as nothing more
reasonable could be done, every one to a man replaced
his pipe carefully in the corner of his mouth, and main-
taining an eye steadily upon the phenomenon, puffed,
paused, waddled about, and grunted significantly —
then waddled back, grunted, paused, and finally —
puffed again.
In the meantime, however, lower and still lower
towards the goodly city, came the object of so much


44 TALES.
curiosity, and the cause of so much smoke. In a very
few minutes it arrived near enough to be accurately
discerned. It appeared to be — yes! it was undoubt-
edly a species of balloon; but surely no sucb balloon
had ever been seen in Rotterdam before. For who,
let me ask, ever heard of a balloon manufactured en-
tirely of dirty newspapers? No man in Holland cer-
tainly; yet here, under the very noses of the people,
or rather at some distance above their noses, was the
identical thing in question, and composed, I have it on
the best authority, of the precise material which no one
had ever before known to be used for a similar purpose.
— It was an egregious insult to the good sense of the
burghers of Rotterdam. As to the shape of the phe-
nomenon, it was even still more reprehensible. Being
little or nothing better than a huge fool's-cap turned
upside down. And this similitude was regarded as by
no means lessened, when upon nearer inspection, the
crowd saw a large tassel depending from its apex, and,
around the upper rim or base of the cone, a circle of
little instruments, resembling sheep-bells, which kept
up a continual tinkling to the tune of Betty Martin.
But still worse. — Suspended by blue ribbons to the
end of this fantastic machine, there hung, by way of
car, an enormous drab beaver hat, with a brim super-
latively broad, and a hemispherical crown with a black
band and a silver buckle. It is, however, somewhat
remarkable that many citizens of Rotterdam swore to
having seen the same hat repeatedly before ; and indeed
the whole assembly seemed to regard it with eyes of
familiarity; while the vrow Grettel Pfaall, upon sight
of it, uttered an exclamation of joyful surprise, and
declared it to be the identical hat of her good man him-
ielf. Now this was a circumstance the more to be


HANS PFAALL. 4;
observed, as Pfaall, with three companions, had actually
disappeared from Rotterdam about five years before, in
a very sudden and unaccountable manner, and up to
the date of this narrative all attempts at obtaining intel-
ligence concerning them had failed. To be sure, some
bones which were thought to be human, mixed up with
a quantity of odd-looking rubbish, had been lately dis-
covered in a retired situation to the east of the city;
and some people went so far as to imagine that in this
spot a foul murder had been committed, and that the
sufferers were in all probability Hans Pfaall and his
associates. — But to return.
The balloon (for such no doubt it was) had now
descended to within a hundred feet of the earth, allow-
ing the crowd below a sufficiently distinct view of the
person of its occupant. This was in truth a very
singular somebody. He could not have been more
than two feet in height; but this altitude, little as it
was, would have been sufficient to destroy his equili-
brium, 2nd tilt him over the edge of his tiny car, but
for the intervention of a circular rim reaching as high
as the breast, and rigged on to the cords of the balloon.
The body of the little man was more than proportion-
ally broad, giving to his entire figure a rotundity highly
absurd. His feet, of course, could not be seen at all. His
hands were enormously large. His hair was gray, and
collected into a queue behind. His nose was prodigiously
long, crooked and inflammatory; his eyes full, brilliant,
and acute; his chin and cheeks, although wrinkled with
age, were broad, puffy, and double; but of ears of any
kind there was not a semblance to be discovered upon
any portion of his head. This odd little gentleman was
dressed in a loose surtout of sky-blue satin, with tight
breeches to match, fastened with silver buckles at the


46 TALES.
knees. His vest was of some bright yellow material;
a white taffety cap was set jauntily on one side of his
head; and, to complete his equipment, a blood-red
silk handkerchief enveloped his throat, and fell down,
in a dainty manner, upon his bosom, in a fantastic
bow-knot of super-eminent dimensions.
Having descended, as I said before, to about one
hundred feet from the surface of the earth, the little old
gentleman was suddenly seized with a fit of trepidation,
and appeared disinclined to make any nearer approach
to terra jirma. Throwing out, therefore, a quantity
of sand from a canvas bag, which he lifted with great
difficulty, he became stationary in an instant. He then
proceeded in a hurried and agitated manner, to extract
from a side-pocket in his surtout a large morocco
pocket-book. This he poised suspiciously in his hand;
then eyed it with an air of extreme surprise, and was
evidently astonished at its weight. He at length opened
it, and, drawing therefrom a huge letter sealed with red
sealing-wax and tied carefully with red tape, let it fall
precisely at the feet of the burgomaster Superbus Von
Underduk. His Excellency stooped to take it up. But
the aeronaut, still greatly discomposed, and having ap-
parently no further business to detain him in Rotterdam,
began at this moment to make busy preparations for
departure ; and, it being necessary to discharge a por-
tion of ballast to enable him to reascend, the half dozen
bags which he threw out, one after another, without
taking the trouble to empty their contents, tumbled,
every one of them, most unfortunately, upon the back of
the burgomaster, and rolled him over and over no less
than half a dozen times, in the face of every individual in
Rotterdam. It is not to be supposed, however, that the
great Underduk suffered this impertinence on the part of


HANS PFAALL. 47
the little old man to pass off with impunity. It is said, on
the contrary, that during each of his half dozen cir-
cumvolutions, he emitted no less than half a dozen
distinct and furious whiffs from his pipe, to which he
held fast the whole time with all his might, and to
which he intends holding fast, (God willing,) until the
day of his decease.
In the meantime the balloon arose like a lark, and,
soaring far away above the city, at length drifted
quietly behind a cloud similar to that from which it
had so oddly emerged, and was thus lost forever to the
wondering eyes of the good citizens of Rotterdam.
All attention was now directed to the letter, the
descent of which, and the consequences attending
thereupon, had proved so fatally subversive of both
person and personal dignity to his Excellency, Von
Underduk. That functionary, however, had not failed,
during his circumgyratory movements, to bestow a
thought upon the important object of securing the
epistle, which was seen, upon inspection, to have
fallen into the most proper hands, being actually ad-
dressed to himself and Professor Rubadub, in their
official capacities of President and Vice-President of
the Rotterdam College of Astronomy. It was accord-
ingly opened by those dignitaries upon the spot, and
found to contain the following extraordinary, and in-
deed very serious, communication : —
To tbeir Excellencses Von Underduk and Rubadub, Presi-
dent and Vice-President of the States' College of Astrono-
mers, in tbe city of Rotterdam.
Your Excellencies may perhaps be able to remember
an humble artizan, by name Hans Pfaall, and by occu-


48 TALES.
pation a mender of bellows, who, with three others,
disappeared from Rotterdam, about five years ago, in
a manner which must have been considered unaccount-
able. If, however, it so please your Excellencies, I,
the writer of this communication, am the identical
Hans Pfaall himself. It is well known to most of my
fellow-citizens, that for the period of forty years I
continued to occupy the little square brick building, at
the head of the alley called Sauerkraut, in which I
resided at the time of my disappearance. My an-
cestors have also resided therein time out of mind —
they, as well as myself, steadily following the respect-
able and indeed lucrative profession of mending of
bellows: for, to speak the truth, until of late years,
that the heads of all the people have been set agog
with politics, no better business than my own could
an honest citizen of Rotterdam either desire or deserve.
Credit was good, employment was never wanting,
and there was no lack of either money or good will.
But, as I was saying, we soon began to feel the effects
of liberty, and long speeches, and radicalism, and all
that sort of thing. People who were formerly the
very best customers in the world, had now not a
moment of time to think of us at all. They had as
much as they could do to read about the revolutions,
and keep up with the march of intellect and the spirit
of the age. If a fire wanted fanning, it could readily
be fanned with a newspaper; and as the government
grew weaker, I have no doubt that leather and iron
acquired durability in proportion — for, in a very short
time, there was not a pair of bellows in all Rotterdam
that ever stood in need of a stitch or required the
assistance of a, hammer. This was a state of things
not to be endured. I soon grew as poor as a rat,


HANS PFAALL. 49
and, having a wife and children to provide for, my
burdens at length became intolerable, and I spent hour
after hour in reflecting upon the most convenient
method of putting an end to my life. Duns, in the
meantime, left me little leisure for contemplation.
My house was literally besieged from morning till
night. There were three fellows in particular, who
worried me beyond endurance, keeping watch con-
tinually about my door, and threatening me with the
law. Upon these three I vowed the bitterest revenge,
if ever I should be so happy as to get them within my
clutches; and I believe nothing in the world but the
pleasure of this anticipation prevented me from putting
my plan of suicide into immediate execution, by blow-
ing my brains out with a blunderbuss. I thought it
best, however, to dissemble my wrath, and to treat
them with promises and fair words, until, by some
good turn of fate, an opportunity of vengeance should
be afforded me.
One day, having given them the slip, and feeling
more than usually dejected, I continued for a long
time to wander about the most obscure streets without
object, until at length I chanced to stumble against the
corner of a bookseller's stall. Seeing a chair close at
hand, for the use of customers, I threw myself dog-
gedly into it, and, hardly knowing why, opened the
pages of the first volume which came within my reach.
It proved to be a small pamphlet treatise on Speculative
Astronomy, written either by Professor Encke of Berlin,
or by a Frenchman of somewhat similar name. I had
some little tincture of information on matters of this
nature, and soon became more and more absorbed in
the contents of the book — reading it actually through
twice before I awoke to a recollection of what was
vol. 11.—4


50 TALES.
passing around me. By this time it began to grow
dark, and I directed my steps toward home. But the
treatise (in conjunction with a discovery in pneumatics,
lately communicated to me as an important secret, by
a cousin from Nantz,) had made an indelible impres-
sion on my mind, and, as I sauntered along the dusky
streets, I revolved carefully over in my memory the
wild and sometimes unintelligible reasonings of the
writer. There are some particular passages which
affected my imagination in an extraordinary manner.
The longer I meditated upon these, the more intense
grew the interest which had been excited within me.
The limited nature of my education in general, and
more especially my ignorance on subjects connected
with natural philosophy, so far from rendering me
diffident of my own ability to comprehend what I had
read, or inducing me to mistrust the many vague
notions which had arisen in consequence, merely
served as a farther stimulus to imagination ; and I was
vain enough, or perhaps reasonable enough, to doubt
whether those crude ideas which, arising in ill-regu-
lated minds, have all the appearance, may not often in
effect possess all the force, the reality, and other
inherent properties of instinct or intuition.
It was late when I reached home, and I went im-
mediately to bed. My mind, however, was too much
occupied to sleep, and I lay the whole night buried in
meditation. Arising early in the morning, I repaired
eagerly to the bookseller's stall, and laid out what little
ready money I possessed, in the purchase of some vol-
umes of Mechanics and Practical Astronomy. Having
arrived at home safely with these, I devoted every
spare moment to their perusal, and soon made such
proficiency in studies of this nature as I thought suffi-


HANS PFAALL. 5 I
cient for the execution of a certain design with which
either the devil or my better genius had inspired me.
In the intervals of this period, I made every endeavor
to conciliate the three creditors who had given me so
much annoyance. In this I finally succeeded — partly
by selling enough of my household furniture to satisfy a
moiety of their claim, and partly by a promise of pay-
ing the balance upon completion of a little project
which I told them I had in view, and for assistance in
which I solicited their services. By these means (for
they were ignorant men) I found little difficulty in gain-
ing them over to my purpose.
Matters being thus arranged, I contrived, by the aid
of my wife, and with the greatest secrecy and caution,
to dispose of what property I had remaining, and to
borrow, in small sums, under various pretences, and
without giving any attention (I am ashamed to say) to
my future means of repayment, no inconsiderable quan-
tity of ready money. With the means thus accruing I
proceeded to procure at intervals, cambric muslin, very
fine, in pieces of twelve yards each; twine; a lot of
the varnish of caoutchouc; a large and deep basket
of wicker-work, made to order; and several other ar-
ticles necessary in the construction and equipment of a
balloon of extraordinary dimensions. This I directed
my wife to make up as soon as possible, and gave her
all requisite information as to the particular method of
proceeding. In the meantime I worked up the twine
into net-work of sufficient dimensions; rigged it with a
hoop and the necessary cords; and made purchase of
numerous instruments and materials for experiment in
the upper regions of the upper atmosphere. I then
took opportunities of conveying by night, to a retired
situation east of Rotterdam, five iron-bound casks, to


52 TALES.
contain about fifty gallons each, and one of a larger
size; six tin tubes, three inches in diameter, properly
shaped, and ten feet in length; a quantity of a partic-
ular metallic substance, or semi-metal which I shall not
name, and a dozen demijohns of a very common acid.
The gas to be formed from these latter materials is a
gas never yet generated by any other person than my-
self— or at least never applied to any similar purpose.
I can only venture to say here, that it is a constituent of
azote, so long considered irreducible, and that its den-
sity is about 37.4 times less than that of hydrogen. It
is tasteless, but not odorless ; burns, when pure, with a
greenish flame, and is instantaneously fatal to animal
life. Its full secret I would make no difficulty in dis-
closing, but that it of right belongs (as I have before
hinted) to a citizen of Nantz, in France, by whom it
was conditionally communicated to myself. The same
individual submitted to me, without being at all aware
of my intentions, a method of constructing balloons
from the membrane of a certain animal, through which
substance any escape of gas was nearly an impossibility.
I found it, however, altogether too expensive, and was
not sure, upon the whole, whether cambric muslin
with a coating of gum caoutchouc, was not equally as
good. I mention this circumstance, because I think it
probable that hereafter the individual in question may
attempt a balloon ascension with the novel gas and ma-
terial I have spoken of, and I do not wish to deprive
him of the honor of a very singular invention.
On the spot which I intended each of the smaller
casks to occupy respectively during the inflation of the
balloon, I privately dug a small hole; the holes form-
ing in this manner a circle twenty-five feet in diameter.
In the centre of this circle, being the station designed


HANS PFAALL. 53
for the large cask, I also dug a hole of greater depth.
In each of the five smaller holes, I deposited a canister
containing fifty pounds, and in the larger one a keg
holding one hundred and fifty pounds of cannon
powder. These — the keg and the canisters — I con-
nected in a proper manner with covered trains; and
having let into one of the canisters the end of about
four feet of slow-match, I covered up the hole, and
placed the cask over it, leaving the other end of the
match protruding about an inch, and barely visible be-
yond the cask. I then filled up the remaining holes,
and placed the barrels over them in their destined
situation.
Besides the articles above enumerated, I conveyed
to the depot, and there secreted, one of M. Grimm's
improvements upon the apparatus for condensation of
the atmospheric air. I found this machine, however,
to require considerable alteration before it could be
adapted to the purposes to which I intended making it
applicable. But, with severe labor and unremitting
perseverance, I at length met with entire success in all
my preparations. My balloon was soon completed.
It would contain more than forty thousand cubic feet
of gas; would take me up easily, I calculated, with
all my implements, and, if I managed rightly, with
one hundred and seventy-five pounds of ballast into
the bargain. It had received three coats of varnish,
and I found the cambric muslin to answer all the pur-
poses of silk itself, being quite as strong and a good deal
less expensive.
Everything being now ready, I exacted from my
wife an oath of secrecy in relation to all my actions
from the day of my first visit to the bookseller's stall;
and promising, on my part, to return as soon as cir-


54 TALES.
cumstances would permit, I gave her what little money
I had left, and bade her farewell. Indeed I had no
fear on her account. She was what people call a
notable woman, and could manage matters in the
world without my assistance. I believe, to tell the
truth, she always looked upon me as an idle body — a
mere make-weight — good lor nothing but building
castles in the air — and was rather glad to get rid of
me. It was a dark night when I bade her good bye,
and taking with me, as aides-de-camp, the three cred-
itors who had given me so much trouble, we carried
the balloon, with the car and accoutrements, by a
roundabout way, to the station where the other articles
were deposited. We there found them all unmolested,
and I proceeded immediately to business.
It was the first of April. The night, as I said be-
fore, was dark; there was not a star to be seen; and
a drizzling rain, falling at intervals, rendered us very
uncomfortable. But my chief anxiety was concerning
the balloon, which, in spite of the varnish with which
it was defended, began to grow rather heavy with the
moisture; the powder also was liable to damage. I
therefore kept my three duns working with great dili-
gence, pounding down ice around the central cask,
and stirring the acid in the others. They did not
cease, however, importuning me with questions as to
what I intended to do with all this apparatus, and
expressed much dissatisfaction at the terrible labor I
made them undergo. They could not perceive (so
they said) what good was likely to result from their
getting wet to the skin, merely to take a part in such
horrible incantations. I began to get uneasy, and
worked away with all my might ; for I verily believe the
idiots supposed that I had entered into a compact with


HANS PFAALL. 55
the devil, and that, in short, what I was now doing
was nothing better than it should be. I was, there-
fore, in great fear of their leaving me altogether. I
contrived, however, to pacify them by promises of
payment of all scores in full, as soon as I could bring
the present business to a termination. To these
speeches they gave of course their own interpretation;
fancying, no doubt, that at all events I should come
into possession of vast quantities of ready money; and
provided I paid them all I owed, and a trifle more, in
consideration of their services, I dare say they cared
very little what became of either my soul or my
carcass.
In about four hours and a half I found the balloon
sufficiently inflated. I attached the car, therefore, and
put all my implements in it — a telescope; a barome-
ter, with some important modifications; a thermome-
ter; an electrometer; a compass; a magnetic needle;
a seconds watch; a bell; a speaking trumpet, etc.
etc., etc. —also a globe of glass, exhausted of air, and
carefully closed with a stopper — not forgetting the
condensing apparatus, some unslacked lime, a stick of
sealing wax, a copious supply of water, and a large
quantity of provisions, such as pemmican, in which
much nutriment is contained in comparatively little
bulk. I also secured in the car a pair of pigeons and
a cat.
It was now nearly daybreak, and I thought it high
time to take my departure. Dropping a lighted cigar
on the ground, as if by accident, I took the opportu-
nity, in stooping to pick it up, of igniting privately the
piece of slow match, the end of which, as I said be-
forei protruded a little beyond the lower rim of one of
the smaller casks. This manoeuvre was totally unper-


$6 TALES.
ceived on the part of the three duns; and, jumping
into the car, I immediately cut the single cord which
held me to the earth, and was pleased to find that I
shot upwards with inconceivable rapidity, carrying
with all ease one hundred and seventy-five pounds of
leaden ballast, and able to have carried up as many more.
As I left the earth, the barometer stood at thirty
inches, and the centigrade thermometer at 19°.
Scarcely, however, had I attained the height of
fifty yards, when, roaring and rumbling up after me in
the most tumultuous and terrible manner, came so
dense a hurricane of fire, and gravel, and burning
wood, and blazing metal, and mangled limbs, that my
very heart sunk within me, and I fell down in the bot-
tom of the car, trembling with terror. Indeed, I now
perceived that I had entirely overdone the business,
and that the main consequences of the shock were yet
to be experienced. Accordingly, in less than a second,
I felt all the blood in my body rushing to my temples,
and, immediately thereupon, a concussion, which I
shall never forget, burst abruptly through the night,
and seemed to rip the very firmament asunder. When
I afterwards had time for reflection, I did not fail to
attribute the extreme violence of the explosion, as re-
garded myself, to its proper cause — my situation di-
rectly above it, and in the line of its greatest power.
But at the time, I thought only of preserving my life.
The balloon at first collapsed, then furiously expanded,
then whirled round and round with sickening velocity,
and finally, reeling and staggering like a drunken man,
hurled me over the rim of the car, and left me dang-
ling, at a terrific height, with my head downward, and
my face outward, by a piece of slender cord about
three feet in length, which hung accidentally through


HANS PFAALL. 57
a crevice near the bottom of the wicker-work, and in
which, as I fell, my left foot became most providen-
tially entangled. It is impossible — utterly impossible
— to form any adequate idea of the horror of my situa-
tion. I gasped convulsively for breath — a shudder
resembling a fit of the ague agitated every nerve and
muscle in my frame—I felt my eyes starting from
their sockets — a horrible nausea overwhelmed me —
and at length I lost all consciousness in a swoon.
How long I remained in this state it is impossible to
say. It must, however, have been no inconsiderable
time, for when I partially recovered the sense of ex-
istence, I found the day breaking, the balloon at a pro-
digious height over a wilderness of ocean, and not a
trace of land to be discovered far and wide within the
limits of the vast horizon. My sensations, however,
upon thus recovering, were by no means so replete
with agony as might have been anticipated. Indeed,
there was much of madness in the calm survey which
I began to take of my situation. I drew up to my
eyes each of my hands, one after the other, and won-
dered what occurrence could have given rise to the
swelling of the veins, and the horrible blackness of the
finger nails. I afterwards carefully examined my
head, shaking it repeatedly, and feeling it with minute
attention, until I succeeded in satisfying myself that it
was not, as I had more than half suspected, larger than
my balloon. Then, in a knowing manner, I felt in
both my breeches pockets, and, missing therefrom a
set of tablets and a tooth-pick case, endeavored to ac-
count for their disappearance, and, not being able to
do so, felt inexpressibly chagrined. It now occurred
to me that I suffered great uneasiness in the joint of my
left ankle, and a dim consciousness of my situation be-


58 TALES.
gan to glimmer through my mind. But, strange to
say! I was neither astonished nor horror-stricken. If
I felt any emotion at all, it was a kind of chuckling
satisfaction at the cleverness I was about to display
in extricating myself from this dilemma; and never,
for a moment, did I look upon my ultimate safety as a
question susceptible of doubt. For a few minutes I
remained wrapped in the profoundest meditation. I
have a distinct recollection of frequently compressing
my lips, putting my fore-finger to the side of my nose,
and making use of other gesticulations and grimaces
common to men who, at ease in their arm-chairs, medi-
tate upon matters of intricacy or importance. Having,
as I thought, sufficiently collected my ideas, I now,
with great caution and deliberation, put my hands be-
hind my back, and unfastened the large iron buckle
which belonged to the waistband of my pantaloons.
This buckle had three teeth, which, being somewhat
rusty, turned with great difficulty on their axis. I
brought them, however, after some trouble, at right
angles to the body of the buckle, and was glad to find
them remain firm in that position. Holding within
my teeth the instrument thus obtained, I now pro-
ceeded to untie the knot of my cravat. I had to rest
several times before I could accomplish this manoeuvre;
but it was at length accomplished. To one end of the
cravat I then made fast the buckle, and the other end I
tied, for greater security, tightly around my wrist.
Drawing now my body upwards, with a prodigious
exertion of muscular force, I succeeded, at the very
first trial, in throwing the buckle over the car, and en-
tangling it, as I had anticipated, in the circular rim of
the wicker-work.
My body was now inclined towards the side of the car,


HANS PFAALL. 59
at an angle of about forty-five degrees ; but it must not
be understood that I was therefore only forty-five
degrees below the perpendicular. So far from it, I
still lay nearly level with the plane of the horizon ; for
the change of situation which I had acquired, had
forced the bottom of the car considerably outward from
mv position, which was accordingly one of the most
imminent peril. It should be remembered, however,
that when I fell, in the first instance, from the car, if
I had fallen with my face turned toward the balloon,
instead of turned outwardly from it as it actually was
— or if, in the second place, the cord by which I was
suspended had chanced to hang over the upper edge,
instead of through a crevice near the bottom of the car
— I say it may readily be conceived that, in either of
these supposed cases, I should have been unable to ac-
complish even as much as I had now accomplished,
and the disclosures now made would have been utterly
lost to posterity. I had therefore every reason to be
grateful; although, in point of fact, I was still too
stupid to be any thing at all, and hung for, perhaps, a
quarter of an hour, in that extraordinary manner,
without making the slightest farther exertion, and in a
singularly tranquil state of idiotic enjoyment. But
this feeling did not fail to die rapidly away, and there-
unto succeeded horror, and dismay, and a sense of
utter helplessness and ruin. In fact, the blood so long
accumulating in the vessels of my head and throat, and
which had hitherto buoyed up my spirits with delirium,
had now begun to retire within their proper channels,
and the distinctness which was thus added to my per-
ception of the danger, merely served to deprive me of
the self-possession and courage to encounter it. But
this weakness was, luckily for me, of no very long


60 TALES.
duration. In good time came to my rescue the spirit
of despair, and, with frantic cries and struggles, I jerked
my way bodily upwards, till, at length, clutching with
a vice-like grip the long-desired rim, I writhed my
person over it, and fell headlong and shuddering within
the car.
It was not until some time afterward that I recovered
myself sufficiently to attend to the ordinary cares of
the balloon. I then, however, examined it with at-
tention, and found it, to my great relief, uninjured.
My implements were all safe, and, fortunately, I had
lost neither ballast nor provisions. Indeed, I had so
well secured them in their places, that such an acci-
dent was entirely out of the question. Looking at my
watch, I found it six o'clock. I was still rapidly
ascending, and the barometer gave a present altitude of
three and three-quarter miles. Immediately beneath me
in the ocean, lay a small black object, slightly oblong
in shape, seemingly about the size of a domino, and in
every respect bearing a great resemblance to one of
those toys. Bringing my telescope to bear upon it, I
plainly discerned it to be a British ninety-four gun
ship, close-hauled, and pitching heavily in the sea with
her head to the W. S. W. Besides this ship, I saw
nothing but the ocean and the sky, and the sun, which
had long arisen.
It is now high time that I should explain to your
Excellencies the object of my voyage. Your Excel-
lencies will bear in mind that distressed circumstances
in Rotterdam had at length driven me to the resolution
of committing suicide. It was not, however, that to
life itself I had any positive disgust, but that 1 was
harassed beyond endurance by the adventitious miseries
attending my situation. In this state of mind, wishing


HANS PFAALL. 61
to live, yet wearied with life, the treatise at the stall
of the bookseller, backed by the opportune discovery
of my cousin of Nantz, opened a resource to my im-
agination. I then finally made up my mind. I deter-
mined to depart, yet live — to leave the world, yet
continue to exist —in short, to drop enigmas, I resolved,
let what would ensue, to force a passage, if I could, to
the moon. Now, lest I should be supposed more of a
madman than I actually am, I will detail, as well as I
am able, the considerations which led me to believe
that an achievement of this nature, although without
doubt difficult, and full of danger, was not absolutely,
to a bold spirit, beyond the confines of the possible.
The moon's actual distance from the earth was the
first thing to be attended to. Now, the mean or aver-
age interval between the centres of the two planets is
59.9643 of the earth's equatorial radii, or only about
237,000 miles. I say the mean or average interval ; —
but it must be borne in mind, that the form of the moon's
orbit being an ellipse of eccentricity amounting to no
less than 0.05484 of the major semi-axis of the ellipse
itself, and the earth's centre being situated in its focus,
if I could, in any manner, contrive to meet the moon
in its perigee, the above-mentioned distance would be
materially diminished. But to say nothing, at present,
of this possibility, it was very certain that, at all events,
from the 237,000 miles I would have to deduct the
radius of the earth, say 4000, and the radius of the
moon, say 1080, in all 5080, leaving an actual inter-
val to be traversed, under average circumstances, of
231,920 miles. Now this, I reflected, was no very
extraordinary distance. Travelling on the land has
been repeatedly accomplished at the rate of sixty miles
per hour; and indeed a much greater speed may be


62 TALES.
anticipated. But even at this velocity, it would take
me no more than 161 days to reach the surface of the
moon. There were, however, many particulars in-
ducing me to believe that my average rate of travelling
might possibly very much exceed that of sixty miles
per hour, and, as these considerations did not fail to
make a deep impression upon my mind, I will mention
them more fully hereafter.
The next point to be regarded was one of far greater
importance. From indications afforded by the barome-
ter, we find that, in ascensions from the surface of the
earth we have, at the height of 1000 feet, left below
us about one-thirtieth of the entire mass of atmospheric
air; that at 10,600, we have ascended through nearly
one-third; and that at 18,000, which is not far from
the elevation of Cotopaxi, we have surmounted one-
half the material, or, at all events, one-half the ponder-
able body of air incumbent upon our globe. It is also
calculated, that at an altitude not exceeding the hun-
dredth part of the earth's diameter—that is, not ex-
ceeding eighty miles — the rarefaction would be so
excessive that animal life could in no manner be sus-
tained, and, moreover, that the most delicate means we
possess of ascertaining the presence of the atmosphere,
would be inadequate to assure us of its existence. But
I did not fail to perceive that these latter calculations
are founded altogether on our experimental knowledge
of the properties of air, and the mechanical laws regu-
lating its dilation and compression, in what may be
called, comparatively speaking, the immediate vicinity
of the earth itself; and, at the same time, it is taken
for granted that animal life is and must be, essentially
incapable of modification at any given unattainable dis-
tance from the surface. Now, all such reasoning and


HANS PFAALL. 63
from such data, must of course be simply analogical.
The greatest height ever reached by man was that of
25,000 feet, attained in the aeronautic expedition of
Messieurs Gay-Lussac and Biot. This is a moderate
altitude, even when compared with the eighty miles in
question; and I could not help thinking that the sub-
ject admitted room for doubt, and great latitude for
speculation.
But, in point of fact, an ascension being made to
any given altitude, the ponderable quantity of air sur-
mounted in any farther ascension, is by no means in
proportion to the additional height ascended, (as may
be plainly seen from what has been stated before,) but
in a ratio constantly decreasing. It is therefore evident
that, ascend as high as we may, we cannot, literally
speaking, arrive at a limit beyond which no atmosphere
is to be found. It must exist, I argued; although it
may exist in a state of infinite rarefaction.
On the other hand, I was aware that arguments have
not been wanting to prove the existence of a real and
definite limit to the atmosphere, beyond which there is
absolutely no air whatsoever. But a circumstance
which has been left out of view by those who contend
for such a limit, seemed to me, although no positive
refutation of their creed, still a point worthy very
serious investigation. On comparing the intervals
between the successive arrivals of Encke's comet at its
perihelion, after giving credit, in the most exact manner,
for all the disturbances due to the attractions of the
planets, it appears that the periods are gradually dimin-
ishing; that is to say, the major axis of the comet's
ellipse is growing shorter, in a slow but perfectly regu-
lar decrease. Now, this is precisely what ought to be
the case, if we suppose a resistance experienced from


64 TALES.
the comet from an extremely rare ethereal medium per-
vading the regions of its orbit. For it is evident that
such a medium must, in retarding the comet's ve-
locity, increase its centripetal, by weakening its cen-
trifugal force. In other words, the sun's attraction
would be constantly attaining greater power, and the
comet would be drawn nearer at every revolution.
Indeed, there is no other way of accounting for the
variation in question. But again : — The real diame-
ter of the same comet's nebulosity, is observed to con-
tract rapidly as it approaches the sun, and dilate with
equal rapidity in its departure toward its aphelion.
Was I not justifiable in supposing, with M. Valz,
that this apparent condensation of volume has
its origin in the compression of the same ethereal
medium I have spoken of before, and which is dense
in proportion to its vicinity to the sun? The lenticu-
lar-shaped phenomenon, also, called the zodiacal light,
was a matter worthy of attention. This radiance, so
apparent in the tropics, and which cannot be mistaken
for any meteoric lustre, extends from the horizon
obliquely upwards, and follows generally the direction
of the sun's equator. It appeared to me evidently in
the nature of a rare atmosphere extending from the sun
outwards, beyond the orbit of Venus at least, and I
believed indefinitely farther.1 Indeed, this medium I
could not suppose confined to the path of the comet's
ellipse, or to the immediate neighborhood of the sun.
It was easy, on the contrary, to imagine it pervading
the entire regions of our planetary system, condensed
into what we call atmosphere at the planets themselves,
and perhaps at some of them modified by considerations
1 The todiacal light is probably what the ancients called Trabes.
Emuantet trabes quas docot vacant. — Pliny lib. 2, p. 26.


HANS PFAALL. 65
purely geological; that is to say, modified, or varied in
its proportions (or absolute nature) by matters volatil-
ized from the respective orbs.
Having adopted this view of the subject, I had
little farther hesitation. Granting that on my passage
I should meet with atmosphere essentially the same as
at the surface of the earth, I conceived that, by means
of the very ingenious apparatus of M. Grimm, I should
readily be enabled to condense it in sufficient quantity
for the purposes of respiration. This would remove
the chief obstacle in a journey to the moon. I had
indeed spent some money and great labor in adapting
the apparatus to the object intended, and confidently
looked forward to its successful application, if I could
manage to complete the voyage within any reasonable
period. — This brings me back to the rate at which it
would be possible to travel.
It is true that balloons, in the first stage of their as-
censions from the earth, are known to rise with a ve-
locity comparatively moderate. Now, the power of
elevation lies altogether in the superior gravity of the
atmospheric air compared with the gas in the balloon;
and, at first sight, it does not appear probable that, as
the balloon acquires altitude, and consequently arrives
successively in atmospheric strata of densities rapidly
diminishing — I say, it does not appear at all reasona-
ble that, in this its progress upward, the original
velocity should be accelerated. On the other hand,
I was not aware that, in any recorded ascension, a
diminution had been proved to be apparent in the abso-
lute rate of ascent; although such should have been
the case, if on account of nothing else, on account of
the escape of gas through balloons ill-constructed, and
varnished with no better material than the ordinary
vol. 11.—5


66 TALES.
varnish. It seemed, therefore, that the effect of such
escape was only sufficient to counterbalance the effect
of the acceleration attained in the diminishing of the
balloon's distance from the gravitating centre. I now
considered that, provided in my passage I found the
medium I had imagined, and provided it should prove
to be essentially what we denominate atmospheric air,
it could make comparatively little difference at what
extreme state of rarefaction I should discover it — that
is to say, in regard to my power of ascending — for
the gas in the balloon would not only be itself subject
to similar rarefaction, (in proportion to the occurrence
of which, I could suffer an escape of so much as would
be requisite to prevent explosion,) but, being what it
was, would, at all events, continue specifically lighter
than any compound whatever of mere nitrogen and oxy-
gen. Thus there was a chance — in fact, there was
a strong probability — that, at no epocb of my ascent, 1
should reacb a point where the united weights of my
immense balloon, the inconceivably rare gas within it,
the car, and its contents, should equal the weight of the
mass of the surrounding atmosphere displaced ,• and this
will be readily understood as the sole condition upon
which my upward flight would be arrested. But, if
this point were even attained, I could dispense with
ballast and other weight to the amount of nearly 300
pounds. In the meantime, the force of gravitation
would be constantly diminishing, in proportion to the
squares of the distances, and so, with a velocity pro-
digiously accelerating, I should at length arrive in those
distant regions where the force of the earth's attraction
would be superseded by that of the moon.
There was another difficulty, however, which occa-
sioned me some little disquietude. It has been ob-


HANS PFAALL. 67
served, that, in balloon ascensions to any considerable
height, besides the pain attending respiration, great un-
easiness is experienced about the head and body, often
accompanied with bleeding at the nose, and other symp-
toms of an alarming kind, and growing more and more
inconvenient in proportion to the altitude attained.1
This was a reflection of a nature somewhat startling.
Was it not probable that these symptoms would in-
crease until terminated by death itself? I finally
thought not. Their origin was to be looked for in the
progressive removal of the customary atmospheric pres-
sure upon the surface of the body, and consequent dis-
tention of the superficial blood-vessels — not in any
positive disorganization of the animal system, as in the
case of difficulty in breathing, where the atmospheric
density is cbemically insufficient for the due renovation
of blood in a ventricle of the heart. Unless for de-
fault of this renovation, I could see no reason, there-
fore, why life could not be sustained even in a vacuum;
for the expansion and compression of chest, commonly
called breathing, is action purely muscular, and the
cause, not the effect, of respiration. In a word, I con-
ceived that, as the body should become habituated to
the want of atmospheric pressure, these sensations of
pain would gradually diminish — and to endure them
while they continued, I relied with confidence upon
the iron hardihood of my constitution.
Thus, may it please your Excellencies, I have de-
tailed some, though by no means all, the considerations
'Since the original publication of Hans Pfaall, I find that Mr.
Green, of Nassau-balloon notoriety, and other late aeronauts, deny
the asseitions of Humboldt, in this respect, and speak of a decreas-
ing inconvenience, — precisely in accordance with the theory here
urged.


68 TALES.
which led me to form the project of a lunar voyage.
I shall now proceed to lay before you the result of an
attempt so apparently audacious in conception, and, at
all events, so utterly unparalleled in the annals of man-
kind.
Having attained the altitude before mentioned —
that is to say, three miles and three quarters — I threw
out from the car a quantity of feathers, and found that
I still ascended with sufficient rapidity; there was,
therefore, no necessity for discharging any ballast. I
was glad of this, for I wished to retain with me as
much weight as I could carry, for the obvious reason
that I could not be positive either about the gravitation
or the atmospheric density of the moon. I as yet suf-
fered no bodily inconvenience, breathing with great
freedom, and feeling no pain whatever in the head.
The cat was lying very demurely upon my coat, which
I had taken off, and eyeing the pigeons with an air of
noncbalance. These latter being tied by the leg, to
prevent their escape, were busily employed in picking
up some grains of rice scattered for them in the bottom
of the car.
At twenty minutes past six o'clock, the barometer
showed an elevation of 26,400 feet, or five miles to a
fraction. The prospect seemed unbounded. Indeed,
it is very easily calculated by means of spherical geom-
etry, how great an extent of the earth's area I beheld.
The convex surface of any segment of a sphere is, to
the entire surface of the sphere itself, as the versed sine
of the segment to the diameter of the sphere. Now,
in my case, the versed sine — that is to say, the thick-
ness of the segment beneath me — was about equal to
my elevation, or the elevation of the point of sight
above the surface. "As five miles, then, to eight


HANS PFAALL. 69
thousand," would express the proportion of the earth's
area seen by me. In other words, I beheld as much
as a sixteen-hundredth part of the whole surface of the
globe. The sea appeared unruffled as a mirror, al-
though, by means of the telescope, I could perceive it
to be in a state of violent agitation. The ship was no
longer visible, having drifted away, apparently, to the
eastward. I now began to experience, at intervals,
severe pain in the head, especially about the ears —
still, however, breathing with tolerable freedom. The
cat and pigeons seemed to suffer no inconvenience
whatsoever.
At twenty minutes before seven, the balloon entered
a long series of dense cloud, which put me to great
trouble, by damaging my condensing apparatus, and
wetting me to the skin. This was, to be sure, a sin-
gular rencontre, for I had not believed it possible that a
cloud of this nature could be sustained at so great an
elevation. I thought it best, however, to throw out
two five-pound pieces of ballast, reserving still a weight
of one hundred and sixty-five pounds. Upon so
doing, I soon rose above the difficulty, and perceived
immediately, that I had obtained a great increase in my
rate of ascent. In a few seconds after my leaving the
cloud, a flash of vivid lightning shot from one end of
it to the other, and caused it to kindle up, throughout
its vast extent, like a mass of ignited charcoal. This,
it must be remembered, was in the broad light of day.
No fancy may picture the sublimity which might have
been exhibited by a similar phenomenon taking place
amid the darkness of the night. Hell itself might then
have found a fitting image. Even as it was, my hair
stood on end, while I gazed afar down within the yawn-
ing abysses, letting imagination descend, and stalk about


70 TALES.
in the strange vaulted halls, and ruddy gulfs, and red
ghastly chasms of the hideous and unfathomable fire.
I had indeed made a narrow escape. Had the balloon
remained a very short while longer within the cloud —
that is to say had not the inconvenience of getting wet,
determined me to discharge the ballast — my destruc-
tion might, and probably would, have been the conse-
quence. Such perils, although little considered, are
perhaps the greatest which must be encountered in bal-
loons. I had by this time, however, attained too
great an elevation to be any longer uneasy on this
head.
I was now rising rapidly, and by seven o'clock the
barometer indicated an altitude of no less than nine miles
and a half. I began to find great difficulty in drawing
my breath. My head, too, was excessively painful;
and, having felt for some time a moisture about my
cheeks, I at length discovered it to be blood, which
was oozing quite fast from the drums of my ears. My
eyes, also, gave me great uneasiness. Upon passing
the hand over them they seemed to have protruded
from their sockets in no inconsiderable degree; and all
objects in the car, and even the balloon itself, appeared
distorted to my vision. These symptoms were more
than I had expected, and occasioned me some alarm.
At this juncture, very imprudently, and without con-
sideration, I threw out from the car three five-pound
pieces of ballast. The accelerated rate of ascent thus
obtained, carried me too rapidly, and without sufficient
gradation, into a highly rarefied stratum of the atmos-
phere, and the result had nearly proved fatal to my
expedition and to myself. I was suddenly seized with
a spasm which lasted for more than five minutes, and
even when this, in a measure, ceased, I could catch


HANS PFAALL. 71
my breath only at long intervals, and in a gasping
manner, — bleeding all the while copiously at the nose
and ears, and even slightly at the eyes. The pigeons
appeared distressed in the extreme, and struggled to
escape; while the cat mewed piteously, and, with her
tongue hanging out of her mouth, staggered to and fro
in the car as if under the influence of poison. I now
too late discovered the great rashness of which I had
been guilty in discharging the ballast, and my agitation
was excessive. I anticipated nothing less than death,
and death in a few minutes. The physical suffering I
underwent contributed also to render me nearly inca-
pable of making any exertion for the preservation of my
life. I had, indeed, little power of reflection left, and
the violence of the pain in my head seemed to be
greatly on the increase. Thus I found that my senses
would shortly give way altogether, and I had already
clutched one of the valve ropes with the view of at-
tempting a descent, when the recollection of the trick
I had played the three creditors, and the possible con-
sequences to myself, should I return, operated to deter
me for the moment. I lay down in the bottom of the
car, and endeavored to collect my faculties. In this I
so far succeeded as to determine upon the experiment
of losing blood. Having no lancet, however, I was
constrained to perform the operation in the best manner
I was able, and finally succeeded in opening a vein in
my left arm, with the blade of my penknife. The
blood had hardly commenced flowing when I experi-
enced a sensible relief, and by the time I had lost about
half a moderate basin-full, most of the worst symptoms
had abandoned me entirely. I nevertheless did not
think it expedient to attempt getting on my feet imme-
diately ; but, having tied up my arm as well as I could,


72 TALES.
I lay still for about a quarter of an hour. At the end
of this time I arose, and found myself freer from abso-
lute pain of any kind than I had been during the last
hour and a quarter of my ascension. The difficulty of
breathing, however, was diminished in a very slight
degree, and I found that it would soon be positively
necessary to make use of my condenser. In the
meantime, looking towards the cat, who was again
snugly stowed away upon my coat, I discovered, to my
infinite surprise, that she had taken the opportunity of
my indisposition to bring into light a litter of three
little kittens. This was an addition to the number of
passengers on my part altogether unexpected; but I
was pleased at the occurrence. It would afford me a
chance of bringing to a kind of test the truth of a sur-
mise, which, more than any thing else, had influenced
me in attempting this ascension. I had imagined that
the habitual endurance of the atmospheric pressure at
the surface of the earth was the cause, or nearly so,
of the pain attending animal existence at a distance above
the surface. Should the kittens be found to suffer un-
easiness in an equal degree with their mother, I must
consider my theory in fault, but a failure to do so I
should look upon as a strong confirmation of my
idea.
By eight o'clock I had actually attained an elevation
of seventeen miles above the surface of the earth. Thus
it seemed to me evident that my rate of ascent was not
only on the increase, but that the progression would
have been apparent in a slight degree even had I not
discharged the ballast which I did. The pains in my head
and ears returned, at intervals, with violence, and I still
continued to bleed occasionally at the nose: but, upon
the whole, I suffered much less than might have been


HANS PFAALL. 73
expected. I breathed, however, at every moment,
with more and more difficulty, and each inhalation was
attended with a troublesome spasmodic action of the
chest. I now unpacked the condensing apparatus, and
got it ready for immediate use.
The view of the earth, at this period of my ascen-
sion, was beautiful indeed. To the westward, the
northward, and the southward, as far as I could see,
lay a boundless sheet of apparently unruffled ocean,
which every moment gained a deeper and deeper tint
of blue. At a vast distance to the eastward, although
perfectly discernible, extended the islands of Great
Britain, the entire Atlantic coasts of France and Spain,
with a small portion of the northern part of the con-
tinent of Africa. Of individual edifices not a trace
could be discovered, and the proudest cities of mankind
had utterly faded away from the face of the earth.
What mainly astonished me, in the appearance of
things below, was the seeming concavity of the surface
of the globe. I had, thoughtlessly enough, expected
to see its real convexity become evident as I ascended;
but a very little reflection sufficed to explain the dis-
crepancy. A line, dropped from my position perpen-
dicularly to the earth, would have formed the
perpendicular of a right-angled triangle, of which the
base would have extended from the right-angle to the
horizon, and the hypothenuse from the horizon to my
position. But my height was little or nothing in
comparison with my prospect. In other words, the
base and hypothenuse of the supposed triangle would,
in my case, have been so long, when compared to the
perpendicular, that the two former might have been
regarded as nearly parallel. In this manner the horizon
of the aeronaut appears always to be upon a level with


74 TALES.
the car. But as the point immediately beneath him
seems, and is, at a great distance below him, it seems,
of course, also at a great distance below the horiton.
Hence the impression of concavity ; and this impression
must remain, until the elevation shall bear so great a
proportion to the prospect, that the apparent parallelism
of the base and hypothenuse, disappears.
The pigeons about this time seeming to undergo
much suffering, I determined upon giving them their
liberty. I first untied one of them, a beautiful gray-
mottled pigeon, and placed him upon the rim of the
wicker-work. He appeared extremely uneasy, look-
ing anxiously around him, fluttering his wings, and
making a loud cooing noise, but could not be per-
suaded to trust himself from the car. I took him up
at last, and threw him to about half-a-dozen yards
from the balloon. He made, however, no attempt to
descend as I had expected, but struggled with great
vehemence to get back, uttering at the same time
very shrill and piercing cries. He at length suc-
ceeded in regaining his former station on the rim,
but had hardly done so when his head dropped
upon his breast, and he fell dead within the car.
The other one did not prove so unfortunate. To
prevent his following the example of his companion,
and accomplishing a return, I threw him down-
wards with all my force, and was pleased to find him
continue his descent, with great velocity, making use
of his wings with ease, and in a perfectly natural
manner. In a very short time he was out of sight,
and I have no doubt he reached home in safety.
Puss, who seemed in a great measure recovered from
her illness, now made a hearty meal of the dead bird,
and then went to sleep with much apparent satisfac-


HANS PFAALL. 75
tion. Her kittens were quite lively and so far evinced
not the slightest sign of any uneasiness.
At a quarter-past eight, being able no longer to
draw breath without the most intolerable pain, I pro-
ceeded, forthwith, to adjust around the car the appara-
tus belonging to the condenser. This apparatus will
require some little explanation, and your Excellencies
will please to bear in mind that my object, in the first
place, was to surround myself and car entirely with a
barricade against the highly rarefied atmosphere in
which I was existing, with the intention of introduc-
ing within this barricade, by means of my condenser,
a quantity of this same atmosphere sufficiently con-
densed for the purposes of respiration. With this
object in view I had prepared a very strong, perfectly
air-tight, but flexible gum-elastic bag. In this bag,
which was of sufficient dimensions, the entire car was
in a manner placed. That is to say, it (the bag) was
drawn over the whole bottom of the car, up its sides,
and so on, along the outside of the ropes, to the upper
rim or hoop where the net-work is attached. Having
pulled the bag up in this way, and formed a complete
enclosure on all sides, and at bottom, it was now
necessary to fasten up its top or mouth, by passing its
material over the hoop of the net-work, — in other
words, between the net-work and the hoop. But if
the net-work were separated from the hoop to admit
this passage, what was to sustain the car in the mean-
time? Now the net-work was not permanently fast-
ened to the hoop, but attached by a series of running
loops or nooses. I therefore undid only a few of these
loops at one time, leaving the car suspended by the
remainder. Having thus inserted a portion of the cloth
forming the upper part of the bag, I refastened the


76 TALES.
loops — not to the hoop, for that would have been
impossible, since the cloth now intervened, — but to
a series of large buttons, affixed to the cloth itself,
about three feet below the mouth of the bag; the in-
tervals between the buttons having been made to cor-
respond to the intervals between the loops. This
done, a few more of the loops were unfastened from
the rim, a farther portion of the cloth introduced, and
the disengaged loops then connected with their proper
buttons. In this way it was possible to insert the
whole upper part of the bag between the net-work and
the hoop. It is evident that the hoop would now
drop down within the car, while the whole weight of
the car itself, with all its contents, would be held up
merely by the strength of the buttons. This, at first
sight, would seem an inadequate dependence; but it
was by no means so, for the buttons were not only very
strong in themselves, but so close together that a very
slight portion of the whole weight was supported by
any one of them. Indeed, had the car and contents
been three times heavier than they were, I should not
have been at all uneasy. I now raised up the hoop
again within the covering of gum-elastic, and propped
it at nearly its former height by means of three light
poles prepared for the occasion. This was done, of
course, to keep the bag distended at the top, and to
preserve the lower part of the net-work in its proper
situation. All that now remained was to fasten up the
mouth of the enclosure; and this was readily accom-
plished by gathering the folds of the material together,
and twisting them up very tightly on the inside by
means of a kind of stationary tourniquet.
In the sides of the covering thus adjusted round the
car, had been inserted three circular panes of thick but


HANS PFAALL. 77
clear glass, through which I could see without diffi-
culty around me in every horizontal direction. Jn
that portion of the cloth forming the bottom, was like-
wise a fourth window, of the same kind, and corre-
sponding with a small aperture in the floor of the car
itself. This enabled me to see perpendicularly down,
but having found it impossible to place any similar
contrivance overhead, on account of the peculiar man-
ner of closing up the opening there, and the conse-
quent wrinkles in the cloth, I could expect to see no
objects situated directly in my zenith. This, of course,
was a matter of little consequence; for, had I even
been able to place a window at top, the balloon itself
would have prevented my making any use of it.
About a foot below one of the side windows was a
circular opening, three inches in diameter, and fitted
with a brass rim adapted in its inner edge to the wind-
ings of a screw. In this rim was screwed the large
tube of the condenser, the body of the machine being,
of course, within the chamber of gum-elastic. Through
this tube a quantity of the rare atmosphere circumjacent
being drawn by means of a vacuum created in the body
of the machine, was thence discharged, in a state of
condensation, to mingle with the thin air already in the
chamber. This operation being repeated several times,
at length filled the chamber with atmosphere proper for
all the purposes of respiration. But in so confined a
space it would, in a short time, necessarily become
foul, and unfit for use from frequent contact with the
lungs. It was then ejected by a small valve at the bot-
tom of the car ; — the dense air readily sinking into
the thinner atmosphere below. To avoid the incon-
venience of making a total vacuum at any moment
within the chamber, this purification was never accom-


78 TALES.
plishcd all at once, but in a gradual manner, — the
valve being opened only for a few seconds, then closed
again, until one or two strokes from the pump of the
condenser had supplied the place of the atmosphere
ejected. For the sake of experiment I had put the cat
and kittens in a small basket, and suspended it outside
the car to a button at the bottom, close by the valve,
through which I could feed them at any moment when
necessary. I did this at some little risk, and before
closing the mouth of the chamber, by reaching under
the car with one of the poles before mentioned to which
a hook had been attached. As soon as dense air was
admitted in the chamber, the hoop and poles became
unnecessary; the expansion of the enclosed atmosphere
powerfully distending the gum-elastic.
By the time I had fully completed these arrange-
ments and filled the chamber as explained, it wanted
only ten minutes of nine o'clock. During the whole
period of my being thus employed, I endured the most
terrible distress from difficulty of respiration; and bit-
terly did I repent the negligence, or rather fool-hardi-
ness, of which I had been guilty, of putting off to the
last moment a matter of so much importance. But
having at length accomplished it, I soon began to reap
the benefit of my invention. Once again I breathed
with perfect freedom and ease — and indeed why
should I not? I was also agreeably surprised to find
myself, in a great measure, relieved from the violent
pains which had hitherto tormented me. A slight
headache, accompanied with a sensation of fulness or
distention about the wrists, the ankles, and the throat,
was nearly all of which I had now to complain. Thus
it seemed evident that a greater part of the uneasiness
attending the removal of atmospheric pressure had actu-


HANS PFAALL. 79
ally worn off, as I had expected, and that much of the
pain endured for the last two hours should have been
attributed altogether to the effects of a deficient respi-
ration.
At twenty minutes before nine o'clock — that is to
say, a short time prior to my closing up the mouth of
the chamber, the mercury attained its limit, or ran
down, in the barometer, which, as I mentioned be-
fore, was one of an extended construction. It then
indicated an altitude on my part of 132,000 feet, or
five-and-twenty miles, and I consequently surveyed at
that time an extent of the earth's area amounting to no
less than the three-hundred-and-twentieth part of its
entire superficies. At nine o'clock I had again lost
sight of land to the eastward, but not before I became
aware that the balloon was drifting rapidly to the
N. N. W. The ocean beneath me still retained its ap-
parent concavity, although my view was often inter-
rupted by the masses of cloud which floated to and fro.
At half past nine I tried the experiment of throwing
out a handful of feathers through the valve. They
did not float as I had expected, but dropped down
perpendicularly, like a bullet, en masse, and with the
greatest velocity, — being out of sight in a very few
seconds. I did not at first know what to make of this
extraordinary phenomenon; not being able to believe
that my rate of ascent had, of a sudden, met with so
prodigious an acceleration. But it soon occurred to
me that the atmosphere was now far too rare to sustain
even the feathers; that they actually fell, as they ap-
peared to do, with great rapidity ; and that I had been
surprised by the united velocities of their descent and
my own elevation.
By ten o'clock I found that I had very little to


80 TALES.
occupy my immediate attention. Affairs went on
swimmingly, and I believed the balloon to be going
upwards with a speed increasing momently, although
I had no longer any means of ascertaining the progres-
sion of the increase. I suffered no pain or uneasiness
of any kind, and enjoyed better spirits than I had at
any period since my departure from Rotterdam ; busy-
ing myself now in examining the state of my various
apparatus, and now in regenerating the atmosphere
within the chamber. This latter point I determined
to attend to at regular intervals of forty minutes, more
on account of the preservation of my health, than from
so frequent a renovation being absolutely necessary.
In the meanwhile I could not help making anticipa-
tions. Fancy revelled in the wild and dreamy regions
of the moon. Imagination, feeling herself for once
unshackled, roamed at will among the ever-changing
wonders of a shadowy and unstable land. Now there
were hoary and time-honored forests, and craggy preci-
pices, and waterfalls tumbling with a loud noise into
abysses without a bottom. Then I came suddenly
into still noonday solitudes, where no wind of heaven
ever intruded, and where vast meadows of poppies,
and slender, lily-looking flowers spread themselves out
a weary distance, all silent and motionless for ever.
Then again I journeyed far down away into another
country where it was all one dim and vague lake, with
a boundary-line of clouds. But fancies such as these
were not the sole possessors of my brain. Horrors of
a nature most stern and most appalling would too fre-
quently obtrude themselves upon my mind, and shake
the innermost depths of my soul with the bare supposi-
tion of their possibility. Yet I would not suffer my
thoughts for any length of time to dwell upon these


HANS PFAALL. 8l
latter speculations, rightly judging the real and palpa-
ble dangers of the voyage sufficient for my undivided
attention.
At five o'clock, p. m., being engaged in regenerating
the atmosphere within the chamber, I took that oppor-
tunity of observing the cat and kittens through the
valve. The cat herself appeared to suffer again very
much, and I had no hesitation in attributing her un-
easiness chiefly to a difficulty in breathing; but my
experiment with the kittens had resulted very strangely.
I had expected, of course, to see them betray a sense
of pain, although in a less degree than their mother;
and this would have been sufficient to confirm my
opinion concerning the habitual endurance of atmos-
pheric pressure. But I was not prepared to find them,
upon close examination, evidently enjoying a high
degree of health, breathing with the greatest ease and
perfect regularity, and evincing not the slightest sign
of any uneasiness. I could only account for all this
by extending my theory, and supposing that the highly
rarefied atmosphere around, might perhaps not be, as I
had taken for granted, chemically insufficient for the
purposes of life, and that a person born in such a
medium might, possibly, be unaware of any incon-
venience attending its inhalation, while, upon removal
to the denser strata near the earth, he might endure
tortures of a similar nature to those I had so lately
experienced. It has since been to me a matter of
deep regret that an awkward accident, at this time,
occasioned me the loss of my little family of cats, and
deprived me of the insight into this matter which a
continued experiment might have afforded. In passing
my hand through the valve, with a cup of water for
the old puss, the sleeve of my shirt became entangled
vOl. II.—6


82 TALES.
in the loop which sustained the basket, and thus, in a
moment, loosened it from the button. Had the
whole actually vanished into air, it could not have
shot from my sight in a more abrupt and instantaneous
manner. Positively, there could not have intervened
the tenth part of a second between the disengagement
of the basket and its absolute disappearance with all
that it contained. My good wishes followed it to the
earth, but, of course, I had no hope that either cat or
kittens would ever live to tell the tale of their mis-
fortune.
At six o'clock, I perceived a great portion of the
earth's visible area to the eastward involved in thick
shadow, which continued to advance with great rapidity,
until, at five minutes before seven, the whole surface in
view was enveloped in the darkness of night. It was
not, however, until long after this time that the rays of
the setting sun ceased to illumine the balloon; and this
circumstance, although of course fully anticipated, did
not fail to give me an infinite deal of pleasure. It was
evident that, in the morning, I should behold the rising
luminary many hours at least before the citizens ot
Rotterdam, in spite of their situation so much farther
to the eastward, and thus, day after day, in proportion
to the height ascended, would I enjoy the light of the
sun for a longer and a longer period. I now deter-
mined to keep a journal of my passage, reckoning the
days from one to twenty-four hours continuously, with-
out taking into consideration the intervals of darkness.
At ten o'clock, feeling sleepy, I determined to lie
down for the rest of the night; but here a difficulty
presented itself, which, obvious as it may appear, had
escaped my attention up to the very moment of which
I am now speaking. If I went to sleep as I proposed,


HANS PFAALL. 83
how could the atmosphere in the chamber be regen-
erated in the interim? To breathe it for more than
an hour, at the farthest, would be a matter of impossi-
bility; or, if even this term could be extended to
an hour and a quarter, the most ruinous consequences
might ensue. The consideration of this dilemma gave
me no little disquietude; and it will hardly be believed,
that, after the dangers I had undergone, I should look
upon this business in so serious a light, as to give up all
hope of accomplishing my ultimate design, and finally
make up my mind to the necessity of a descent. But
this hesitation was only momentary. I reflected that
man is the veriest slave of custom, and that many points
in the routine of his existence are deemed essentially
important, which are only so at all by his having ren-
dered them habitual. It was very certain that I could
not do without sleep ; but I might easily bring myself to
feel no inconvenience from being awakened at intervals
of an hour during the whole period of my repose. It
would require but five minutes at most, to regenerate
the atmosphere in the fullest manner — and the only
real difficulty was, to contrive a method of arousing
myself at the proper moment for so doing. But this
was a question which, I am willing to confess, occa-
sioned me no little trouble in its solution. To be sure,
I had heard of the student who, to prevent his falling
asleep over his books, held in one hand a ball of cop-
per, the din of whose descent into a basin of the same
metal on the floor beside his chair, served effectually to
startle him up, if, at any moment, he should be over-
come with drowsiness. My own case, however, was
very different indeed, and left me no room for any simi-
lar idea; for I did not wish to keep awake, but to be
aroused from slumber at regular intervals of time. I


84 TALES.
at length hit upon the following expedient, which, sim-
ple as it may seem, was hailed by me, at the moment
of discovery, as an invention fully equal to that of the
telescope, the steam-engine, or tne art of printing
itself.
It is necessary to premise, that the balloon, at the
elevation now attained, continued its course upwards
with an even and undeviating ascent, and the car con-
sequently followed with a steadiness so perfect that it
would have been impossible to detect in it the slightest
vacillation. This circumstance favored me greatly in
the project I now determined to adopt. My supply
of water had been put on board in kegs containing five
gallons each, and ranged very securely around the in-
terior of the car. I unfastened one of these, and taking
two ropes, tied them tightly across the rim of the
wicker-work from one side to the other; placing them
about a foot apart and parallel, so as to form a kind of
shelf, upon which I placed the keg, and steadied it in
a horizontal position. About eight inches immediately
below these ropes, and four feet from the bottom of the
car, I fastened another shelf— but made of thin plank,
being the only similar piece of wood I had. Upon
this latter shelf, and exactly beneath one of the rims of
the keg, a small earthen pitcher was deposited. I now
bored a hole in the end of the keg over the pitcher,
and fitted in a plug of soft wood, cut in a tapering or
conical shape. This plug I pushed in or pulled out,
as might happen, until, after a few experiments, it
arrived at that exact degree of tightness, at which the
water, oozing from the hole, and falling into the pitcher
below, would fill the latter to the brim in the period of
sixty minutes. This, of course, was a matter briefly
and easily ascertained, by noticing the proportion of the


HANS PFAALL. 85
pitcher filled in any given time. Having arranged all
tHs, the rest of the plan is obvious. My bed was so
contrived upon the floor of the car, as to bring my
head, in lying down, immediately below the mouth of
the pitcher. It was evident, that, at the expiration
of an hour, the pitcher, getting full, would be forced
to run over, and to run over at the mouth, which was
somewhat lower than the rim. It was also evident,
that the water, thus falling from a height of more than
four feet, could not do otherwise than fall upon my
face, and that the sure consequence would be, to waken
me up instantaneously, even from the soundest slumber
in the world.
It was fully eleven by the time I had completed
these arrangements, and I immediately betook myself
to bed, with full confidence in the efficiency of my in-
vention. Nor in this matter was I disappointed.
Punctually every sixty minutes was I aroused by my
trusty chronometer, when, having emptied the pitcher
into the bung-hole of the keg, and performed the duties
of the condenser, I retired again to bed. These regu-
lar interruptions to my slumber caused me even less
discomfort than I had anticipated ; and when I finally
arose for the day, it was seven o'clock, and the sun
had attained many degrees above the line of my
horizon.
April ^d. I found the balloon at an immense
height indeed, and the earth's convexity had now be-
come strikingly manifest. Below me in the ocean lay
a cluster of black specks, which undoubtedly were
islands. Overhead, the sky was of a jetty black,
and the stars were brilliantly visible; indeed they had
been so constantly since the first day of ascent. Far
away to the northward I perceived a thin, white,


86 TALES.
and exceedingly brilliant line, or streak, on the edge
of the horizon, and I had no hesitation in supposing it
to be the southern disc of the ices of the Polar sea.
My curiosity was greatly excited, for I had hopes of
passing on much farther to the north, and might pos-
sibly, at some period, find myself placed directly above
the Pole itself. I now lamented that my great eleva-
tion would, in this case, prevent my taking as accurate
a survey as I could wish. Much, however, might be
ascertained. Nothing else of an extraordinary nature
occurred during the day. My apparatus all continued
in good order, and the balloon still ascended without
any perceptible vacillation. The cold was intense, and
obliged me to wrap up closely in an overcoat. When
darkness came over the earth, I betook myself to bed,
although it was for many hours afterwards broad day-
light all around my immediate situation. The water-
clock was punctual in its duty, and I slept until next
morning soundly, with the exception of the periodical
interruption.
April ifth. Arose in good health and spirits, and
was astonished at the singular change which had taken
place in the appearance of the sea. It had lost, in a
great measure, the deep tint of blue it had hitherto
worn, being now of a grayish-white, and of a lustre
dazzling to the eye. The convexity of the ocean had
become so evident, that the entire mass of the distant
water seemed to be tumbling headlong over the abyss
of the horizon, and I found myself listening on tiptoe
for the echoes of the mighty cataract. The islands
were no longer visible; whether they had passed down
the horizon to the south-east, or whether my increasing
elevation had left them out of sight, it is impossible to
say. I was inclined, however, to the latter opinion.


HANS PFAALL. 87
The rim of ice to the northward was growing more and
more apparent. Cold by no means so intense. Noth-
ing of importance occurred, and I passed the day in
reading, having taken care to supply myself with
books.
April $th. Beheld the singular phenomenon of the
sun rising while nearly the whole visible surface of the
earth continued to be involved in darkness. In time,
however, the light spread itself over all, and I again
saw the line of ice to the northward. It was now
very distinct, and appeared of a much darker hue than
the waters of the ocean. I was evidently approaching
it, and with great rapidity. Fancied I could again
distinguish a strip of land to the eastward, and one
also to the westward, but could not be certain.
Weather moderate. Nothing of any consequence
happened during the day. Went early to bed.
April bth. Was surprised at finding the rim of ice
at a very moderate distance, and an immense field of
the same material stretching away off to the horiton in
the north. It was evident that if the balloon held its
present course, it would soon arrive above the Frozen
Ocean, and I had now little doubt of ultimately seeing
the Pole. During the whole of the day I continued
to near the ice. Towards night the limits of my hori-
zon very suddenly and materially increased, owing un-
doubtedly to the earth's form being that of an oblate
spheroid, and my arriving above the flattened regions
in the vicinity of the Arctic circle. When darkness at
length overtook me, I went to bed in great anxiety,
fearing to pass over the object of so much curiosity
when I should have no opportunity of observing it.
April jth. Arose early, and to my great joy, at
length beheld what there could be no hesitation in sup-


88 TALES.
posing the northern Pole itself. It was there, beyond
a doubt, and immediately beneath my feet; but, alas!
I had now ascended to so vast a distance, that nothing
could with accuracy be discerned. Indeed, to judge
from the progression of the numbers indicating my vari-
ous altitudes, respectively, at different periods, between
six, a. m., on the second of April, and twenty minutes
before nine, a. m., of the same day, (at which time the
barometer ran down,) it might be fairly inferred that
the balloon had now, at four o'clock in the morning
of April the seventh, reached a height of not less, cer-
tainly, than 7254 miles above the surface of the sea.
This elevation may appear immense, but the estimate
upon which it is calculated gave a result in all proba-
bility far inferior to the truth. At all events I
undoubtedly beheld the whole of the earth's major di-
ameter; the entire northern hemisphere lay beneath
me like a chart orthographically projected; and the
great circle of the equator itself formed the boundary
line of my horiton. Your Excellencies may, however,
readily imagine that the confined regions hitherto unex-
plored within the limits of the Arctic circle, although
situated directly beneath me, and therefore seen with-
out any appearance of being foreshortened, were still,
in themselves, comparatively too diminutive, and at
too great a distance from the point of sight, to admit
of any very accurate examination. Nevertheless, what
could be seen was of a nature singular and exciting.
Northwardly from that huge rim before mentioned,
and which, with slight qualification, may be called the
limit of human discovery in these regions, one un-
broken, or nearly unbroken sheet of ice continues to
extend. In the first few degrees of this its progress,
its surface is very sensibly flattened, farther on de-


HANS PFAALL. 89
pressed into a plane, and finally, becoming not a little
concave, it terminates, at the Pole itself, in a circular
centre, sharply defined, whose apparent diameter sub-
tended at the balloon an angle of about sixty-five
seconds, and whose dusky hue, varying in intensity,
was at all times darker than any other spot upon the
visible hemisphere, and occasionally deepened into the
most absolute blackness. Farther than this, little could
be ascertained. By twelve o'clock the circular centre
had materially decreased in circumference, and by seven,
p. m. , I lost sight of it entirely; the balloon passing
over the western limb of the ice, and floating away
rapidly in the direciion of the equator.
April ith. Found a sensible diminution in the
earth s apparent diameter, besides a material alteration
in its general color and appearance. The whole visible
area partook in different degrees of a tint of pale yel-
low, and in some portions had acquired a brilliancy
even painful to the eye. My view downwards was
also considerably impeded by the dense atmosphere in
the vicinity of the surface being loaded with clouds, be-
tween whose masses I could only now and then obtain
a glimpse of the earth itself. This difficulty of direct
vision had troubled me more or less for the last forty-
eight hours ; but my present enormous elevation brought
closer together, as it were, the floating bodies of vapor,
and the inconvenience became, of course, more and
more palpable in proportion to my ascent. Neverthe-
less, I could easily perceive that the balloon now
hovered above the range of great lakes in the continent
of North America, and was holding a course, due
south, which would soon bring me to the tropics. This
circumstance did not fail to give me the most heartfelt
satisfaction, and I hailed it as a happy omen of ultimate


£o TALES.
success. Indeed, the direction I had hitherto taken,
had filled me with uneasiness; for it was evident that,
had I continued it much longer, there would have
been no possibility of my arriving at the moon at all,
whose orbit is inclined to the ecliptic at only the small
angle of 50 8' 48". Strange as it may seem, it was only
at this late period that I began to understand the great
error I had committed, in not taking my departure from
earth at some point in the plane of the lunar ellipse.
April gth. To-day, the earth's diameter was
greatly diminished, and the color of the surface assumed
hourly a deeper tint of yellow. The balloon kept
steadily on her course to the southward, and arrived, at
nine, p. m., over the northern edge of the Mexican
Gulf.
April I oth. I was suddenly aroused from slumber,
about five o'clock this morning, by a loud, crackling,
and terrific sound, for which I could in no manner ac-
count. It was of very brief duration, but, while it
lasted, resembled nothing in the world of which I had
any previous experience. It is needless to say that I
became excessively alarmed, having, in the first in-
stance, attributed the noise to the bursting of the bal-
loon. I examined all my apparatus, however, with
great attention, and could discover nothing out of
order. Spent a great part of the day in meditating
upon an occurrence so extraordinary, but could find
no means whatever of accounting for it. Went to bed
dissatisfied, and in a state of great anxiety and agitation.
April 11 th. Found a startling diminution in the
apparent diameter of the earth, and a considerable in-
crease, now observable for the first time, in that of the
moon itself, which wanted only a few days of being
full. It now required long and excessive labor to con-


HANS PFAALL. 91
dense within the chamber sufficient atmospheric air for
the sustenance of life.
April xtth. A singular alteration took place in re-
gard to the direction of the balloon, and although fully
anticipated, afforded me the most unequivocal delight.
Having reached, in its former course, about the twen-
tieth parallel of southern latitude, it turned off suddenly,
at an acute angle, to the eastward, and thus proceeded
throughout the day, keeping nearly, if not altogether,
in the exact plane of the lunar ellipse. What was
worthy of remark, a very perceptible vacillation in the
car was a consequence of this change of route, — a
vacillation which prevailed, in a more or less degree,
for a period of many hours.
April \$th. Was again very much alarmed by a
repetition of the loud crackling noise which terrified
me on the tenth. Thought long upon the subject, but
was unable to form any satisfactory conclusion. Great
decrease in the earth's apparent diameter, which now
subtended from the balloon an angle of very little more
than twenty-five degrees. The moon could not be seen
at all, being nearly in my zenith. I still continued in
the plane of the ellipse, but made little progress to the
eastward.
April 	h. Extremely rapid decrease in the diam-
eter of the earth. To-day I became strongly impressed
with the idea, that the balloon was now actually run-
ning up the line of apsides to the point of perigee, —
in other words, holding the direct course which would
bring it immediately to the moon in that part of its orbit
the nearest to the earth. The moon itself was directly
overhead, and consequently hidden from my view.
Great and long continued iabor necessary for the con-
densation of the atmosphere.


92 TALES.
April I 5th. Not even the outlines of continents
and seas could now be traced upon the earth with dis-
tinctness. About twelve o'clock 1 became aware, for
the third time, of that appalling sound which had so
astonished me before. It now, however, continued
for some moments, and gathered intensity as it contin-
ued. At length, while, stupefied and terror-stricken,
I stood in expectation of I knew not what hideous de-
struction, the car vibrated with excessive violence, and
a gigantic and flaming mass of some material which I
could not distinguish, came with a voice of a thousand
thunders, roaring and booming by the balloon. When
my fears and astonishment had in some degree subsided,
I had little difficulty in supposing it to be some mighty
volcanic fragment ejected from that world to which I
was so rapidly approaching, and, in all probability, one
of that singular class of substances occasionally picked
up on the earth, and termed meteoric stones for want
of a better appellation.
April \6th. To-day, looking upwards as well as I
could, through each of the side windows alternately, I
beheld, to my great delight, a very small portion of the
moon's disc protruding, as it were, on all sides beyond
the huge circumference of the balloon. My agitation
was extreme; for I had now little doubt of soon reach-
ing the end of my perilous voyage. Indeed, the labor
now required by the condenser, had increased to a
most oppressive degree, and allowed me scarcely any
respite from exertion. Sleep was a matter nearly out
of the question. I became quite ill, and my frame
trembled with exhaustion. It was impossible that
human nature could endure this state of intense suffer-
ing much longer. During the now brief interval of
darkness a meteoric stone again passed in my vicinity,


HANS PFAALL. 93
and the frequency of these phenomena began to occa-
sion me much apprehension.
April 1 -]th. This morning proved an epoch in my
voyage. It will be remembered, that, on the thirteenth,
the earth subtended an angular breadth of twenty-five
degrees. On the fourteenth, this had greatly diminished;
on the fifteenth, a still more rapid decrease was ob-
servable; and, on retiring for the night of the sixteenth,
I had noticed an angle of no more than about seven
degrees and fifteen minutes. What, therefore, must
have been my amazement, on awakening from a brief
and disturbed slumber, on the morning of this day, the
seventeenth, at finding the surface beneath me so sud-
denly and wonderfully augmented in volume, as to
subtend no less than thirty-nine degrees in apparent
angular diameter! I was thunderstruck! No words
can give any adequate idea of the extreme, the absolute
horror and astonishment, with which I was seized,
possessed, and altogether overwhelmed. My knees
tottered beneath me—my teeth chattered — my hair
started up on end. "The balloon, then, had actually
burst!" These were the first tumultuous ideas which
hurried through my mind : "The balloon had positively
burst !— I was falling — falling with the most im-
petuous, the most unparalleled velocity! To judge from
the immense distance already so quickly passed over,
it could not be more than ten minutes, at the farthest,
before I should meet the surface of the earth, and
be hurled into annihilation!" But at length reflection
came to my relief. I paused; I considered; and I
began to doubt. The matter was impossible. I could
not in any reason have so rapidly come down. Besides,
although I was evidently approaching the surface below
me, it was with a speed by no means commensurate


94 TALES.
with die velocity I had at first conceived. This consider-
ation served to calm the perturbation of my mind, and
I finally succeeded in regarding the phenomenon in its
proper point of view. In feet, amazement must have
fairly deprived me of my senses, when I could not see
the vast diaerence, in appearance, between the surface
below me, and the surface of my mother earth. The
litter was indeed over my head, and completely hidden
by the balloon, while the moon — the moon itself in
all its glory — lay beneath me, and at my feet.
The stupor and surprise produced in my mind by this
extraordinary change in the posture of affairs, was
perhaps, after all, that part of ihe adventure least sus-
ceptible of explanation. For the bialevcrscment in
itself was not only natural and inevitable, but had been
long actually anticipated, as a circumstance to be ex-
pected whenever I should arrive at that exact point of
my voyage where the attraction of the planet should be
superseded by :he attraction of the satellite — or, more
precisely, where the gravitation of the balloon towards
the earth should be less powerful than its gravitation
towards the moon. To be sure I arose from a sound
slumber, with all my senses in confusion, to the con-
templation of a very startling phenomenon, and one
which, although expected, was not expected at the
moment. The revolution itself must, of course, have
taken place in an easy and gradual manner, and it is by
no means clear that, had I even been awake at the time
of the occurrence, I should have been made aware of
it by any internaI evidence of an inversion—that is to
•ay, by any inconvenience or disarrangement, either
about my person or about my apparatus.
It is almost needless to say, that, upon coming to a
due sense of my situation, and emerging from the terror


HANS PFAALL. 95
which had absorbed every faculty of my soul, my at-
tention was, in the first place, wholly directed to the
contemplation of the general physical appearance of the
moon. It lay beneath me like a chart — and although
I judged it to be still at no inconsiderable distance, the
indentures of its surface were defined to my vision with
a most striking and altogether unaccountable distinctness.
The entire absence of ocean or sea, and indeed of any
lake or river, or body of water whatsoever, struck me,
at the first glance, as the most extraordinary feature in
its geological condition. Yet, strange to say, I beheld
vast level regions of a character decidedly alluvial,
although by far the greater portion of the hemisphere
in sight was covered with innumerable volcanic moun-
tains, conical in shape, and having more the appearance
of artificial than of natural protuberances. The highest
among them does not exceed three and three-quarter
miles in perpendicular elevation; but a map of the
volcanic districts of the Campi Phlegrasi would afford to
your Excellencies a better idea of their general surface
than any unworthy description I might think proper to
attempt. The greater part of them were in a state of
evident eruption, and gave me fearfully to understand
their fury and their power, by the repeated thunders
of the mis-called meteoric stones, which now rushed
upwards by the balloon with a frequency more and
more appalling.
April 1 S:b. To-day I found an enormous increase
in the moon's apparent bulk — and the evidently ac-
celerated velocity of my descent, began to fill me with
alarm. It will be remembered, that, in the earliest
stage of my speculations upon the possibility of a pas-
sage to the moon, the existence, in its vicinity, of an
atmosphere dense in proportion to the bulk of the


90 TALES.
planet, had entered largely into my calculations; this
too in spite of many theories to the contrary, and, it
may be added, in spite of a general disbelief in the
existence of any lunar atmosphere at all. But, in ad-
dition to what I have already urged in regard to Encke's
comet and the zodiacal light, I had been strengthened
in my opinion by certain observations of Mr. Schroeter,
of LUienthal. He observed the moon, when two days
and a half old, in the evening soon after sunset, before
the dark part was visible, and continued to watch it
until it became visible. The two cusps appeared ta-
pering in a very sharp faint prolongation, each exhibit-
ing its farthest extremity faintly illuminated by the solar
rays, before any part of the dark hemisphere was vis-
ible. Soon afterwards, the whole dark limb became
illuminated. This prolongation of the cusps beyond
the semicircle, I thought, must have arisen from the
refraction of the sun's rays by the moon's atmosphere.
I computed, also, the height of the atmosphere (which
could refract light enough into its dark hemisphere, to
produce a twilight more luminous than the light reflected
from the earth when the moon is about 32° from the
new,) to be 1356 Paris feet; in this view, I supposed
the greatest height capable of refracting the solar ray,
to be 5376 feet. My ideas upon this topic had also
received confirmation by a passage in the eighty-second
volume of the Philosophical Transactions, in which it
is stated, that, at an occultation of Jupiter's satellites,
the third disappeared after having been about 1" or 2"
of time indistinct, and the fourth became indiscernible
near the limb.1
1 Hevelius writes that he has several times found, in skies per-
fectly clear, when even stars of the sixth and seventh magnitude
were conspicuous, that, at the same altitude of the moon, at the


HANS PFAALL. 97
Upon the resistance, or more properiy, upon the
support of an atmosphere, existing in the state of den-
sity imagined, I had, of course, entirely depended for
the safety of my ultimate descent. Should I then, after
all, prove to have been mistaken, I had in consequence
nothing better to expect, as a finale to my adventure,
than being dashed into atoms against the rugged surface
of the satellite. And, indeed, I had now every reason
to be terrified. My distance from the moon was com-
paratively trifling, while the labor required by the con-
denser was diminished not at all, and I could discover
no indication whatever of a decreasing rarity in the air.
April 1 gth. This morning, to my great joy, about
nine o'clock, the surface of the moon being frightfully
near, and my apprehensions excited to the utmost, the
pump of my condenser at length gave evident tokens
of an alteration in the atmosphere. By ten, I had rea-
son to believe its density considerably increased. By
eleven, very little labor was necessary at the apparatus;
and at twelve o'clock, with some hesitation, I ventured
to unscrew the tourniquet, when, finding no inconven-
ience from having done so, I finally threw open the
gum-elastic chamber, and unrigged it from around the
car. As might have been expected, spasms and vio-
same elongation from the earth, and with one and the same excel-
lent telescope, the moon and its macula? did not appear equally lucid
at all times. From the circumstances of the observation, it is evi-
dent that the cause of this phenomenon is not either in our air, in
the tube, in the moon, or in the eye of the spectator, but must be
looked for in something (an atmosphere ?) existing about the moon.
Cassini frequently observed Saturn, Jupiter, and the fixed stars,
when approaching the moon to occultation, to have their circular
figure changed into an oval one; and, in other occupations, he
found no alteration of figure at all. Hence it might be supposed,
that at some times, and not at others, there is a dense matter encom-
passing the moon wherein the rays of the stars are refracted.
vOl. II.—7


98 TALES.
lent headache were the immediate consequences of an
experiment so precipitate and full of danger. But these
and other difficulties attending respiration, as they were
by no means so great as to put me in peril of my life,
I determined to endure as I best could, in considera-
tion of my leaving them behind me momently in my
approach to the denser strata near the moon. This
approach, however, was still impetuous in the extreme ;
and it soon became alarmingly certain that, although I
had probably not been deceived in the expectation of
an atmosphere dense in proportion to the mass of the
satellite, still I had been wrong in supposing this den-
sity, even at the surface, at all adequate to the support
of the great weight contained in the car of my balloon.
Yet this ſhould have been the case, and in an equal
degree as at the surface of the earth, the actual gravity
of bodies at either planet supposed in the ratio of the
atmospheric condensation. That it was not the case,
however, my precipitous downfall gave testimony
enough ; why it was not so, can only be explained by
a reference to those possible geological disturbances to
which I have formerly alluded. At all events I was
now close upon the planet, and coming down with the
most terrible impetuosity. I lost not a moment, ac-
cordingly, in throwing overboard first my ballast, then
my water-kegs, then my condensing apparatus and
gum-elastic chamber, and finally every article within
the car. But it was all to no purpose. I still fell
with horrible rapidity, and was now not more than
half a mile from the surface. As a last resource, there-
fore, having got rid of my coat, hat, and boots, I cut
loose from the balloon the car itself, which was of no
inconsiderable weight, and thus, clinging with both
hands to the net-work, I had barely time to observe



Hans Pfaal.
Drsvm by Wofit.





ſººſ
（ |-
|（ ） ſºſ,
| || |（ ） }，|-
_
|
|-ſºſ
| "）





HANS PFAALL. 99
that the whole country, as far as the eye could reach,
was thickly interspersed with diminutive habitations,
ere I tumbled headlong into the very heart of a fantas-
tical-looking city, and into the middle of a vast crowd
of ugly little people, who none of them uttered a single
syllable, or gave themselves the least trouble to render
me assistance, but stood, like a parcel of idiots, grin-
ning in a ludicrous manner, and eyeing me and my
balloon askant, with their arms set a-kimbo. I turned
from them in contempt, and, gazing upwards at the
earth so lately left, and left perhaps for ever, beheld it
like a huge, dull, copper shield, about two degrees in
diameter, fixed immovably in the heavens overhead,
and tipped on one of its edges with a crescent border
of the most brilliant gold. No traces of land or water
could be discovered, and the whole was clouded with
variable spots, and belted with tropical and equatorial
zones.
Thus, may it please your Excellencies, after a series
of great anxieties, unheard-of dangers, and unparalleled
escapes, I had, at length, on the nineteenth day of my
departure from Rotterdam, arrived in safety at the con-
clusion of a voyage undoubtedly the most extraordinary,
and the most momentous, ever accomplished, under-
taken, or conceived by any denizen of earth. But my
adventures yet remain to be related. And indeed your
Excellencies may well imagine that, after a residence
of five years upon a planet not only deeply interesting
in its own peculiar character, but rendered doubly so
by its intimate connection, in capacity of satellite, with
the world inhabited by man, I may have intelligence
for the private ear of the States' College of Astrono-
mers of far more importance than the details, however
wonderful, of the mere voyage which so happily con-
256694K


IOO TALES.
eluded. This is, in fact, the case. I have much —.
very much which it would give me the greatest pleas-
ure to communicate. I have much to say of the
climate of the planet; of its wonderful alternations of
heat and cold; of unmitigated and burning sunshine
for one fortnight, and more than polar frigidity for the
next; of a constant transfer of moisture, by distillation
like that in vacuo, from the point beneath the sun to the
point the farthest from it; of a variable zone of running
water; of the people themselves; of their manners,
customs, and political institutions; of their peculiar
physical construction; of their ugliness; of their want
of cars, those useless appendages in an atmosphere so
peculiarly modified; of their consequent ignorance of
the use and properties of speech ; of their substitute ior
speech in a singular method of inter-communication;
of the incomprehensible connection between each par-
ticular individual in the moon, with some particular
individual on the earth —a connection analogous with,
and depending upon that of the orbs of the planet and
the satellite, and by means of which the lives and des-
tinies of the inhabitants of the one are interwoven with
the lives and destinies of the inhabitants of the other;
and above all, if it so please your Excellencies — above
all of those dark and hideous mysteries which lie in the
outer regions of the moon, —regions which, owing to
the almost miraculous accordance of the satellite's rota-
tion on its own axis with its sidereal revolution about the
earth, have never yet been turned, and, by God's
mercy, never shall be turned, to the scrutiny of the
telescopes of man. All this, and more — much more
— would I most willingly detail. But, to be brief, I
must have my reward. I am pining for a return to
my family and to my home: and as the price of any


HANS PFAALL. IOI
farther communications on my part — in consideration
of the light which I have it in my power to throw
upon many very important branches of physical and
metaphysical science — I must solicit, through the influ-
ence of your honorable body, a pardon for the crime
of which I have been guilty in the death of the credit-
ors upon my departure from Rotterdam. This, then,
is the object of the present paper. Its bearer, an in-
habitant of the moon, whom I have prevailed upon,
and properly instructed, to be my messenger to the
earth, will await your Excellencies' pleasure, and
return to me with the pardon in question, if it can, in
any manner, be obtained.
I have the honor to be, &c, your Excellencies'
very humble servant,
Hans Pfaall.
Upon finishing the perusal of this very extraordinary
document, Professor Rubadub, it is said, dropped his
pipe upon the ground in the extremity of his surprise,
and Mynheer Superbus Von Underduk having taken
off his spectacles, wiped them, and deposited them in
his pocket, so far forgot both himself and his dignity,
as to turn round three times upon his heel in the
quintessence of astonishment and admiration. There
was no doubt about the matter — the pardon should
be obtained. So at least swore,with a round oath, Pro-
fessor Rubadub, and so finally thought the illustrious
Von Underduk, as he took the arm of his brother in
science, and without saying a word, began to make
the best of his way home to deliberate upon the meas-
ures to be adopted. Having reached the door, how-
ever, of the burgomaster's dwelling, the professor
ventured to suggest that as the messenger had thought


102 TALES.
proper to disappear — no doubt frightened to death by
the savage appearance of the burghers of Rotterdam —
the pardon would be of little use, as no one but a man
of the moon would undertake a voyage to so vast a
distance. To the truth of this observation the burgo-
master assented, and the matter was therefore at an
end. Not so, however, rumors and speculations.
The letter, having been published, gave rise to a
variety of gossip and opinion. Some of the over-wise
even made themselves ridiculous by decrying the whole
business as nothing better than a hoax. But hoax,
with these sort of people, is, I believe, a general term
for all matters above their comprehension. For.my
part, I cannot conceive upon what data they have
founded such an accusation. Let us see what they say:
Imprimis. That certain wags in Rotterdam have
certain especial antipathies to certain burgomasters and
astronomers.
Secondly. That an odd little dwarf and bottle con-
jurer, both of whose ears, for some misdemeanor, have
been cut off close to his head, has been missing for
several days from the neighboring city of Bruges.
Thirdly. That the newspapers which were stuck
all over the little balloon, were newspapers of Hol-
land, and therefore could not have been made in the
moon. They were dirty papers — very dirty — and
Gluck, the printer, would take his bible oath to their
having been printed in Rotterdam.
Fourthly. That Hans Pfaall himself, the drunken
villain, and the three very idle gentlemen styled his
creditors, were all seen, no longer than two or three
days ago, in a tippling house in the suburbs, having
just returned, with money in their pockets, from a
trip beyond the sea.


HANS PFAALL. 103
Lastly. That it is an opinion very generally re-
ceived, or which ought to be generally received, that
the College of Astronomers in the city of Rotterdam,
as well as all other colleges in all other parts of the
world, —not to mention colleges and astronomers in
general, — are, to say the least of the matter, not a
whit better, nor greater, nor wiser than they ought to be.
Note. — Strictly speaking, there it but little similarity between
the above sketchy trifle, and the celebrated " Moon-Story" of Mr.
Locke; but as both have the character of hoaxes, (although the
one b in a tone of banter, the other of downright earnest,) and as
both hoaxes are on the same subject, the moon — moreover, as
both attempt to give plausibility by scientific detail — the author of
"Hans Pfaall " thinks it necessary to say, in ulf-dtftnce, that his own
jeu d. esprit was published, in the "Southern Literary Messenger,''
about three weeks before the commencement of Mr. L. 's in the
"New York Sun." Fancying a likeness which, perhaps, does
not exist, some of the New York papers copied "Hans Pfaall,"
and collated it with the "Moon-Hoax," by way of detecting the
writer of the one in the writer of the other.
As many more persons were actually gulled by the "Moon-
Hoax" than would be willing to acknowledge the fact, it may here
afford some little amusement to show why no one should have
been deceived — to point out those particulars of the story which
should have been sufficient to establish its real character. Indeed,
however rich the imagination displayed in this ingenious fiction, it
wanted much of the force which might have been given it by a
more scrupulous attention to facts and to general analogy. That
the public were misled, even for an instant, merely proves the
gross ignorance which is to generally prevalent upon subjects of an
astronomical nature.
The moon's distance from the earth is, in round numbers,
240,000 miles. If we desire to ascertain how near, apparently, a
lens would bring the satellite, (or any distant object,) we, of course,
have but to divide the distance by the magnifying, or more strictly,
by the space-penetrating power of the glass. Mr. L. makes his
lens have a power of 42,000 times. By this divide 240,000 (the
moon's real distance,) and we have five miles and five-sevenths, as
the apparent distance. No animal at all could be seen so far; much
less the minute points particularited in the story. Mr. L. speaks


104 TALES.
about Sir John Herschel's perceiving flowers (the Papaver rho*as,
ice.,) and even detecting the color and the shape of the eyes of small
birds. Shortly before, too, he has himself observed that the lens
would not rendet perceptible objects of less than eighteen inches in
diameter ; but even this, as I have said, is giving the glass by far
too great power. It may be observed, in passing, that this prodi-
gious glass is said to have been moulded at the glass-house of Messrs.
Hartley and Grant, in Dumbarton; but Messrs. H. and G.^estab-
lishment had ceased operations for many years previous to the pub-
lication of the hoax.
On page 13, pamphlet edition, speaking of "a hairy veil " over
the eyes of a species of bison, the author says— '' It immediately
occurred to the acute mind of Dr. Herschel that this was a provi-
dential contrivance to protect the eyes of the animal from the great
extremes of light and darkness to which all the inhabitants of our
side of the moon are periodically subjected. *' But this cannot be
thought a very " acute" observation of the Doctor's. The in-
habitants of our side of the moon have, evidently, no darkness at
all ; so there can be nothing of the "extremes ** mentioned. In
the absence of the sun they have a light from the earth equal to
that of thirteen full unclouded moons.
The topography, throughout, even when professing to accord
with Blum's Lunar Chart, is entirely at variance with that or any
other lunar chart, and even grossly at variance with itself. The
points of the compass, too, are in inextricable confusion; the writer
appearing to be ignorant that, on a lunar map, these are not in ac-
cordance with terrestrial points ; the east being to the left, &c.
Deceived, perhaps, by the vague titles, Mare Nubium, Mare
Tranyuillitatis, Mare Fotcunditatist &c, given to the dark spots by
former astronomers, Mr. L. has entered into details regarding
oceans and other large bodies of water in the moon; whereas there
is no astronomical point more positively ascertained than that no such
bodies exist there. In examining the boundary between light and
darkness (in the crescent or gibbous moon) where this boundary
crosses any of the dark places, the line of division is found to be
rough and jagged ; but, were these dark places liquid, it would evi-
dently be even.
The description of the wings of the man-bat, on page 21, is but
a literal copy of Peter Wilkins* account of the wings of his flying
islanders. This simple fact should have induced suspicion, at least,
it might be thought.
On page 23, we have the following: "What a prodigious in-
fluence must our thirteen times larger globe have exercised upon this


HANS PFAALL. 105
satellite when an embryo in the womb of time, the passive subject
of chemical affinity !'' This is very fine; but it should be ob-
served that no astronomer would have made such remark, especially
to any Journal of Science; for the earth, in the sense intended, is
not only thirteen, but forty-nine times larger than the moon. A
similar objection applies to the whole of the concluding pages,
where, by way of introduction to some discoveries in Saturn, the
philosophical correspondent enters into a minute schoolboy account
of that planet: — this to the Edinburgh Journal of Science!
But there is one point, in particular, which should have betrayed
the fiction. Let us imagine the power actually possessed of seeing
animals upon the moon's surface 5 — what would first arrest the
attention of an observer from the earth? Certainly neither their
shape, site, nor any other such peculiarity, so soon as their remark-
able situation. They would appear to be walking, with heels up
and head down, in the manner of flies on a ceiling. The real
observer would have uttered an instant ejaculation of surprise (how-
ever prepared by previous knowledge) at the singularity of their
position ; the fictitious observer has not even mentioned the subject,
but speaks of seeing the entire bodies of such creatures, when it is
demonstrable that he could have seen only the diameter of their
heads!
It might as well be remarked, in conclusion, that the site, and
particularly the powers of the man-bats (for example, their ability
to fly in so rare an atmosphere — if, indeed, the moon have any)
— with most of the other fancies in regard to animal and vegetable
existence, are at variance, generally, with all analogical reasoning on
these themes ; and that analogy here will often amount to conclusive
demonstration. It is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to add, that all
the suggestions attributed to Brewster and Herschel, in the begin-
ning of the article, about "a transfusion of artificial light through
the focal object of vision,'* &c, &c, belong to that species of
figurative writing which comes, most properly, under the denomi-
nation of rigmarole.
There is a real and very definite limit to optical discovery among
the stars -- a limit whose nature need only be stated to be under-
stood. If, indeed, the casting of large lenses were all that is re-
quired, man's ingenuity would ultimately prove equal to the task,
and we might have them of any site demanded. But, unhappily,
in proportion to the increase of site in the lens, and, consequently,
of space-penetrating power, is the diminution of light from the
object, by diffusion of its rays. And for this evil there is no
remedy within human ability ; for an object is seen by means of that


106 TALES.
light alone which proceeds from Itself, whether direct or reflected.
Thus the only " artificial" light which could avail Mr. Locke,
would be some artificial light which he should be able to throw — not
upon the " focal object of vision," but upon the real object to be
viewed — to wit: upon the moon. It has been easily calculated
that, when the light proceeding from a star becomes so diffused as
to be as weak as the natural light proceeding from the whole of the
stars, in a dear and moonless night, then the star is no longer
visible for any practical purpose.
The Earl of Ross telescope, lately constructed in England, has a
tpeculum with a reflecting surface of 4071 square inches ; the Her-
schel telescope having one of only 1811. The metal of the Earl of
Ross* is 6 feet diameter ; it is 5 j^ inches thick at the edges, and 5
at the centre. The weight is 3 tons. The focal length is 50 feet.
I have lately read a singular and somewhat ingenious little book,
whose title page runs thus : — "L'Homme dans la Ivne, ou le
Voyage Chimerique fait au Monde de la Lvne, nouuellement
decouuert par Dominique Gontales, Aduanturier Espagnol, autre-
met dit le Courier volant. Mis en notre langve par J. B. D. A.
Paris, chet Francois Piot, pres la Fontaine de Saint Benout. Et
chet J. Goignard, au premier pilier de la grand' salle du Palais,
proche les Consultations, MDCXLVUI." pp. 176.'
The writer professes to have translated his work from the Eng-
lish of one Mr. D'Avisson (Davidson?) although there is a
terrible ambiguity in the statement. '' Ten ai eu," says he,
"1*original de Monsieur D'Avisson, medecin des mieux verset qui
soient aujourd'huy dans la cdnoissance des Belles Lettres, et sur tout
de la Philosophic Naturelle. Je lui ai cette obligation entre les
autres, dc m'auoir non seulement mis en main ce Livre en anglois,
mais encore le Manuscrit du Sieur Thomas D'Anan, gentilhomme
Eccossois, recommandable pour sa vertu, sur la version duquel
j'advoue que j*ay tire le plan de la mienne." *
After some irrelevant adventures, much in the manner of Gil
Bias, and which occupy the first thirty pages, the author relates that,
being ill during a sea voyage, the crew abandoned him, together
with a negro servant, on the island of St. Helena. To increase the
chances of obtaining food, the two separate, and live as far apart as
possible. This brings about a training of birds, to serve the pur-
pose of carrier-pigeons between them. By and by these are taught
to carry parcels of some weight — and this weight is gradually in-
creased. At length the idea is entertained of uniting the force of
1 This iitle it quotpa as Poe wrote it. — Ed.
* This is quotpa as Poe wrote it. - Ed.


HANS PFAALL. 107
a great number of birds, with a view to raising the author himself.
A machine is contrived for the purpose, and we have a minute
description of it, which is materially helped out by a steel engraving.
Here we perceive the Signor Gontales, with point ruffles and a huge
periwig, seated astride something which resembles very closely a
broomstick, and borne aloft by a muliitude of wild swans (ganxas)
who had strings reaching from their tails to the machine.
The main event detailed in the Signor's narrative depends upon
a very important fact, of which the reader is kept in ignorance
until near the end of the book. The ganiaas, with whom he had
become so familiar, were not really denitens of St. Helena, but of
the moon. Thence it had been their custom, time out of mind,
to migrate annually to some portion of the earth. In proper season,
of course they would return home ; and the author, happening, one
day, to require their services for a short voyage, is unexpectedly
carried straight up, and in a very brief period arrives at the satellite.
Here he finds, among other odd things, that the people enjoy ex-
treme happiness ; that they have no laiv; that they die without
pain ; that they are from ten to thirty feet in height; that they live
five thousand years; that they have an emperor called Irdonotur;
and that they can jump sixty feet high, when, being out of the
gravitating influence, they fly about with fans.
I cannot forbear giving a specimen of the general philosophy of
the volume.
"I must now declare to you," says the Signor Gontales, " the
nature of the place in which I found myself. All the clouds were
beneath my feet, or, If you please, spread between me and the
earth. As to the stars, since there ivas no night inhere I was, they
always had the same appearance; not brilliant, as usual, hut pale,
and very nearly like the moon of a morning. But few of them
were visible, and these ten times larger (as well as I could judge,)
than they seem to the inhabitants of the earth. The moon which
wanted two days of being full, was of a terrible bigness.
II I must not forget here, that the stars appeared only on that
side of the globe turned towards the moon, and that the closer they
were to it the larger they seemed. I have also to inform you that,
whether it was calm weather or stormy, I found myself always
immediately hetween the moon and the earth. I was convinced of
this for two reasons — because my birds always flew in a straight
line ; and because whenever we attempted to rest, •we ivtre carried
insensibly around the globe of the earth. For I admit the opinion
of Copernicus, who maintains that it never ceases to revolve from
the east to the w«f, not upon the poles of the Equinoctial, com-


io8 TALES.
monly called the poles of the world, bat upon those of the Zodiac,
a question of which I propose to speak more at length hereafter,
when I shall have leisure to refresh my memory in regard to the
astrology which I learned at Salamanca when young, and have since
forgotten.
Notwithstanding the blunders italicised, the book is not without
some claim to attention, as affording a naive specimen of the
current astronomical notions of the time. One of these assumed,
that the " gravitating power" extended but a short distance from
the earth's surface, and, accordingly, we find our voyager " carried
insensibly around the globe/* Sec.
There have been other "voyages to the moon,** but none of
higher merit than the one just meniioned. That of Bergerac is
utterly meaningless. In the third volume of the "American
Quarterly Review ** will be found quite an elaborate criticism upon
a certain "Journey*' of the kind in question; — a criticism in
which it is difficult to say whether the critic most exposes ths
stupidity of the book, or his own absurd ignorance of astronomy.
I forget the title of the work; but the means of the voyage arc
more deplorably ill conceived than are even the gamas of our
friend the Signor Gontales. The adventurer, in digging the earth,
happens to discover a peculiar metal for which the moon has a
strong attraction, and straightway constructs of it a box, which,
when cast loose from its terrestrial fastenings, flies with him, forth-
with, to the satellite. The "Flight of Thomas 0*Rouke," is a
jeu d1esprit not altogether contemptible, and has been translated into
German. Thomas, the hero, was, in fact, the game-keeper of an
Irish peer, whose eccentricities gave rise to the tale. The " flight"
is made on an eagle's back, from Hungry Hill, a lofty mountain at
the end of Bantry Bay.
In these various brocbures the aim is always satirical; the theme
being a description of Lunarian customs as compared with ours.
In none, is there any effort at plausibility in the details of the voy-
age itself. The writers seem, in each instance, to be utterly unin-
formed in respect to astronomy. In " Hans Pfaall *' the design is
original, inasmuch as regards an attempt at verisimilitude, in the ap-
plication of scientific principles (so far as the whimsical nature of
the subject would permit,) to the actual passage between the earth
and the moon.


THE ASSIGNATION.
(THE VISIONARY.)
[Southern Literary Messenger, July, 1835; 1840;
Broadway Journal, I. a3.
Stay for me there! I will not fail
To meet thee in that hollow vale.
\Kxequy on the death of his ivife, by Henry King, Bishop of
Chichester.]
Ill-fated and mysterious man ! — bewildered in the
brilliancy of thine own imagination, and fallen in the
flames of thine own youth! Again in fancy I behold
thee! Once more thy form hath risen before me !—
not — oh not as thou art — in the cold valley and
shadow — but as thou shouldst be — squandering away
a life of magnificent meditation in that city of dim
visions, thine own Venice — which is a star-beloved
Elysium of the sea, and the wide windows of whose
Palladian palaces look down with a deep and bitter
meaning upon the secrets of her silent waters. Yes!
I repeat it — as thou shouldst be. There are surely
other worlds than this — other thoughts than the
thoughts of the multitude — other speculations than
the speculations of the sophist. Who then shall call
thy conduct into question? who blame thee for thy
visionary hours, or denounce those occupations as a
(109)


IIO TALES.
wasting away of life, which were but the overflowings
of thine everlasting energies?
It was at Venice, beneath the covered archway there
called the Ponte di Sospiri, that I met for the third or
fourth time the person of whom I speak. It is with
a confused recollection that I bring to mind the circum-
stances of that meeting. Yet I remember — ah! how
should I forget ? — the deep midnight, the Bridge of
Sighs, the beauty of woman, and the Genius of Ro-
mance that stalked up and down the narrow canal.
It was a night of unusual gloom. The great clock
of the Piazza had sounded the fifth hour of the Italian
evening. The square of the Campanile lay silent and
deserted, and the lights in the old Ducal Palace were
dying fast away. I was returning home from the
Piazetta, by way of the Grand Canal. But as my
gondola arrived opposite the mouth of the canal San
Marco, a female voice from its recesses broke suddenly
upon the night, in one wild, hysterical, and long con-
tinued shriek. Startled at the sound, I sprang upon
my feet: while the gondolier, letting slip his single oar,
lost it in the pitchy darkness beyond a chance of recov-
ery, and we were consequently left to the guidance of
the current which here sets from the greater into the
smaller channel. Like some huge and sable-feathered
condor, we were slowly drifting down towards the
Bridge of Sighs, when a thousand flambeaux flashing
from the windows, and down the staircases of the
Ducal Palace, turned all at once that deep gloom into
a livid and preternatural day.
A child, slipping from the arms of its own mother,
had fallen from an upper window of the lofty structure
into the deep and dim canal. The quiet waters had
closed placidly over their victim; and, although my


THE ASSIGNATION. ill
own gondola was the only one in sight, many a stout
swimmer, already in the stream, was seeking in vain
upon the surface, the treasure which was to be found,
alas! only within the abyss. Upon the broad black
marble flagstones at the entrance of the palace, and a
few steps above the water, stood a figure which none
who then saw can have ever since forgotten. It was
the Marchesa Aphrodite — the adoration of all Venice
— the gayest of the gay — the most lovely where all
were beautiful — but still the young wife of the old
and intriguing Mentoni, and the mother of that fair
child, her first and only one, who now deep beneath
the murky water, was thinking in bitterness of heart
upon her sweet caresses, and exhausting its little life in
struggles to call upon her name.
She stood alone. Her small, bare, and silvery feet
gleamed in the black mirror of marble beneath her.
Her hair, not as yet more than half loosened for the
night from its ball-room array, clustered, amid a shower
of diamonds, round and round her classical head, in
curls like those of the young hyacinth. A snowy-
white and gauze-like drapery seemed to be nearly the
sole covering to her delicate form ; but the mid-summer
and midnight air was hot, sullen, and still, and no
motion in the statue-like form itself, stirred even the
folds of that raiment of very vapor which hung around
it as the heavy marble hangs around the Niobe. Yet
— strange to say !— her large lustrous eyes were not
turned downwards upon that grave wherein her bright-
est hope lay buried — but riveted in a widely different
direction! The prison of the Old Republic is, I
think, the stateliest building in all Venice — but how
could that lady gaze so fixedly upon it, when beneath
her lay stifling her only child? Yon dark, gloouiy


112 TALES.
niche, too, yawns right opposite her chamber window
— what, then, could there be in its shadows—in its
architecture — in its ivy-wreathed and solemn cornices
— that the Marchesa di Mentoni had not wondered
at a thousand times before? Nonsense I — Who does
not remember that, at such a time as this, the eye,
like a shattered mirror, multiplies the images of its sor-
row, and sees in innumerable far off places, the wo
which is close at hand i
Many steps above the Marchesa, and within the
arch of the water-gate, stood, in full dress, the Satyr-
like figure of Mentoni himself. He was occasionally
occupied in thrumming a guitar, and seemed ennuye
to the very death, as at intervals he gave directions
for the recovery of his child. Stupefied and aghast, I
had myself no power to move from the upright position
I had assumed upon first hearing the shriek, and must
have presented to the eyes of the agitated group a
spectral and ominous appearance, as with pale counte-
nance and rigid limbs, I floated down among them in
that funereal gondola.
All efforts proved in vain. Many of the most ener-
getic in the search were relaxing their exertions, and
yielding to a gloomy sorrow. There seemed but little
hope for the child; (how much less than for the
mother !) but now, from the interior of that dark niche
which has been already mentioned as forming a part
of the Old Republican prison, and as fronting the lat-
tice of the Marchesa, a figure muffled in a cloak,
stepped out within reach of the light, and, pausing a
moment upon the verge of the giddy descent, plunged
headlong into the canal. As, in an instant afterwards,
he stood with the still living and breathing child within
his grasp, upon the marble flagstones by the side of the


THE ASSIGNATION. 113
Marchesa, his cloak, heavy with the drenching water,
became unfastened, and, falling in folds about his feet,
discovered to the wonder-stricken spectators the grace-
ful person of a very young man, with the sound of
whose name the greater part of Europe was then ringing.
No word spoke the deliverer. But the Marchesa!
She will now receive her child — she will press it to
her heart — she will cling to its little form, and
smother it with her caresses. Alas ! another's arms
have taken it from the stranger — another's arms have
taken it away, and borne it afar off, unnoticed, into the
palace! And the Marchesa! Her lip — her beau-
tiful lip trembles: tears are gathering in her eyes —
those eyes which, like Pliny's acanthus, are "soft and
almost liquid." Yes! tears are gathering in those
eyes — and see! the entire woman thrills throughout
the soul, and the statue has started into life! The
pallor of the marble countenance, the swelling of the
marble bosom, the very purity of the marble feet, we
behold suddenly flushed over with a tide of ungovern-
able crimson; and a slight shudder quivers about her
delicate frame, as a gentle air at Napoli about the rich
silver lilies in the grass.
Why should that lady blush! To this demand there
is no answer — except that, having left, in the eager
haste and terror of a mother's heart, the privacy of her
own boudoir, she has neglected to enthrall her tiny feet
in their slippers, and utterly forgotten to throw over
her Venetian shoulders that drapery which is their
due. What other possible reason could there have
been for her so blushing ? — for the glance of those
wild appealing eyes? for the unusual tumult of that
throbbing bosom ?— for the convulsive pressure of that
trembling hand ? — that hand which fell, as Mentoni
vol. 11.—8


114 TALES.
turned into the palace, accidentally, upon the hand of
the stranger. What reason could there have been for
the low — the singularly low tone of those unmeaning
words which the lady uttered hurriedly in bidding him
adieu ?" Thou hast conquered —" she said, or the
murmurs of the water deceived me — "thou hast
conquered — one hour after sunrise — we shall meet
— so let it be!"
********
The tumult had subsided, the lights had died away
within the palace, and the stranger, whom I now rec-
ognised, stood alone upon the flags. He shook with
inconceivable agitation, and his eye glanced around in
search of a gondola. I could not do less than offer
him the service of my own; and he accepted the
civility. Having obtained an oar at the water-gate, we
proceeded together to his residence, while he rapidly
recovered his self-possession, and spoke of our former
slight acquaintance in terms of great apparent cordiality.
There are some subjects upon which I take pleasure
in being minute. The person of the stranger — let
me call him by this title, who to all the world was
still a stranger — the person of the stranger is one of
these subjects. In height he might have been below
rather than above the medium size: although there
were moments of intense passion when his frame actu-
ally expanded and belied the assertion. The light, al-
most slender symmetry of his figure, promised more of
that ready activity which he evinced at the Bridge of
Sighs, than of that Herculean strength which he has been
known to wield without an effort, upon occasions of
more dangerous emergency. With the mouth and
chin of a deity — singular, wild, full, liquid eyes,
whose shadows varied from pure hazel to intense and


THE ASSIGNATION. 115
brilliant jet — and a profusion of curling, black hair, from
which a forehead of unusual breadth gleamed forth at
intervals all light and ivory — his were features than
which I have seen none more classically regular, except,
perhaps, the marble ones of the Emperor Commodus.
Yet his countenance was, nevertheless, one of those
which all men have seen at some period of their lives,
and have never afterwards seen again. It had no pe-
culiar — it had no settled predominant expression to be
fastened upon the memory; a countenance seen and in-
stantly forgotten — but forgotten with a vague and never-
ceasing desire of recalling it to mind. Not that the
spirit of each rapid passion failed, at any time, to throw
its own distinct image upon the mirror of that face —
but that the mirror, mirror-like, retained no vestige of
the passion, when the passion had departed.
Upon leaving him on the night of our adventure, he
solicited me, in what I thought an urgent manner, to
call upon him very early the next morning. Shortly
after sunrise, I found myself accordingly at his Palazzo,
one of those huge structures of gloomy, yet fantastic
pomp, which tower above the waters of the Grand
Canal in the vicinity of the Rialto. I was shown up
a broad winding staircase of mosaics, into an apartment
whose unparalleled splendor burst through the opening
door with an actual glare, making me blind and dizzy
with Iuxuriousness.
I knew my acquaintance to be wealthy. Report
had spoken of his possessions in terms which I had
even ventured to call terms of ridiculous exaggeration.
But as I gazed about me, I could not bring myself to
believe that the wealth of any subject in Europe could
have supplied the princely magnificence which burned
and blazed around.


Il6 TALES.
Although, as I say, the sun had arisen, yet the room
was still brilliantly lighted up. I judge from this cir-
cumstance, as well as from an air of exhaustion in the
countenance of my friend, that he had not retired to
bed during the whole of the preceding night. In the
architecture and embellishments of the chamber, the
evident design had been to dazzle and astound. Little
attention had been paid to the decora of what is tech-
nically called keeping, or to the proprieties of nationality.
The eye wandered from object to object, and rested
upon none — neither the grotesques of the Greek
painters, nor the sculptures of the best Italian days,
nor the huge carvings of untutored Egypt. Rich
draperies in every part of the room trembled to the
vibration of low, melancholy music, whose origin was
not to be discovered. The senses were oppressed by
mingled and conflicting perfumes, reeking up from
strange convolute censers, together with multitudinous
flaring and flickering tongues of emerald and violet fire.
The rays of the newly risen sun poured in upon the
whole, through windows formed each of a single pane
of crimson-tinted glass. Glancing to and fro, in a
thousand reflections, from curtains which rolled from
their cornices like cataracts of molten silver, the beams of
natural glory mingled at length fitfully with the artificial
light, and lay weltering in subdued masses upon a car-
pet of rich, liquid-looking cloth of Chili gold.
"Ha! ha ! ha !— ha ! ha! ha !" — laughed the
proprietor, motioning me to a seat as I entered the
room, and throwing himself back at full length upon an
ottoman. "I sec," said he, perceiving that I could
not immediately reconcile myself to the bienseance of
•o singular a welcome — "I see you are astonished at
my apartment — at my statues — my pictures — my


THE ASSIGNATION. I 17
originality of conception in architecture and upholstery
— absolutely drunk, eh ? with my magnificence? But
pardon me, my dear sir, (here his tone of voice dropped
to the very spirit of cordiality,) pardon me for my
uncharitable laughter. You appeared so utterly aston-
ished. Besides, some things are so completely ludi-
crous that a man must laugh or die. To die laughing
must be the most glorious of all glorious deaths! Sir
Thomas More — a very fine man was Sir Thomas
More — Sir Thomas More died laughing, you remem-
ber. Also in the Absurdities of Ravisius Textor, there
is a long list of characters who came to the same mag-
nificent end. Do you know, however," continued
he musingly, "that at Sparta (which is now Pala^o-
chori), at Sparta, I say, to the west of the citadel,
among a chaos of scarcely visible ruins, is a kind of
socle, upon which are still legible the letters A ASM.
They are undoubtedly part of TEAA2MA. Now at
Sparta were a thousand temples and shrines to a thou-
sand different divinities. How exceedingly strange
that the altar of Laughter should have survived all the
others! But in the present instance," he resumed,
with a singular alteration of voice and manner, "I
have no right to be merry at your expense. You
might well have been amazed. Europe cannot pro-
duce anything so fine as this, my little regal cabinet.
My other apartments are by no means of the same
order; mere ultras of fashionable insipidity. This
is better than fashion — is it not? Yet this has but to
be seen to become the rage — that is, with those who
could afford it at the cost of their entire patrimony.
I have guarded, however, against any such profanation.
With one exception you are the only human being
besides myself and my valet, who has been admitted


118 TALES.
within the mysteries of these imperial precincts, since
they have been bedizened as you see!"
I bowed in acknowledgment; for the overpow-
ering sense of splendor and perfume, and music, to-
gether with the unexpected eccentricity of his address
and manner, prevented mj from expressing, in words,
my appreciation of what I might have construed into a
compliment.
"Here," he resumed, arising and leaning on my
arm as he sauntered around the apartment, "here are
paintings from the Greeks to Cimabue, and from Cim-
abue to the present hour. Many are chosen, as you
see, with little deference to the opinions of Virtu.
They are all, however, fitting tapestry for a chamber
such as this. Here too, are some chefs d"auvre
of the unknown great — and here unfinished designs by
men, celebrated in their day, whose very names the
perspicacity of the academies has left to silence and to
me. What think you," said he, turning abruptly as
he spoke — "what think you of this Madonna della
Pieta?"
"It is Guido's own!" I said with all the enthu-
siasm of my nature, for I had been poring intently over
its surpassing loveliness. "It is Guido's own ! —
how could you have obtained it ? — she is undoubted! v
in painting what the Venus is in sculpture."
"Ha !" said he thoughtfully, "the Venus — the
beautiful Venus ?— the Venus of the Medici ? — she
of the diminutive head and the gilded hair? Part of
the left arm (here his voice dropped so as to be heard
with difficulty), and all the right are restorations, and
in the coquetry of that right arm lies, I think, the
quintessence of all affectation. Give me the Canova!
The Apollo, too !— is a copy — there can be no


THE ASSIGNATION. I 19
doubt of it — blind fool that I am, who cannot behold
the boasted inspiration of the Apollo! I cannot help
— pity me ! — I cannot help preferring the Antinous.
Was it not Socrates who said that the statuary found
his siatue in the block of marble? Then Michael An-
gelo was by no means original in his couplet —
'Noii ha l'ottimo artista alcun concetto
Che un marmo solo in se non circonscriva.'"
It has been, or should be remarked, that, in the
manner of the true gentleman, we are always aware of
a difference from the bearing of the vulgar, without
being at once precisely able to determine in what such
difference consists. Allowing the remark to have ap-
plied in its full force to the outward demeanor of my
acquaintance, I felt it, on that eventful morning, still
more fully applicable to his moral temperament and
character. Nor can I better define that peculiarity of
spirit which seemed to place him so essentially apart
from all other human beings, than by calling it a habit
of intense and continual thought, pervading even his
most trivial actions — intruding upon his moments of
dalliance — and interweaving itself with his very flashes
of merriment — like adders which writhe from out the
eyes of the grinning masks in the cornices around the
temples of Persepolis.
I could not help, however, repeatedly observing,
through the mingled tone of levity and solemnity with
which he rapidly descanted upon matters of little im-
portance, a certain air of trepidation — a degree of
nervous unction in action and in speech — an unquiet
excitability of manner which appeared to me at all
times unaccountable, and upon some occasions even
filled me with alarm. Frequently, too, pausing in the


IZO TALES-
miidJe of a sentence «imj commencement h2 had ap-
parency forgotten, be m1 nrrf to be listening in the
deepest auention, as if eit:ier in momentary expectation
of a visiter, or to sounds which must hare had exist-
ence in his imagination alone-
It was during one of these leveries or pauses of ap-
parent abstraction, that, in turning over a page of the
poet and scholar Poiiaan's beautiful tragedy '' The
Orfeo," (the firs: native Italian tragedy,) which lay
near me upon an ottoman, I discovered a passage un-
derlined in pencil. It was a passage towards the end
of the third act — a passage of the most heart-stirring
excitement — a passage which, although tainted with
impurity, no man shall read without a thrill of novel
emotion — no woman without a sigh. The whole
page was blotted with fresh tears, and, upon the oppo-
site interleaf, were the following English lines, written
in a hand so very different from the peculiar characters
of my acquaintance, that I had some difficulty in rec-
ognising it as his own.
Thou wasj that all to me, love,
For which my soul did pine —
A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain and a shrine,
All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers;
And all the flowers were mine.
Ah, dream too bright to last;
Ah, starry Hope that didst arise
But to be overcast!
A voice from out the Future cries
"Onward I" —but o'er the Past
(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies,
Mute, motionless, aghast!


THE ASSIGNATION. 121
For alas! alas! with me
The light of life is o'er.
"No more — no more — no more,"
(Such language holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore,)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,
Or the stricken eagle soar!
Now all my hours are trances;
And all my nightly dreams
Are where the dark eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams,
In what ethereal dances,
By what Italian streams.
Alas! for that accursed time
They bore thee o'er the billow,
From Love to titled age and crime,
And an unholy pillow —
From me, and from our misty clime,
Where weeps the silver willow!
That these lines were written in English — a lan-
guage with which I had not believed their author
acquainted — afforded me little matter for surprise. I
was too well aware of the extent of his acquirements,
and of the singular pleasure he took in concealing them
from observation, to be astonished at any similar dis-
covery; but the place of date, I must confess, occa-
sioned me no little amazement. It had been originally
written London, and afterwards carefully overscored —
not, however, so effectually as to conceal the word
from a scrutinizing eye. I say this occasioned me no
little amazement; for I well remember that, in a
former conversation with my friend, I particularly in-
quired if he had at any time met in London the


I 2.2 TALES.
Marchesa di Mentoni, (who for some years previous
to her marriage had resided in that city,) when his
answer, if I mistake not, gave me to understand that
he had never visited the metropolis of Great Britain.
I might as well here mention, that I have more than
once heard, (without of course giving credit to a
report involving so many improbabilities,) that the
person of whom I speak was not only by birth, but in
education, an Eng/ishman.
:: :: :: :k :k :}; :k :k
“There is one painting,” said he, without being
aware of my notice of the tragedy — “there is still
one painting which you have not seen.” And throw-
ing aside a drapery, he discovered a full length portrait
of the Marchesa Aphrodite.
Human art could have done no more in the deline-
ation of her superhuman beauty. The same ethereal
figure which stood before me the preceding night upon
the steps of the Ducal Palace, stood before me once
ag in. But in the expression of the countenance,
which was beaming all over with smiles, there still
juried (incomprehensible anomaly ) that fitful stain
of melancholy which will ever be found inseparable
from the perfection of the beautiful. Her right arm
...ty folded over her bosom. With her left she pointed
downward to a curiously fashioned vase. One small,
fairy foot, alone visible, barely touched the earth —
and, scarcely discernible in the brilliant atmosphere
which seemed to encircle and enshrine her loveliness,
floated a pair of the most delicately imagined wings.
My glance fell from the painting to the figure of my
friend, and the vigorous words of Chapman's Bussy
D'Aºnº quivered instinctively upon my lips :


THE ASSIGNATION. 123
"He is up
There like a Roman statue! He will stand
Till Death liath made him marble ! '*
"Come!" he said at length, turning towards a
table of richly enamelled and massive silver, upon
which were a few goblets fantastically stained, together
with two large Etruscan vases, fashioned in the same
extraordinary model as that in the foreground of the
portrait, and filled with what I supposed to be Johan-
nisberger. "Come!" he said abruptly, "let us
drink! It is early — but let us drink. It is indeed
early," he continued, musingly, as a cherub with a
heavy golden hammer, made the apartment ring with
the first hour after sunrise—"It is indeed early,
but what matters it? let us drink! Let us pour out
an offering to yon solemn sun which these gaudy
lamps and censers are so eager to subdue!" And,
having made me pledge him in a bumper, he swallowed
in rapid succession several goblets of the wine.
"To dream," he continued, resuming the tone of
his desultory conversation, as he held up to the rich
light of a censer one of the magnificent vases— " to
dream has been the business of my life. I have there-
fore framed for myself, as you see, a bower of dreams.
In the heart of Venice could I have erected a better?
You behold around you, it is true, a medley of archi-
tectural embellishments. The chastity of Ionia is
offended by antediluvian devices, and the sphynxes of
Egypt are outstretched upon carpets of gold. Yet the
effect is incongruous to the timid alone. Proprieties
of place, and especially of time, are the bugbears which
terrify mankind from the contemplation of the magnifi-
cent. Once I was myself a decorist: but that subli-


124 TALES.
inarion of fbDy has palled upon my soul. All this is
now the fitter for my purpose. Like these arabesque
censers, my spirit is writhing in fire, and the delirium
of this scene is fashioning me for the wilder visions of
that land of real dreams whither I am now rapidly
departing." He here paused abruptly, bent his head
to his bosom, and seemed to listen to a sound which I
could not hear. At length, erecting his frame, he
looked upwards and ejaculated the lines of the Bishop
of Chichester : —
Stay for me there! I will no! fail
To meet tbee in that hillvw vale.
In the next instant, confessing the power of the
wine, he threw himself at full length upon an ottoman.
A quick step was now heard upon the staircase, and
a loud knock at the door rapidly succeeded. I was
hastening to anticipate a second disturbance, when a
page of Mentoni's household burst into the room, and
faltered out, in a voice choking with emotion, the in-
coherent words, "My mistress! — my mistress! —
poisoned !— poisoned! Oh beautiful — oh beautiful
Aphrodite!"
Bewildered, I flew to the ottoman, and endeavored
to arouse the sleeper to a sense of the startling intelli-
gence. But his limbs were rigid — his lips were livid
— his lately beaming eyes were riveted in death. I
staggered back towards the table — my hand fell upon
a cracked and blackened goblet — and a consciousness
of the entire and terrible truth flashed suddenly over
my soul.


BON-BON.
[Southern Literary Messenger, August, 1835; 1840;
Broadway Journal, I. 16.]
Quand un bon vin meuble mon tstomac,
Jc suit plus savant que Baltac —
Plus sage que Pibrac;
Mon bras 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 £ac,
Sans que mon ceeur fit tic ni etc,
Presenter du tabac.
French Vaudeville.
That Pierre Bon-Bon was a restaurateur of uncom-
mon qualifications, no man who, during the reign
of , frequented the little Cafe 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
pates a la foie were beyond doubt immaculate: but
what pen can do justice to his essays sur la Nature
— his thoughts sur I'Ame—his observations sur
I'Esprit? If his omelettes — if his fricandeauxwere
inestimable, what litterateur of that day would not
have given twice as much for an " Idee de Bon-Bon"
025)


126 TALES.
as for all the trash of all the “ Idées'' of all the rest
of the savants P Bon-Bon had ransacked libraries
which no other man had ransacked — had read 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 com-
prehended, 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 fricassée, or, facili gradu, the
analysis of a sensation, in frivolous attempts at recon-
cling 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 Trebizond — He believed
in Bossarion. 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 impos-


BON-BON. 127
siblc 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 hold that the soul
lies in the abdomen. The Greeks at all events were
right, he thought, who employed the same word for
the mind and the diaphragm.1 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,
hare 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 re-
markable prominency — the extreme alto rilievo — in
which it jutted out from the plane of his general
disposition. — He could never let slip an opportunity
of making a bargain.
Not that he was avaricious — no. It was by no
means necessary to the satisfaction of the philosopher,
that the bargain should be to his own proper advan-
tage. Provided a trade could be effected — a trade
of any kind, upon any terms, or under any circum-
stances— a triumphant smile was seen for many days
thereafter to enlighten his countenance, and a knowing
wink of the eye to give evidence of his sagacity.
At any epoch it would not be very wonderful if a
humor so peculiar as the one I have just mentioned,
should elicit attention and remark. At the epoch of
our narrative, had this peculiarity not attracted observa-
1 4ipt'iiec.


128 TALES.
tion, there would have been room for wonder indeed.
It was soon reported that, upon all occasions of the
kind, the smile of Bon-Bon was wont to differ widely
from the downright grin with which he would laugh
at his own jokes, or welcome an acquaintance. Hints
were thrown out of an exciting nature; stories were
told of perilous bargains made in a hurry and repented
of at leisure ; and instances were adduced of unaccount-
able capacities, vague longings, and unnatural inclina-
tions implanted by the author of all evil for wise pur-
poses of his own.
The philosopher had other weaknesses — but they
are scarcely worthy our serious examination. For ex-
ample, there are few men of extraordinary profundity
who are found wanting in an inclination for the bottle.
Whether this inclination be an exciting cause, or rather
a valid proof, of such profundity, it is a nice thing to
say. Bon-Bon, as far as I can learn, did not think the
subject adapted to minute investigation; — nor do I.
Yet in the indulgence of a propensity so truly classical,
it is not to be supposed that the restaurateur would
lose sight of that intuitive discrimination which was
wont to characterise, at one and the same time, his
essais and his omelettes. In his seclusions the Vin de
Bourgogne had its allotted hour, and there were appro-
priate moments for the Cotes du Rhone. With him
Sauterne was to Medoc what Catullus was to Homer.
He would sport with a syllogism in sipping St. Peray,
but unravel an argument over Clos de Vougeot, and
upset a theory in a torrent of Chambertin. Well had
it been if the same quick sense of propriety had at-
tended him in the peddling propensity to which I have
formerly alluded — but this was by no means the case.
Indeed, to say the truth, that trait of mind in the


BON-BON. 129
philosophic Bon-Bon did begin at length to assume a
character of strange intensity and mysticism, and ap-
peared deeply tinctured with the diablerie of his favorite
German studies.
To enter the little Cafe in the Cul-de-Sac Le
Febvre was, at the period of our tale, to enter the
sanctum of a man of genius. Bon-Bon was a man of
genius. There was not a soui-cuisinier in Rouen, who
could not have told you that Bon-Bon was a man of
genius. His very cat knew it, and fbrebore to whisk
her tail in the presence of the man of genius. His
large water-dog was acquainted with the fact, and upon
the approach of his master, betrayed his sense of infe-
riority by a sanctity of deportment, a debasement of
the ears, and a dropping of the lower jaw not alto-
gether unworthy of a dog. It is, however, true that
much of this habitual respect might have been attributed
to the personal appearance of the metaphysician. A
distinguished exterior will, I am constrained to say,
have its weight even with a beast ; and I am willing
to allow much in the outward man of the restaurateur
calculated to impress the imagination of the quadruped.
There is a peculiar majesty about the atmosphere of the
little great — if I may be permitted so equivocal an
expression — which mere physical bulk alone will be
found at all times inefficient in creating. If, however,
Bon-Bon was barely three feet in height, and if his
head was diminutively small, still it was impossible to
behold the rotundity of his stomach without a sense of
magnificence nearly bordering upon the sublime. In
its size both dogs and men must have seen a type of
his acquirements — in its immensity a fitting habitation
for his immortal soul.
I might here — if it so pleased me — dilate upon the
vol. n.—9


130 TALES.
matter of habiliment, and other mere circumstances of
the external metaphysician. I might hint that the hair
of our hero was worn short, combed smoothly over his
forehead, and surmounted by a conical-shaped white
flannel cap and tassels — that his pea-green jerkin was
not after the fashion of those worn by the common class
of restaurateurs at that day — that the sleeves were
something fuller than the reigning costume permitted —
that the cuffs were turned up, not as usual in that bar-
barous period, with cloth of the same quality and color
as the garment, but faced in a more fanciful manner
with the particolored velvet of Genoa — that his slip-
pers were of a bright purple, curiously filagreed, and
might have been manufactured in Japan, but for the
exquisite pointing of the toes, and the brilliant tints of
the binding and embroidery '—- that his breeches were
of the yellow satin-like material called aimable — that
his sky-blue cloak, resembling in form a dressing-wrap-
per, and richly bestudded all over with crimson devices,
floated cavalierly upon his shoulders like a mist of the
morning — and that his tout ensemble gave rise to the
remarkable words of Benevenuta, the Improvisatrice of
Florence, "that it was difficult to say whether Pierre
Bon-Bon was indeed a bird of Paradise, or the rather
a very Paradise of perfection." — I might, I say, ex-
patiate upon all these points if I pleased ;— but I for-
bear : — merely personal details may be left to historical
novelists ; — they are beneath the moral dignity of
matter-of-fact.
I have said that "to enter the Cafe in the Cul-de-
Sae Le Febvre was to enter the sanctum of a man of
genius " —but then it was only the man of genius who
could duly estimate the merits of the sanctum. A
sign consisting of a vast folio swung before the entrance.


BON-BON. 131
On one side of the volume was painted a bottle; on
the reverse a pate. On the back were visible in large
letters (Euvres de Bon-Boa. Thus was delicately
shadowed forth the two-fold occupation of the pro-
prietor.
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 Cafe. In a corner
of the apartment stood the bed of the metaphysician.
An array of curtains, together with a canopy a la
Grecque, gave it an air at once classic and comfortable.
In the corner diagonally 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 oven-full of the latest
ethics — there a kettle of duodecimo melanges. Vol-
umes 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 Cafe de Bon-Bon might be said
to differ little from the usual restaurants of the period.
A large fire-place yawned opposite the door. On the
right of the fire-place 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 for some time 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


132 TALES.
of a leather-bottomed arm-chair, and a fire of blazing
faggots.
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 disorganised the economy of his pate-pans and
papers. The huge folio sign that swung without, ex-
posed to the fury of the tempest, creaked ominously,
and gave out a moaning sound from its stanchions of
solid oak.
It was in no placid temper, I say, that the metaphy-
sician drew up his chair to its customary station by the
hearth. Many circumstances of a perplexing nature
had occurred during the day, to disturb the serenity of
his meditations. In attempting ties arufs a la Princesse
he had unfortunately perpetrated an omelette a U Reine;
the discovery of a principle in ethics had been frus-
trated by the overturning of a stew; and last, not
least, he had been thwarted in one of those admirable
bargains which he at all times took such especial de-
light in bringing to a successful termination. But in
the chafing of his mind at these unaccountable vicissi-
tudes, there did not fail to be mingled some degree of
that nervous anxiety which the fury of a boisterous
night is so well calculated to produce. Whistling to
his more immediate vicinity the large black water-dog
we have spoken of before, and settling himself uneasily
in his chair, he could not help casting a wary and un-
quiet eye towards those distant recesses of the apart-
ment whose inexorable shadows not even the red fire-
light itself could more than partially succeed in over-


BON-BON. 133
coming. Having completed a scrutiny whose exact
purpose was perhaps unintelligible to himself, he drew
close to his seat a small table covered with books and
papers, and soon became absorbed in the task of re-
touching a voluminous manuscript, intended for publi-
cation on the morrow.
He had been thus occupied for some minutes, when
"I am in no hurry, Monsieur Bon-Bon," suddenly
whispered a whining voice in the apartment.
"The devil !" ejaculated our hero, starting to his
feet, overturning the table at his side, and staring
around him in astonishment.
"Very true," calmly replied the voice.
"Very true! — what is very true? — how came
you here?" vociferated the metaphysician, as his eye
fell upon something which lay stretched at full length
upon the bed.
"I was saying," said the intruder, without attend-
ing to the interrogatories, "I was saying that I am
not at all pushed for time — that the business upon
which I took the liberty of calling is of no pressing
importance — in short that I can very well wait until
you have finished your Exposition."
"My Exposition! — there now!—how do yau
know ?— how came jou to understand that I was writ-
ing an exposition ?— good God!"
"Hush !" replied the figure, in a shrill under tone:
and, arising quickly from the bed, he made a single
step towards our hero, while an iron lamp that de-
pended overhead swung convulsively back from his
approach.
The philosopher's amazement did not prevent a
narrow scrutiny of the stranger's dress and appearance.
The outlines of a figure, exceedingly lean, but much


134 TALES.
above the common height, were rendered minutely
distinct by means of a faded suit of black cloth which
fitted tight to the skin, but was otherwise cut very
much in the style of a century ago. These garments
had evidently been intended for a much shorter person
than their present owner. His ankles and wrists were
left naked for several inches. In his shoes, however,
a pair of very brilliant buckles gave the lie to the ex-
treme poverty implied by the other portions of his
dress. His head was bare, and entirely bald, with
the exception of the hinder part, from which depended
a queue of considerable length. A pair of green spec-
tacles, with side glasses, protected his eyes from the
influence of the light, and at the same time prevented
our hero from ascertaining either their color or their
conformation. About the entire person there was no
evidence of a shirt; but a white cravat, of filthy ap-
pearance, was tied with extreme precision around the
throat, and the ends, hanging down formally side by
side, gave (although I dare say unintentionally) the
idea of an ecclesiastic. Indeed, many other points
both in his appearance and demeanour might have very
well sustained a conception of that nature. Over his
left ear, he carried, after the fashion of a modern
clerk, an instrument resembling the stylus of the
ancients. In a breast-pocket of his coat appeared
conspicuously a small black volume fastened with clasps
of steel. This book, whether accidentally or not,
was so turned outwardly from the person as to discover
the words " Riluel CathoIijue" in white letters upon
the back. His entire physiognomy was interestingly
saturnine — even cadaverously pale. The forehead
was lofty, and deeply furrowed with the ridges of con-
templation. The corners of the mouth were drawn


BON-BON. 135
down into an expression of the most submissive humil-
ity. There was also a clasping of the hands, as he
stepped towards our hero — a deep sigh — and alto-
gether a look of such utter sanctity as could not have
failed to be unequivocally prepossessing. Every shadow
of anger faded from the countenance of the metaphysi-
cian, as, having completed a satisfactory survey of his
visiter's person, he shook him cordially by the hand,
and conducted him to a seat.
There would however be a radical error in attrib-
uting this instantaneous transition of feeling in the
philosopher, to any one of those causes which might
naturally be supposed to have had an influence. In-
deed Pierre Bon-Bon, from what I have been able to
understand of his disposition, was of all men the least
likely to be imposed upon by any speciousness of ex-
terior deportment. It was impossible that so accurate
an observer of men and things should have failed to
discover, upon the moment, the real character of the
personage who had thus intruded upon his hospitality.
To say no more, the conformation of his visiter's feet
was sufficiently remarkable — he maintained lightly
upon his head an inordinately tall hat — there was a
tremulous swelling about the hinder part of his breeches
— and the vibration of his coat tail was a palpable
fact. Judge then with what feelings of satisfaction our
hero found himself thrown thus at once into the society
of a person for whom he had at all times entertained
the most unqualified respect. He was, however, too
much of the diplomatist to let escape him any intima-
tion of his suspicions in regard to the true state of
affairs. It was not his cue to appear at all conscious
of the high honor he thus unexpectedly enjoyed, but
by leading his guest into conversation, to elicit some


136 TALES.
important ethical ideas, which might, in obtaining a
place in his contemplated publication, enlighten the
human race, and at the same time immortalize himself
— ideas which, I should have added, his visitor's
great age, and well known proficiency in the science
of morals, might very well have enabled him to
afford.
Actuated by these enlightened views, our hero bade
the gentleman sit down, while he himself took occasion
to throw some faggots upon the fire, and place upon
the now re-established table some bottles of Mousseux.
Having quickly completed these operations, he drew
his chair vis-a-vis to his companion's and waited until
the latter should open the conversation. But plans
even the most skillfully matured are often thwarted in
the outset of their application, and the restaurateur
found himself nonplussed by the very first words of his
visiter's speech.
"I see you know me, Bon-Bon," said he: "ha!
ha! ha!—he ! he ! he! —hi! hi! hi !— ho ! ho!
ho !— hu! hu! hu !" —and the devil, dropping at
once the sanctity of his demeanour, opened to its fullest
extent a mouth from ear to ear, so as to display a set
of jagged and fang-like teeth, and throwing back his
head, laughed long, loudly, wickedly, and uproariously,
while the black dog, crouching down upon his haunches,
joined lustily in the chorus, and the tabby cat, Hying
off at a tangent, stood up on end and shrieked in the
farthest corner of the apartment.
Not so the philosopher; he was too much a man
of the world either to laugh like the dog, or by shrieks
to betray the indecorous trepidation of the cat. It
must be confessed, he felt a little astonishment to see
the white letters which formed the words "Rituel


BON-BON. 137
Cathohque" on the book in his guest's pocket, mo-
mently changing both their color and their import, and
in a few seconds, in place of the original title, the
words Regitre des Condamnis blaze forth in char-
acters of red. This startling circumstance, when Bon-
Bon replied to his visiter's remark, imparted to his
manner an air of embarrassment which probably might
not otherwise have been observed.
"Why, sir," said the philosopher, "why, sir, to
speak sincerely — I believe you are — upon my word
— the d dest — that is to say I think — I imagine
— I have some faint — some very faint idea — of the
remarkable honor"
"Oh ! — ah ! — yes ! — very well!" interrupted
his Majesty; "say no more — I see how it is." And
hereupon, taking off his green spectacles, he wiped the
glasses carefully with the sleeve of his coat, and depos-
ited them in his pocket.
If Bon-Bon had been astonished at the incident of
the book, his amazement was now much increased by
the spectacle which here presented itself to view. In
raising his eyes, with a strong feeling of curiosity to
ascertain the color of his guest's, he found them by
no means black, as he had anticipated —nor gray, as
might have been imagined — nor yet hazel nor blue —
nor indeed yellow nor red — nor purple — nor white
— nor green — nor any other color in the heavens
above, or in the earth beneath, or in the waters under the
earth. In short Pierre Bon-Bon not only saw plainly
that his Majesty had no eyes whatsoever, but could
discover no indications of their having existed at any
previous period; for the space where eyes should natu-
rally have been, was, I am constrained to say, simply a
dead level of flesh.


138 TALES.
It was not in the nature of the metaphysician to for-
bear 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 re-
flections — which are being engendered in her pericra-
nium? There it is now !— you do not. She is
thinking we admire the length of her tail and the pro-
fundity of her mind. She has just concluded that I
am the most distinguished of ecclesiastics, and that you
arc the most superfluous of metaphysicians. Thus you
see I am not altogether blind: but to one of my pro-
fession the eyes you speak of would be merely an en-
cumbrance, liable at any time to be put out by a toasting
iron or a pitchfork. To you, I allow, these optical
affairs are indispensable. Endeavor, Bon-Bon, to use
them well ; — my vision is the soul."
Hereupon the guest helped himself to the wine upon
the table, and pouring out a bumper for Bon-Bon, re-
quested him to drink it without scruple, and make him-
self perfectly at home.
"A clever book that of yours, Pierre," resumed his
Majesty, tapping our friend knowingly upon the


BON-BON. 139
shoulder, as the latter put down his glass after a
thorough compliance with his visiter's injunction.
"A clever book that of yours, upon my honor. It's
a work after my own heart. Your arrangement of
matter, I think, however, might be improved, and
many of your notions remind me of Aristotle. That
philosopher was one of my most intimate acquaintances.
I liked him as much for his terrible ill temper, as for
his happy knack at making a blunder. There is only
one solid truth in all that he has written, and for that
I gave him the hint out of pure compassion for his ab-
surdity. I suppose, Pierre Bon-Bon, you very well
know to what divine moral truth I am alluding?"
"Cannot say that I"
"Indeed ! — why it was I who told Aristotle, that
by sneezing men expelled superfluous ideas through the
proboscis.''
"Which is — hiccup! — undoubtedly the case,"
said the metaphysician, while he poured out for him-
self another bumper of Mousseux, and offered his
snuff-box to the fingers of his visiter.
"There was Plato, too," continued his Majesty,
modestly declining the snuff-box and the compliment it
implied, "there was Plato, too, for whom I, at one
time, felt all the affection of a friend. You knew Plato,
Bon-Bon ? — ah! no, I beg a thousand pardons. He
met me at Athens, one day, in the Parthenon, and told
me he was distressed for an idea. I bade him write down
that iS voir iimv avkt^. He said that he would do so,
and went home, while I stepped over to the pyramids.
But my conscience smote me for having uttered a truth,
even to aid a friend, and hastening back to Athens, I
arrived behind the philosopher's chair as he was indit-
ing the 'av-/M- Giving the lambda a fillip with my


1 38 TALES.
It was not in the nature of the metaphysician to for-
bear 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 re-
flections — which are being engendered in her pericra-
nium ? There it is now ! — you do not. She is
thinking we admire the length of her tail and the pro-
fundity of her mind. She has just concluded that I
am the most distinguished of ecclesiastics, and that you
are the most superfluous of metaphysicians. Thus you
see I am not altogether blind: but to one of my pro-
ſession the eyes you speak of would be merely an en-
cumbrance, liable at any time to be put out by a toasting
iron or a pitchfork. To you, I allow, these optical
affairs are indispensable. Endeavor, Bon-Bon, to use
them well ; – my vision is the soul.”
Hereupon the guest helped himself to the wine upon
the table, and pouring out a bumper for Bon-Bon, re-
quested him to drink it without scruple, and make him-
self perfectly at home.
“A clever book that of yours, Pierre,” resumed his
Majesty, tapping our friend knowingly upon the
y


BON-BON. 139
shoulder, as the latter put down his glass after a
thorough compliance with his visiter's injunction.
“A clever book that of yours, upon my honor. It’s
a work after my own heart. Your arrangement of
matter, I think, however, might be improved, and
many of your notions remind me of Aristotle. That
philosopher was one of my most intimate acquaintances.
I liked him as much for his terrible ill temper, as for
his happy knack at making a blunder. There is only
one solid truth in all that he has written, and for that
I gave him the hint out of pure compassion for his ab-
surdity. I suppose, Pierre Bon-Bon, you very well
know to what divine moral truth I am alluding * *
“Cannot say that I x -
“Indeed 1– why it was I who told Aristotle, that
by sneezing men expelled superfluous ideas through the
proboscis.”
“Which is — hiccup! — undoubtedly the case,”
said the metaphysician, while he poured out for him-
self another bumper of Mousseux, and offered his
snuff-box to the fingers of his visiter.
“There was Plato, too,” continued his Majesty,
modestly declining the snuff-box and the compliment it
implied, “there was Plato, too, for whom I, at one
time, felt all the affection of a friend. You knew Plato,
Bon-Bon — ah! no, I beg a thousand pardons. He
met me at Athens, one day, in the Parthenon, and told
me he was distressed for an idea. Ibade him write down
that & voic forriv at 26. He said that he would do so,
and went home, while I stepped over to the pyramids.
But my conscience smote me for having uttered a truth,
even to aid a friend, and hastening back to Athens, I
arrived behind the philosopher's chair as he was indit-
ing the “aizé." Giving the lambda a fillip with my


140 TALES.
finger I turned it upside down. So the sentence now
reads 'o wot* lariv avj-dV,' and is, you perceive, the fun-
damental doctrine in his metaphysics."
"Were you ever at Rome?" asked the restaura-
teur as he finished his second bottle of Mousseux, and
drew from the closet a larger supply of Chambertin.
"But once, Monsieur Bon-Bon, but once. There
was a time'' — said the devil, as if reciting some pas-
sage from a book — '' there was a time when occurred
an anarchy of five years, during which the republic,
bereft of all its officers, had no magistracy besides the
tribunes of the people, and these were not legally
vested with any degree of executive power — at that
time, Monsieur Bon-Bon — at that time only I was in
Rome, and I have no earthly acquaintance, conse-
quently, with any of its philosophy."'
"What do you think of—what do you think of—
hiccup !— Epicurus ?''
"What do I think of whom?" said the devil in
astonishment, "you cannot surely mean to find any
fault with Epicurus! What do I think of Epicurus!
Do you mean me, sir ? — / am Epicurus. I am the
same philosopher who wrote each of the three hundred
treatises commemorated by Diogenes Laertes."
"That 's a lie!" said the metaphysician, for the
wine had gotten a little into his head.
"Very well!—very well, sir! — very well in-
deed, sir!" said his Majesty, apparently much flat-
tered.
"That's a lie * , , repeated the restaurateur dog-
matically, "that's a — hiccup !— a lie!"
"Well, well! have it your own way," said the
Mis ecriraient nir la Philosophic (Q'«ro, Lucretius, Stneca)
mail e'euit la Philosophic Grecquc. — Omdonet.


BON-BON. 141
devil pacifically: and Bon-Bon, having beaten his
Majesty at an argument, thought it his duty to con-
clude a second bottle of Chambertin.
"As I was saying," resumed the visiter, "as I was
observing a little while ago, there are some very outre
notions in that book of yours, Monsieur Bon-Bon.
What, for instance, do you mean by all that humbug
about the soul? Pray, sir, what is the soul?"
"The — hiccup !— soul," replied the metaphysi-
cian, referring to his MS., "is undoubtedly"
"No, sir!"
"Indubitably"
"No, sir!"
"Indisputably"
"No, sir!"
"Evidently"
"No, sir!"
"Incontrovertibly ''
"No, sir!"
"Hiccup!"
"No, sir!"
"And beyond all question a"
"No, sir! the soul is no such thing." (Here, the
philosopher looking daggers, took occasion to make an
end, upon the spot, of his third bottle of Chambertin.)
"Then — hic-cup ! — pray, sir — what — what is
it?"
"That is neither here nor there, Monsieur Bon-Bon,''
replied his Majesty, musingly. "I have tasted — that
is to say, I have known some very bad souls, and some
too — pretty good ones." Here he smacked his lips,
and, having unconsciously let fall his hand upon the
volume in his pocket, was seized with a violent fit of
ineeziDg.


142 TALES.
He continued:
* * There was the soul of Cratinus — passable:
Aristophanes — racy: Plato — exquisite — not your
Plato, but Plato the comic poet; your Plato would have
turned the stomach of Cerberus — faugh! Then let me
see! there were Naevius, and Andronicus, and Plautus,
and Tcrentius. Then there were Lucilius, and Catullus,
and Naso, and Quintus Flaccus, — dear Quinty ! as I
called him when he sung a secularc for my amusement,
while I toasted him, in pure good humor, on a fork.
But they vrtnt. Jlavor these Romans. One fat Greek
is worth a doten of them, and besides will keep, which
cannot be said of a Quirite. — Let us taste your
Sauterne."
Bon-Bon had by this time made up his mind to the
nil admirari, and endeavored to hand down the bottles
in question. He was, however, conscious of a strange
sound in the room like the wagging of a tail. Of this,
although extremely indecent in his Majesty, the philos-
opher took no notice : — simply kicking the dog, and
requesting him to be quiet. The visiter continued:
"I found that Horace tasted very much like Aris-
totle ; — you know I am fond of variety. Terentius
I could not have told from Menander. Naso, to my
astonishment, was Nicander in disguise. Virgilius had
a strong twang of Theocritus. Martial put me much
in mind of Archilochus — and Titus Livius was posi-
tively Polybius and none other."
"Hic-cup !" here replied Bon-Bon, and his Majesty
proceeded:
"But if I have a pencbant, Monsieur Bon-Bon —
if I have a pencbant, it is for a philosopher. Yet, let
me tell you, sir, it is not every dev — I mean it is not
every gentleman who knows how to cboose a phi-


BON-BON. 143
losopher. Long ones are not good ; and the best, if not
carefully shelled, are apt to be a little rancid on account
of the gall."
"Shelled!!"
"I mean taken out of the carcass."
"What do you think of a — hic-cup ! — physi-
cian?"
"Don't mention them ! —ugh ! ugh!" (Here his
Majesty retched violently.) "I never tasted but one —
that rascal Hippocrates !— smelt of asafcetida — ugh!
ugh ! ugh ! — caught a wretched cold washing him in
the Styx — and after all he gave me the cholera
morbus."
"The — hiccup! — wretch!" ejaculated Bon-
Bon, "the — hiccup!—abortion of a pill-box!" —
and the philosopher dropped a tear.
"After all," continued the visiter, "after all, if a
dev — if a gentleman wishes to live, he must have
more talents than one or two ; and with us a fat face is
an evidence of diplomacy."
"How so?"
"Why we are sometimes exceedingly pushed for
provisions. You must know that, in a climate so sul-
try as mine, it is frequently impossible to keep a spirit
alive for more than two or three hours ; and after death,
unless pickled immediately, (and a pickled spirit is not
good,) they will — smell — you understand, eh?
Putrefaction is always to be apprehended when the
souls are consigned to us in the usual way."
"Hiccup ! — hiccup ! — good God! how do you
manage?"
Here the iron lamp commenced swinging with re-
doubled violence, and the devil half started from his
seat; — however, with a slight sigh, he recovered his


144 TALES.
composure, merely saying to our hero in a low tone,
"I tell you what, Pierre Bon-Bon, we must have no
more swearing."
The host swallowed another bumper, by way of
denoting thorough comprehension and acquiescence,
and the visiter continued:
"Why there are several ways of managing. The
most of us starve: some put up with the pickle: for
my part I purchase my spirits vivcnte corpore, in which
case I find they keep very well."
"But the body ! — hiccup ! — the body!!!"
"The body, the body — well, what of the body?
— oh! ah! I perceive. Why, sir, the body is not
at all affected by the transaction. I have made innu-
merable purchases of the kind in my day, and the par-
ties never experienced any inconvenience. There were
Cain and Nimrod, and Nero, and Caligula, and Dio-
nysius, and Pisistratus, and — and a thousand others,
who never knew what it was to have a soul during the
latter part of their lives ; yet, sir, these men adorned
society. Why isn't there A , now, whom you
know as well as I? Is be not in possession of all his
faculties, mental and corporeal? Who writes a keener
epigram? Who reasons more wittily? Who
but, stay! I have his agreement in my pocket-book."
Thus saying, he produced a red leather wallet, and
took from it a number of papers. Upon some of these
Bon-Bon caught a glimpse of the letters Macbi — Maza
— Robesp — with the words Caligula, George, Eliza-
beth. His Majesty selected a narrow slip of parch-
ment, and from it read aloud the following words:
"In consideration of certain mental endowments
which it is unnecessary to specify, and in farther con-
sideration of one thousand louis d'or, I, being aged one


BON-BON. 145
year and one month, do hereby make over to the bearer
of this agreement all my right, title, and appurtenance
in the shadow called my soul." (Signed) A'
(Here his Majesty repeated a name which I do not
feel myself justified in indicating more unequivocally.)
"A clever fellow that," resumed he; "but like
you, Monsieur Bon-Bon, he was mistaken about the
soul. The soul a shadow truly! The soul a shadow'.
Ha! ha! ha ! — he! he! he !— hu! hu! hu!
Only think of a fricasseed shadow!"
"Only think — hiccup !— of a fricasseed shadow!"
exclaimed our hero, whose faculties were becoming
much illuminated by the profundity of his Majesty's
discourse.
'' Only think of a — hiccup ! — fricasseed shadow!!
Now, damme!—hiccup!—humph! If / would
have been such a — hiccup ! — nincompoop. My
soul, Mr. — humph!"
"Tour soul, Monsieur Bon-Bon?"
"Yes, sir — hiccup ! — my soul is " —
"What, sir?"
"No shadow, damme!"
"Did not mean to say " —
"Yes, sir, my soul is — hiccup ! — humph ! —
yes, sir."
"Did not intend to assert " —
"My soul is—hiccup! — peculiarly qualified for
— hiccup ! — a " —
"What, sir?"
"Stew."
"Ha!"
"Soufflee."
"Eh?"
1 Sfuery — Arouct?
VOl. II.—IO


146 TALES.
"Fricassee."
"Indeed!"
"Ragout and fricandeau — and see here, my good
fellow! I Ml let you have it — hiccup !— a bargain."
Here the philosopher slapped his Majesty upon the
back.
"Couldn't think of such a thing," said the latter
calmly, at the same time rising from his seat. The
metaphysician stared.
"Am supplied at present," said his Majesty.
"Hiccup ! — e-h?" said the philosopher.
"Have no funds on hand."
"What?"
"Besides, very unhandsome in me " —
"Sir!"
"To take advantage of" —
"Hiccup!"
"Your present disgusting and ungentlemanly situ-
ation."
Here the visiter bowed and withdrew — in what
manner could not precisely be ascertained — but in a
well-concerted effort to discharge a bottle at "the vil-
lain," the slender chain was severed that depended
from the ceiling, and the metaphysician prostrated by
the downfall of the lamp.


SHADOW.
A PARABLE.
[Southern Literary Messenger, September, 1835 ; 1840;
Broadivay Journal, I. 22.]
Yea! though I walk through the valley of the Shadow:
— Psalm of David [XXIII].
Ye who read are still among the living: but I who
write shall have long since gone my way into the
region of shadows. For indeed strange things shall
happen, and secret things be known, and many cen-
turies shall pass away, ere these memorials be seen of
men. And, when seen, there will be some to disbe-
lieve, and some to doubt, and yet a few who will find
much to ponder upon in the characters here graven
with a stylus of iron.
The year had been a year of terror, and of feelings
more intense than terror for which there is no name
upon the earth. For many prodigies and signs had
taken place, and far and wide, over sea and land, the
black wings of the Pestilence were spread abroad. To
those, nevertheless, cunning in the stars, it was not
unknown that the heavens wore an aspect of ill ; and
to me, the Greek Oinos, among others, it was evident
that now had arrived the alternation of that seven hun-
dred and ninety-fourth year when, at the entrance of
('47)








148 TALES.
Aries, the planet Jupiter is conjoined with the red ring
of the terrible Saturnus. The peculiar spirit of the
skies, if I mistake not greatly, made itself manifest, not
only in the physical orb of the earth, but in the souls,
imaginations, and meditations of mankind.
Over some flasks of the red Chian wine, within the
walls of a noble hall, in a dim city called Ptolemais, we
sat, at night, a company of seven. And to our cham-
ber there was no entrance save by a lofty door of brass:
and the door was fashioned by the artizan Corinnos,
and, being of rare workmanship, was fastened from
within. Black draperies, likewise, in the gloomy
room, shut out from our view the moon, the lurid
stars, and the peopleless streets — but the boding and
the memory of Evil, they would not be so excluded.
There were things around us and about of which I can
render no distinct account —- things material and spir-
itual —. heaviness in the atmosphere — a sense of suffo-
cation — anxiety — and, above all, that terrible state
of existence which the nervous experience when the
senses are keenly living and awake, and meanwhile the
powers of thought lie dormant. A dead weight hung
upon us. It hung upon our limbs — upon the house-
hold furniture — upon the goblets from which we
drank ; and all things were depressed, and borne down
thereby — all things save only the flames of the seven
iron lamps which illumined our revel. Uprearing
themselves in tall slender lines of light, they thus re-
mained burning all pallid and motionless; and in the
mirror which their lustre formed upon the round table
of ebony at which we sat, each of us there assembled
beheld the pallor of his own countenance, and the un-
quiet glare in the downcast eyes of his companions.
Yet we laughed and were merry in our proper way —


Shadow: A Parable.
Drawn by IVogel.











SHADOW. 149
which was hysterical; and sang the songs of Anacreon
— which are madness; and drank deeply — although
the purple wine reminded us of blood. For there was
yet another tenant of our chamber in the person of
young Zoilus. Dead, and at full length he lay, en-
shrouded ;— the genius and the demon of the scene.
Alas! he bore no portion in our mirth, save that his
countenance, distorted with the plague, and his eyes in
which Death had but half extinguished the fire of the
pestilence, seemed to take such interest in our merri-
ment as the dead may haply take in the merriment of
those who are to die. But although I, Oinos, felt
that the eyes of the departed were upon me, still I
forced myself not to perceive the bitterness of their
expression, and, gazing down steadily into the depths
of the ebony mirror, sang with a loud and sonorous
voice the songs of the son of Teios. But gradually my
songs they ceased, and their echoes, rolling afar off
among the sable draperies of the chamber, became
weak, and undistinguishable, and so faded away. And
lo ! from among those sable draperies where the sounds
of the song departed, there came forth a dark and un-
defined shadow — a shadow such as the moon, when
low in heaven, might fashion from the figure of a man:
but it was the shadow neither of man, nor of God, nor
of any familiar thing. And, quivering awhile among
the draperies of the room, it at length rested in full
view upon the surface of the door of brass. But the
shadow was vague, and formless, and indefinite, and
was the shadow neither of man, nor of God — neither
God of Greece, nor God of Chalda?a, nor any Egyp-
tian God. And the shadow rested upon the brazen
doorway, and under the arch of the entablature of the
door, and moved not, nor spoke any word, but there


150 TALES.
became stationary and remained. And the door
whereupon the shadow rested was, if I remember
aright, over against the feet of the young Zoilus en-
shrouded. But we, the seven there assembled, having
seen the shadow as it came out from among the drap-
eries, dared not steadily behold it, but cast down our
eyes, and gazed continually into the depths of the
mirror of ebony. And at length I, Oinos, speaking
some low words, demanded of the shadow its dwelling
and its appellation. And the shadow answered, "I
am SHADOW, and my dwelling is near to the Cata-
combs of Ptolemais, and hard by those dim plains of
Helusion which border upon the foul Charonian canal."
And then did we, the seven, start from our seats in
horror, and stand trembling, and shuddering, and
aghast: for the tones in the voice of the shadow were
not the tones of any one being, but of a multitude of
beings, and, varying in their cadences from syllable to
syllable, fell duskily upon our ears in the well remem-
bered and familiar accents of many thousand departed
friends.


LOSS OF BREATH.
A TALE NEITHER IN NOR OUT OF "BLACK-
WOOD."
[Southern Literary Messenger, September, 1835; 1840.
Broadway Journal, II. 26.]
O breathe not, Sec.— Moou't Mblooih.
The most notorious ill-fortune must in the end, yield
to the untiring courage of philosophy — as the most
stubborn city to the ceaseless vigilance of an enemy.
Salmanezer, as we have it in the holy writings, lay three
years before Samaria; yet it fell. Sardanapalus — see
Diodorus — maintained himself seven in Nineveh ; but
to no purpose. Troy expired at the close of the second
lustrum; and Azoth, as Aristzus declares upon his
honor as a gentleman, opened at last her gates to
Psammitticus, after having barred them for the fifth
part of a century. * * *
'•Thou wretch !—thou vixen! — thou shrew!"
said I to my wife on the morning after our wedding,
"thou witch ! — thou hag ! — thou whipper-snapper!
— thou sink of iniquity !— thou fiery-faced quintes-
sence of all that is abominable ! — thou — thou — ''
here standing upon tiptoe, seizing her by the throat,
and placing my mouth close to her ear, I was preparing
to launch forth a new and more decided epithet of
(•50


152 TALES.
opprobrium, which should not fail, if ejaculated, to
convince her of her insignificance, when, to my extreme
horror and astonishment, I discovered that / bad lost
my breath.
The phrases "I am out of breath," "I have lost
my breath," Sec, are often enough repeated in common
conversation; but it had never occurred to mc that the
terrible accident of which I speak could bona fide and
actually happen! Imagine — that is if you have a
fanciful turn — imagine, I say, my wonder — my con-
sternation — my despair!
There is a good genius, however, which has never
entirely deserted me. In my most ungovernable moods
I still retain a sense of propriety, et le cbemin des pas-
sions me conduit— as Lord Edouard in the "Julie"
says it did him — a la philosophic veritable.
Although I could not at first precisely ascertain to
what degree the occurrence had affected me, I deter-
mined at all events to conceal the matter from my
wife, until further experience should discover to me the
extent of this my unheard of calamity. Altering my
countenance, therefore, in a moment, from its bepuffed
and distorted appearance, to an expression of arch and
coquettish benignity, I gave my lady a pat on the one
cheek, and a kiss on the other, and without saying one
syllable, (Furies! I could not), left her astonished at
my drollery, as I pirouetted out of the room in a Pas de
Zephyr.
Behold me then safely ensconced in my private
boudoir, a fearful instance of the ill consequences at-
tending upon irascibility — alive, with the qualifications
of the dead — dead, with the propensities of the living
— an anomaly on the face of the earth — being very
calm, yet breathless.


LOSS OP BREATH. 15 j
Yes! breathless. I am serious in asserting that my
breath was entirely gone. I could not have stirred
with it a feather if my life had been at issue, or sullied
even the delicacy of a mirror. Hard fate ! — yet there
was some alleviation to the first overwhelming paroxysm
of my sorrow. I found, upon trial, that the powers
of utterance which, upon my inability to proceed in
the conversation with my wife, I then concluded to be
totally destroyed, were in fact only partially impeded,
and I discovered that had I at that interesting crisis,
dropped my voice to a singularly deep guttural, I might
still have continued to her the communication of my
sentiments; this pitch of voice (the guttural) depend-
ing, I find, not upon the current of the breath, but upon
a certain spasmodic action of the muscles of the throat.
Throwing myself upon a chair, I remained for some
time absorbed in meditation. My reflections, be sure,
were of no consolatory kind. A thousand vague and
lachrymatory fancies took possession of my soul — and
even the idea of suicide flitted across my brain; but
it is a trait in the perversity of human nature to reject
the obvious and the ready, for the far-distant and
equivocal. Thus I shuddered at self-murder as the
most decided of atrocities while the tabby cat purred
strenuously upon the rug, and the very water-dog
wheezed assiduously under the table; each taking to
itself much merit for the strength of its lungs, and all
obviously done in derision of my own pulmonary in-
capacity.
Oppressed with a tumult of vague hopes and fears, I
at length heard the footsteps of my wife descending
the staircase. Being now assured of her absence, I
returned with a palpitating heart to the scene of my
disaster.


154 TALES.
Carefully locking the door on the inside, I com-
menced a vigorous search. It was possible, I thought
that, concealed in some obscure corner, or lurking in
some closet or drawer, might be found the lost object
of my inquiry. It might have a vapory — it might
even have a tangible form. Most philosophers, upon
many points of philosophy, are still very unphilosophi-
cal. William Godwin, however, says in his "Mande-
ville," that "invisible things are the only realities,"
and this all will allow, is a case in point. I would
have the judicious reader pause before accusing such as-
severations of an undue quantum of absurdity. Anax-
agoras, it will be remembered, maintained that snow is
black, and this I have since found to be the case.
Long and earnestly did I continue the investigation:
but the contemptible reward of my industry and perse-
verence proved to be only a set of false teeth, two pair
of hips, an eye, and a bundle of billets-doux from Mr.
Windenough to my wife. I might as well here ob-
serve that this confirmation of my lady's partiality for
Mr. W. occasioned me little uneasiness. That Mrs.
Lacko'breath should admire anything so dissimilar to
myself was a natural and necessary evil. I am, it is
well known, of a robust and corpulent appearance,
and at the same time somewhat diminutive in stature.
What wonder then that the lath-like tenuity of my
acquaintance, and his altitude, which has grown into a
proverb, should have met with all due estimation in the
eyes of Mrs. Lacko'breath. But to return.
My exertions, as I have before said, proved fruit-
less. Closet after closet — drawer after drawer —
corner after corner — were scrutinized to no purpose.
At one time, however, I thought myself sure of my
prize, having in rummaging a dressing-case, accidentally


LOSS OP BREATH. 15$
demolished a bottle of Grandjean's Oil of Archangels
— which, as an agreeable perfume, I here take the lib-
erty of recommending.
With a heavy heart I returned to my boudoir —
there to ponder upon some method of eluding my
wife's penetration, until I could make arrangements
prior to my leaving the country, for to this I had
already made up my mind. In a foreign climate,
being unknown, I might, with some probability of
success, endeavor to conceal my unhappy calamity —
a calamity calculated, even more than beggary, to
estrange the affections of the multitude, and to draw
down upon the wretch the well-merited indignation of
the virtuous and the happy. I was not long in hesi-
tation. Being naturally quick, I committed to memory
the entire tragedy of "Metamora." I had the good
fortune to recollect that in the accentuation of this
drama, or at least of such portion of it as is allotted to
the hero, the tones of voice in which I found myself
deficient were altogether unnecessary, and that the
deep guttural was expected to reign monotonously
throughout.
I practised for some time by the borders of a well
frequented marsh ; — herein, however, having no ref-
erence to a similar proceeding of Demosthenes, but
from a design peculiarly and conscientiously my own.
Thus armed at all points, I determined to make my
wife believe that I was suddenly smitten with a passion
for the stage. In this, I succeeded to a miracle; and
to every question or suggestion found myself at liberty
to reply in my most frog-like and sepulchral tones with
some passage from the tragedy — any portion of which,
as I soon took great pleasure in observing, would apply
equally well to any particular subject. It is not to be


156 TALES.
supposed, however, that in the delivery of such pas-
sages I was found at all deficient in the looking asquint
— the showing my teeth — the working my knees —
the shuffling my feet — or in any of those unmention-
able graces which are now justly considered the char-
acteristics of a popular performer. To be sure they
spoke of confining me in a straight-jacket — but, good
God! they never suspected me of having lost my
breath.
Having at length put my affairs in order, I took my
seat very early one morning in the mail stage for ,
giving it to be understood, among my acquaintances,
that business of the last importance required my imme-
diate personal attendance in that city.
The coach was crammed to repletion; but in the
uncertain twilight the features of my companions could
not be distinguished. Without making any effectual
resistance, I suffered myself to be placed between two
gentlemen of colossal dimensions; while a third, of a
size larger, requesting pardon for the liberty he was
about to take, threw himself upon my body at full
length, and falling asleep in an instant, drowned all
my guttural ejaculations for relief, in a snore which
would have put to blush the roarings of the bull of
Phalaris. Happily the state of my respiratory faculties
rendered suffocation an accident entirely out of the
question.
As, however, the day broke more distinctly in our
approach to the outskirts of the city, my tormentor
arising and adjusting his shirt-collar, thanked me in a
very friendly manner for my civility. Seeing that I
remained motionless, (all my limbs were dislocated
and my head twisted on one side,) his apprehensions
began to be excited ; and arousing the rest of the pas-


LOSS OF BREATH. 157
sengers, he communicated in a very decided manner,
his opinion that a dead man had been palmed upon
them during the night for a living and responsible fel-
low-traveller; here giving me a thump on the right
eye, by way of demonstrating the truth of his sug-
gestion.
Hereupon all, one after another, (there were nine
in company), believed it their duty to pull me by the
ear. A young practising physician, too, having
applied a pocket-mirror to my mouth, and found me
without breath, the assertion of my persecutor was
pronounced a true bill ; and the whole party expressed
a determination to endure tamely no such impositions
for the future, and to proceed no farther with any
such carcasses for the present.
I was here, accordingly, thrown out at the sign of
the "Crow," (by which tavern the coach happened
to be passing,) without meeting with any farther acci-
dent than the breaking of both my arms, under the
left hind wheel of the vehicle. I must besides do the
driver the justice to state that he did not forget to
throw after me the largest of my trunks, which, un-
fortunately falling on my head, fractured my skull in a
manner at once interesting and extraordinary.
The landlord of the " Crow," who is a hospitable
man, finding that my trunk contained sufficient to in-
demnify him for any little trouble he might take in my
behalf, sent forthwith for a surgeon of his acquaintance,
and delivered me to his care with a bill and receipt for
ten dollars.
The purchaser took me to his apartments and com-
menced operations immediately. Having cut off my
ears, however, he discovered signs of animation. He
now rang the bell, and sent for a neighboring apothe-


158 TALES.
cary with whom to consult in the emergency. In case
of his suspicions with regard to my existence proving
ultimately correct, he, in the meantime, made an incision
in my stomach, and removed several of my viscera for
private dissection.
The apothecary had an idea that I was actually dead.
This idea I endeavored to confute, kicking and plunging
with all my might, and making the most furious con-
tortions— for the operations of the surgeon had, in a
measure, restored me to the possession of my faculties.
All, however, was attributed to the effects of a new
galvanic battery, wherewith the apothecary, who is
really a man of information, performed several curious
experiments, in which, from my personal share in their
fulfilment, I could not help feeling deeply interested.
It was a source of mortification to me nevertheless, that
although I made several attempts at conversation, my
powers of speech were so entirely in abeyance, that I
could not even open my mouth; much less then make
reply to some ingenious but fanciful theories of which,
under other circumstances, my minute acquaintance
with the Hippocratian pathology would have afforded
me a ready confutation.
Not being able to arrive at a conclusion, the practi-
tioners remanded me for farther examination. I was
taken up into a garret; and the surgeon's lady having
accommodated me with drawers and stockings, the
surgeon himself fastened my hands, and tied up my
jaws with a pocket handkerchief— then bolted the
door on the outside as he hurried to his dinner, leaving
me alone to silence and to meditation.
I now discovered to my extreme delight that I could
have spoken had not my mouth been tied up by the
pocket handkerchief. Consoling myself with this re-


LOSS OF BREATH. 159
flection, I was mentally repeating some passages of the
"Omnipresence of the Deity," as is my custom before
resigning myself to sleep, when two cats, of a greedy
and vituperative turn, entering at a hole in the wall,
leaped up with a flourish a la Catalani, and alighting
opposite one another on my visage, betook themselves
to indecorous contention for the paltry consideration of
my nose.
But, as the loss of his ears proved the means of
elevating to the throne of Cyrus, the Magian or Mige-
Gush of Persia, and as the cutting off his nose gave
Zopyrus possession of Babylon, so the loss of a few
ounces of my countenance proved the salvation of my
body. Aroused by the pain, and burning with indig-
nation, I burst, at a single effort, the fastenings and the
bandage.— Stalking across the room I cast a glance
of contempt at the belligerents, and throwing open the
sash to their extreme horror and disappointment, pre-
cipitated myself, very dexterously, from the window.
The mail-robber W , to whom I bore a
singular resemblance, was at this moment passing from
the city jail to the scaffold erected for his execution in
the suburbs. His extreme infirmity, and long con-
tinued ill health, had obtained him the privilege of re-
maining unmanacled; and habited in his gallows cos-
tume — one very similar to my own — he lay at full
length in the bottom of the hangman's cart (which hap-
pened to be under the windows of the surgeon at the
moment of my precipitation) without any other guard
than the driver who was asleep, and two recruits of the
sixth infantry, who were drunk.
As ill-luck would have it, I alit upon my feet within
the vehicle. W , who was an acute fellow,
perceived his opportunity. Leaping up immediately,


l6o TALES.
he bolted out behind, and turning down an alley, was
out of sight in the twinkling of an eye. The recruits,
aroused by the bustle, could not exactly comprehend
the merits of the transaction. Seeing, however, a man,
the precise counterpart of the felon, standing upright
in the cart before their eyes, they were of opinion that
the rascal (meaning W ) was after making his
escape, (so they expressed themselves,) and, having
communicated this opinion to one another, they took
each a dram, and then knocked me down with the
butt-ends of their muskets.
It was not long ere we arrived at the place of desti-
nation. Of course nothing could be said in my de-
fence. Hanging was my inevitable fate. I resigned
myself thereto with a feeling half stupid, half acrimoni-
ous. Being little of a cynic, I had all the sentiments
of a dog. The hangman, however, adjusted the noose
about my neck. The drop fell.
I forbear to depict my sensations upon the gallows;
although here, undoubtedly, I could speak to the point,
and it is a topic upon which nothing has been well
said. In fact, to write upon such a theme it is nec-
essary to have been hanged. Every author should
confine himself to matters of experience. Thus Mark
Antony composed a treatise upon getting drunk.
I may just mention, however, that die I did not.
My body was, but I had no breath to it suspended;
and but for the knot under my left ear (which had the
feel of a military stock) I dare say that I should have
experienced very little inconvenience. As for the jerk
given to my neck upon the falling of the drop, it merely
proved a corrective to the twist afforded me by the fat
gentleman in the coach.
For good reasons, however, I did my best to give


LOSS OF BREATH. l6l
the crowd the worth of their trouble. My convulsions
were said to be extraordinary. My spasms it would
have been difficult to beat. The populace encored.
Several gentlemen swooned; and a multitude of ladies
were carried home in hysterics. Pinxit availed him-
self of the opportunity to retouch, from a sketch taken
upon the spot, his admirable painting of the " Marsyas
flayed alive."
When I had afforded sufficient amusementi it was
thought proper to remove my body from the gallows;
— this the more especially as the real culprit had in
the meantime been retaken and recognized; a fact
which I was so unlucky as not to know.
Much sympathy was, of course exercised in my
behalf, and as no one made claim to my corpse, it
was ordered that I should be interred in a public
vault.
Here, after due interval, I was deposited. The
sexton departed, and I was left alone. A line of
Marston's '^Malcontent " —
Death 's a good fellow and keeps open house —
struck me at that moment as a palpable lie.
I knocked off, however, the lid of my coffin, and
stepped out. The place was dreadfully dreary and
damp, and I became troubled with ennui. By way
of amusement, I felt my way among the numerous
coffins ranged in order around. I lifted them down,
one by one, and breaking open their lids, busied my-
self in speculations about the mortality within.
"This," I soliloquized, tumbling over a carcass,
puffy, bloated, and rotund—"this has been, no
doubt, in every sense of the word, an unhappy — an
vOl. II.—II


162 TALES.
unfortunate man. It has been his terrible lot not to
walk, but to waddle — to pass through life not like a
human being, but like an elephant — not like a man,
but like a rhinoceros.
"His attempts at getting on have been mere abor-
tions, and his circumgyratory proceedings a palpable
failure. Taking a step forward, it has been his mis-
fortune to take two towards the right, and three
towards the left. His studies have been confined to
the poetry of Crabbe. He can have had no idea of
the wonder of a pirouette. To him a pas de papillan
has been an abstract conception. He has never as-
cended the summit of a hill. He has never viewed
from any steeple the glories of a metropolis. Heat
has been his mortal enemy. In the dog-days his days
have been the days of a dog. Therein, he has
dreamed of flames and suffocation — of mountains
upon mountains — of Pelion upon Ossa. He was
short of breath — to say all in a word, he was short
of breath. He thought it extravagant to play upon
wind instruments. He was the inventor of self-mov-
ing fans, wind-sails, and ventilators. He patronized
Du Pont the bellows-maker, and died miserably in
attempting to smoke a cigar. His was a case in which
I feel a deep interest — a lot in which I sincerely sym-
pathize.
"But here," —said I— "here"—and I dragged
spitefully from its receptacle a gaunt, tall, and peculiar-
looking form, whose remarkable appearance struck me
with a sense of unwelcome familiarity — " here is a
wretch entitled to no earthly commiseration." Thus
saying, in order to obtain a more distinct view of my
subject, I applied my thumb and fore-finger to its nose,
and causing it to assume a sitting position upon the


LOSS OF BREATH. 163
ground, held it thus, at the length of my arm, while I
continued my soliloquy.
— "Entitled," I repeated, "to no earthly com-
miseration. Who indeed would think of compassion-
ating a shadow? Besides, has he not had his full share
of the blessings of mortality? He was the originator
of tall monuments •— shot-towers — lightning-rods —
lombardy poplars. His treatise upon "Shades and
Shadows" has immortalized him. He edited with
distinguished ability the last edition of "South on the
Bones." He went early to college and studied pneu-
matics. He then came home, talked eternally, and
played upon the French-horn. He patronized the
bag-pipes. Captain Barclay, who walked against
Time, would not walk against bim. Windham and
Allbreath were his favorite writers. — his favorite artist,
Phiz. He died gloriously while inhaling gas — levique
flatu corrumpitur, like the fama pudicitiat in Hieron-
ymus.1 He was indubitably a"
"How can you ? — how — can — you ?" — inter-
rupted the object of my animadversions, gasping for
breath, and tearing off, with a desperate exertion, the
bandage around its jaws— " how can you, Mr. Lacko'-
breath, be so infernally cruel as to pinch me in that
manner by the nose? Did you not see how they had
fastened up my mouth — and you must know — if
you know anything — how vast a superfluity of breath
I have to dispose of! If you do not know, however,
sit down and you shall see.— In my situation it is
really a great relief to be able to open one's mouth —
to be able to expatiate — to be able to communicate
1 Ttnera ret in fmirth fama pudicitiat et quasi Jtos pulcherrimus,
cito ad Irvcm marcessit auram, levique jlatu corrumpitur, maxime,
&c. — Hieronymus ad Salvinam. [Epist. LXXXV.]


164 TALES.
with a person like yourself, who do not think yourself
called upon at every period to interrupt the thread of a
gentleman's discourse.—Interruptions are annoying
and should undoubtedly be abolished — don't you
think so ? — no reply, I beg you, — one person is
enough to be speaking at a time. — I shall be done by-
and-by, and then you may begin. — How the devil,
sir, did you get into this place ?— not a word I be-
seech you — been here some time myself— terrible
accident! — heard of it, I suppose — awful calamity!
— walking under your windows — some short while
ago — about the time you were stage-struck — horrible
occurrence ! — heard of " catching one's breath," eh?
— hold your tongue I tell you !— I caught somebody
else's !—had always too much of my own — met
Blab at the corner of the street—wouldn't give me a
chance for a word — could n' t get in a syllable edge-
ways— attacked, consequently, with epilepsis — Blab
made his escape — damn all fools ! — they took me up
for dead, and put me in this place — pretty doings all
of them ! — heard all you said about me — every word
a lie — horrible ! — wonderful !— outrageous !— hid-
eous ! — incomprehensible !— et cetera — et cetera '—
et cetera — et cetera —"
It is impossible to conceive my astonishment at so
unexpected a discourse; or the joy with which I be-
came gradually convinced that the breath so fortunately
caught by the gentleman (whom I soon recognized as
my neighbor Windenough) was, in fact, the identical
expiration mislaid by myself in the conversation with
my wife. Time, place, and circumstance rendered it
a matter beyond question. I did not, however, im-
mediately release my hold upon Mr. W.'s proboscis
— not at least during the long period in which the in-


LOSS OF BREATH. 165
ventor of lombardy-poplars continued to favor me with
his explanations.
In this respect I was actuated by that habitual pru-
dence which has ever been my predominating trait.
I reflected that many difficulties might still lie in the
path of my preservation which only extreme exertion
on my part would be able to surmount. Many per-
sons, I considered, are prone to estimate commodities
in their possession — however valueless to the then
proprietor — however troublesome, or distressing — in
direct ratio with the advantages to be derived by others
from their attainment, or by themselves from their
abandonment. Might not this be the case with Mr.
Windenough? In displaying anxiety for the breath
of which he was at present so willing to get rid, might
I not lay myself open to the exactions of his avarice?
There are scoundrels in this world, I remembered with
a sigh, who will not scruple to take unfair opportunities
with even a next door neighbor, and (this remark is
from Epictetus) it is precisely at that time when men
are most anxious to throw off the burden of their own
calamines that they feel the least desirous of relieving
them in others.
Upon considerations similar to these, and still retain-
ing my grasp upon the nose of Mr. W., I accordingly
thought proper to model my reply.
"Monster !" I began in a tone of the deepest in-
dignation, "monster; and double-winded idiot ! —
dost thou, whom for thine iniquities, it has pleased
heaven to accurse with a two-fold respiration — dost
thou, I say, presume to address me in the familiar
language of an old acquaintance ? — "I lie," forsooth!
and "hold my tongue," to be sure! — pretty con-
versation indeed, to a gentleman with a single breath!


166 TALES.
— all this, too, when I have it in my power to relieve
the calamity under which thou dost so justly suffer —
to curtail the superfluities of thine unhappy respiration."
Like Brutus, I paused for a reply — with which, like
a tornado, Mr. Windenough immediately overwhelmed
me. Protestation followed upon protestation, and
apology upon apology. There were no terms with
which he was unwilling to comply, and there were none
of which I failed to take the fullest advantage.
Preliminaries being at length arranged, my acquain-
tance delivered me the respiration; for which (having
carefully examined it) I gave him afterwards a receipt.
I am aware that by many I shall be held to blame
for speaking, in a manner so cursory, of a transaction
so impalpable. It will be thought that I should have
entered more minutely into the details of an occurrence
by which — and this is very true — much new light
might be thrown upon a highly interesting branch of
physical philosophy.
To all this I am sorry that I cannot reply. A hint is
the only answer which I am permitted to make. There
were circumstances — but I think it much safer upon
consideration to say as little as possible about an affair
so delicate — so delicate, I repeat, and at the time
involving the interests of a third party whose sulphurous
resentment I have not the least desire, at this moment,
of incurring.
We were not long after this necessary arrangement
in effecting an escape from the dungeons of the sepulchre.
The united strength of our resuscitated voices was soon
sufficiently apparent. Scissors, the Whig Editor, re-
published a treatise upon "the nature and origin of
subterranean noises." A reply — rejoinder — confu-
tation — and justification — followed in the columns


LOSS OF BREATH. 167
of a Democratic Gazette. It was not until the open-
ing of the vault to decide the controversy, that the
appearance of Mr. Windenough and myself proved both
parties to have been decidedly in the wrong.
I cannot conclude these details of some very singular
passages in a life at all times sufficiently eventful, with-
out again recalling to the attention of the reader the
merits of that indiscriminate philosophy which is a sure
and ready shield against those shafts of calamity which
can neither be seen, felt, nor fully understood. It was
in the spirit of this wisdom that, among the Ancient
Hebrews, it was believed the gates of Heaven would
be inevitably opened to that sinner, or saint, who, with
good lungs and implicit confidence, should vociferate
the word "Amen!" It was in the spirit of this
wisdom that, when a great plague raged at Athens, and
every means had been in vain attempted for its removal,
Epimenides, as Laertius relates in his second book of
that philosopher, advised the erection of a shrine and
temple " to the proper God."
Lyttleton Barry.


KING PEST.
A TALE CONTAINING AN ALLEGORY.
[Southern Literary Messenger, September, 1835; 1840
Broadway Journal, II. 15.]
1 The gods do bear and well allow in kings
The things which they abhor in rascal routes.
BuckburiC 1 Tragedy of Ferrex and Porrex. [II. 1.1
About twelve o'clock, one night in the month of
October, and during the chivalrous reign of the third
Edward, two seamen belonging to the crew of the
"Free and Easy," a trading schooner plying between
Sluys and the Thames, and then at anchor in that
river, were much astonished to find themselves seated
in the tap-room of an ale-house in the parish of St.
Andrews, London — which ale-house bore for sign the
portraiture of a "Jolly Tar."
The room, although ill-contrived, smoke-blackened,
low-pitched, and in every other respect agreeing with
the general character of such places at the period —
was, nevertheless, in the opinion of the grotesque
groups scattered here and there within it, sufliciently
well adapted to its purpose.
Of these groups our two seamen formed, I think,
the most interesting, if not the most conspicuous.
1 Poe modernited the spelling.
(168)


KING PEST. 169
The one who appeared to be the elder, and whom
his companion addressed by the characteristic appella-
tion of " Legs," was at the same time much the taller
of the two. He might have measured six feet and a
half, and an habitual stoop in the shoulders seemed to
have been the necessary consequence of an altitude so
enormous. — Superfluities in height were, however,
more than accounted for by deficiencies in other re-
spects. He was exceedingly thin; and might, as his
associates asserted, have answered, when drunk, for a
pennant at the mast-head, or, when sober, have served
for a jib-boom. But these jests, and others of a simi-
lar nature, had evidently produced, at no time, any
effect upon the cachinnatory muscles of the tar.
With high cheek-bones, a large hawk-nose, retreating
chin, fallen under-jaw, and huge protruding white
eyes, the expression of his countenance, although
tinged with a species of dogged indifference to matters
and things in general, was not the less utterly solemn
and serious beyond all attempts at imitation or descrip-
tion.
The younger seaman was, in all outward appear-
ance, the converse of his companion. His stature
could not have exceeded four feet. A pair of stumpy
bow-legs supported his squat, unwieldy figure, while
his unusually short and thick arms, with no ordinary
fists at their extremities, swung off dangling from his
sides like the fins of a sea-turtle. Small eyes, of no
particular color, twinkled far back in his head. His
nose remained buried in the mass of flesh which envel-
oped his round, full, and purple face; and his thick
upper-lip rested upon the still thicker one beneath with
an air of complacent self-satisfaction, much heightened
by the owner's habit of licking them at intervals. He


170 TALES.
evidently regarded his tall shipmate with a feeling half-
wondrous, half-quizzical; and stared up occasionally
in his face as the red setting sun stares up at the crags
of Ben Nevis.
Various and eventful, however, had been the pere-
grinations of the worthy couple in and about the dif-
ferent tap-houses of the neighbourhood during the earlier
hours of the night. Funds even the most ample, are
not always everlasting: and it was with empty pockets
our friends had ventured upon the present hostelrie.
At the precise period, then, when this history prop-
erly commences, Legs, and his fellow Hugh Tarpaulin,
sat, each with both elbows resting upon the large oaken
table in the middle of the floor, and with a hand upon
cither cheek. They were eyeing, from behind a huge
flagon of unpaid-for "humming-stuff," the portentous
words, "No Chalk," which to their indignation and
astonishment were scored over the doorway by means
of that very mineral whose presence they purported to
deny. Not that the gift of decyphering written char-
acters — a gift among the commonalty of that day con-
sidered little less cabalistical than the art of inditing —
could, in strict justice, have been laid to the charge of
either disciple of the sea; but there was, to say the
truth, a certain twist in the formation of the letters —
an indescribable lee-lurch about the whole — which
foreboded, in the opinion of both seamen, a long run
of dirty weather; and determined them at once, in
the allegorical words of Legs himself, to "pump ship,
clew up all sail, and scud before the wind."
Having accordingly disposed of what remained of
the ale, and looped up the points of their short doub-
lets, they finally made a bolt for the street. Although
Tarpaulin rolled twice into the fire-place, mistaking it


KING PEST. 171
for the door, yet their escape was at length happily
effected — and half after twelve o'clock found our
heroes ripe for mischief, and running for life down a
dark alley in the direction of St. Andrew's Stair, hotly
pursued by the landlady of the "Jolly Tar."
At the epoch of this eventful tale, and periodically,
for many years before and after, all England, but more
especially the metropolis, resounded with the fearful
cry of '• Plague!" The city was in a great measure
depopulated — and in those horrible regions, in the
vicinity of the Thames, where amid the dark, narrow,
and filthy lanes and alleys, the Demon of Disease was
supposed to have had his nativity, Awe, Terror, and
Superstition were alone to be found stalking abroad.
By authority of the king such districts were placed
under ban, and all persons forbidden, under pain of
death, to intrude upon their dismal solitude. Yet
neither the mandate of the monarch, nor the huge bar-
riers erected at the entrances of the streets, nor the
prospect of that loathsome death which, with almost
absolute certainty, overwhelmed the wretch whom no
peril could deter from the adventure, prevented the
unfurnished and untenanted dwellings from being
stripped, by the hand of nightly rapine, of every arti-
cle, such as iron, brass, or iead-work, which could in
any manner be turned to a profitable account.
Above all, it was usually found, upon the annual
winter opening of the barriers, that locks, bolts, and
secret cellars, had proved but slender protection to
those rich stores of wines and liquors which, in con-
sideration of the risk and trouble of removal, many of
the numerous dealers having shops in the neighbour-
hood had consented to trust, during the period of exile,
to so insufficient a security.


172 TALES.
But there were very few of the terror-stricken people
who attributed these doings to the agency of human
hands. Pest-spirits, plague-goblins, and fever-demons,
were the popular imps of mischief; and tales so blood-
chilling were hourly told, that the whole mass of for-
bidden buildings was, at length, enveloped in terror as
in a shroud, and the plunderer himself was often scared
away by the horrors his own depredations had created;
leaving the entire vast circuit of prohibited district to
gloom, silence, pestilence, and death.
It was by one of the terrific barriers already men-
tioned, and which indicated the region beyond to be
under the Pest-ban, that, in scrambling down an alley,
Legs and the worthy Hugh Tarpaulin found their prog-
ress suddenly impeded. To return was out of the
question, and no time was to be lost, as their pursuers
were close upon their heels. With thorough-bred
seamen to clamber up the roughly fashioned plank-
work was a trifle; and, maddened with the twofold
excitement of exercise and liquor, they leaped unhesi-
tatingly down within the enclosure, and holding on
their drunken course with shouts and yellings, were
soon bewildered in its noisome and intricate recesses.
Had they not, indeed, been intoxicated beyond
moral sense, their reeling footsteps must have been pal-
sied by the horrors of their situation. The air was
told and misty. The paving-stones, loosened from
their beds, lay in wild disorder amid the tall, rank
grass, which sprang up arounr1 the feet and ankles.
Fallen houses choked up the streets. The most fetid
and poisonous smells everywhere prevailed ;— and by
the aid of that ghastly light which, even at midnight,
never fails to emanate from a vapory end pestilential
atmosphere, might be discerned lying n the by-paths


KING PEST. 173
and alleys, or rotting in the windowless habitations,
the carcass of many a nocturnal plunderer arrested by
the hand of the plague in the very perpetration of his
robbery.
— But it lay not in the power of images, or sensa-
tions, or impediments such as these, to stay the course
of men who, naturally brave, and at that time espe-
cially, brimful of courage and of " humming-stuff!"
would have reeled, as straight as their condition might
have permitted, undauntedly into the very jaws of
Death. Onward — still onward stalked the grim Legs,
making the desolate solemnity echo and re-echo with
yells like the terrific war-whoop of the Indian: and
onward, still onward rolled the dumpy Tarpaulin,
hanging on to the doublet of his more active compan-
ion, and far surpassing the latter's most strenuous exer-
tions in the way of vocal music, by bull-roarings in
basso, from the profundity of his stentorian lungs.
They had now evidently reached the strong hold of
the pestilence. Their way at every step or plunge
grew more noisome and more horrible —the paths
more narrow and more intricate. Huge stones and
beams falling momently from the decaying roofs above
them, gave evidence, by their sullen and heavy descent,
of the vast height of the surrounding houses ; and while
actual exertion became necessary to force a passage
through frequent heaps of rubbish, it was by no means
seldom that the hand fell upon a skeleton or rested upon
a more fleshly corpse.
Suddenly, as the seamen stumbled against the en-
trance of a tall and ghastly-looking building, a yell
more than usually shrill from the throat of the excited
Legs, was replied to from within, in a rapid succession
of wild, laughter-like, and fiendish shrieks. Nothing


174 TALES.
daunted at sounds which, of such a nature, at such a
time, and in such a place, might have curdled the very
blood in hearts less irrevocably on fire, the drunken
couple rushed headlong against the door, burst it open,
and staggered into the midst of things with a volley of
curses.
The room within which they found themselves proved
to be the shop of an undertaker; but an open trap-
door, in a corner of the floor near the entrance, looked
down upon a long range of wine-cellars, whose depths
the occasional sound of bursting bottles proclaimed to be
well stored with their appropriate contents. In the
middle of the room stood a table — in the centre of
which again arose a huge tub of what appeared to be
punch. Bottles of various wines and cordials, together
with jugs, pitchers, and flagons of every shape and
quality, were scattered profusely upon the board.
Around it, upon coffin-tressels, was seated a company
of six. This company I will endeavor to delineate one
by one.
Fronting the entrance, and elevated a little above his
companions, sat a personage who appeared to be the
president of the table. His stature was gaunt and tall,
and Legs was confounded to behold in him a figure
more emaciated than himself. His face was as yellow
as saffron — but no feature excepting one alone, was
sufficiently marked to merit a particular description.
This one consisted in a forehead so unusually and hid-
eously lofty, as to have the appearance of a bonnet or
crown of flesh superadded upon the natural head. His
mouth was puckered and dimpled into an expression of
ghastly affability, and his eyes, as indeed the eyes of
all at table, were glazed over with the fumes of intoxi-
cation. This gentleman was clothed from head to


KING PEST. 175
foot in a richly-embroidered black silk-velvet pall,
wrapped negligently around his form after the fashion
of a Spanish cloak. — His head was stuck full of sable
hearse-plumes, which he nodded to and fro with a jaunty
and knowing air ; and, in his right hand, he held a huge
human thigh-bone, with which he appeared to have
been just knocking down some member of the company
for a song.
Opposite him, and with her back to the door, was
a lady of no whit the less extraordinary character.
Although quite as tall as the person just described, she
had no right to complain of his unnatural emaciation.
She was evidently in the last stage of a dropsy; and
her figure resembled nearly that of the huge puncheon
of October beer which stood, with the head driven in,
close by her side, in a corner of the chamber. Her face
was exceedingly round, red, and full; and the same
peculiarity, or rather want of peculiarity, attached itself
to her countenance, which I before mentioned in the
case of the president — that is to say, only one feature
of her face was sufficiently distinguished to need a sep-
arate characterization: indeed the acute Tarpaulin im-
mediately observed that the same remark might have
applied to each individual person of the party; every
one of whom seemed to possess a monopoly of some
particular portion of physiognomy. With the lady in
question this portion proved to be the mouth. Com-
mencing at the right ear, it swept with a terrific chasm
to the left — the short pendants which she wore in
either auricle continually bobbing into the aperture.
She made, however, every exertion to keep her mouth
closed and look dignified, in a dress consisting of a
newly starched and ironed shroud coming up close under
her chin, with a crimpled ruffle of cambric muslin.


176 TALES.
At her right hand sat a diminutive young lady whom
she appeared to patronise. This delicate little creature,
in the trembling of her wasted fingers, in the livid hue
of her lips, and in the slight hectic spot which tinged
her otherwise leaden complexion, gave evident indica-
tions of a galloping consumption. An air of extreme
haut ton, however, pervaded her whole appearance;
she wore in a graceful and degage manner, a large and
beautiful winding-sheet of the finest India lawn; her
hair hung in ringlets over her neck ; a soft smile played
about her mouth; but her nose, extremely long, thin,
sinuous, flexible and pimpled, hung down far below
her under lip, and in spite of the delicate manner in
which she now and then moved it to one side or the
other with her tongue, gave to her countenance a some-
what equivocal expression.
Over against her, and upon the left of the dropsical
lady, was seated a little puffy, wheezing, and gouty
old man, whose cheeks reposed upon the shoulders of
their owner, like two huge bladders of Oporto wine.
With his arms folded, and with one bandaged leg
deposited upon the table, he seemed to think himself
entitled to some consideration. He evidently prided
himself much upon every inch of his personal appear-
ance, but took more especial delight in calling attention
to his gaudy-colored surtout. This, to say the truth,
must have cost him no little money, and was made to
fit him exceedingly well — being fashioned from one of
the curiously embroidered silken covers appertaining to
those glorious escutcheons which, in England and else-
where, are customarily hung up, in some conspicuous
place, upon the dwellings of departed aristocracy.
Next to him, and at the right hand of the presi-
dent, was a gentleman in long white hose and cotton


KING PEST. 177
drawers. His frame shook, in a ridiculous manner, with
a fit of what Tarpaulin called "the horrors." His
jaws, which had been newly shaved, were tightly tied
up by a bandage of muslin; and his arms being
fastened in a similar way at the wrists, prevented him
from helping himself too freely to the liquors upon the
table; a precaution rendered necessary, in the opinion
of Legs, by the peculiarly sottish and wine-bibbing
cast of his visage. A pair of prodigious ears, never-
theless, which it was no doubt found impossible to
confine, towered away into the atmosphere of the
apartment, and were occasionally pricked up in a spasm,
at the sound of the drawing of a cork.
Fronting him, sixthly and lastly, was situated a
singularly stiff-looking personage, who, being afflicted
with paralysis, must, to speak seriously, have felt very
ill at ease in his unaccommodating habiliments. He
was habited, somewhat uniquely, in a new and hand-
some mahogany coffin. Its top or head-piece pressed
upon the skull of the wearer, and extended over it in
the fashion of a hood, giving to the entire face an air
of indescribable interest. Arm-holes had been cut in
the sides, for the sake not more of elegance than of
convenience; but the dress, nevertheless, prevented its
proprietor from sitting as erect as his associates; and
as he lay reclining against his tressel, at an angle of forty-
five degrees, a pair of huge goggle eyes rolled up their
awful whites towards the ceiling in absolute amaze-
ment at their own enormity.
Before each of the party lay a portion of a skull,
which was used as a drinking cup. Overhead was
suspended a human skeleton, by means of a rope tied
round one of the legs and fastened to a ring in the ceil-
ing. The other limb confined by no such fetter, stuck
vol. 11.—ia


178 TALES.
off from the body at right angles, causing the whole
loose and rattling frame to dangle and twirl about at
the caprice of every occasional puff of wind which
found its way into the apartment. In the cranium of
this hideous thing lay a quantity of ignited charcoal,
which threw a fitful but vivid light over the entire
scene ; while coffins, and other wares appertaining to
the shop of an undertaker, were piled high up around
the room, and against the windows, preventing any
ray from escaping into the street.
At sight of this extraordinary assembly, and of their
still more extraordinary paraphernalia, our two seamen
did not conduct themselves with that degree of decorum
which might have been expected. Legs, leaning
against the wall near which he happened to be stand-
ing, dropped his lower jaw still lower than usual, and
spread open his eyes to their fullest extent: while
Hugh Tarpaulin, stooping down so as to bring his nose
upon a level with the table, and spreading out a palm
upon either knee, burst into a long, loud, and ob-
streperous roar of very ill-timed and immoderate laugh-
ter.
Without, however, taking offence at behaviour so
excessively rude, the tall president smiled very graciously
upon the intruders — nodded to them in a dignified
manner with his head of sable plumes — and, arising,
took each by an arm, and led him to a seat which some
others of the company had placed in the meantime for
his accommodation. Legs to all this offered not the
slightest resistance, but sat down as he was directed;
while the gallant Hugh, removing his coffin tressel from
its station near the head of the table, to the vicinity of
the little consumptive lady in the winding sheet, plumped
down by her side in high glee, and pouring out a skull


KING PEST. 179
of red wine, quaffed it to their better acquaintance.
But at this presumption the stiff gentleman in the coffin
seemed exceedingly nettled; and serious consequences
might have ensued, had not the president, rapping upon
the table with his truncheon, diverted the attention of
all present to the following speech:
"It becomes our duty upon the present happy occa-
sion ''
"Avast there!" interrupted Legs, looking very
serious, "avast there a bit, I say, and tell us who the
devil ye all are, and what business ye have here, rigged
off like the foul fiends, and swilling the snug blue ruin
stowed away for the winter by my honest shipmate,
Will Wimble the undertaker!"
At this unpardonable piece of ill-breeding, all the
original company half started to their feet, and uttered
the same rapid succession of wild fiendish shrieks which
had before caught the attention of the seamen. The
president, however, was the first to recover his com-
posure, and at length, turning to Legs with great dig-
nity, recommenced:
"Most willingly will we gratify any reasonable
curiosity on the part of guests so illustrious, unbidden
though they be. Know then that in these dominions
I am monarch, and here rule with undivided empire
under the title of 'King Pest the First.'
"This apartment, which you no doubt profanely
suppose to be the shop of Will Wimble the undertaker
— a man whom we know not, and whose plebeian ap-
pellation has never before this night thwarted our royal
ears — this apartment, I say, is the Dais-Chamber of
our Palace, devoted to the councils of our kingdom,
and to other sacred and lofty purposes.
"The noble lady who sits opposite is Queen Pest,


180 TALES
our Serene Consort. The other exalted personages
whom you behold are all of our familyi and wear the
insignia of the blood royal under the respective titles of
'His Grace the Arch Duke Pest-Iferous ' —' His
Grace the Duke Pest-Ilential' — ' His Grace the Duke
Tem-Pest'—and 'Her Serene Highness the Arch
Duchess Ana-Pest.,
"As regards," continued he, "your demand of the
business upon which we sit here in council, we might
be pardoned for replying that it concerns, and concerns
alone, our own private and regal interest, and is in no
manner important to any other than ourself. But in
consideration of those rights to which as guests and
strangers you may feel yourselves entitled, we will fur-
thermore explain that we are here this night, prepared
by deep research and accurate investigation, to exam-
ine, analyze, and thoroughly determine the indefinable
spirit — the incomprehensible qualities and nare — of
those inestimable treasures of the palate, the wines,
ales, and liqueurs of this goodly metropolis: by so
doing to advance not more our own designs than the
true welfare of that unearthly sovereign whose reign is
over us all, whose dominions are unlimited, and whose
name is 'Death.'"
"Whose name is Davy Jones!" ejaculated Tar-
paulin, helping the lady by his side to a skull of liqueur,
and pouring out a second for himself.
"Profane varlet!" said the president, now turning
his attention to the worthy Hugh, "profane and exe-
crable wretch !— we have said, that in consideration
of those rights which, even in thy filthy person, we
feel no inclination to violate, we have condescended to
make reply to thy rude and unseasonable inquiries. We
nevertheless, for your unhallowed intrusion upon our


KING PEST. i S i
councils, believe it our duty to mulct thee and thy
companion in each a gallon of Black Strap — having
imbibed which to the prosperity of our kingdom—at
a single draught — and upon your bended knees — ye
shall be forthwith free either to proceed upon your way,
or remain and be admitted to the privileges of our
table, according to your respective and individual
pleasures."
"It would be a matter of utter impossibility," re-
plied Legs, whom the assumptions and dignity of King
Pest the First had evidently inspired with some feelings
of respect, and who arose and steadied himself by the
table as he spoke — "it would, please your majesty,
be a matter of utter impossibility to stow away in my
hold even one-fourth part of that same liquor which
your majesty has just mentioned. To say nothing of
the stuffs placed on board in the forenoon by way of
ballast, and not to mention the various ales and liqueurs
shipped this evening at different sea-ports, I have, at
present, a full cargo of ' humming stuff' taken in and
duly paid for at the sign of the 'Jolly Tar.' You
will, therefore, please your majesty, be so good as to
take the will for the deed — for by no manner of means
either can I or will I swallow another drop — least of
all a drop of that villanous bilge-water that answers to
the hail of ' Black Strap.'"
"Belay that!" interrupted Tarpaulin, astonished
not more at the length of his companion's speech
than at the nature of his refusal— "Belay that you
lubber ! — and I say, Legs, none of your palaver!
My hull is still light, although I confess you yourself
seem to be a little top-heavy; and as for the matter
of your share of the cargo, why rather than raise a squall
I would find stowage-room for it myself, but"


182 TALES.
"This proceeding," interposed the President, "is
by no means in accordance with the terms of the mulct
or sentence, which is in its nature Median, and not to
be altered or recalled. The conditions we have
imposed must be fulfilled to the letter, and that with-
out a moment's hesitation — in failure of which
fulfilment we decree that you do here be tied neck and
heels together, and duly drowned as rebels in yon
hogshead of October beer!"
"A sentence!—a sentence!—a righteous and
just sentence !— a glorious decree !— a most worthy
and upright, and holy condemnation!" shouted the
Pest family altogether. The king elevated his forehead
into innumerable wrinkles; the gouty little old man
puffed like a pair of bellows; the lady of the winding
sheet waved her nose to and fro; the gentleman in the
cotton drawers pricked up his ears; she of the shroud
gasped like a dying fish; and he of the coffin looked
stiff and rolled up his eyes.
"Ugh! ugh ! ugh!" chuckled Tarpaulin without
heeding the general excitation, "ugh! ugh! ugh !—
ugh! ugh! ugh! ugh !— ugh ! ugh! ugh !— I was
saying," said he, "I was saying when Mr. King Pest
poked in his marlin-spike, that as for the matter of two
or three gallons more or less of Black Strap, it was a
trifle to a tight sea-boat like myself not overstowed —
but when it comes to drinking the health of the Devil
(whom God assoilzie) and going down upon my marrow
bones to his ill-favored majesty there, whom I know,
as well as I know myself to be a sinner, to be nobody
in the whole world, but Tim Hurlygurly the stage-
player — why! it ,s quite another guess sort of a thing,
and utterly and altogether past my comprehension."
He was not allowed to finish this speech in tran-


KING PEST. 183
quillity. At the name of Tim Hurlygurly the whole
assembly leaped from their seats.
"Treason!" shouted his Majesty King Pest the
First.
"Treason!" said the little man with the gout.
"Treason!" screamed the Arch Duchess Ana-
Pest.
"Treason!" muttered the gentleman with his jaws
tied up.
"Treason!" growled he of the coffin.
"Treason! treason!" shrieked her majesty of
the mouth; and, seizing by the hinder part of his
breeches the unfortunate Tarpaulin, who had just com-
menced pouring out for himself a skull of liqueur, she
lifted him high into the air, and let him fall without
ceremony into the huge open puncheon of his beloved
ale. Bobbing up and down, for a few seconds, like an
apple in a bowl of toddy, he, at length, finally disap-
peared amid the whirlpool of foam which, in the already
effervescent liquor, his struggles easily succeeded in
creating.
Not tamely, however, did the tall seaman behold
the discomfiture of his companion. Jostling King Pest
through the open trap, the valiant Legs slammed the
door down upon him with an oath, and strode towards
the centre of the room. Here tearing down the skeleton
which swung over the table, he laid it about him with
so much energy and good will, that, as the last glimpses
of light died away within the apartment, he succeeded
in knocking out the brains of the little gentleman with
the gout. Rushing then with all his force against the
fatal hogshead full of October ale and Hugh Tarpaulin,
he rolled it over and over in an instant. Out burst a
deluge of liquor so fierce — so impetuous — so over-


184 TALES.
whelming — that the room was flooded from wall to
wall — the loaded table was overturned — the tressels
were thrown upon their backs — the tub of punch
into the fire-place — and the ladies into hysterics. Piles
of death-furniture floundered about. Jags, pitchers,
and carboys mingled promiscuously in the mflie, and
wicker flagons encountered desperately with bottles of
junk. The man with the horrors was drowned upon
the spot — the little stiff gentleman floated off in his
coffin — and the victorious Legs, seizing by the waist
the fat lady in the shroud, rushed out with her into the
street, and made a bee-line for the "Free and Easy,"
followed under easy sail by the redoubtable Hugh
Tarpaulin, who, having sneezed three or four times,
panted and puffed after him with the Arch Duchess
Ana-Pest.


METZENGERSTEIN.
[Southern Literary Messenger, January, 1836; 1840;
Grisivold.']
Prstis eram vivus — moriens tua mors ero.
Martin Luther.
Horror and fatality have been stalking abroad in all
■ges. Why then give a date to the story I have to
tell? Let it suffice to say, that at the period of which
I speak, there existed, in the interior of Hungary, a
settled although hidden belief in the doctrines of the
Metempsychosis. Of the doctrines themselves — that
is, of their falsity, or of their probability — I say
nothing. I assert, however, that much of our incre-
dulity (as La Bruyere says of all our unhappiness)
"vient de ne pouvoir lire seuli." 1
But there were some points in the Hungarian super-
stition which were fast verging to absurdity. They —
the Hungarians — differed very essentially from their
Eastern authorities. For example. "The soul," said
the former — I give the words of an acute and intelli-
gent Parisian — " ne demeure qu'une seule fois dans un
1 Merrier, in "V an deux mills quatre cent quarante" seriously
maintains the doctrines of the Metempsychosis, and I. D'lsraeli
says that " no system is so simple and so little repugnant to the un-
derstanding." Colonel Ethan Allen, the " Green Mountain Boy,"
is also said to have been a serious metempsychosis!.
(>»5)


.1 "...' I... , ./..





186 TALES.
corps sensible: au reste — un cbeval, tin cbien, un
bomme mime, n'est que la ressemblance peu tangible de
ces animaux."
The families of Berlifitzing and Metzengerstein had
been at variance for centuries. Never before were two
houses so illustrious, mutually embittered by hostility
so deadly. The origin of this enmity seems to be
found in the words of an ancient prophecy — "A lofty
name shall have a fearful fall when, as the rider over
his horse, the mortality of Metzengerstein shall triumph
over the immortality of Berlifitzing."
To be sure the words themselves had little or no
meaning. But more trivial causes have given rise —
and that no long while ago — to consequences equally
eventful. Besides, the estates, which were contiguous,
had long exercised a rival influence in the affairs of a
busy government. Moreover, near neighbors are
seldom friends; and the inhabitants of the Castle Ber-
lifitzing might look, from their lofty buttresses, into
the very windows of the Palace Metzengerstein.
Least of all had the more than feudal magnificence thus
discovered a tendency to allay the irritable feelings of
the less ancient and less wealthy Berlifitzings. What
wonder, then, that the words, however silly, of that
prediction, should have succeeded in setting and keep-
ing at variance two families already predisposed to
quarrel by every instigation of hereditary jealousy?
The prophecy seemed to imply—if it implied any-
thing— a final triumph on the part of the already
more powerful house; and was of course remembered
with the more bitter animosity by the weaker and less
influential.
Wilhelm, Count Berlifitzing, although loftily de-
scended, was, at the epoch of this narrative, an infirm


Metzfngfpsthiv.
Drawn hv Wo$el


186 TALES.
corps sensible: au reste — un cbeval, un cbien, un
bomme mime, ri'est que la ressemblance peu tangible de
ces animaux."
The families of Berlifitzing and Metzengerstein had
been at variance for centuries. Never before were two
houses so illustrious, mutually embittered by hostility
so deadly. The origin of this enmity seems to be
found in the words of an ancient prophecy — "A lofty
name shall have a fearful fall when, as the rider over
his horse, the mortality of Metzengerstein shall triumph
over the immortality of Berlifitzing."
To be sure the words themselves had little or no
meaning. But more trivial causes have given rise —
and that no long while ago — to consequences equally
eventful. Besides, the estates, which were contiguous,
had long exercised a rival influence in the affairs of a
busy government. Moreover, near neighbors are
seldom friends; and the inhabitants of the Castle Ber-
lifitzing might look, from their lofty buttresses, into
the very windows of the Palace Metzengerstein.
Least of all had the more than feudal magnificence thus
discovered a tendency to allay the irritable feelings of
the less ancient and less wealthy Berlifitzings. What
wonder, then, that the words, however silly, of that
prediction, should have succeeded in setting and keep-
ing at variance two families already predisposed to
quarrel by every instigation of hereditary jealousy?
The prophecy seemed to imply — if it implied any-
thing— a final triumph on the part of the already
more powerful house; and was of course remembered
with the more bitter animosity by the weaker and less
influential.
Wilhelm, Count Berlifitzing, although loftily de-
scended, was, at the epoch of this narrative, an infirm


MFT21 ºf FS 1 ſº.
11, awn ºn Mºgº











METZENGERSTEIN. 187
and doting old man, remarkable for nothing but an
inordinate and inveterate personal antipathy to the
family of his rival, and so passionate a love of horses,
and of hunting, that neither bodily infirmity, great age,
nor mental incapacity, prevented his daily participation
in the dangers of the chase.
Frederick, Baron Metzengerstein, was, on the other
hand, not yet of age. His father, the Minister
G , died young. His mother, the Lady Mary,
followed him quickly. Frederick was, at that time,
in his eighteenth year. In a city, eighteen years are
no long period: but in a wilderness — in so magnifi-
cent a wilderness as that old principality, the pendu-
lum vibrates with a deeper meaning.
From some peculiar circumstances attending the ad-
ministration of his father, the young Baron, at the
decease of the former, entered immediately upon his
vast possessions. Such estates were seldom held
before by a nobleman of Hungary. His castles were
without number. The chief in point of splendor and
extent was the " Palace Metzengerstein." The boun-
dary line of his dominions was never clearly defined;
but his principal park embraced a circuit of fifty miles.
Upon the succession of a proprietor so young, with
a character so well known, to a fortune so unparalleled,
little speculation was afloat in regard to his probable
course of conduct. And, indeed, for the space of
three days, the behaviour of the heir out-heroded
Herod, and fairly surpassed the expectations of his
most enthusiastic admirers. Shameful debaucheries —
flagrant treacheries — unheard-of atrocities — gave his
trembling vassals quickly to understand that no servile
submission on their part — no punctilios of conscience
on his own — were thenceforward to prove any secur-


188 TALES.
ity against the remorseless fangs of a petty Caligula.
On the night of the fourth day, the stables of the
Castle Berlifitzing were discovered to be on fire; and
the unanimous opinion of the neighborhood added the
crime of the incendiary to the already hideous list of
the Baron's misdemeanors and enormities.
But during the tumult occasioned by this occurrence,
the young nobleman himself, sat apparently buried in
meditation, in a vast and desolate upper apartment of
the family palace of Metzengerstein. The rich al-
though faded tapestry hangings which swung gloomily
upon the walls, represented the shadowy and majestic
forms of a thousand illustrious ancestors. Here, rich-
ermined priests, and pontifical dignitaries, familiarly
seated with the autocrat and the sovereign, put a veto
on the wishes of a temporal king, or restrained with
the fiat of papal supremacy the rebellious sceptre of the
Arch-enemy. There, the dark, tall statures of the
Princes Metzengerstein — their muscular war-coursers
plunging over the carcasses of fallen foes — startled
the steadiest nerves with their rigorous expression:
and here, again, the voluptuous and swan-like figures
of the dames of days gone by, floated away in the
mazes of an unreal dance to the strains of imaginary
melody.
But as the Baron listened, or affected to listen, to
the gradually increasing uproar in the stables of Berli-
fitzing — or perhaps pondered upon some more novel,
some more decided act of audacity — his eyes were
turned unwittingly to the figure of an enormous, and
unnaturally colored horse, represented in the tapestry
as belonging to a Saracen ancestor of the family of his
rival. The horse itself, in the fore-ground of the
design, stood motionless and statue-like — while,


METZENGERSTEIN. 189
farther back, its discomfited rider perished by the
dagger of a Metzengerstcin.
On Frederick's lip arose a fiendish expression, as he
became aware of the direction which his glance had,
without his consciousness, assumed. Yet he did not
remove it. On the contrary, he could by no means
account for the overwhelming anxiety which appeared
falling like a pall upon his senses. It was with diffi-
culty that he reconciled his dreamy and incoherent
feelings with the certainty of being awake. The
longer he gazed, the more absorbing became the spell
— the more impossible did it appear that he could
ever withdraw his glance from the fascination of that
tapestry. But the tumult without becoming suddenly
more violent, with a compulsory exertion he diverted
his attention to the glare of ruddy light thrown full by
the flaming stables upon the windows of the apartment.
The action, however, was but momentary; his
gaze returned mechanically to the wall. To his ex-
treme horror and astonishment, the head of the gigantic
steed had, in the meantime, altered its position. The
neck of the animal, before arched, as if in compassion,
over the prostrate body of its lord, was now extended,
at full length, in the direction of the Baron. The
eyes, before invisible, now wore an energetic and
human expression, while they gleamed with a fiery
and unusual red; and the distended lips of the appar-
ently enraged horse left in full view his sepulchral and
disgusting teeth.
Stupefied with terror, the young nobleman tottered
to the door. As he threw it open, a flash of red
light, streaming far into the chamber, flung his shadow
with a clear outline against the quivering tapestry;
and he shuddered to perceive that shadow — as he


190 TALES.
staggered awhile upon the threshold — assuming the
exact position, and precisely filling up the contour, of
the relentless and triumphant murderer of the Saracen
Berlifitzing.
To lighten the depression of his spirits, the Baron
hurried into the open air. At the principal gate of
the palace he encountered three equerries. With
much difficulty, and at the imminent peril of their
lives, they were restraining the convulsive plunges of a
gigantic and fiery-colored horse.
"Whose horse? Where did you get him?" de-
manded the youth, in a querulous and husky tone, as
he became instantly aware that the mysterious steed in
the tapestried chamber was the very counterpart of the
furious animal before his eyes.
"He is your own property, sire," replied one of
the equerries, '• at least he is claimed by no other
owner. We caught him flying, all smoking and foam-
ing with rage, from the burning stables of the Castle
Berlifitzing. Supposing him to have belonged to the
old Count's stud of foreign horses, we led him back as
an estray. But the grooms there disclaim any title to
the creature; which is strange, since he bears evident
marks of having made a narrow escape from the
flames."
"The letters W. V. B. are also branded very dis-
tinctly on his forehead," interrupted a second equerry;
"I supposed them, of course, to be the initials of
Wilhelm Von Berlifitzing — but all at the castle are
positive in denying any knowledge of the horse."
"Extremely singular!" said the young Baron,
with a musing air, and apparently unconscious of the
meaning of his words. "He is, as you say, a re-
markable horse — a prodigious horse! although, as you


METZENGERSTEIN. 191
very justly observe, of a suspicious and untractable
character; let him be mine, however," he added,
after a pause, "perhaps a rider like Frederick of
Metzengerstein, may tame even the devil from the
stables of Berlifitzing."
'' You are mistaken, my lord; the horse, as I think
we mentioned, is not from the stables of the Count.
If such had been the case, we know our duty better
than to bring him into the presence of a noble of your
family."
"True !" observed the Baron, drily; and at that
instant a page of the bed-chamber came from the pal-
ace with a heightened color, and a precipitate step.
He whispered into his master's ear an account of the
sudden disappearance of a small portion of the tapestry,
in an apartment which he designated; entering, at the
same time, into particulars of a minute and circumstan-
tial character; but from the low tone of voice in which
these latter were communicated, nothing escaped to
gratify the excited curiosity of the equerries.
The young Frederick, during the conference,
seemed agitated by a variety of emotions. He soon,
however, recovered his composure, and an expression
of determined malignancy settled upon his countenance,
as he gave peremptory orders that the apartment in
question should be immediately locked up, and the key
placed in his own possession.
"Have you heard of the unhappy death of the old
hunter Berlifitzing?" said one of his vassals to the
Baron, as, after the departure of the page, the huge
steed which that nobleman had adopted as his own,
plunged and curveted, with redoubled fury, down the
long avenue which extended from the palace to the
stables of Metzengerstein.


192 TALES.
"No!" said the Baron, turning abruptly towards
the speaker, "dead! say you?"
"It is indeed true, my lord; and, to the noble of
your name, will be, I imagine, no unwelcome intelli-
gence."
A rapid smile shot over the countenance of the
listener. "How died he?"
"In his rash exertions to rescue a favorite portion
of his hunting stud, he has himself perished miserably
in the flames."
"I—n—d—e—e—d—!" ejaculated the Baron,
as if slowly and deliberately impressed with the truth
of some exciting idea.
"Indeed ;'' repeated the vassal.
"Shocking!" said the youth, calmly, and turned
quietly into the palace.
From this date a marked alteration took place in the
outward demeanor of the dissolute young Baron Fred-
erick Von Metzengerstein. Indeed, his behaviour dis-
appointed every expectation, and proved little in
accordance with the views of many a manoeuvring
mamma; while his habits and manners, still less than
formerly, offered anything congenial with those of the
neighboring aristocracy. He was never to be seen be-
yond the] limits of his own domain, and, in this wide
and social world, was utterly companionless — unless,
indeed, that unnatural, impetuous, and fiery-colored
horse, which he henceforward continually bestrode,
had any mysterious right to the title of his friend.
Numerous invitations on the part of the neighbor-
hood for a long time, however, periodically came in.
"Will the Baron honor our festivals with his presence?"
"Will the Baron join us in a hunting of the boar?"
—" Metzengerstein does not hunt ;" "Metzenger-


METZENGERSTEIN. 193
stein will not attend," were the haughty and laconic
answers.
These repeated insults were not to be endured by an
imperious nobility. Such invitations became less cor-
dial — less frequent — in time they ceased altogether.
The widow of the unfortunate Count Berlifitzing was
even heard to express a hope "that the Baron might
be at home when he did not wish to be at home, since
he disdained the company of his equals ; and ride when
he did not wish to ride, since he preferred the society
of a horse.'' This to be sure was a very silly explo-
sion of hereditary pique; and merely proved how sin-
gularly unmeaning our sayings are apt to become, when
we desire to be unusually energetic.
The charitable, nevertheless, attributed the alteration
in the conduct of the young nobleman to the natural
sorrow of a son for the untimely loss of his parents; —
forgetting, however, his atrocious and reckless behavior
during the short period immediately succeeding that
bereavement. Some there were, indeed, who sug-
gested a too haughty idea of self-consequence and dig-
nity. Others again (among whom may be mentioned
the family physician) did not hesitate in speaking of
morbid melancholy, and hereditary ill-health; while
dark hints, of a more equivocal nature, were current
among the multitude.
Indeed, the Baron's perverse attachment to his lately-
acquired charger — an attachment which seemed to
attain new strength from every fresh example of the
animal's ferocious and demon-like propensities — at
length became, in the eyes of all reasonable men, a
hideous and unnatural fervor. In the glare of noon —
at the dead hour of night — in sickness or in health — in
calm or in tempest — the young Metzengerstein seemed
vOl. II.—13


194 TALES.
riveted to the saddle of that colossal horse, whose intract-
able audacities so well accorded with his own spirit.
There were circumstances, moreover, which, coupled
with late events, gave an unearthly and portentous char-
acter to the mania of the rider, and to the capabilities
of the steed. The space passed over in a single leap
had been accurately measured, and was found to exceed
by an astounding difference, the wildest expectations of
the most imaginative. The Baron, besides, had no
particular name for the animal, although all the rest in
his collection were distinguished by characteristic ap-
pellations. His stable, too, was appointed at a dis-
tance from the rest; and with regard to grooming and
other necessary offices, none but the owner in person
had ventured to officiate, or even to enter the enclosure
of that horse's particular stall. It was also to be ob-
served, that although the three grooms, who had caught
the steed as he fled from the conflagration at Berlifitz-
ing, had succeeded in arresting his course, by means of
a chain-bridle and noose — yet no one of the three
could with any certainty affirm that he had, during that
dangerous struggle, or at any period thereafter, actually
placed his hand upon the body of the beast. Instances
of peculiar intelligence in the demeanor of a noble and
high-spirited horse are not to be supposed capable of
exciting unreasonable attention, but there were certain
circumstances which intruded themselves per force upon
the most skeptical and phlegmatic; and it is said there
were times when the animal caused the gaping crowd
who stood around to recoil in horror from the deep and
impressive meaning of his terrible stamp — times when
the young Metzengerstein turned pale and shrunk away
from the rapid and searching expression of his earnest
and human-looking eye.


METZENGERSTEIN. 195
Among all the retinue of the Baron, however, none
were found to doubt the ardor of that extraordinary
affection which existed on the part of the young noble-
man for the fiery qualities of his horse; at least, none
but an insignificant and misshapen little page, whose
deformities were in every body's way, and whose opin-
ions were of the least possible importance. He (if his
ideas are worth mentioning at all,) had the effrontery
to assert that his master never vaulted into the saddle,
without an unaccountable and almost imperceptible
shudder; and that, upon his return from every long-
continued and habitual ride, an expression of triumphant
malignity distorted every muscle in his countenance.
One tempestuous night, Metzengerstein, awaking
from heavy slumber, descended like a maniac from his
chamber, and, mounting in hot haste, bounded away
into the mazes of the forest. An occurrence so com-
mon attracted no particular attention, but his return
was looked for with intense anxiety on the part of his
domestics, when, after some hours' absence, the stu-
pendous and magnificent battlements of the Palace
Metzengerstein, were discovered crackling and rocking
to their very foundation, under the influence of a dense
and livid mass of ungovernable fire.
As the flames, when first seen, had already made so
terrible a progress that all efforts to save any portion of
the building were evidently futile, the astonished neigh-
borhood stood idly around in silent, if not apathetic
wonder. But a new and fearful object soon riveted
the attention of the multitude, and proved how much
more intense is the excitement wrought in the feelings
of a crowd by the contemplation of human agony, than
that brought about by the most appalling spectacles of
inanimate matter.


196 TALES.
Up the long avenue of aged oaks which led from the
forest to the main entrance of the Palace Metzenger-
stein, a steed, bearing an unbonneted and disordered
rider, was seen leaping with an impetuosity which out-
stripped the very Demon of the Tempest.
The career of the horseman was indisputably, on his
own part, uncontrollable. The agony of his counte-
nance, the convulsive struggle of his frame, gave evi-
dence of superhuman exertion: but no sound, save a
solitary shriek, escaped from his lacerated lips, which
were bitten through and through in the intensity of
terror. One instant, and the clattering of hoofs re-
sounded sharply and shrilly above the roaring of the
flames and the shrieking of the winds — another, and,
clearing at a single plunge the gate-way and the moat,
the steed bounded far up the tottering staircases of the
palace, and, with its rider, disappeared amid the whirl-
wind of chaotic fire.
The fury of the tempest immediately died away,
and a dead calm sullenly succeeded. A white flame
still enveloped the building like a shroud, and, stream-
ing far away into the quiet atmosphere, shot forth a
glare of preternatural light; while a cloud of smoke
settled heavily over the battlements in the distinct colos-
sal figure of— a bene.


THE DUC DE L'OMELETTE.
[Southern Literary Messenger, February, 1836; 1840
Broadway Journal, II. 14.]
And stepped at once into a cooler clime. — Caviper.
Keats fell by a criticism. Who was it died of
'' The Andromacbe ?"x Ignoble souls !— De L' Ome-
lette perished of an ortolan. Ubistoire en est breve.
Assist me, Spirit of Apicius!
A golden cage bore the little winged wanderer, en-
amored, melting, indolent, to the Chauss'ee D' Antin,
from its home in far Peru. From its queenly possessor
La Bellissima, to the Due De L'Omelette, six peers
of the empire conveyed the happy bird.
That night the Due was to sup alone. In the pri-
vacy of his bureau he reclined languidly on that otto-
man 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
1 Montfleury. The author of the Parnasu Riformi makes him
•peak in Hades : — "Ubomme done out voudrait savoir ce dont
je suis mart, quit nt demande pas C'tl fut de ftevre ou de podagre
ou d'autre chose, mahquileutende quece fut de 'V Andromaque.'* *'
(>97)


198 TALES.
sound of soft music, and lo ! the most delicate of birds
is before the most enamored of men! But what in-
expressible dismay now overshadows the countenance of
the Due ?" Horreur ! — cbien! — Baptiste ! —
/' oiseau! ab, ton Dieu / eet oiseau modeste que tu as
deshabilli de ses plumes, et que tu as servisans papier!"
It is superfluous to say more : — the Due 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, draw-
ing himself up with an air of bauleur.
"Why, surely you are not serious," retorted De
L'Omelette. "I have sinned — c1 est vrai — but,
my good sir, consider !— you have no actual intention
of putting such — such — barbarous threats into ex-
ecution."
"No a/hat?" said his majesty — "come, sir,
strip!"
"Strip, indeed ! — very pretty i' faith !— no, sir,
I shall not strip. Who are you, pray, that I, Due
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 dain-
tiest robe-de-cbambre 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 i''
"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 curi-
ously scented, and labelled as per invoice. Belial sent
thee, — my Inspector of Cemeteries. The pantaloons,


THE DUC DE LOMELETTE. 199
which thou sayest were made by Bourdon, are an ex-
cellent pair of linen drawers, and thy robe-de-chambre
is a shroud of no scanty dimensions."
"Sir!" replied the Due, "I am not to be in-
sulted with impunity I — Sir ! I shall take the earliest
opportunity of avenging this insult ! —Sir! you shall
hear from me! In the meantime au revoir!" —
and the Due 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, re-
flected. 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 upwards. From
above, hung a chain of an unknown blood-red metal
— its upper end lost, like the city of Boston, parmi la
itues. From its nether extremity swung a large cresset.
The Due 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 flowersi and his face to the God
Apollo. The Due muttered a slight oath, decidedly
approbatory.
The corners of the room were rounded into niches. —
Three of these were filled with statues of gigantic pro-
portions. Their beauty was Grecian, their deformity
Egyptian, their tout ensemble French. In the fourth


200 TALES.
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! Astartc! 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 besprinkle, like stars, the hyacinth and the por-
phyry walls?
But the Due'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. Cest vrai que de toutes ces cboses il a pense
beaucoup — mats! The Due De L'Omelette is ter-
ror-stricken ; for, through the lurid vista which a single
uncurtained window is affording, lo ! gleams the most
ghastly of all fires!
Le pauvre Due! 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 that ottoman !— who could be be ? —
he, the petit-maitre — no, the Deity — who sat as if
carved in marble, et qui sourit, with his pa)e counte-
nance, si amerement f
Mais ilfaut agir, — that is to say, a Frenchman
never faints outright. Besides, his Grace hated a


THE DUC DE L'OMELETTE. 201
scene — De L, Omelette is himself again. There
were some foils upon a table — some points also. The
Due had studied under B ;il avail tue ses six
bommes. Now, then, il petit s'icbapper. He meas-
ures two points, and, with a grace inimitable, offers
his Majesty the choice. Horreur! his Majesty does
not fence!
Mais iljoue !— how happy a thought ! — but his
Grace had always an excellent memory. He had
dipped in the "Diable" of the Abbe Gualtier.
Therein it is said " que le Diable n'ose pas refuser un
jeu d'eearti."
But the chances — the chances! True — des-
perate; but scarcely more desperate than the Due.
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 ?" Sijeperds," said he, "je
serai deux fois perdu — I shall be doubly damned —
veil a tout! (Here his Grace shrugged his shoulders.)
Si je gagne, je reviendrai a mes ortolans — que Us 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 Due
cut.
The cards are dealt. The trump is turned — it is
— it is — the king! No — it was the queen. His
Majesty cursed her masculine habiliments. De L' Om-
elette placed his hand upon his heart.
They play. The Due counts. The hand is out.
His Majesty counts heavily, smiles, and is taking wine.
The Due slips a card.
"Cest a vous a/aire," said his Majesty, cutting.


202 TALES.
His Grace bowed, dealt, and arose from the table em
pre sent ant It Roi.
His Majesty looked chagrined.
Had Alexander not been Alexander, he would have
been Diogenes; and the Due assured his antagonist in
taking leave, "que s''U it'' eut pas et'e De U Omelette il
n'aura it point J'objection d'etre le D table."


FOUR BEASTS IN ONE;
THE HOMO-CAMELEOPARD.
[Southern Literary Messenger, March, 1836; 1840;
Broadway Journal, II. ti.]
Chicun a ses vertus.
Cribillotft Xerxts.
Antiochus Epiphanes is very generally looked upon
as the Gog of the prophet Ezekiel. This honor is,
however, more properly attributable to Cambyses, the
son of Cyrus. And, indeed, the character of the
Syrian monarch does by no means stand in need of any
adventitious embellishment. His accession to the
throne, or rather his usurpation of the sovereignty, a
hundred and seventy-one years before the coming of
Christ; his attempt to plunder the temple of Diana at
Ephesus; his implacable hostility to the Jews; his pol-
lution of the Holy of Holies; and his miserable death
at Taba, after a tumultuous reign of eleven years, are
circumstances of a prominent kind, and therefore more
generally noticed by the historians of his time, than the
impious, dastardly, cruel, silly and whimsical achieve-
ments which make up the sum total of his private life
and reputation.
"r. ^F t* t* t- ^h ^f
(003)


mi TAI»ES.
Let us suppose, gentij reader, that it is now the
vear at die waria three thousand eight hundred and
thirty, and let us, (or a :ew minutes, imagine ourselves
at that most grotesaue habitation at man, the remark-
able dty at. Antioch. To be sure there were, in Syria
and other countries, sixteen cities of that appellation,
besides the one :o which [ more particularly allude.
But aars is that which went by the name of Antiochia
Epidaphne, iram its vicinity to the little Tillage of
Daphne, where stood a temple to that divinity. It
was built (although about this matter there is some dis-
puted bv Seieucus Nicanor, the first king of the Conn-
er/ alter Alexander the Great, in memory of his father
Antiochus, and became immediately the residence of
the Svrian monarchy. In the flourishing times of the
Roman Empire, it was the ordinary station of the pre-
fect of the eastern provinces ; and many of the emper-
ors of the queen city, ( among whom may be mentioned
especially, V'jrus and Valens,) spent here the greatei
part of their rime. But I perceive we have arrived at
the city itself. Let us ascend this battlement, and
throw our eves upon the town and neighboring country.
"What broad and rapid river is that which forces
its way, with innumerable falls, through the mountain-
ous wilderness, and finally through the wilderness of
buildings?"
That is the Orontes, and it is the only water in
sight, with the exception of the Mediterranean, which
stretches like a broad mirror, about twelve miles off to
the southward. Every one has seen the Mediterranean;
but let me tell you, there are few who have had a peep
at Antioch. By few, I mean, few who, like you and
me, have had, at the same time, the advantages of a
modern education. Therefore cease to regard that sea,


FOUR BEASTS IN ONE. 205
and give your whole attention to the mass of houses
that lie beneath us. You will remember that it is now
the year of the world three thousand eight hundred and
thirty. Were it later — for example, were it the year
of our Lord eighteen hundred and forty-five, we should
be deprived of this extraordinary spectacle. In the
nineteenth century Antioch is — that is to say, Antioch
will be — in a lamentable state of decay. It will have
been, by that time, totally destroyed, at three different
periods, by three successive earthquakes. Indeed, to
say the truth, what little of its former self may then
remain, will be found in so desolate and ruinous a state
that the patriarch shall have removed his residence to
Damascus. This is well. I see you profit by my
advice, and are making the most of your time in inspect-
ing the premises — in
. satisfying your eyes
With the memorials and the things of fame
That most renown this city.
I beg pardon; I had forgotten that Shakspeare will not
flourish for seventeen hundred and fifty years to come.
— But does not the appearance of Epidaphne justify me
in calling it grotesque?
"It is well fortified; and in this respect is as much
indebted to nature as to art."
Very true.
"There area prodigious number of stately palaces."
There are.
"And the numerous temples, sumptuous and mag-
nificent, may bear comparison with the most lauded of
antiquity. ,'
All this I must acknowledge. Still there is an in-


2o6 TALES.
fauy of mad huu, and abominable hovels- We can-
not help perceiving abundance of fiirh in every kennel,
and, were it not for the overpowering fames of idol-
atrous incense, I have no doobt we should find a most
intolerable stench. Did you ever behold streets so
insufferably narrow, or houses so miraculously tall?
What a gloom their shadows cast upon the ground!
It u well the swinging lamps in those endless colon-
nades are kept burning throughout the day; we should
otherwise have the darkness of Egypt in the time of
her desolation.
"It is certainly a strange place! What is the
meaning of yonder singular building? See! it towers
above all others, and lies to the eastward of what I
take to be the royal palace."
That is the new Temple of the Sun, who is adored
in Syria under the title of Elah Gabalah. Hereafter
a very notorious Roman Emperor will institute this
worship in Rome, and thence derive a cognomen,
Heliogabalus. I dare say you would like to take a
peep at the divinity of the temple. You need not look
up at the heavens; his Sunship is not there; at least
not the Sunship adored by the Syrians. That deity
will be found in the interior of yonder building. He
is worshipped under the figure of a large stone pillar
terminating at the summit in a cone ox pyramid, whereby
is denoted Fire.
"Hark 1—behold! — who can those ridiculous
beings be, half naked, with their faces painted, shout-
ing and gesticulating to the rabble?"
Some few are mountebanks. Others more particu-
larly belong to the race of philosophers. The greatest
portion, however — those especially who belabor the
populace with clubs — are the principal courtiers of the


FOUR BEASTS IN ONE. 207
palace, executing, as in duty bound, some laudable
comicality of the king's.
"But what have we here? Heavens! the town
is swarming with wild beasts! How terrible a spec-
tacle ! — how dangerous a peculiarity!"
Terrible, if you please; but not in the least degree
dangerous. Each animal, if you will take the pains
to observe, is following, very quietly, in the wake of
its master. Some few, to be sure, are led with a rope
about the neck, but these are chiefly the lesser or timid
species. — The lion, the tiger, and the leopard are
entirely without restraint. They have been trained
without difficulty to their present profession, and at-
tend upon their respective owners in the capacity of
valets-de-cbambre. It is true, there are occasions when
Nature asserts her violated dominion ;—but then the
devouring of a man-at-arms, or the throttling of a con-
secrated bull, is a circumstance of too little moment to
be more than hinted at in Epidaphne.
"But what extraordinary tumult do I hear? Surely
this is a loud noise even for Antioch! It argues some
commotion of unusual interest."
Yes — undoubtedly. The king has ordered some
novel spectacle—some gladiatorial exhibition at the
Hippodrome — or perhaps the massacre of the Scythian
prisoners — or the conflagration of his new palace —
or the tearing down of a handsome temple — or, in-
deed, a bonfire of a few Jews. The uproar increases.
Shouts of laughter ascend the skies. The air becomes
dissonant with wind instruments, and horrible with the
clamor of a million throats. Let us descend, for the
love of fun, and see what is going on! This way —
be careful! Here we are in the principal street, which
is called the street of Timarchus. The sea of people


208 TALES.
is coming this way, and we shall find a difficulty in
stemming the tide. They are pouring through the
alley of Heraclides, which leads directly from the
palace ; — therefore the king is most probably among
the rioters. Yes ; — I hear the shouts of the herald
proclaiming his approach in the pompous phraseology
of the East. We shall have a glimpse of his person as
he passes by the temple of Ashimah. Let us ensconce
ourselves in the vestibule of the sanctuary; he will be
here anon. In the meantime let us survey this image.
What is it? Oh, it is the god Ashimah in proper
person. You perceive, however, that he is neither a
lamb, nor a goat, nor a satyr; neither has he much re-
semblance to the Pan of the Arcadians. Yet all these
appearances have been given — I beg pardon — will
be given — by the learned of future ages, to the
Ashimah of the Syrians. Put on your spectacles, and
tell me what it is. What is it?
"Bless me! it is an ape!"
True — a baboon; but by no means the less a
deity. — His name is a derivation of the Greek SimU
— what great fools are antiquarians! But see ! —
see! yonder scampers a ragged little urchin. Where
is he going? What is he bawling about? What does
he say? Oh ! he says the king is coming in triumph;
that he is dressed in state; that he has just finished
putting to death, with his own hand, a thousand
chained Israelitish prisoners! For this exploit the
ragamuffin is lauding him to the skies !— Hark ! here
comes a troop of a similar description. They have
made a Latin hymn upon the valor of the king, and
are singing it as they go.


FOUR BEASTS IN ONE. 209
Mille, mille, mille,
Millc, mille, mille,
Decollavimus, unus homo!
Mille, mille, mille, mille, decollavimus!
Mille, mille, mille!
Vivat qui mille mille occidit!
Tantum vini habct nemo
Quantum sanguinis effudit!'
Which may be thus paraphrased:
A thousand, a thousand, a thousand,
A thousand, a thousand, a thousand,
We, with one warrior, have slain!
A thousand, a thousand, a thousand, a thousand,
Sing a thousand over again!
Soho I — let us sing
Long life to our king,
Who knocked over a thousand so fine!
Soho ! — let us roar,
He has given us more
Red gallons of gore
Than all Syria can furnish of wine!
"Do you hear that flourish of trumpets?"
Yes; the king is coming! See! the people arc
aghast with admiration, and lift up their eyes to the
heavens in reverence. He comes ; — he is coming;
— there he is!
"Who ? — where ? — the king ? — do not behold
him ; — cannot say that I perceive him."
Then you must be blind.
1 Flavius Vopiscus says that the hymn here introduced, was sung
by the rabble upon the occasion of Aurelian, in the Sarmatic war,
having slain with his own hand nine hundred and fifty of the
enemy.
vOl. II.—14


210 TALES.
"Very possible. Still I sej nothing but a tumul-
tuous mob of idiots and madmen, who are busy in
prostrating themselves before a gigantic cameleopard,
and endeavoring to obtain a kiss of the animal's hoofs.
See! the beast has very justly kicked one of the rabble
over — and another — and another — and another.
Indeed I cannot help admiring the animal for the ex-
cellent use he is making of his feet."
Rabble, indeed !— why these are the noble and
free citizens of Epidaphne! Beast, did you say ? —
take care that you are not overheard. Do you not
perceive that the animal has the visage of a man?
Why, my dear sir, that cameleopard is no other than
Antiochus Epiphanes Antiochus the Illustrious, King
of Syria, and the most potent of all the autocrats of
the East! It is true that he is entitled, at times, An-
tiochus Epimanes — Antiochus the madman — but
that is because all people have not the capacity to
appreciate his merits. It is also certain that he is at
present ensconced in the hide of a beast, and is doing
his best to play the part of a cameleopard ; but this
is done for the better sustaining his dignity as king.
Besides, the monarch is of gigantic stature, and the
dress is therefore neither unbecoming nor over large.
We may, however, presume he would not have
adopted it but for some occasion of especial state.
Such, you will allow, is the massacre of a thousand
Jews. With how superior a dignity the monarch
perambulates on all fours! His ail, you perceive, is
held aloft by his two principal concubines, Ellinc and
Argelais; and his whole appearance would be infin-
itely prepossessing, were it not for the protuberance of
his eyes, which will certainly start out of his head,
and the queer color of his face, which has become


FOUR BEASTS IN ONE. 211
nondescript from the quantity of wine he has swal-
lowed. Let us follow him to the hippodrome,
whither he is proceeding, and listen to the song of
triumph which he is commencing:
Who is king but Epiphanes?
Say — do you know?
Who is king but Epiphanes.'
Bravo ! — bravo!
There is none but Epiphanes,
No — there is none:
So tear down the temples,
And put out the sun!
Well and strenuously sung! The populace are
hailing him "Prince of Poets," as well as "Glory
of the East," "Delight of the Universe," and
"most Remarkable of Cameleopards." They have
encored his effusion, and — do you hear ? — he is
singing it over again. When he arrives at the hippo-
drome, he will be crowned with the poetic wreath, in
anticipation of his victory at the approaching Olympics.
"But, good Jupiter! what is the matter in the
crowd behind us?"
Behind us, did you say ? — oh ! ah !— I perceive.
My friend, it is well that you spoke in time. Let us
get into a place of safety as soon as possible. Here!
— let us conceal ourselves in the arch of this aqueduct,
and I will inform you presently of the origin of the
commotion. It has turned out as I have been antici-
pating. The singular appearance of the cameleopard
with the head of a man, has, it seems, given offence to
the notions of propriety entertained, in general, by the
wild animals domesticated in the city. A mutiny has
been the result; and, as is usual upon such occasions,


2ii TALES.
all human efforts will be of no avail in quelling the
mob. Several of the Syrians have already been
devoured; but the general voice of the four-footed
patriots seems to be for eating up the cameleopard.
"The Prince of Poets," therefore, is upon his hinder
legs, running for his life. His courtiers have left him
in the lurch, and his concubines have followed so ex-
cellent an example. "Delight of the Universe,"
thou art in a sad predicament !" Glory of the East,"
thou art in danger of mastication! Therefore never
regard so piteously thy tail; it will undoubtedly be
draggled in the mud, and for this there is no help.
Look not behind thee, then, at its unavoidable degrada-
tion; but take courage, ply thy legs with vigor, and
scud for the hippodrome! Remember that thou art
Antiochus Epiphanes, Antiochus the Illustrious ! —
also "' Prince of Poets,'" "' Glory of the East,'"
"' Delight of the Universe,'" and " 'most Remark-
able of Cameleopards !'" Heavens! what a power
of speed thou art displaying! What a capacity for
leg-bail thou art developing! Run, Prince ! — Bravo,
Epiphanes !— Well done, Cameleopard !— Glorious
Antiochus! He runs ! — he leaps !— he flies! Like
an arrow from a catapult he approaches the hippo-
drome! He leaps !— he shrieks !— he is there!
This is well; for hadst thou, "Glory of the East,"
been half a second longer in reaching the gates of the
Amphitheatre, there is not a bear's cub in Epidaphne
that would not have had a nibble at thy carcase. Let
us be off — let us take our departure !— for we shall
find our delicate modern ears unable to endure the
vast uproar which is about to commence in celebration
of the king's escape! Listen! it has already com-
menced. See ! — the whole town is topsy-turvy.


FOUR BEASTS IN ONE. 213
"Surely this is the most populous city of the East!
What a wilderness of people! what a jumble of all
ranks and ages! what a multiplicity of sects and
nations! what a variety of costumes ! what a Babel of
languages! what a screaming of beasts! what a tink-
ling of instruments! what a parcel of philosophers!"
Come let us be off!
"Stay a moment! I see a vast hubbub in the
hippodrome; what is the meaning of it I beseech
you!"
That? — oh nothing! The noble and free
citizens of Epidaphne being, as they declare, well
satisfied of the faith, valor, wisdom, and divinity of
their king, and having, moreover, been eye-witnesses
of his late superhuman agility, do think it no more than
their duty to invest his brows (in addition to the poetic
crown) with the wreath of victory in the foot-race —
a wreath which it is evident he must obtain at the
celebration of the next Olympiad, and which, there-
fore, they now give him in advance.


A TALE OF JERUSALEM.
[Southern Literary Messenger, April, 1836; 1840; Broad-
ivay Journal, II. 11.]
Intonsof rigidam in frontem ' ascendere canoe
Pawn erat
Lucan.
a bristly Acre.
Translation.
"Let us hurry to the walls," said Abel-Phittim to
Buzi-Ben-Levi and Simeon the Pharisee, on the tenth
day of the month Thammuz, in the year of the world
three thousand nine hundred and forty-one— " let us
hasten to the ramparts adjoining the gate of Benjamin,
which is in the city of David, and overlooking the
camp of the uncircumcised ; for it is the last hour of the
fourth watch, being sunrise ; and the idolaters, in ful-
filment of the promise of Pompey, should be awaiting
us with the lambs for the sacrifices."
Simeon, Abel-Phittim, and Buzi-Ben-Levi were the
Gizbarim, or sub-collectors of the offering, in the holy
city of Jerusalem.
"Verily," replied the Pharisee, "let us hasten:
for this generosity in the heathen is unwonted; and
1 Poe changed this form to ascendere from descender*. It is from
Pbarsalia, II. 375-6.
(«♦)


A TALE OP JERUSALEM. 2 1 5
fickle-mindedness has ever been «n attribute of the wor-
shippers of Baal."
"That they are fickle-minded and treacherous is as
true as the Pentateuch," said Buzi-Ben-Levi, "but
that is only towards the people of Adonai. When
was it ever known that the Ammonites proved wanting
to their own interests? Methinks it is no great stretch
of generosity to allow us lambs for the altar of the Lord,
receiving in lieu thereof thirty silver shekels per head !''
"Thou forgettest, however, Ben-Levi," replied
Abel-Phittim, "that the Roman Pompey, who is now
impiously besieging the city of the Most High, has no
assurity that we apply not the lambs thus purchased
for the altar, to the sustenance of the body, rather
than of the spirit."
"Now, by the five corners of my beard," shouted
the Pharisee, who belonged to the sect called The Dashers
(that little knot of saints whose manner of dashing and
lacerating the feet against the pavement was long a thorn
and a reproach to less zealous devotees—a stumbling-
block to less gifted perambulators) — "by the five
corners of that beard which as a priest I am forbidden to
shave !— have we lived to see the day when a blasphem-
ing and idolatrous upstart of Rome shall accuse us of
appropriating to the appetites of the flesh the most holy
and consecrated elements? Have we lived to see the
day when ''
"Let us not question the motives of the Philistine,"
interrupted Abel-Phittim, "for to-day we profit for the
first time by his avarice or by his generosity; but rather
let us hurry to the ramparts, lest offerings should be
wanting for that altar whose fire the rains of heaven can-
not extinguish, and whose pillars of smoke no tempest
can turn aside."


2l6 TALES.
That part of the city to which our worthy Gizharim
now hastened, and which bore the name of its architect
King David, was esteemed the most strongly fortified
district of Jerusalem; being situated upon the steep
and lofty hill of Zion. Here a broad, deep, circum-
vallatory trench, hewn from the solid rock, was defended
by a wall of great strength erected upon its inner edge.
This wall was adorned, at regular interspaces, by square
towers of white marble; the lowest sixty, and the
highest one hundred and twenty cubits in height. But,
in the vicinity of the gate of Benjamin, the wall arose
by no means from the margin of the fosse. On the
contrary, between the level of the ditch and the base-
ment of the rampart, sprang up a perpendicular cliff
of two hundred and fifty cubits; forming part of the
precipitous Mount Moriah. So that when Simeon and
his associates arrived on the summit of the tower called
Adoni-Bezek — the loftiest of all the turrets around about
Jerusalem, and the usual place of conference with the
besieging army — they looked down upon the camp of
the enemy from an eminence excelling, by many feet,
that of the Pyramid of Cheops, and, by several, that
of the temple of Belus.
"Verily," sighed the Pharisee, as he peered dizzily
over the precipice, "the uncircumcised are as the
sands by the sea-shore — as the locusts in the wilder-
ness! The valley of The King hath become the valley
of Adommin."
"And yet," added Ben-Levi, "thou canst not
point me out a Philistine — no, not one — from Aleph
to Tau — from the wilderness to the battlements —
who seemeth any bigger than the letter Jod !''
"Lower away the basket with the shekels of
silver!'' here shouted a Roman soldier in a hoarse,


A TALE OF JERUSALEM. 217
rough voice, which appeared to issue from the regions
of Pluto— "lower away the basket with the accursed
coin which it has broken the jaw of a noble Roman to
pronounce! Is it thus you evince your gratitude to
our master Pompeius, who, in his condescension, has
thought fit to listen to your idolatrous importunities?
The god Phoebus, who is a true god, has been charioted
for an hour — and were you not to be on the ramparts
by sunrise? ^Edepol ! do you think that we, the con-
querors of the world, have nothing better to do than
stand waiting by the walls of every kennel, to traffic
with the dogs of the earth? Lower away ! I say —
and see that your trumpery be bright in color, and just
in weight!"
"El Elohim !" ejaculated the Pharisee, as the dis-
cordant tones of the centurion rattled up the crags of
the precipice, and fainted away against the temple —
"El Elohim !— who is the God Phoebus? — whom
doth the blasphemer invoke? Thou, Buzi-Ben-Levi!
who art read in the laws of the Gentiles, and hast
sojourned among them who dabble with the Teraphim!
— is it Nergal of whom the idolator speaketh ?— or
Ashimah ?— or Nibhaz ? — or Tartak i — or Adra-
malech ? — or Anamalech ?— or Succoth-Benith ? —
or Dagon ?— or Belial ? — or Baal-Perith ? — or
Baal-Peor ? — or Baal-Zebub ? ,'
"Verily it is neither — but beware how thou
lettest the rope slip too rapidly through thy fingers ; for
should the wicker-work chance to hang on the pro-
jection of yonder crag, there will be a woful outpouring
of the holy things of the sanctuary."
By the assistance of some rudely constructed ma-
chinery, the heavily laden basket was now carefully
lowered down among the multitude; and, from the


218 TALES.
giddy pinnacle, the Romans were seen gathering con-
fusedly round it; but owing to the vast height and the
prevalence of a fog, no distinct view of their operations
could be obtained.
Half an hour had already elapsed.
"We shall be too late," sighed the Pharisee, as at
the expiration of this period, he looked over into the
abyss — "we shall be too late! we shall be turned out
of office by the Katholim."
"No more," responded Abel-Phittim, "no more
shall we feast upon the fat of the land — no longer
shall our beards be odorous with frankincense — our
loins girded up with fine linen from the Temple."
"Raca!" swore Ben-Levi, "Raca! do they
mean to defraud us of the purchase money? or, Holy
Moses! are they weighing the shekels of the taber-
nacle?"
"They have given the signal at last," cried the Phar-
isee, "they have given the signal at last ! — pull away,
Abel-Phittim ! — and thou, Buzi-Ben-Levi, pull away!
— for verily the Philistines have either still hold upon
the basket, or the Lord hath softened their hearts to
place therein a beast of good weight!" And the
Gizbarim pulled away, while their burthen swung
heavily upwards through the still increasing mist.
*******
"Booshoh he!"—as, at the conclusion of an
hour, some object at the extremity of the rope be-
came indistinctly visible—"Booshoh he!" was
the exclamation which burst from the lips of Ben-
Levi.
"Booshoh he !— for shame !—it is a ram from
the thickets of Engedi, and as rugged as the valley of
Jehosaphat!"


A TALE OF JERUSALEM. 21$
*' It is a firstling of the flock," said Abel-Phittim,
"I know him by the bleating of his lips, and the inno-
cent folding of his limbs. His eyes are more beautiful
than the jewels of the Pectoral, and his flesh is like the
honey of Hebron."
"It is a fatted calf from the pastures of Bashan,"
said the Pharisee, "the heathen have dealt wonderfully
with us !— let us raise up our voices in a psalm !—
let us give thanks on the shawm and on the psaltery —
on the harp and on the huggab — on the cythern and
on the sackbut!"
It was not until the basket had arrived within a few
feet of the Gizbarim, that a low grunt betrayed to their
perception a bog of no common size.
"Now El Emanu!" slowly, and with upturned
eyes ejaculated the trio, as, letting go their hold, the
emancipated porker tumbled headlong among the Phil-
istines, "El Emanu ! — God be with us ! — it is the
unutterable Jiesh!"


2.2.2 TALES.
rock, and upon the characters; — and the characters
were desolation.
“And I looked upwards, and there stood a man
upon the summit of the rock; and I hid myself among
the water-lilies that I might discover the actions of the
man. And the man was tall and stately in form, and
was wrapped up from his shoulders to his feet in the
toga of old Rome. And the outlines of his figure were
indistinct—but his features were the features of a
deity; for the mantle of the night, and of the mist, and
of the moon, and of the dew, had left uncovered the
features of his face. And his brow was lofty with
thought, and his eye wild with care ; and, in the few
furrows upon his cheek I read the fables of sorrow, and
weariness, and disgust with mankind, and a longing
after solitude.
“And the man sat upon the rock, and leaned his
head upon his hand, and looked out upon the desola-
tion. He looked down into the low unquiet shrub-
hcry, and up into the tall primeval trees, and up higher
at the rustling heaven, and into the crimson moon.
And I lay close within shelter of the lilies, and ob-
served the actions of the man. And the man trem-
bled in the solitude ; — but the night waned, and he
sat upon the rock.
“And the man turned his attention from the heaven,
and looked out upon the dreary river Zäire, and upon
the yellow ghastly waters, and upon the pale legions of
the water-lilies. And the man listened to the sighs
of the water-lilies, and to the murmur that came up
from among them. And I lay close within my covert
and observed the actions of the man. And the man
trembled in the solitude ; — but the night waned and
he sat upon the rock.


SILENCE. 221
which cometh out from among them like the rushing
of subterrene water. And they sigh one unto the
other.
"But there is a boundary to their realm — the
boundary of the dark, horrible, lofty forest. There,
like the waves about the Hebrides, the low underwood
is agitated continually. But there is no wind through-
out the heaven. And the tall primeval trees rock
eternally hither and thither with a crashing and mighty
sound. And from their high summits, one by one,
drop everlasting dews. And at the roots strange
poisonous flowers lie writhing in perturbed slumber.
And overhead, with a rustling and loud noise, the gray
clouds rush westwardly forever, until they roll, a cata-
ract, over the fiery wall of the horizon. But there is
no wind throughout the heaven. And by the shores
of the river Zaire there is neither quiet nor silence.
"It was night, and the rain fell; and, falling, it
was rain, but, having fallen, it was blood. And I
stood in the morass among the tall lilies, and the rain
fell upon my head — and the lilies sighed one unto the
other in the solemnity of their desolation.
"And, all at once, the moon arose through the thin
ghastly mist, and was crimson in color. And mine
eyes fell upon a huge gray rock which stood by the
shore of the river, and was lighted by the light of the
moon. And the rock was gray, and ghastly, and tall,
— and the rock was gray. Upon its front were char-
acters engraven in the stone; and I walked through
the morass of water-lilies, until I came close unto the
shore, that I might read the characters upon the stone.
But I could not decyphcr them. And I was going
back into the morass, when the moon shone with a
fuller red, and I turned and looked again upon the


222 TALES.
rock, and upon the characters ; — and the characters
were desolation.
"And I looked upwards, and there stood a man
upon the summit of the rock; and I hid myself among
the water-lilies that I might discover the actions of the
man. And the man was tall and stately in form, and
was wrapped up from his shoulders to his feet in the
toga of old Rome. And the outlines of his figure were
indistinct — but his features were the features of a
deity; for the mantle of the night, and of the mist, and
of the moon, and of the dew, had left uncovered the
features of his face. And his brow was lofty with
thought, and his eye wild with care; and, in the few
furrows upon his cheek I read the fables of sorrow, and
weariness, and disgust with mankind, and a longing
after solitude.
"And the man sat upon the rock, and leaned his
head upon his hand, and looked out upon the desola-
tion. He looked down into the low unquiet shrub-
bery, and up into the tall primeval trees, and up higher
at the rustling heaven, and into the crimson moon.
And I lay close within shelter of the lilies, and ob-
served the actions of the man. And the man trem-
bled in the solitude ; — but the night waned, and he
sat upon the rock.
"And the man turned his attention from the heaven,
and looked out upon the dreary river Zaire, and upon
the yellow ghastly waters, and upon the pale legions of
the water-lilies. And the man listened to the sighs
of the water-lilies, and to the murmur that came up
from among them. And I lay close within my covert
and observed the actions of the man. And the man
trembled in the solitude ;— but the night waned and
he sat upon the rock.


SILENCE. 223
"Then I went down into the recesses of the morass,
and waded afar in among the wilderness of the lilies,
and called unto the hippopotami which dwelt among
the fens in the recesses of the morass. And the hip-
popotami heard my call, and came, with the behemoth,
unto the foot of the rock, and roared loudly and fear-
fully beneath the moon. And I lay close within my
covert and observed the actions of the man. And the
man trembled in the solitude ; —but the night waned
and he sat upon the rock.
"Then I cursed the elements with the curse of
tumult; and a frightful tempest gathered in the heaven
where, before, there had been no wind. And the
heaven became livid with the violence of the tempest
— and the rain beat upon the head of the man — and
the floods of the river came down — and the river was
tormented into foam — and the water-lilies shrieked
within their beds — and the forest crumbled before the
wind — and the thunder rolled — and the lightning
fell — and the rock rocked to its foundation. And I
lay close within my covert and observed the actions
of the man. And the man trembled in the solitude;
— but the night waned and he sat upon the rock.
"Then I grew angry and cursed, with the curse of
silence, the river, and the lilies, and the wind, and the
forest, and the heaven, and the thunder, and the sighs
of the water-lilies. And they became accursed, and
were still. And the moon ceased to totter up its path-
way to heaven — and the thunder died away — and
the lightning did not flash — and the clouds hung mo-
tionless— and the waters sunk to their level and re-
mained — and the trees ceased to rock — and the
water-lilies sighed no more — and the murmur was
heard no longer from among them, nor any shadow of


2 24 TALES.
sound throughout the rut illimitable desert. And I
looked upon the characters of the rock, and they were
changed ;— and the characters were silence.
"And mine eyes fell upon the countenance of the
man, and his countenance was wan with terror. And,
hurriedly, he raised his head from his hand, and stood
forth upon the rock and listened. But there was no
voice throughout the vast illimitable desert, and the
characters upon the rock were silence. And the man
shuddered, and turned his face away, and fled afar off*,
in haste, so that I beheld him no more."
*******
Now there are fine tales in the volumes of the Magi —
in the iron-bound, melancholy volumes of the Magi.
Therein, I say, arc glorious histories of the Heaven,
and of the Earth, and of the mighty sea — and of the
Genii that over-ruled the sea, and the earth, and the
lofty heaven. There was much lore too in the sayings
which were said by the Sybils; and holy, holy things
were heard of old by the dun leaves that trembled around
Dodona — but, as Allah liveth, that fable which the
Demon told me as he sat by my side in the shadow of
the tomb, I hold to be the most wonderful of all! And
as the Demon made an end of his story, he fell back
within the cavity of the tomb and laughed. And I
could not laugh with the Demon, and he cursed me
because I could not laugh. And the lynx which dwelleth
forever in the tomb, came out therefrom, and lay down
at the feet of the Demon, and looked at him steadily
in the face.


A DESCENT INTO THE
MAELSTROM.
[Graham' i Magazine, May, 1S41 ; 1845.— Text corrected
by J. L. Graham copy.]
The ways of God in Nature, as in Providence, are not as our
ways ; nor are the models that we frame any way commensurate to
the vastness, profundity, and unsearchableness of His works, whicb
have a depth in them greater than the well of Dcmocritiu.
Joseph Glanville.
We had now reached the summit of the loftiest
crag. For some minutes the old man seemed too much
exhausted to speak.
"Not long ago," said he at length, "and I could
have guided you on this route as well as the youngest
of my sons; but, about three years past, there hap-
pened to me an event such as never happened before to
mortal man — or at least such as no man ever survived
to tell of— and the six hours of deadly terror which
I then endured have broken me up body and soul.
You suppose me a very old man — but I am not. It
took less than a single day to change these hairs from
a jetty black to white, to weaken my limbs, and to un-
string my nerves, so that I tremble at the least exertion,
and am frightened at a shadow. Do you know I can
scarcely look over this little cliff without getting giddy?"
vol. 11.—15 ("5)


226 TALES.
The '' little cliff," upon whose edge he had so care-
lessly thrown himself down to rest that the weightier
portion of his body hung over it, while he was only
kept from falling by the tenure of his elbow on its ex-
treme and slippery edge — this "little cliff" arose, a
sheer unobstructed precipice of black shining rock,
some fifteen or sixteen hundred feet from the world of
crags beneath us. Nothing would have tempted mc
to within half a dozen yards of its brink. In truth so
deeply was I excited by the perilous position of my
companion, that I fell at full length upon the ground,
clung to the shrubs around me, and dared not even
glance upward at the sky — while I struggled in vain
to divest myself of the idea that the very foundations
of the mountain were in danger from the fury of the
winds. It was long before I could reason myself into
sufficient courage to sit up and look out into the dis-
tance.
"You must get over these fancies," said the guide,
"for I have brought you here that you might have the
best possible view of the scene of that event I men-
tioned — and to tell you the whole story with the spot
just under your eye."
"We are now," he continued, in that particulariz-
ing manner which distinguished him — " we are now
close upon the Norwegian coast — in the sixty-eighth
degree of latitude — in the great province of Nordland
— and in the dreary district of Lofoden. The moun-
tain upon whose top we sit is Helseggen, the Cloudy.
Now raise yourself up a little higher — hold on to the
grass if you feel giddy — so — and look out, beyond
the belt of vapor beneath us, into the sea."
I looked dizzily, and beheld a wide expanse of ocean,
whose waters wore so inky a hue as to bring at once


A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM. 227
to my mind the Nubian geographer's account of the
Mare Tenebrarum. A panorama more deplorably
desolate no human imagination can conceive. To the
right and left, as far as the eye could reach, there lay
outstretched, like ramparts of the world, lines of
horridly black and beetling cliff, whose character of
gloom was but the more forcibly illustrated by the surf
which reared high up against it its white and ghastly
crest, howling and shrieking for ever. Just opposite
the promontory upon whose apex we were placed, and
at a distance of some five or six miles out at sea, there
was visible a small, bleak-looking island; or, more
properly, its position was discernible through the wilder-
ness of surge in which it was enveloped. About two
miles nearer the land, arose another of smaller size,
hideously craggy and barren, and encompassed at various
intervals by a cluster of dark rocks.
The appearance of the ocean, in the space between
the more distant island and the shore, had something
very unusual about it. Although, at the time, so strong
a gale was blowing landward that a brig in the remote
offing lay to under a double-reefed trysail, and con-
stantly plunged her whole hull out of sight, still there
was here nothing like a regular swell, but only a short,
quick, angry cross dashing of water in every direction
— as well in the teeth of the wind as otherwise. Of
foam there was little except in the immediate vicinity
of the rocks.
"The island in the distance," resumed the old
man, "is called by the Norwegians Vurrgh. The
one midway is Moskoe. That a mile to the north-
ward is Ambaaren. Yonder are Iflesen, Hoeyholm,
Kieldholm, Suarven, and Buckholm. Farther off —
between Moskoe and Vurrgh — are Otterholm, Flimen,


228 TALES.
Sandflesen, and Skarholm. These are the true names
of the places — but why it has been thought necessary
to name them at all, is more than either you or I can
understand. Do you hear any thing? Do you see
any change in the water?"
We had now been about ten minutes upon the top
of Helseggen, to which we had ascended from the
interior of Lofbden, so that we had caught no glimpse
of the sea until it had burst upon us from the summit.
As the old man spoke, I became aware of a loud and
gradually increasing sound, like the moaning of a vast
herd of buffaloes upon an American prairie; and at the
same moment I perceived that what seamen term the
cbopping character of the ocean beneath us, was rapidly
changing into a current which set to the eastward.
Even while I gazed, this current acquired a monstrous
velocity. Each moment added to its speed — to its
headlong impetuosity. In five minutes the whole sea,
as far as Vurrgh, was lashed into ungovernable fury;
but it was between Moskoe and the coast that the main
uproar held its sway. Here the vast bed of the
waters, seamed and scarred into a thousand conflicting
channels, burst suddenly into phrensied convulsion —
heaving, boiling, hissing — gyrating in gigantic and
innumerable vortices, and all whirling and plunging on
to the eastward with a rapidity which water never
elsewhere assumes except in precipitous descents.
In a few minutes more, there came over the scene
another radical alteration. The general surface grew
somewhat more smooth, and the whirlpools, one by
one, disappeared, while prodigious streaks of foam
became apparent where none had been seen before.
These streaks, at length, spreading out to a great
distance, and entering into combination, took unto


A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM. 229
themselves the gyratory motion of the subsided vortices,
and seemed to form the germ of another more vast.
Suddenly — very suddenly — this assumed a distinct
and definite existence, in a circle of more than half a
mile in diameter. The edge of the whirl was repre-
sented by a broad belt of gleaming spray; but no
particle of this slipped into the mouth of the terrific
funnel, whose interior, as far as the eye could fathom
it, was a smooth, shining, and jet-black wall of water,
inclined to the horizon at an angle of some forty-five
degrees, speeding dizzily round and round with a
swaying and sweltering motion, and sending forth to
the winds an appalling voice, half shriek, half roar,
such as not even the mighty cataract of Niagara ever
lifts up in its agony to Heaven.
The mountain trembled to its very base, and the
rock rocked. I threw myself upon my face, and
clung to the scant herbage in an excess of nervous
agitation.
"This," said I at length, to the old man — "this
can be nothing else than the great whirlpool of the
Maelstrom."
"So it is sometimes termed," said he. "We
Norwegians call it the Moskoe-strom, from the island
of Moskoe in the midway."
The ordinary accounts of this vortex had by no
means prepared me for what I saw. That of Jonas
Ramus, which is perhaps the most circumstantial of
any, cannot impart the faintest conception either of the
magnificence, or of the horror of the scene — or of
the wild bewildering sense of tht novel which con-
founds the beholder. I am not sure from what point
of view the writer in question surveyed it, nor at what
time; but it could neither have been from the summit


230 TALES.
of Helseggen, nor during a storm. There are some
passages of his description, nevertheless, which may be
quoted for their details, although their effect is exceed-
ingly feeble in conveying an impression of the spectacle.
"Between Lofoden and Moskoe," he says, "the
depth of the water is between thirty-six and forty
fathoms; but on the other side, toward Ver (Vurrgh)
this depth decreases so as not to afford a convenient
passage for a vessel, without the risk of splitting on the
rocks, which happens even in the calmest weather.
When it is flood, the stream runs up the country be-
tween Lofoden and Moskoe with a boisterous rapidity;
but the roar of its impetuous ebb to the sea is scarce
equalled by the loudest and most dreadful cataracts;
the noise being heard several leagues off, and the
vortices or pits are of such an extent and depth, that if
a ship comes within its attraction, it is inevitably
absorbed and carried down to the bottom, and there
beat to pieces against the rocks; and when the water
relaxes, the fragments thereof are thrown up again.
But these intervals of tranquillity are only at the turn
of the ebb and flood, and in calm weather, and last but
a quarter of an hour, its violence gradually returning.
When the stream is most boisterous, and its fury
heightened by a storm, it is dangerous to come within
a Norway mile of it. Boats, yachts, and ships have
been carried away by not guarding against it before
they were within its reach. It likewise happens
frequently, that whales come too near the stream, and
are overpowered by its violence; and then it is im-
possible to describe their howlings and bellowings in
their fruitless struggles to disengage themselves. A
bear once, attempting to swim from Lofoden to
Moskoe, was caught by the stream and borne down.


A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM. 231
while he roared terribly, so as to be heard on shore.
Large stocks of firs and pine trees, after being absorbed
by the current, rise again broken and torn to such a
degree as if bristles grew upon them. This plainly
shows the bottom to consist of craggy rocks, among
which they are whirled to and fro. This stream is
regulated by the flux and reflux of the sea — it being
constantly high and low water every six hours. In
the year 1645, early in the morning of Sexagesima
Sunday, it raged with such noise and impetuosity that
the very stones of the houses on the coast fell to the
ground."
In regard to the depth of the water, I could not see
how this could have been ascertained at all in the im-
mediate vicinity of the vortex. The " forty fathoms ''
must have reference only to portions of the channel
close upon the shore either of Moskoe or Lofoden.
The depth in the centre of the Moskoe-strom must be
immeasurably greater; and no better proof of this fact
is necessary than can be obtained from even the side-
long glance into the abyss of the whirl which may be
had from the highest crag of Helseggen. Looking
down from this pinnacle upon the howling Phlegethon
below, I could not help smiling at the simplicity with
which the honest Jonas Ramus records, as a matter
difficult of belief, the anecdotes of the whales and the
bears; for it appeared to me, in fact, a self-evident
thing, that the largest ships of the line in existence,
coming within the influence of that deadly attraction,
could resist it as little as a feather the hurricane, and
must disappear bodily and at once.
The attempts to account for the phenomenon —
some of which, I remember, seemed to me sufficiently
plausible in perusal — now wore a very different and


252 TALES.
unsatisfactory aspect. The idea generally received is
that this, as well as three smaller vortices among the
Feroe islands, "have no other cause than the collision
of waves rising and falling, at flux and reflux, against
a ridge of rocks and shelves, which confines the water
so that it precipitates itself like a cataract; and thus the
higher the flood rises, the deeper must the fall be, and
the natural result of all is a whirlpool or vortex, the
prodigious suction of which is sufficiently known by
lesser experiments."—These are the words of the En-
cyclopaedia Britannica. Kircher and others imagine
that in the centre of the channel of the Maelstrom is
an abyss penetrating the globe, and issuing in some
very remote part — the Gulf of Bothnia being some-
what decidedly named in one instance. This opinion,
idle in itself, was the one to which, as I gazed, my
imagination most readily assented; and, mentioning il
to the guide, I was rather surprised to hear him say
that, although it was the view almost universally en-
tertained of the subject by the Norwegians, it never-
theless was not his own. As to the former notion he
confessed his inability to comprehend it; and here I
agreed with him — for, however conclusive on paper,
it becomes altogether unintelligible, and even absurd,
amid the thunder of the abyss.
"You have had a good look at the whirl now,"
said the old man, "and if you will creep round this
crag, so as to get in its lee, and deaden the roar of the
water, I will tell you a story that will convince you I
ought to know something of the Moskoe-strom."
I placed myself as desired, and he proceeded.
'' Myself and my two brothers once owned a
schooner-rigged smack of about seventy tons burthen,
with which we were in the habit of fishing among the


A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM. 233
islands beyond Moskoe, nearly to Vurrgh. In all
violent eddies at sea there is good fishing, at proper
opportunities, if one has only the courage to attempt
it; but among the whole of the Lofoden coastmen, we
three were the only ones who made a regular business
of going out to the islands, as I tell you. The usual
grounds are a great way lower down to the southward.
There fish can be got at all hours, without much risk,
and therefore these places are preferred. The choice
spots over here among the rocks, however, not only
yield the finest variety, but in far greater abundance;
so that we often got in a single day, what the more
timid of the craft could not scrape together in a week.
In fact, we made it a matter of desperate speculation —
the risk of life standing instead of labor, and courage
answering for capital.
"We kept the smack in a cove about five miles
higher up the coast than this; and it was our practice,
in fine weather, to take advantage of the fifteen min-
utes' slack to push across the main channel of the Mos-
koe-strom, far above the pool, and then drop down
upon anchorage somewhere near Otterholm, or Sand-
flcsen, where the eddies are not so violent as elsewhere.
Here we used to remain until nearly time for slack-
water again, when we weighed and made for home.
We never set out upon this expedition without a steady
side wind for going and coming — one that we felt sure
would not fail us before our return — and we seldom
made a mis-calculation upon this point. Twice, dur-
ing six years, we were forced to stay all night at anchor
on account of a dead calm, which is a rare thing indeed
just about here; and once we had to remain on the
grounds nearly a week, starving to death, owing to a
gale which blew up shortly after our arrival, and made


234 TALES.
the channel too boisterous to be thought of. Upon this
occasion we should have been driven out to sea in spite
of everything, (for the whirlpools threw us round and
round so violently, that, at length, we fouled our anchor
and dragged it) if it had not been that we drifted
into one of the innumerable cross currents — here
to-day and gone to-morrow — which drove us under
the lee of Flimen, where, by good luck, we brought
up.
"I could not tell you the twentieth part of the
difficulties we encountered 'on the ground ' —it is a
bad spot to be in, even in good weather — but we
made shift always to run the gauntlet of the Moskoe-
strom itself without accident; although at times my
heart has been in my mouth when we happened to be
a minute or so behind or before the slack. The wind
sometimes was not as strong as we thought it at start-
ing, and then we made rather less way than we could
wish, while the current rendered the smack unmanage-
able. My eldest brother had a son eighteen years old,
and I had two stout boys of my own. These would
have been of great assistance at such times, in using the
sweeps, as well as afterward in fishing — but, some-
how, although we ran the risk ourselves, we had not
the heart to let the young ones get into the danger —
for, after all said and done, it was a horrible danger,
and that is the truth.
"It is now within a few days of three years since
what I am going to tell you occurred. It was on the
tenth of July, 18—, a day which the people of this
part of the world will never forget — for it was one in
which blew the most terrible hurricane that ever came
out of the heavens. And yet all the morning, and
indeed until late in the afternoon, there was a gentle


A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM. 235
and steady breeze from the south-west, while the sun
shone brightly, so that the oldest seaman among us
could not have foreseen what was to follow.
"The three of us — my two brothers and myself—
had crossed over to the islands about twoo,clockP. M.,
and soon nearly loaded the smack with fine fish, which,
we all remarked, were more plenty that day than we
had ever known them. It was just seven, by my walcb,
when we weighed and started for home, so as to make
the worst of the Strom at slack water, which we knew
would be at eight.
"We set out with a fresh wind on our starboard
quarter, and for some time spanked along at a great
rate, never dreaming of danger, for indeed we saw not
the slightest reason to apprehend it. All at once we
were taken aback by a breeze from over Helseggen.
This was most unusual — something that had never
happened to us before — and I began to feel a little
uneasy, without exactly knowing why. We put the
boat on the wind, but could make no headway at all
for the eddies, and I was upon the point of proposing
to return to the anchorage, when, looking astern, we
saw the whole horizon covered with a singular cop-
per-colored cloud that rose with the most amazing
velocity.
"In the meantime the breeze that had headed us
off fell away, and we were dead becalmed, drifting
about in every direction. This state of things, how-
ever, did not last long enough to give us time to think
about it. In less than a minute the storm was upon
us — in less than two the sky was entirely overcast —
and what with this and the driving spray, it became
suddenly so dark that we could not see each other in
the smack.


Z36 TALES.
"Such a hurricane as then blew it is folly to at-
tempt describing. The oldest seaman in Norway
never experienced any thing like it. We had let our
sails go by the run before it cleverly took us; but, at
the first puff, both our masts went by the board as if
they had been sawed off— the mainmast taking with
it my youngest brother, who had lashed himself to it
for safety.
"Our boat was the lightest feather of a thing that
ever sat upon water. It had a complete flush deck,
with only a small hatch near the bow, and this hatch
it had always been our custom to batten down when
about to cross the Strom, by way of precaution against
the chopping seas. But for this circumstance we
should have foundered at once — for we lay entirely
buried for some moments. How my elder brother
escaped destruction I cannot say, for I never had an
opportunity of ascertaining. For my part, as soon as
I had let the foresail run, I threw myself flat on deck,
with my feet against the narrow gunwale of the bow,
and with my hands grasping a ring-bolt near the foot
of the foremast. It was mere instinct that prompted
me to do this — which was undoubtedly the very best
thing I could have done — for I was too much flurried
to think.
"For some moments we were completely deluged,
as I say, and all this time I held my breath, and clung
to the bolt. When I could stand it no longer I raised
myself upon my knees, still keeping hold with my
hands, and thus got my head clear. Presently our
little boat gave herself a shake, just as a dog does in
coming out of the water, and thus rid herself, in some
measure, of the seas. I was now trying to get the
better of the stupor that had come over me, and to


A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM. 237
collect my senses so as to see what was to be done,
when I felt somebody grasp my arm. It was my
elder brother, and my heart leaped for joy, for I had
made sure that he was overboard —but the next mo-
ment all this joy was turned into horror — for he put
his mouth close to my ear, and screamed out the word
'Moskoe-itrim!'
"No one ever will know what my feelings were at
that moment. I shook from head to foot as if I had
had the most violent fit of the ague. I knew what he
meant by that one word well enough — I knew what
he wished to make me understand. With the wind
that now drove us on, we were bound for the whirl
of the Strom, and nothing could save us!
"You perceive that in crossing the Strom cbannel,
we always went a long way up above the whirl, even
in the calmest weather, and then had to wait and
watch carefully for the slack — but now we were
driving right upon the pool itself, and in such a hurri-
cane as this !' To be sure,' I thought, 'we shall get
there just about the slack — there is some little hope in
that' — but in the next moment I cursed myself for
being so great a fool as to dream of hope at all. I
knew very well that we were doomed, had we been
ten times a ninety-gun ship.
"By this time the first fury of the tempest had
spent itself, or perhaps we did not feel it so much, as
we scudded before it, but at all events the seas, which
at first had been kept down by the wind, and lay flat
and frothing, now got up into absolute mountains. A
singular change, too, had come over the heavens.
Around in every direction it was still as black as pitch,
but nearly overhead there burst out, all at once, a cir-
cular rift of clear sky — as clear as I ever saw — and


238 TALES.
or- a deep bright blue — and through it there blazed
forth the full moon with a lustre that I never before
knew her to wear. She lit up every thing about us
with the greatest distinctness — bat, oh God, what a
scene i t was to light up!
"I now made one or two attempts to speak to my
brother — but in some manner which I could not un-
derstand, the din had so increased that I could not
make him hear a single word, although I screamed at
ihe top of my voice in his ear. Presently he shook
his head, looking as pale as death, and held up one of
his fingers, as if to say 'listen I,
"At first I could not make out what he meant —
but soon a hideous thought flashed upon me. I dragged
mv watch from its fob. It was not going. I glanced
at its face by the moonlight, and then burst into tears
as I flung it far away into the ocean. // had run
down at seven iclock! We were behind the time tf
the slack, and the whirl of the Strim was in full
fur,!
"When a boat is well built, properly trimmed, and
not deep laden, the waves in a strong gale, when she
is going large, seem always to slip from beneath her —
which appears very strange to a landsman — and this
is what is called riding, in sea phrase.
"Well, so far we had ridden the swells very clev-
erly; but presently a gigantic sea happened to take us
right under the counter, and bore us with it as it rose —
up — up — as if into the sky. I would not have be-
lieved that any wave could rise so high. And then
down we came with a sweep, a slide, and a plunge, that
made me feel sick and dizzy, as if I was falling from
some lofty mountain-top in a dream. But while we
were up I had thrown a quick glance around — and


A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM. 239
that one glance was all sufficient. I saw our exact
position in an instant. The Moskoe-strom whirlpool
was about a quarter of a mile dead ahead — but no
more like the every-day Moskoe-strom, than the whirl
as you now see it, is like a mill-race. If I had not
known where we were, and what we had to expect, I
should not have recognised the place at all. As it was,
I involuntarily closed my eyes in horror. The lids
clenched themselves together as if in a spasm.
"It could not have been more than two minutes
afterwards until we suddenly felt the waves subside,
and were enveloped in foam. The boat made a sharp
half turn to larboard, and then shot off in its new direc-
tion like a thunderbolt. At the same moment the
roaring noise of the water was completely drowned in
a kind of shrill shriek — such a sound as you might
imagine given out by the water-pipes of many thousand
steam-vessels, letting off their steam all together. We
were now in the belt of surf that always surrounds the
whirl; and I thought, of course, that another moment
would plunge us into the abyss — down which we could
only see indistinctly on account of the amazing velocity
with which we were borne along. The boat did not
seem to sink into the water at all, but to skim like an
air-bubble upon the surface of the surge. Her star-
board side was next the whirl, and on the larboard
arose the world of ocean we had left. It stood like a
huge writhing wall between us and the horizon.
"It may appear strange, but now, when we were
in the very jaws of the gulf, I felt more composed than
when we were only approaching it. Having made up
my mind to hope no more, I got rid of a great deal of
that terror which unmanned me at first. I suppose it
was despair that strung my nerves.


238 TALES.
of a deep bright blue — and through it there blazed
forth the full moon with a lustre that I never before
knew her to wear. She lit up every thing about us
with the greatest distinctness — but, oh God, what a
scene it was to light up !
“I now made one or two attempts to speak to my
brother — but in some manner which I could not un-
derstand, the din had so increased that I could not
make him hear a single word, although I screamed at
the top of my voice in his ear. Presently he shook
his head, looking as pale as death, and held up one of
his fingers, as if to say “ listen /'
“At first I could not make out what he meant —
but soon a hideous thought flashed upon me. I dragged
my watch from its fob. It was not going. I glanced
at its face by the moonlight, and then burst into tears
as I flung it far away into the ocean. It had run
down at ſeven o'clock / We were behind the time of
the lack, and the whirl of the Strøm was in full
ſury /
“When a boat is well built, properly trimmed, and
not deep laden, the waves in a strong gale, when she
is going large, seem always to slip from beneath her —
which appears very strange to a landsman — and this
is what is called riding, in sea phrase.
“Well, so far we had ridden the swells very clev-
erly ; but presently a gigantic sea happened to take us
right under the counter, and bore us with it as it rose —
.p — up – as if into the sky. I would not have be-
"eved that any wave could rise so high. And then
down we came with a sweep, a slide, and a plunge, that
made me feel sick and dizzy, as if I was falling from
some lofty mountain-top in a dream. But while we
were up I had thrown a quick glance around — and


A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTRöM. 239
that one glance was all sufficient. I saw our exact
position in an instant. The Moskoe-ström whirlpool
was about a quarter of a mile dead ahead—but no
more like the every-day Moskoe-ström, than the whirl
as you now see it, is like a mill-race. If I had not
known where we were, and what we had to expect, I
should not have recognised the place at all. As it was,
I involuntarily closed my eyes in horror. The lids
clenched themselves together as if in a spasm.
“It could not have been more than two minutes
afterwards until we suddenly felt the waves subside,
and were enveloped in foam. The boat made a sharp
half turn to larboard, and then shot off in its new direc-
tion like a thunderbolt. At the same moment the
roaring noise of the water was completely drowned in
a kind of shrill shriek—such a sound as you might
imagine given out by the water-pipes of many thousand
steam-vessels, letting off their steam all together. We
were now in the belt of surf that always surrounds the
whirl; and I thought, of course, that another moment
would plunge us into the abyss — down which we could
only see indistinctly on account of the amazing velocity
with which we were borne along. The boat did not
seem to sink into the water at all, but to skim like an
air-bubble upon the surface of the surge. Her star-
board side was next the whirl, and on the larboard
arose the world of ocean we had left. It stood like a
huge writhing wall between us and the horizon.
“It may appear strange, but now, when we were
in the very jaws of the gulf, I felt more composed than
when we were only approaching it. Having made up
my mind to hope no more, I got rid of a great deal of
that terror which unmanned me at first. I suppose it
was despair that strung my nerves.


238 TALES.
of a deep bright blue — and through it there blazed
forth the full moon with a lustre that I never before
knew her to wear. She lit up every thing about us
with the greatest distinctness — but, oh God, what a
scene it was to light up !
“I now made one or two attempts to speak to my
brother — but in some manner which I could not un-
derstand, the din had so increased that I could not
make him hear a single word, although I screamed at
the top of my voice in his ear. Presently he shook
his head, looking as pale as death, and held up one of
his fingers, as if to say listem / '
“At first I could not make out what he meant —
but soon a hideous thought flashed upon me. I dragged
my watch from its fob. It was not going. I glanced
at its face by the moonlight, and then burst into tears
as I flung it far away into the ocean. It had run
down at ſeven o’clock / We were behind the time of
tºe lack, and the whirl of the Strøm was in full
jury /
“When a boat is well built, properly trimmed, and
not deep aden, the waves in a strong gale, when she
is going large, seem always to slip from beneath her —
which appears very strange to a landsman — and this
is what is called riding, in sea phrase.
“Well, so far we had ridden the swells very clev-
erly; but presently a gigantic sea happened to take us
right under the counter, and bore us with it as it rose —
:p — up – as if into the sky. I would not have be-
'eved that any wave could rise so high. And then
down we came with a sweep, a slide, and a plunge, that
made me feel sick and dizzy, as if I was falling from
some lofty mountain-top in a dream. But while we
were up I had thrown a quick glance around — and


A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTRöM. 239
that one glance was all sufficient. I saw our exact
position in an instant. The Moskoe-ström whirlpool
was about a quarter of a mile dead ahead—but no
more like the every-day Moskoe-ström, than the whirl
as you now see it, is like a mill-race. If I had not
known where we were, and what we had to expect, I
should not have recognised the place at all. As it was,
I involuntarily closed my eyes in horror. The lids
clenched themselves together as if in a spasm.
“It could not have been more than two minutes
afterwards until we suddenly felt the waves subside,
and were enveloped in foam. The boat made a sharp
half turn to larboard, and then shot off in its new direc-
tion like a thunderbolt. At the same moment the
roaring noise of the water was completely drowned in
a kind of shrill shriek—such a sound as you might
imagine given out by the water-pipes of many thousand
steam-vessels, letting off their steam all together. We
were now in the belt of surf that always surrounds the
whirl; and I thought, of course, that another moment
would plunge us into the abyss — down which we could
only see indistinctly on account of the amazing velocity
with which we were borne along. The boat did not
seem to sink into the water at all, but to skim like an
air-bubble upon the surface of the surge. Her star-
board side was next the whirl, and on the larboard
arose the world of ocean we had left. It stood like a
huge writhing wall between us and the horizon.
“It may appear strange, but now, when we were
in the very jaws of the gulf, I felt more composed than
when we were only approaching it. Having made up
my mind to hope no more, I got rid of a great deal of
that terror which unmanned me at first. I suppose it
was despair that strung my nerves.


238 TALES.
of a deep bright blue — and through it there blazed
forth the full moon with a lustre that I never before
knew her to wear. She lit up every thing about us
with the greatest distinctness — but, oh God, what a
scene it was to light up !
“I now made one or two attempts to speak to my
brother — but in some manner which I could not un-
derstand, the din had so increased that I could not
make him hear a single word, although I screamed at
the top of my voice in his ear. Presently he shook
his head, looking as pale as death, and held up one of
his fingers, as if to say “ listen /'
“At first I could not make out what he meant —
but soon a hideous thought flashed upon me. I dragged
my watch from its fob. It was not going. I glanced
at its face by the moonlight, and then burst into tears
as I flung it far away into the ocean. It had run
down at ſeven o'clock / We were behind the time of
tºe lack, and the whirl of the Strøm was in full
ſury /
“When a boat is well built, properly trimmed, and
not deep laden, the waves in a strong gale, when she
is going large, seem always to slip from beneath her —
which appears very strange to a landsman — and this
is what is called riding, in sea phrase.
“Well, so far we had ridden the swells very clev-
erly; but presently a gigantic sea happened to take us
right under the counter, and bore us with it as it rose —
up — up – as if into the sky. I would not have be-
"eved that any wave could rise so high. And then
down we came with a sweep, a slide, and a plunge, that
made me feel sick and dizzy, as if I was falling from
some lofty mountain-top in a dream. But while we
were up I had thrown a quick glance around — and





238 TALES.
of a deep bright blue — and through it there blazed
forth the full moon with a lustre that I never before
knew her to wear. She lit up every thing about us
with the greatest distinctness — but, oh God, what a
scene it was to light up !
“I now made one or two attempts to speak to my
brother — but in some manner which I could not un-
derstand, the din had so increased that I could not
make him hear a single word, although I screamed at
the top of my voice in his ear. Presently he shook
his head, looking as pale as death, and held up one of
his fingers, as if to say “ listen /'
“At first I could not make out what he meant —
but soon a hideous thought flashed upon me. I dragged
mv watch from its fob. It was not going. I glanced
at its face by the moonlight, and then burst into tears
as I flung it far away into the ocean. It had run
aown at ſeven o'clock / We were behind the time of
19e lack, and the whirl of the Strøm was in full
yºury /
“When a boat is well built, properly trimmed, and
not deep laden, the waves in a strong gale, when she
is going large, seem always to slip from beneath her —
which appears very strange to a landsman — and this
is what is called riding, in sea phrase.
“Well, so far we had ridden the swells very clev-
erly ; but presently a gigantic sea happened to take us
right under the counter, and bore us with it as it rose —
p — up — as if into the sky. I would not have be-
"eved that any wave could rise so high. And then
down we came with a sweep, a slide, and a plunge, that
made me feel sick and dizzy, as if I was falling from
some lofty mountain-top in a dream. But while we
were up I had thrown a quick glance around — and





238 TALES.
of a deep bright blue — and through it there blazed
forth the full moon with a lustre that I never before
knew her to wear. She lit up every thing about us
with the greatest distinctness — but, oh God, what a
scene it was to light up !
“I now made one or two attempts to speak to my
brother — but in some manner which I could not un-
derstand, the din had so increased that I could not
make him hear a single word, although I screamed at
the top of my voice in his ear. Presently he shook
his head, looking as pale as death, and held up one of
his fingers, as if to say “ listen /'
“At first I could not make out what he meant —
but soon a hideous thought flashed upon me. I dragged
my watch from its fob. It was not going. I glanced
at its face by the moonlight, and then burst into tears
as I flung it far away into the ocean. It had run
down at seven o’clock / We were behind the time of
the lack, and the whirl of the Ström was in full
fury!
“When a boat is well built, properly trimmed, and
not deep laden, the waves in a strong gale, when she
is going large, seem always to slip from beneath her —
which appears very strange to a landsman — and this
is what is called riding, in sea phrase.
“Well, so far we had ridden the swells very clev-
erly ; but presently a gigantic sea happened to take us
right under the counter, and bore us with it as it rose —
up — up – as if into the sky. I would not have be-
lieved that any wave could rise so high. And then
down we came with a sweep, a slide, and a plunge, that
made me feel sick and dizzy, as if I was falling from
some lofty mountain-top in a dream. But while we
were up I had thrown a quick glance around — and


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240 TALES.
"It may look like boasting — but what I tell you
is truth — I began to reflect how magnificent a thing
it was to die in such a manner, and how foolish it was
in me to think of so paltry a consideration as my own
individual life, in view of so wonderful a manifestation
of God's power. I do believe that I blushed with
shame when this idea crossed my mind. After a little
while I became possessed with the keenest curiosity
about the whirl itself. I positively felt a wish to ex-
plore its depths, even at the sacrifice I was going to
make; and my principal grief was that I should never
be able to tell my old companions on shore about the
mysteries I should see. These, no doubt, were singu-
lar fancies to occupy a man's mind in such extremity
— and I have often thought since, that the revolutions
of the boat around the pool might have rendered me a
little light-headed.
"There was another circumstance which tended to
restore my self-possession; and this was the cessation
of the wind, which could not reach us in our present
situation — for, as you saw yourself, the belt of surf is
considerably lower than the general bed of the ocean,
and this latter now towered above us, a high, black,
mountainous ridge. If you have never been at sea in
a heavy gale, you can form no idea of the confusion
of mind occasioned by the wind and spray together.
They blind, deafen and strangle you, and take away
all power of action or reflection. But we were now,
in a great measure, rid of these annoyances—just as
death-condemned felons in prison are allowed petty in-
dulgences, forbidden them while their doom is yet
uncertain.
"How often we made the circuit of the belt it is
impossible to say. We careered round and round for


A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM. 241
perhaps an hour, flying rather than floating, getting
gradually more and more into the middle of the surge,
and then nearer and nearer to its horrible inner edge.
All this time I had never let go of the ring-bolt. My
brother was at the stern, holding on to a large empty
water-cask which had been securely lashed under the
coop of the counter, and was the only thing on deck
that had not been swept overboard when the gale first
took us. As we approached the brink of the pit he
let go his hold upon this, and made for the ring, from
which, in the agony of his terror, he endeavored to
force my hands, as it was not large enough to afford us
both a secure grasp. I never felt deeper grief than
when I saw him attempt this act — although I knew
he was a madman when he did it — a raving maniac
through sheer fright. I did not care, however, to
contest the point with him. I thought it could make
no difference whether either of us held on at all; so I
let him have the bolt, and went astern to the cask.
This there was no great difficulty in doing; for the
smack flew round steadily enough, and upon an even
keel — only swaying to and fro, with the immense
sweeps and swelters of the whirl. Scarcely had I
secured myself in my new position, when we gave a
wild lurch to starboard, and rushed headlong into the
abyss. I muttered a hurried prayer to God, and
thought all was over.
'' As I felt the sickening sweep of the descent, I
had instinctively tightened my hold upon the barrel,
and closed my eyes. For some seconds I dared not
open them — while I expected instant destruction, and
wondered that I was not already in my death-struggles
with the water. But moment after moment elapsed.
I still lived. The sense of falling had ceased; and
vol. 11.—16


242 TALES.
the motion of the vessel seemed much as it had been
before while in the belt of foam, with the exception
that she now lay more along. I took courage and
looked once again upon the scene.
"Never shall I forget the sensations of awe, horror,
and admiration with which I gazed about me. The
boat appeared to be hanging, as if by magic, midway
down, upon the interior surface of a funnel vast in cir-
cumference, prodigious in depth, and whose perfectly
smooth sides might have been mistaken for ebony, but
for the bewildering rapidity with which they spun
around, and for the gleaming and ghastly radiance they
shot forth, as the rays of the full moon, from that cir-
cular rift amid the clouds which I have already
described, streamed in a flood of golden glory along
the black walls, and far away down into the inmost
recesses of the abyss.
"At first I was too much confused to observe any-
thing accurately. The general burst of terrific grandeur
was all that I beheld. When I recovered myself a
little, however, my gaze fell instinctively downward.
In this direction I was able to obtain an unobstructed
view, from the manner in which the smack hung on the
inclined surface of the pool. She was quite upon an
even keel — that is to say, her deck lay in a plane
parallel with that of the water — but this latter sloped
at an angle of more than forty-five degrees, so that we
seemed to be lying upon our beam-ends. I could not
help observing, nevertheless, that I had scarcely more
difficulty in maintaining my hold and footing in this
situation, than if we had been upon a deal level;
and this, I suppose, was owing to the speed at which
we revolved.
"The rays of the moon seemed to search the very


A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM. 243
bottom of the profound gulf; but still I could make
out nothing distinctly, on account of a thick mist in
which everything there was enveloped, and over which
there hung a magnificent rainbow, like that narrow and
tottering bridge which Mussulmen say is the only path-
way between Time and Eternity. This mist, or spray,
was no doubt occasioned by the clashing of the great
walls of the funnel, as they all met together at the
bottom — but the yell that went up to the Heavens
from out of that mist, I dare not attempt to describe.
"Our first slide into the abyss itself, from the belt
of foam above, had carried us to a great distance down
the slope; but our farther descent was by no means pro-
portionate. Round and round we swept — not with
any uniform movement — but in dizzying swings and
jerks, that sent us sometimes only a few hundred feet
— sometimes nearly the complete circuit of the whirl.
Our progress downward, at each revolution, was slow,
but very perceptible.
"Looking about me upon the wide waste of liquid
ebony on which we were thus borne, I perceived that
our boat was not the only object in the embrace of the
whirl. Both above and below us were visible frag-
ments of vessels, large masses of building timber and
trunks of trees, with many smaller articles, such as
pieces of house furniture, broken boxes, barrels and
staves. I have already described the unnatural curiosity
which had taken the place of my original terrors. It
appeared to grow upon me as I drew nearer and nearer
to my dreadful doom. I now began to watch, with a
strange interest, the numerous things that floated in our
company. I must have been delirious — for I even
sought amusement in speculating upon the relative
velocities of their several descents toward the foam


244 TALES.
below. 'This fir tree,' I found myself at one time
saying, < will certainly be the next thing that takes the
awful plunge and disappears,' — and then I was disap-
pointed to find that the wreck of a Dutch merchant ship
overtook it and went down before. At length, after
making several guesses of this nature, and being de-
ceived in all — this fact — the fact of my invariable
miscalculation, set me upon a train of reflection that
made my limbs again tremble, and my heart beat heavily
once more.
"It was not a new terror that thus affected me, but
the dawn of a more exciting hope. This hope arose
partly from memory, and partly from present observa-
tion. I called to mind the great variety of buoyant
matter that strewed the coast of Lofoden, having been
absorbed and then thrown forth by the Moskoe-strom.
By far the greater number of the articles were shattered
in the most extraordinary way — so chafed and rough-
ened as to have the appearance of being stuck full of
splinters — but then I distinctly recollected that there
were some of them which were not disfigured at all. Now
I could not account for this difference except by sup-
posing that the roughened fragments were the only ones
which had been completely absorbed—that the others
had entered the whirl at so late a period of the tide,
or, from some reason, had descended so slowly after
entering, that they did not reach the bottom be-
fore the turn of the flood came, or of the ebb, as the
case might be. I conceived it possible, in either in-
stance, that they might thus be whirled up again to the
level of the ocean, without undergoing the fate of those
which had been drawn in more early or absorbed more
rapidly. I made, also, three important observations.
The first was, that as a general rule, the larger the


A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM. 245
bodies were, the more rapid their descent ;— the
second, that, between two masses of equal extent,
the one spherical, and the other of any other shape,
the superiority in speed of descent was with the
sphere ; — the third, that, between two masses of
equal size, the one cylindrical, and the other of any
other shape, the cylinder was absorbed the more slowly.
Since my escape, I have had several conversations
on this subject with an old school-master of the dis-
trict ; and it was from him that I learned the use of
the words 'cylinder' and ' sphere.' He explained to
me — although I have forgotten the explanation — how
what I observed was, in fact, the natural consequence
of the forms of the floating fragments — and showed
me how it happened that a cylinder, swimming in a
vortex, offered more resistance to its suction, and was
drawn in with greater difficulty than an equally bulky
body, of any form whatever.1
"There was one startling circumstance which went
a great way in enforcing these observations, and render-
ing me anxious to turn them to account, and this was
that, at every revolution, we passed something like a
barrel, or else the broken yard or the mast of a vessel,
while many of these things, which had been on our
level when I first opened my eyes upon the wonders
of the whirlpool, were now high up above us, and
seemed to have moved but little from their original
station.
"I no longer hesitated what to do. I resolved to
lash myself securely to the water cask upon which I
now held, to cut it loose from the counter, and to throw
myself with it into the water. I attracted my brother's
attention by signs, pointed to the floating barrels that
1 See Archimedes, "Dt Incidentlbus in Ftuido."—lib. 2.


246 TALES.
came near us, and did everything in my power to make
him understand what I was about to do. I thought at
length that he comprehended my design — but, whether
this was the case or not, he shook his head despairingly,
and refused to move from his station by the ring-bolt.
It was impossible to force him; the emergency ad-
mitted no delay; and so, with a bitter struggle, I re-
signed him to his fate, fastened myself to the cask by
means of the lashings which secured it to the counter,
and precipitated myself with it into the sea, without
another moment's hesitation.
"The result was precisely what I had hoped it
might be. As it is myself who now tell you this tale
— as you see that I did escape — and as you are al-
ready in possession of the mode in which this escape was
effected, and must therefore anticipate all that I have
farther to say — I will bring my story quickly to con-
clusion. It might have been an hour, or thereabout,
after my quitting the smack, when, having descended
to a vast distance beneath me, it made three or four
wild gyrations in rapid succession, and, bearing my
loved brother with it, plunged headlong, at once
and forever, into the chaos of foam below. The
barrel to which I was attached sunk very little farther
than half the distance between the bottom of the gulf
and the spot at which I leaped overboard, before a
great change took place in the character of the whirl-
pool. The slope of the sides of the vast funnel be-
came momently less and less steep. The gyrations of
the whirl grew, gradually, less and less violent. By
degrees, the froth and the rainbow disappeared, and the
bottom of the gulf seemed slowly to uprise. The sky
was clear, the winds had gone down, and the full
moon was setting radiantly in the west, when I found


A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM. 247
myself on the surface of the ocean, in full view of the
shores of Lofodcn, and above the spot where the pool
of the Moskoe-strom had been. It was the hour of
the slack — but the sea still heaved in mountainous
waves from the effects of the hurricane. I was borne
violently into the channel of the Strom, and in a few
minutes, was hurried down the coast into the 'grounds'
of the fishermen. A boat picked me up — exhausted
from fatigue — and (now that the danger was removed)
speechless from the memory of its horror. Those
who drew me on board were my old mates and daily
companions — but they knew me no more than they
would have known a traveller from the spirit-land.
My hair, which had been raven-black the day before,
was as white as you see it now. They say too that
the whole expression of my countenance had changed.
I told them my story — they did not believe it. I
now tell it to you — and I can scarcely expect you to
put more faith in it than did the merry fishermen of
Lofoden.


LIGEIA.
[The American Museum, September, 1838; 1840;
Broadway journal, II. 12. — Corrected by the Poe-
h'hitman-Ingram copy of B. journal. 'J
ANn the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth
the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For God is but a great
will pervading all things by nature of its intentness. Man doth not
yield himself to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only
through the weakness of his feeble will.
joseph Glanvill.
I can Not, for my soul, remember how, when, or
even precisely where, I first became acquainted with
the lady Ligeia. Long years have since elapsed, and
my memory is feeble through much suffering. Or,
perhaps, I cannot now bring these points to mind, be-
cause, in truth, the character of my beloved, her rare
learning, her singular yet placid cast of beauty, and
the thrilling and enthralling eloquence of her low
musical language, made their way into my heart by paces
so steadily and stealthily progressive that they have
been unnoticed and unknown. Yet I believe that I
met her first and most frequently in some large, old,
decaying city near the Rhine. Of her family — I
have surely heard her speak. That it is of a remotely
ancient date cannot be doubted. Ligeia | Ligeia
! Now in possession of F. R. Halsey, Esq., New York.
(248)


LIGEIA. 249
Buried in studies of a nature more than all else adapted
to deaden impressions of the outward world, it is by
that sweet word alone — by Ligeia — that I bring be-
fore mine eyes in fancy the image of her who is no
more. And now, while I write, a recollection flashes
upon me that I have never known the paternal name
of her who was my friend and my betrothed, and who
became the partner of my studies, and finally the wife
of my bosom. Was it a playful charge on the part of
my Ligeia ? or was it a test of my strength of affection,
that I should institute no inquiries upon this point ? or
was it rather a caprice of my own — a wildly romantic
offering on the shrine of the most passionate devotion?
I but indistinctly recall the fact itself— what wonder
that I have utterly forgotten the circumstances which
originated or attended it? And, indeed, if ever that
spirit which is entitled Romance —- if ever she, the wan
and the misty-winged Ashtopbet of idolatrous Egypt,
presided, as they tell, over marriages ill-omened, then
most surely she presided over mine.
There is one dear topic, however, on which my
memory fails me not. It is the person of Ligeia. In
stature she was tall, somewhat slender, and, in her lat-
ter days, even emaciated. I would in vain attempt to
portray the majesty, the quiet ease, of her demeanor,
or the incomprehensible lightness and elasticity of her
footfall. She came and departed as a shadow. I was
never made aware of her entrance into my closed study
save by the dear music of her low sweet voice, as she
placed her marble hand upon my shoulder. In beauty
of face no maiden ever equalled her. It was the radi-
ance of an opium-dream — an airy and spirit-lifting
vision more wildly divine than the phantasies which
hovered about the slumbering souls of the daughters of


Z$0 TALES.
Delos. Yet her features were not of that regular
mould which we have been falsely taught to worship
in the classical labors of the heathen. "There is no
exquisite beauty," says Bacon, Lord Verulam, speak-
ing truly of all the forms and. genera of beauty, "with-
out some strangeness in the proportion.'' Yet, although
I saw that the features of Ligeia were not of a classic
regularity — although I perceived that her loveliness
was indeed "exquisite," and felt that there was much
of "strangeness" pervading it, yet I have tried in
vain to detect the irregularity and to trace home my
own perception of "the strange." I examined the
contour of the lofty and pale forehead — it was fault-
less— how cold indeed that word when applied to a
majesty so divine ! — the skin rivalling the purest
ivory, the commanding extent and repose, the gentle
prominence of the regions above the temples ; and then
the raven-black, the glossy, the luxuriant and naturally-
curling tresses, setting forth the full force of the Ho-
meric epithet, "hyacinthine!" I looked at the deli-
cate outlines of the nose — and nowhere but in the grace-
ful medallions of the Hebrews had I beheld a similar
perfection. There were the same luxurious smoothness
of surface, the same scarcely perceptible tendency to
the aquiline, the same harmoniously curved nostrils
speaking the free spirit. I regarded the sweet mouth.
Here was indeed the triumph of all things heavenly —
the magnificent turn of the short upper lip — the soft,
voluptuous slumber of the under — the dimples which
sported, and the color which spoke — the teeth glanc-
ing back, with a brilliancy almost startling, every ray
of the holy light which fell upon them in her serene
and placid, yet most exultingly radiant of all smiles.
I scrutinized the formation of the chin — and here,


LIGEIA. 251
too, I found the gentleness of breadth, the softness and
the majesty, the fullness and the spirituality, of the
Greek — the contour which the god Apollo revealed
but in a dream, to Cleomenes, the son of the Athen-
ian. And then I peered into the large eyes of
Ligeia.
For eyes we have no models in the remotely antique.
It might have been, too, that in these eyes of my be-
loved lay the secret to which Lord Verulam alludes.
They were, I must believe, far larger than the ordinary
eyes of our own race. They were even fuller than
the fullest of the gazelle eyes of the tribe of the valley
of Nourjahad. Yet it was only at intervals — in mo-
ments of intense excitement — that this peculiarity
became more than slightly noticeable in Ligeia. And
at such moments was her beauty — in my heated fancy
thus it appeared perhaps — the beauty of beings either
above or apart from the earth — the beauty of the fabu-
lous Houri of the Turk. The hue of the orbs was the
most brilliant of black, and, far over them, hung jetty
lashes of great length. The brows, slightly irregular
in outline, had the same tint. The "strangeness,"
however, which I found in the eyes, was of a nature
distinct from the formation, or the color, or the brill-
iancy of the features, and must, after all, be referred
to the expression. Ah, word of no meaning! behind
whose vast latitude of mere sound we intrench our
ignorance of so much of the spiritual. The expression
of the eyes of Ligeia! How for long hours have I
pondered upon it! How have I, through the whole
of a midsummer night, struggled to fathom it! What
was it — that something more profound than the well
of Democritus — which lay far within the pupils of
my beloved? What was it? I was possessed with a


2 52 TALES.
passion to discover. Those eyes! those large, those
shining, those divine orbs! they became to me twin
stars of Lcda, and I to them devoutest of astrologers.
There is no point, among the many incomprehensi-
ble anomalies of the science of mind, more thrilltngiv
exciting than the fact — never, I believe, noticed in
the schools — that, in our endeavors to recall to memory
something long forgotten, we often find ourselves apsr
the very verge of remembrance, without being able,
in the end, to remember. And thus how frequently,
in my intense scrutiny of Ligeia's eyes, have I felt
approaching the full knowledge of their expression —
felt it approaching — yet not quite be mine — and so
at length entirely depart! And (strange, oh strangest
mystery of all !) I found, in the commonest objects of
the universe, a circle of analogies to that expression. I
mean to say that, subsequently to the period when
Ligeia's beauty passed into my spirit, there dwelling as
in a shrine, I derived, from many existences in the
material world, a sentiment such as I felt always aroused
within me by her large and luminous orbs. Yet not
the more could I define that sentiment, or analyze, or
even steadily view it. I recognized it, let me repeat,
sometimes in the survey of a rapidly-growing vine —
in the contemplation of a moth, a butterfly, a chrysalis,
a stream of running water. I have felt it in the ocean;
in the falling of a meteor. I have felt it in the glances
of unusually aged people. And there are one or two
stars in heaven — (one especially, a star of the sixth
magnitude, double and changeable, to be found near
the large star in Lyra) in a telescopic scrutiny of which
I have been made aware of the feeling. I have been
filled with it by certain sounds from stringed instru-
ments, and not unfrequently by passages from books.


LIGEIA. 253
Among innumerable other instances, I well remember
something in a volume of Joseph Glanvill, which (per-
haps merely from its quaintness — who shall say ?)
never failed to inspire me with the sentiment; — "And
the will therein lieth, which dieth not. Who knoweth
the mysteries of the will, with its vigor? For God is
but a great will pervading all things by nature of its
intentness. Man doth not yield him to the angels, nor
unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of
his feeble will."
Length of years, and subsequent reflection, have
enabled me to trace, indeed, some remote connec-
tion between this passage in the English moralist and
a portion of the character of Ligeia. An intensity in
thought, action, or speech, was possibly, in her, a re-
sult, or at least an index, of that gigantic volition which,
during our long intercourse, failed to give other and
more immediate evidence of its existence. Of all the
women whom I have ever known, she, the outwardly
calm, the ever-placid Ligeia, was the most violently a
prey to the tumultuous vultures of ster n passion. And
of such passion I could form no estimate, save by the
miraculous expansion of those eyes which at once so
delighted and appalled me — by the almost magical
melody, modulation, distinctness and placidity of her
very low voice — and by the fierce energy (rendered
doubly effective by contrast with her manner of utter-
ance) of the wild words which she habitually uttered.
I have spoken of the learning of Ligeia: it was im-
mense — such as I have never known in woman. In
the classical tongues was she deeply proficient, and as
far as my own acquaintance extended in regard to the
modern dialects of Europe, I have never known her at
fault. Indeed upon any theme of the most admired,


254 TALES.
because simply the most abstruse of the boasted erudi-
tion of the academy, have I ever found Ligeia at fault?
How singularly — how thrillingly, this one point in
the nature of my wife has forced itself, at this late
period only, upon my attention! I said her knowledge
was such as I have never known in woman — but
where breathes the man who has traversed, and suc-
cessfully, all the wide areas of moral, physical, and
mathematical science? I saw not then what I now
clearly perceive, that the acquisitions of Ligeia were
gigantic, were astounding; yet I was sufficiently aware
of her infinite supremacy to resign myself, with a child-
like confidence, to her guidance through the chaotic
world of metaphysical investigation at which I was
most busily occupied during the earlier years of our
marriage. With how vast a triumph — with how
vivid a delight '—' with how much of all that is ethereal
in hope — did I feel, as she bent over me in studies
but little sought — but less known — that delicious vista
by slow degrees expanding before me, down whose
long, gorgeous, and all untrodden path, I might at
length pass onward to the goal of a wisdom too divinely
precious not to be forbidden!
How poignant, then, must have been the grief with
which, after some years, I beheld my well-grounded
expectations take wings to themselves and fly away!
Without Ligeia I was but as a child groping benighted.
Her presence, her readings alone, rendered vividly
luminous the many mysteries of the transcendentalism
in which we were immersed. Wanting the radiant
lustre of her eyes, letters, lambent and golden, grew
duller than Saturnian lead. And now those eyes shone
less and less frequently upon the pages over which I
pored. Ligeia grew ill. The wild eyes blazed with


LIGEIA. 255
a too — too glorious effulgence; the pale fingers be-
came of the transparent waxen hue of the grave, and
the blue veins upon the lofty forehead swelled and sank
impetuously with the tides of the most gentle emotion.
I saw that she must die — and I struggled desperately
in spirit with the grim Azrael. And the struggles of
the passionate wife were, to my astonishment, even
more energetic than my own. There had been much
in her stern nature to impress me with the belief that,
to her, death would have come without its terrors ; —
but not so. Words are impotent to convey any just
idea of the fierceness of resistance with which she
wrestled with the Shadow. I groaned in anguish at
the pitiable spectacle. I would have soothed — I
would have reasoned; but, in the intensity of her wild
desire for life, — for life — but for life — solace and
reason were alike the uttermost of folly. Yet not until
the last instance, amid the most convulsive writhings
of her fierce spirit, was shaken the external placidity
of her demeanor. Her voice grew more gentle —
grew more low — yet I would not wish to dwell upon
the wild meaning of the quietly uttered words. My
brain reeled as I hearkened entranced, to a melody
more than mortal — to assumptions and aspirations
which mortality had never before known.
That she loved me I should not have doubted; and
I might have been easily aware that, in a bosom such
as hers, love would have reigned no ordinary passion.
But in death only, was I fully impressed with the
strength of her affection. For long hours, detaining
my hand, would she pour out before me the overflow-
ing of a heart whose more than passionate devotion
amounted to idolatry. How had I deserved to be so
blessed by such confessions ? — how had I deserved to


256 TALES.
be so cursed with the removal of my beloved in the
hour of her making them? But upon this subject I
cannot bear to dilate. Let me say only, that in Ligeia 's
more than womanly abandonment to a love, alas! all
unmerited, all unworthily bestowed, I at length recog-
nized the principle of her longing with so wildly earnest
a desire for the life which was now fleeing so rapidly
away. It is this wild longing — it is this eager vehe-
mence of desire for life — but for life — that I have no
power to portray — no utterance capable of expressing.
At high noon of the night in which she departed,
beckoning me, peremptorily, to her side, she bade me
repeat certain verses composed by herself not many
days before. I obeyed her. — They were these:
Lo! 't is a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly —
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!
That motley drama ! — oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased forever more,
By a crowd that seite it not,


LIGEIA. 257
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness and more of Sin
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout,
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes ! — it writhes !— with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out — out are the lights — out all!
And over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
"O God!" half shrieked Ligeia, leaping to her
feet and extending her arms aloft with a spasmodic
movement, as I made an end of these lines— " O
God! O Divine Father ! — shall these things be un-
deviatingly so ? — shall this Conqueror be not once
conquered? Are we not part and parcel in Thee?
Who — who knoweth the mysteries of the will with
its vigor? Man doth not yield him to the angels, nor
unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of
his feeble will."
And now, as if exhausted with emotion, she suffered
her white arms to fall, and returned solemnly to her bed
of death. And as she breathed her last sighs, there
vol. u.—17


258 TALES.
came mingled with them a low murmur from her lips.
I bent to them my ear and distinguished, again, the
concluding words of the passage in Glanvill— " Man
doth not yield him to the angels, nor unto death utterly,
save only through the weakness of his feeble will."
She died ; — and I, crushed into the very dust with
sorrow, could no longer endure the lonely desolation
of my dwelling in the dim and decaying city by the
Rhine. I had no lack of what the world calls wealth.
Ligeiahad brought me far more, very far more than
ordinarily falls to the lot of mortals. After a few
months, therefore, of weary and aimless wandering, I
purchased, and put in some repair, an abbey, which I
shall not name, in one of the wildest and least frequented
portions of fair England. The gloomy and dreary
grandeur of the building, the almost savage aspect of
the domain, the many melancholy and time-honored
memories connected with both, had much in unison
with the feelings of utter abandonment which had driven
me into that remote and unsocial region of the country.
Yet although the external abbey, with its verdant decay
hanging about it, suffered but little alteration, I gave
way, with a child-like perversity, and perchance with
a faint hope of alleviating my sorrows, to a display of
more than regal magnificence within. — For such
follies, even in childhood, I had imbibed a taste and
now they came back to me as if in the dotage of
grief. Alas, I feel how much even of incipient mad-
ness might have been discovered in the gorgeous and
fantastic draperies, in the solemn carvings of Egypt, in
the wild cornices and furniture, in the Bedlam patterns
of the carpets of tufted gold ! I had become a bounden
slave in the trammels of opium, and my labors and my
orders had taken a coloring from my dreams. But


LIGBIA. 259
these absurdities I must not pause to detail. Let me
speak only of that one chamber, ever accursed, whither
in a moment of mental alienation, I led from the altar
as my bride — as the successor of the unforgotten
Ligeia — the fair-haired and blue-eyed Lady Rowena
Trevanion, of Tremaine.
There is no individual portion of the architecture
and decoration of that bridal chamber which is not
now visibly before me. Where were the souls of the
haughty family of the bride, when, through thirst of
gold, they permitted to pass the threshold of an apart-
ment so bedecked, a maiden and a daughter so beloved?
I have said that I minutely remember the details of the
chamber — yet I am sadly forgetful on topics of deep
moment — and here there was no system, no keep-
ing, in the fantastic display, to take hold upon the
memory. The room lay in a high turret of the
castellated abbey, was pentagonal in shape, and of
capacious size. Occupying the whole southern face
of the pentagon was the sole window — an immense
sheet of unbroken glass from Venice — a single pane,
and tinted of a leaden hue, so that the rays of either
the sun or moon, passing through it, fell with a ghastly
lustre on the objects within. Over the upper portion
of this huge window, extended the trellice-work of an
aged vine, which clambered up the massy walls of the
turret. The ceiling, of gloomy-looking oak, was ex-
cessively lofty, vaulted, and elaborately fretted with
the wildest and most grotesque specimens of a semi-
Gothic, semi-Druidical device. From out the most
central recess of this melancholy vaulting, depended,
by a single chain of gold with long links, a huge censer
of the same metal, Saracenic in pattern, and with many
perforations so contrived that there writhed in and out


260 TALES.
of them, as if endued with a serpent vitality, a con-
tinual succession of parti-colored fires.
Some few ottomans and golden candelabra, of
Eastern figure, were in various stations about — and
there was the couch, too — the bridal couch — of an
Indian model, and low, and sculptured of solid ebony,
with a pall-like canopy above. In each of the angles
of the chamber stood on end a gigantic sarcophagus of
black granite, from the tombs of the kings over against
Luxor, with their aged lids full of immemorial sculpt-
ure. But in the draping of the apartment lay, alas!
the chief phantasy of ah. The lofty walls, gigantic in
height — even unproportional?]y so — were hung from
summit to foot, in vast folds, with a heavy and massive-
looking tapestry — tapestry of a material which was
found alike as a carpet on the floor, as a covering for
the ottomans and the ebony bed, as a canopy for the
bed, and as the gorgeous volutes of the curtains which
partially shaded the window. The material was the
richest cloth of gold. It was spotted all over, at irreg-
ular intervals, with arabesque figures, about a foot in
diameter, and wrought upon the cloth in patterns of the
most jetty black. But these figures partook of the true
character of the arabesque only when regarded from a
single point of view. By a contrivance now common,
and indeed traceable to a very remote period of antiq-
uity, they were made changeable in aspect. To one
entering the room, they bore the appearance of simple
monstrosities; but upon a farther advance, this appear-
ance gradually departed; and step by step, as the visiter
moved his station in the chamber, he saw himself sur-
rounded by an endless succession of the ghastly forms
which belong to the superstition of the Norman, or
arise in the guilty slumbers of the monk. The


LIGEIA. 261
phantasmagoric effect was vastly heightened by the
artificial introduction of a strong continual current
of wind behind the draperies — giving a hideous and
uneasy animation to the whole.
In halls such as these — in a bridal chamber such as
this —- I passed, with the Lady of Tremaine, the unhal-
lowed hours of the first month of our marriage — passed
them with but little disquietude. That my wife
dreaded the fierce moodiness of my temper — that she
shunned me and loved me but little — I could not help
perceiving; but it gave me rather pleasure than other-
wise. I loathed her with a hatred belonging more to
demon than to man. My memory flew back, (oh,
with what intensity of regret !) to Ligeia, the beloved,
the august, the beautiful, the entombed. I revelled in
recollections of her purity, of her wisdom, of her lofty,
her ethereal nature, of her passionate, her idolatrous
love. Now, then, did my spirit fully and freely bum
with more than all the fires of her own. In the ex-
citement of my opium dreams (for I was habitually
fettered in the shackles of the drug) I would call aloud
upon her name, during the silence of the night, or
among the sheltered recesses of the glens by day, as if,
through the wild eagerness, the solemn passion, the
consuming ardor of my longing for the departed, I
could restore her to the pathway she had abandoned —
ah, could it be forever ? — upon the earth.
About the commencement of the second month of
the marriage, the Lady Rowena was attacked with
sudden illness, from which her recovery was slow.
The fever which consumed her rendered her nights
uneasy; and in her perturbed state of half-slumber,
she spoke of sounds, and of motions, in and about the
chamber of the turret, which I concluded had no origin


262 TALES.
save in the distemper of her fancy, or perhaps in the
phantasmagoric influences of the chamber itself. She
became at length convalescent — finally well. Yet
but a brief period elapsed, ere a second more violent
disorder again threw her upon a bed of suffering; and
from this attack her frame, at all times feeble, never
altogether recovered. Her illnesses were, after this
epoch, of alarming character, and of more alarming
recurrence, defying alike the knowledge and the great
exertions of her physicians. With the increase of the
chronic disease which had thus, apparently, taken too
sure hold upon her constitution to be eradicated by
human means, I could not fail to observe a similar
increase in the nervous irritation of her temperament,
and in her excitability by trivial causes of fear. She
spoke again, and now more frequently and pertina-
ciously, of the sounds — of the slight sounds — and of
the unusual motions among the tapestries, to which she
had formerly alluded.
One night, near the closing in of September, she
pressed this distressing subject with more than usual
emphasis upon my attention. She had just awakened
from an unquiet slumber, and I had been watching,
with feelings half of anxiety, half of vague terror, the
workings of her emaciated countenance. I sat by the
side of her ebony bed, upon one of the ottomans of
India. She partly arose, and spoke, in an earnest low
whisper, of sounds which she then heard, but which I
could not hear — of motions which she then saw, but
which I could not perceive. The wind was rushing
hurriedly behind the tapestries, and I wished to show
her (what, let me confess it, I could not ell believe)
that those almost inarticulate breathings, and those very
gentle variations of the figures upon the wall, were but


LIGEIA. 263
the natural effects of that customary rushing of the
wind. But a deadly pallor, overspreading her face,
had proved to me that my exertions to reassure her
would be fruitless. She appeared to be fainting, and
no attendants were within call. I remembered where
was deposited a decanter of light wine which had been
ordered by her physicians, and hastened across the
chamber to procure it. But, as I stepped beneath the
light of the censer, two circumstances of a startling
nature attracted my attention. I had felt that some
palpable although invisible object had passed lightly by
my person; and I saw that there lay upon the golden
carpet, in the very middle of the rich lustre thrown
from the censer, a shadow — a faint, indefinite shadow
of angelic aspect — such as might be fancied for the
shadow of a shade. But I was wild with the excite-
ment of an immoderate dose of opium, and heeded these
things but little, nor spoke of them to Rowena. Hav-
ing found the wine, I recrossed the chamber, and
poured out a goblet-ful, which I held to the lips of the
fainting lady. She had now partially recovered, how-
ever, and took the vessel herself, while I sank upon an
ottoman near me, with my eyes fastened upon her
person. It was then that I became distinctly aware
of a gentle foot-fall upon the carpet, and near the
couch; and in a second thereafter, as Rowena was in
the act of raising the wine to her lips, I saw, or may
have dreamed that I saw, fall within the goblet, as if
from some invisible spring in the atmosphere of the
room, three or four large drops of a brilliant and ruby
colored fluid. If this I saw — not so Rowena. She
swallowed the wine unhesitatingly, and I forbore to
speak to her of a circumstance which must, after all,
I considered, have been but the suggestion of 1 vivid


26+ TALES.
imagination, rendered morbidly active by the terror of
the lady, by the opium, and by the hour.
Yet I cannot conceal it from my own perception that,
immediately subsequent to the fall of the ruby-drops, a
rapid change for the worse took place in the disorder of
my wife; so that, on the third subsequent night, the
hands of her menials prepared her for the tomb, and
on the fourth, I sat alone, with her shrouded body, in
that fantastic chamber which had received her as my
bride. — Wild visions, opium-engendered, flitted,
shadow-like, before me. I gazed with unquiet eye
upon the sarcophagi in the angles of the room, upon the
varying figures of the drapery, and upon the writhing
of the parti-colored fires in the censer overhead. My
eyes then fell, as I called to mind the circumstances of
a former night, to the spot beneath the glare of the
censer where I had seen the faint traces of the shadow.
It was there, however, no longer; and breathing with
greater freedom, I turned my glances to the pallid and
rigid figure upon the bed. Then rushed upon me a
thousand memories of Ligeia — and then came back
upon my heart, with the turbulent violence of a flood,
the whole of that unutterable wo with which I had re-
garded ber thus enshrouded. The night waned ; and
still, with a bosom full of bitter thoughts of the one
only and supremely beloved, I remained gazing upon
the body of Rowena.
It might have been midnight, or perhaps earlier, or
later, for I had taken no note of time, when a sob,
low, gentle, but very distinct, startled me from my
revery. — I felt that it came from the bed of ebony —
the bed of death. I listened in an agony of supersti-
tious terror — but there was no repetition of the sound.
I strained my vision to detect any motion in the corpse


LIGEIA. 265
— but there was not the slightest perceptible. Yet I
could not have been deceived. I had heard the noise,
however faint, and my soul was awakened within me.
I resolutely and perseveringly kept my attention riveted
upon the body. Many minutes elapsed before any
circumstance occurred tending to throw light upon the
mystery. At length it became evident that a slight, a
very feeble, and barely noticeable tinge of color had
flushed up within the cheeks, and along the sunken
small veins of the eyelids. Through a species of un-
utterable horror and awe, for which the language of
mortality has no sufficiently energetic expression, I felt
my heart cease to beat, my limbs grow rigid where I
sat. Yet a sense of duty finally operated to restore my
self-possession. I could no longer doubt that we had
been precipitate in our preparations — that Rowena
still lived. It was necessary that some immediate
exertion be made; yet the turret was altogether apart
from the portion of the abbey tenanted by the servants
— there were none within call — I had no means of
summoning them to my aid without leaving the room
for many minutes — and this I could not venture to do.
I therefore struggled alone in my endeavors to call back
the spirit still hovering. In a short period it was
certain, however, that a relapse had taken place; the
color disappeared from both eyelid and cheek, leaving
a wanness even more than that of marble; the lips
became doubly shrivelled and pinched up in the ghastly
expression of death; a repulsive clamminess and cold-
ness overspread rapidly the surface of the body; and
all the usual rigorous stiffness immediately supervened.
I fell back with a shudder upon the couch from which
I had been so startlingly aroused, and again gave myself
up to passionate waking visions of Ligeia.








266 TALES.
An hour thus elapsed when (could it be possible ?)
I was a second time aware of some vague sound issuing
from the region of the bed. I listened — in extremity
of horror. The sound came again — it was a sigh.
Rushing to the corpse, I saw — distinctly saw — a
tremor upon the lips. In a minute afterward they
relaxed, disclosing a bright line of the pearly teeth.
Amazement now struggled in my bosom with the pro-
found awe which had hitherto reigned there alone. I
felt that my vision grew dim, that my reason wandered;
and it was only by a violent effort that I at length
succeeded in nerving myself to the task which duty thus
once more had pointed out. There was now a partial
glow upon the forehead and upon the cheek and throat;
a perceptible warmth pervaded the whole frame ; there
was even a slight pulsation at the heart. The lady
lived; and with redoubled ardor I betook myself to
the task of restoration. I chafed and bathed the temples
and the hands, and used every exertion which expe-
rience, and no little medical reading, could suggest.
But in vain. Suddenly, the color fled, the pulsation
ceased, the lips resumed the expression of the dead,
and, in an instant afterward, the whole body took upon
itself the icy chilliness, the livid hue, the intense
rigidity, the sunken outline, and all the loathsome
peculiarities of that which has been, for many days, a
tenant of the tomb.
And again I sunk into visions of Ligeia — and again,
(what marvel that I shudder while I write?) again
there reached my ears a low sob from the region of
the ebony bed. But why shall I minutely detail the
unspeakable horrors of that night? Why shall I pause
to relate how, time after time, until near the period of
the gray dawn, this hideous drama of revification was


**o iſ ſº unrº
ºw ºn 1


266 TALES.
An hour thus elapsed when (could it be possible 2)
I was a second time aware of some vague sound issuing
from the region of the bed. I listened — in extremity
of horror. The sound came again — it was a sigh.
Rushing to the corpse, I saw — distinctly saw — a
tremor upon the lips. In a minute afterward they
relaxed, disclosing a bright line of the pearly teeth.
Amazement now struggled in my bosom with the pro-
found awe which had hitherto reigned there alone. I
felt that my vision grew dim, that my reason wandered ;
and it was only by a violent effort that I at length
succeeded in nerving myself to the task which duty thus
once more had pointed out. There was now a partial
glow upon the forehead and upon the cheek and throat;
a perceptible warmth pervaded the whole frame; there
was even a slight pulsation at the heart. The lady
/ived, and with redoubled ardor I betook myself to
the task of restoration. I chaſed and bathed the temples
and the hands, and used every exertion which expe-
rience, and no little medical reading, could suggest.
But in vain. Suddenly, the color fled, the pulsation
ceased, the lips resumed the expression of the dead,
and, in an instant afterward, the whole body took upon
itself the icy chilliness, the livid hue, the intense
rigidity, the sunken outline, and all the loathsome
peculiarities of that which has been, for many days, a
tenant of the tomb.
And again I sunk into visions of Ligeia — and again,
(what marvel that I shudder while I write *) again
there reached my ears a low sob from the region of
the ebony bed. But why shall I minutely detail the
unspeakable horrors of that night Why shall I pause
to relate how, time after time, until near the period of
the gray dawn, this hideous drama of revification was


LlGflA.
Diaun bj WogiL


«*»
*f«.








LIGEIA. 267
repeated; how each terrific relapse was only into a
sterner and apparently more irredeemable death; how
each agony wore the aspect of a struggle with some
invisible foe; and how each struggle was succeeded
by I know not what of wild change in the personal
appearance of the corpse? Let me hurry to a con-
clusion.
The greater part of the fearful night had worn
away, and she who had been dead, once again stirred
— and now more vigorously than hitherto, although
arousing from a dissolution more appalling in its utter
hopelessness than any. I had long ceased to struggle
or to move, and remained sitting rigidly upon the otto-
man, a helpless prey to a whirl of violent emotions, of
which extreme awe was perhaps the least terrible, the
least consuming. The corpse, I repeat, stirred, and
now more vigorously than before. The hues of life
flushed up with unwonted energy into the countenance
— the limbs relaxed — and, save that the eyelids were
yet pressed heavily together, and that the bandages
and draperies of the grave still imparted their charnel
character to the figure, I might have dreamed that
Rowena had indeed shaken off, utterly, the fetters of
Death. But if this idea was not, even then, alto-
gether adopted, I could at least doubt no longer, when,
arising from the bed, tottering, with feeble steps, with
closed eyes, and with the manner of one bewildered
in a dream, the thing that was enshrouded advanced
boldly and palpably into the middle of the apartment.
I trembled not — I stirred not — for a crowd of
unutterable fancies connected with the air, the stature,
the demeanor of the figure, rushing hurriedly through
my brain, had paralyzed — had chilled me into stone.
I stirred not — but gazed upon the apparition. There


268 TALES.
was a mad disorder in my thoughts — a tumult unap-
peasable. Could it, indeed, be the living Rowena
who confronted me? Could it indeed be Rowena at
all— the fair-haired, the blue-eyed Lady Rowena
Trevanion of Tremaine r Why, wbj should I doubt
it? The bandage lay heavily about the mouth — but
then might it not be the mouth of the breathing Ladv
of Tremaine? And the cheeks — there were the
roses as in her noon of life — yes, these might indeed
be the fair cheeks of the living Lady of Tremaine.
And the chin, with its dimples, as in health, might it
not be hers ? — but had she then grown taller since ber
malady? What inexpressible madness seized me with
that thought? One bound, and I had reached her
feet! Shrinking from my touch, she let fall from her
head, unloosened, the ghastly cerements which had
confined it, and there streamed forth, into the rushing
atmosphere of the chamber, huge masses of long and
dishevelled hair; it was blacker than the raven wings
of the midnight! And now slowly opened tbe eyes
of the figure which stood before me. "Here then, at
least," I shrieked aloud, "can I never — can I never
be mistaken — these are the full, and the black, and
the wild eyes — of my lost love — of the lady — of
the Lady Ligeia."


HOW TO WRITE A BLACK-
WOOD ARTICLE.
[The American Museum, December, 1838; 1840;
Broadway Journal, II. 1.]
"In the name of the Prophet — figs!!"
Cry of Turltiib fig-ftdler.
I presume everybody has heard of me. My name
is the Signora Psyche Zenobia. This I know to be
a fact. Nobody but my enemies ever calls me Suky
Snobbs. I have been assured that Suky is but a vulgar
corruption of Psyche, which is good Greek, and means
"the soul" (that's me, I 'm all %oa\) and sometimes
"a butterfly," which latter meaning undoubtedly al-
ludes to my appearance in my new crimson satin dress,
with the sky-blue Arabian mantelet, and the trimmings
of green agraffas, and the seven flounces of orange-
colored auriculas. As for Snobbs — any person who
should look at me would be instantly aware that my
name was n't Snobbs. Miss Tabitha Turnip propa-
gated that report through sheer envy. Tabitha Turnip
indeed! Oh the little wretch! But what can we
expect from a turnip? Wonder if she remembers the
old adage about "blood out of a turnip, &c."
EMem: put her in mind of it the first opportunity.]
Mem again — pull her nose.] Where was I? Ah!
O09)


270 TALES.
I have been assured that Snobbs is a mere corruption
of Zenobia, and that Zenobia was a queen — (So am
I. Dr. Moneypenny, always calls me the Queen of
Hearts) — and that Zenobia, as well as Psyche, is
good Greek, and that my father was "a Greek," and
that consequently I have a right to our patronymic,
which is Zenobia, and not by any means Snobbs.
Nobody but Tabitha Turnip calls me Suky Snobbs.
I am the Signora Psyche Zenobia.
As I said before, everybody has heard of me. I
am that very Signora Psyche Zenobia, so justly cele-
brated as corresponding secretary to the " Philadelphia,
Regular, Excbange, Tea, Total, Young, Belles, Let-
tres, Universal, Experimental, Bibliographical Associa-
tion, To, Civilize, Humanity." Dr. Moneypenny
made the title for us, and says he chose it because it
sounded big like an empty rum-puncheon. (A vulgar
man that sometimes — but he's deep.) We all sign
the initials of the society after our names, in the fashion
of the R. S. A., Royal Society of Arts — the S. D.
U. K., Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge,
&c. &c. Dr. Moneypenny says that S stands for stale,
and that D. U. K. spells duck, (but it don't,) and
that S. D. U. K. stands for Stale Duck, and not for
Lord Brougham's society — but then Dr. Moneypenny
is such a queer man that I am never sure when he is
telling me the truth. At any rate we always add to our
names the initials P. R. E. T. T. Y. B. L. U. E.
B. A. T. C. H. — that is to say, Philadelphia, Regular,
Exchange, Tea, Total, Young, Belles, Lettres, Uni-
versal, Experimental, Bibliographical, Association, To,
Civilize, Humanity — one letter for each word, which
is a decided improvement upon Lord Brougham. Dr.
Moneypenny will have it that our initials give our


A BLACKWOOD ARTICLE. 271
tTue character—but for my life I can't see what he
means.
Notwithstanding the good offices of the Doctor, and
the strenuous exertions of the association to get itself
into notice, it met with no very great success until I
joined it. The truth is, members indulged in too
flippant a tone of discussion. The papers read every
Saturday evening were characterized less by depth than
buffoonery. They were all whipped syllabub. There
was no investigation of first causes, first princi-
ples. There was no investigation of anything at all.
There was no attention paid to that great point the*"*"
"fitness of things." In short there was no fine writ-
ing like this. It was all low — very! No profundity,
no reading, no metaphysics— nothing which the learned
call spirituality, and which the unlearned choose to
stigmatise as cant. [Dr. M. says I ought to spell
"cant" with a capital K — but I know better.]
When I joined the society it was my endeavour to
introduce a better style of thinking and writing, and all
the world knows how well I have succeeded. We get
up as good papers now in the P. R. E. T. T. Y.
B. L. U. E. B. A. T. C. H. as any to be found even in
Blackwood. I say, Blackwood, because I have been'TV
assured that the finest writing, upon every subject, is to v
be discovered in the pages of that justly celebrated
Magazine. We now take it for our model upon all
themes, and are getting into rapid notice accordingly.
And, after all, it's not so very difficult a matter to
compose an article of the genuine Blackwood stamp, if
one only goes properly about it. Of course I don't
speak of the political articles. Everybody knows how
ibey are managed, since Dr. Moneypenny explained it.
Mr. Blackwood has a pair of tailor's-shears, and three


27.2 TALES.
apprentices who stand by him for orders. One hands
him the “Times,’’ another the “Examiner,” and a
third a “Gulley's New Compendium of Slang-
Whang.” Mr. B. merely cuts out and intersperses.
It is soon done – nothing but Examiner, Slang-
Whang, and Times — then Times, Slang Whang, and
3.xaminer — and then Times, Examiner, and Slang-
Whang.
But the chief merit of the Magazine lies in its mis-
cellaneous articles ; and the best of these come under
the head of what Dr. Moneypenny calls the bizarr-
crie, (whatever that may mean) and what everybody
else calls the intensities. This is a species of writing
which I have long known how to appreciate, although
it is only since my late visit to Mr. Blackwood (de-
puted by the society) that I have been made aware of
the exact method of composition. This method is very
simple, but not so much so as the politics. Upon my
calling at Mr. B.'s, and making known to him the
wishes of the society, he received me with great civility,
took me into his study, and gave me a clear explana-
tion of the whole process.
“My dear madam,” said he, evidently struck with
my majestic appearance, for I had on the crimson satin,
with the green agrºffa, and orange-coloured auriculas,
“My fear madam,” said he, “sit down. The mat-
!er stands thus. In the first place, your writer of
intensities must have very black ink, and a very big
wen, with a very blunt nib. And, mark me, Miss
Psyche Zenobia ' " he continued, after a pause, with
the most impressive energy and solemnity of manner,
“ mark me ! — that per – "last — never be mended !
ilerein, madam, lies the secret, the soul, of intensity.
assume upon myself to say, that no individual, of


A BLACKWOOD ARTICLE. 273
however great genius, ever wrote with a good pen,t=cr
understand me, — a good article. You may take it for
granted, that when manuscript can be read it is never
worth reading. This is a leading principle in our
faith, to which if you cannot readily assent, our confer-
ence is at an end."
He paused. But, of course, as I had no wish to
put an end to the conference, I assented to a proposi-
tion so very obvious, and one, too, of whose truth I
had all along been sufficiently aware. He seemed
pleased, and went on with his instructions.
"It may appear invidious in me, Miss Psyche Zen-
obia, to refer you to any article, or set of articles, in
the way of model or_study; yet perhaps I may as
well call your attention to a few cases. Let me see.
There was ' The Dead Alive,' a capital thing ! — the
record of a gentleman's sensations when entombed be-
fore the breath was out of his body — full of taste,
terror, sentiment, metaphysics, and erudition. You
would have sworn that the writer had been born and
brought up in a coffin. Then we had the ' Confessions
tf an Opium-eater ' — fine, very fine ! — glorious im-
agination — deep philosophy — acute speculation —
plenty of fire and fury, and a good spicing of the de-
cidedly unintelligible. That was a nice bit of flummery,
and went down the throats of the people delightfully.
They would have it that Coleridge wrote the paper —
but not so. It was composed by my pet baboon,
Juniper, over a rummer of Hollands and water, * hot,
without sugar.'" [This I could scarcely have be-
lieved had it been anybody but Mr. Blackwood, who
assured me of it.] "Then there was 'The Involun-
tary Experimentalist,' all about a gentleman who got
baked in an oven, and came out alive and well, al-
vol. 11.—18


274 TALES.
)
though certainly doae to m tn. And then there was
* The Diary tf a Lett Pbyidtm^ where the merit lay
in good rant, and indifferent Greek — both of them
taking things with the pabBc And then there was
* The Men is the Bell,' a paper by-the-bye, Mi:s
Zenobaa, which I cannot sufficiently recommend -"o
tout auention. It is the history of a young per-
son who goes to sleep under the clapper of a church
bell, and is awakened by its tolling for a funeral. The
sound drires him mad, and, accordingly, pulling out
his tablets, he gives a record of his sensations. Sen-
sations are the great tilings after all. Should you ever
be drowned or h-ng, be sure and make a note of your
sensations — they will be worth to you ten guineas a
sheet. If you wish to write forcibly, Miss Zenobi..,
pay minute attention to the sensations."r"
"That I certainly will, Mr. Blackwood," said I.
*' Good!" he replied. "I see you are a pupil
after my own heart. But I must put you an fait to
the details necessary in composing what may be denom-
inated a genuine Blackwood article of the sensation
stamp — the kind which you will understand me to say
I consider the best for all purposes.
"The first thing requisite is to get yourself into
such a scrape as no one ever got into before. The
oven, for instance, — that was a good hit. But if you
have no oven, or big bell, at hand, and if you cannot
conveniently tumble out of a balloon, or be swallowed
up in an earthquake, or get stuck fast in a chimney,
you will have to be contented with simply imagining
some similar misadventure. I should prefer, however,
that you have the actual fact to bear you out. Nothing
so well assists the fancy, as an experimental knowledge
of the matter in hand. 'Truth is strange,' you know,


A BLACKWOOD ARTICLE. 275
'stranger than fiction ' — besides being more to the
purpose."
Here I assured him I had an excellent pair of gar-
ters, and would go and hang myself forthwith.
"Good!" he replied, "do so ; — although hang-
ing is somewhat hacknied. Perhaps you might do
better. Take a dose of Brandreth's pills, and then
give us your sensations. However, my instructions
will apply equally well to any variety of misadventure,
and in your way home you may easily get knocked in
the head, or run over by an omnibus, or bitten by a
mad dog, or drowned in a gutter. But, to proceed.
"Having determined upon your subject, you must l^
next consider the tone, or manner, of your narra-
tion. There is the tone didactic, the tone enthusiastic,
the tone natural — all common-place enough. But
then there is the tone laconic, or curt, which has
lately come much into use. It consists in short sen-
tences. Somehow thus. Can't be too brief. Can't
be too snappish. Always a full stop. And never a
paragraph.
"Then there is the tone elevated, diffusive, and in-
terjectional. Some of our best novelists patronize this
tone. The words must be all in a whirl, like at-
humming-top, and make a noise very similar, which
answers remarkably well instead of meaning. This is
the best of all possible styles where the writer is in too
great a hurry to think.
"The tone metaphysical is also a good one. If you ^
know any big words this is your chance for them.
Talk of the Ionic and Eleatic schools — of Archytas,
Gorgias and Alcmaeon. Say something about objec-
tivity and subjectivity. Be sure and abuse a man called^
Locke. Turn up your nose at things in general, and


276 TALES.
when you let slip anything 1 little In absurd, you need
not be at the trouble of scratching it out, but just add a
foot-note, and say that you are indebted for the above
profound observation to the 'Kritik der reinen Vcr-
amaft,, or to the 'Mttaibyisthe Aafaugsgruade der
Kitsrmiiunscksft, This will look erudite and — and
— and frank.
"There are Tarious other tones of equal celebrity,
but I shall mention only two more — the tone tnaacen-
dental and the tone heterogeneous. In the former the
merit consists in seeing into the nature of affairs a very
great deal farther than any body else. This second sight
is very efficient when properly managed. A little read-
ing of the 'Dial' will carry you a great way. Eschew,
in this case, big words; get them as small as possible,
and write them upside down. Look over Charming's
poems and quote what he says about a * fat little man
with a delusive show of Can., Put in something about
the Supernal Oneness. Don't say a syllable about the
Infernal Twoness. Above all, study inuendo. Hint"
everything — assert nothing. If you feel inclined to
say 'bread and butter,, do not by any means say it
outright. You may say anything and everything ap-
irtacbing to 'bread and butter.' You may hint at
buck-wheat cake, or you maw even go so far as to
insinuate oat-meal porridge,''Dut if bread and butter
be your real meaning, be cautious, my dear Miss
Psvche, not on anv account to say 'bread and but-
ter !,"
I assured him that I should never say it again as
long as I lived. He kissed me and continued:
"As for the tone heterogeneous, it is merely a judi-
cious mixture, in equal proportions, of aU_the other
tones in the world, and is consequently made up of


A BLACKWOOD ARTICLE. 277
everything deep, great, odd, piquant, pertinent, and
pretty.
"Let us suppose now you have determined upon
your incidents and tone. The most important por-
tion, — in fact, the soul of the whole business, is yet
to be attended to — I allude to the filling up. It is
not to be supposed that a lady or gentleman either
has been leading the life of a bookworm. And yet
above all things it is necessary that your article have an
air of erudition, or at least afford evidence of extensive
general reading. Now I '11 put you in the way of ac-
complishing this point. See here!" (pulling down
some three or four ordinary looking volumes, and open-
ing them at random). "By casting your eye down
almost any page of any book in the world, you will be
able to perceive at once a host of little scraps of either
learning or bel-esprit-ism, which are the very thing for
the spicing of a Blackwood article. You might as well
note down a few while I read them to you. I shall
make two divisions: first, Piquant Facts for the Man-
ufacture of Similes; and second, Piquant Expressions
to be introduced as occasion may require. Write
now!—" and I wrote as he dictated.
"Piquant Facts for Similes. 'There were orig-
inally but three Muses — Melete, Mneme, Aoede —
meditation, memory, and singing.' You may make a
great deal of that little fact if properly worked. You
see it is not generally known, and looks recbercbi. You
must be careful and give the thing with a downright
improviso air.
"Again. 'The river Alpheus passed beneath the
sea, and emerged without injury to the purity of its
waters.' Rather stale that, to be sure, but, if prop-


278 TALES.
erly dressed and dished up, will look quite as fresh as
ever.
"Here is something better. 'The Persian Iris
appears to some persons to possess a sweet and very
powerful perfume, while to others it is perfectly scent-
less., Fine that, and very delicate! Turn it about
a little, and it will do wonders. We '11 have some-
thing else in the botanical line. There 's nothing goes
down so well, especially with the help of a little Latin.
Write!
"' The Efidtndrum Fits Jeris, of Java, bears a
very beautiful flower, and will live when pulled up by
the roots. The natives suspend it by a cord from the
ceiling, and enjoy hs fragrance for years.' That's
capital! That will do for the similes. Now for the
Piquant Expressions.
"Piquant Expressions. 'The venerable Chinese
navel Ja-Kija-Li.' Good! By introducing these few
words with dexterity you will evince your intimate
acquaintance with the language and literature of the
Chinese. With the aid of this you may possibly get
along without either Arabic, or Sanscrit, or Chickasaw.
There is no passing muster, however, without Spanish,
Italian, German, Latin, and Greek. I must look you
out a little specimen of each. Any scrap will answer,
because you must depend upon your own ingenuity to
make it fit into your article. Now write!
"' Aussi ten fre que Zaire ' — as tender as Zaire —
French. Alludes to the frequent repetition of the
phrase, U tendre Zaire, in the French tragedy of that
name. Properly introduced, will show not only your
knowledge of the language, but your general reading
and wit. You can say, for instance, that the chicken


A BLACKWOOD ARTICLE. 279
you were eating (write an article about being choked
to death by a chicken-bone) was not altogether ausii
tendre que Zaire. Write!
'Ven muerte tan etcondida,
Slue no te tienta venir,
Porque el plazer del morir
No me lorne d dar la vida.'
That's Spanish — from Miguel de Cervantes. 'Come
quickly, O death ! but be sure and don't let me see you
coming, lest the pleasure I shall feel at your appearance
should unfortunately bring me back again to life.'
This you may slip in quite a propos when you are
struggling in the last agonies with the chicken-bone.
Write!
'// pover' buomo che non sen' era accorto,
An dava combattendo, ed era morto.'
That's Italian, you perceive, — from Ariosto. It
means that a great hero, in the heat of combat, not
perceiving that he had been fairly killed, continued to
fight valiantly, dead as he was. The application of
this to your own case is obvious — for I trust, Miss
Psyche, that you will not neglect to kick for at least an
hour and a half after you have been choked to death
by that chicken-bone. Please to write!
'Und sterb'ich doeb, to sterb'ieh denn
Dureb tie — durch sie!'
That's German — from Schiller. 'And if I die, at
least I die — for thee — for thee!' Here it is clear
that you are apostrophising the cause of your disaster,


280 TALES.
the chicken. Indeed what gentleman (or lady either)
of sense, would V7 die, I should like to know, for a
well fattened capon of the right Molucca breed, stuffed
with capers and mushrooms, and served up in a salad-
bowl, with orange-jellies en mosaiques. Write! (You
can get them that way at Tortoni's,) — Write, if you
please!
"Here is a nice little Latin phrase, and rare too,
(one can't be too recbercbi or brief in one's Latin, it's
getting so common,) — ignoratio elencbi. He has
committed an ignoratio elencbi — that is to say, he has
understood the words of your proposition, but not the
ideas. The man was a fool, you see. Some poor fellow
whom you addressed while choking with that chicken-
bone, and who therefore did n't precisely understand
what you were talking about. Throw the ignoratio
elencbi in his teeth, and, at once, you have him anni-
hilated. If he dare to reply, you can tell him from
Lucan (here it is) that speeches are mere anemonae
verborum, anemone words. The anemone, with great
brilliancy, has no smell. Or, if he begin to bluster,
you may be down upon him with insomnia Jovis,
reveries of Jupiter — a phrase which Silius Italicus (see
here !) applies to thoughts pompous and inflated. This
will be sure and cut him to the heart. He can do
nothing but roll over and die. Will you be kind
enough to write?
"In Greek we must have something pretty — from
Demosthenes, for example. 'Avrjp 6 (jxCyav *ai irdXtr
lui
)iriTai. [Aner o pheugon kai palin makesetai.]
There is a tolerably good translation of it in Hudi-
bras —
For he that flies may fight again,
Which he can never do that's slain.


A BLACKWOOD ARTICLE. 281
In a Blackwood article nothing makes so fine a show
as your Greek. The very letters have an air of pro-
fundity about them. Only observe, madam, the astute
look of that Epsilon! That Phi ought certainly to be
a bishop! Was ever there a smarter fellow than that
Omicron? Just twig that Tau ! ( In short, there is
nothing like Greek for a genuine sensation-paperi In
the present case your application is the most obvious
thing in the world. Rap out the sentence, with a
huge oath, and by way of ultimatum at the good-for-
nothing dunder-headed villain who could n't understand
your plain English in relation to the chicken-bone.
He '11 take the hint and be off, you may depend upon
it."
These were all the instructions Mr. B. could afford
me upon the topic in question, but I felt they would
be entirely sufficient. I was, at length, able to writeJ^'
a genuine Blackwood article, and determined to do it
forthwith. In taking leave of me, Mr. B. made a
proposition for the purchase of the paper when written;
but as he could offer me only fifty guineas a sheet, I
thought it better to let our society have it, than sacri-
fice it for so paltry a sum. Notwithstanding this nig-
gardly spirit, however, the gentleman showed his
consideration for me in all other respects, and indeed
treated me with the greatest civility. His parting
words made a deep impression upon my heart, and I
hope I shall always remember them with gratitude.
"My dear Miss Zenobia," he said, while the tears
stood in his eyes, "is there anything else I can do to
promote the success of your laudable undertaking?
Let me reflect! It is just possible that you may not
be able, so soon as convenient, to — to — get yourself
drowned, or — choked with a chicken-bone, or — or


Z&2 TALES.
hung, — or — bitten by a — but stay! Now I think
me of it, there are a couple of very excellent bull dogs
in the yard — fine fellows, I assure you — savage, and
all that — indeed just the thing for your money —
they '11 have you eaten up, auriculas and all, in less
than five minutes (here 's my watch ! ) — and then
only think of the sensations! Here! I say — Tom!
— Peter ! — Dick, you villain !— let out those " —
but as I was really in a great hurry, and had not
another moment to spare, I was reluctantly forced to
expedite my departure, and accordingly took leave at
once — somewhat more abruptly, I admit, than strict
courtesy would have, otherwise allowed.
It was my primary object, upon quitting Mr. Black-
(wood, to get into some immediate difficulty, pursuant
to his advice, and with this view I spent the greater
part of the day in wandering about Edinburgh, seeking
for desperate adventures — adventures adequate to the
intensity of my feelings, and adapted to the vast char-
acter of the article I intended to write. In this ex-
cursion I was attended by one negro-servant Pompey,
and my little lap-dog Diana, whom I had brought with
me from Philadelphia. It was not, however, until
late in the afternoon that I fully succeeded in my ar-
duous undertaking. An important event then hap-
pened, of which the following Blackwood article, in
the tone heterogeneous, is the substance and result.


A PREDICAMENT.
THE SCYTHE OF TIME.
[The American Museum, December, 1838; 1840;
Broadway Journal, II. 18.]
What chance, good lady, hath bereft you thus ?— Com us.
It was a quiet and still afternoon when I strolled
forth in the goodly city of Edina. The confusion and
bustle in the streets were terrible. Men were talking.
Women were screaming. Children were choking.
Pigs were whistling. Carts they rattled. Bulls thev
bellowed. Cows they lowed. Horses they neighed.
Cats they caterwauled. Dogs they danced. Danced!
Could it then be possible? Danced! Alas, thought
I, my dancing days are over! Thus it is ever. What
a host of gloomy recollections will ever and anon be
awakened in the mind of genius and imaginative con-
templation, especially of a genius doomed to the ever-
lasting, and eternal, and continual, and, as one might
say, the — continued — yes, the continued and continu-
ous, bitter, harassing, disturbing, and, if I may be
allowed the expression, the very disturbing influence
of the serene, and godlike, and heavenly, and exalting,
and elevated, and purifying effect of what may be rightly
termed the most enviable, the most truly enviable —
nay! the most benignly beautiful, the most deliriously
(283)


284 TALES.
ethereal, and, as it were, the most pretty (if I may
use so bold an expression) thing (pardon me, gentle
reader!) in the word — but I am led away by my
feelings. In sucb a mind, I repeat, what a host of
recollections are stirred up by a trifle! The dogs
danced! /— I could not! They frisked — I wept.
They capered — I sobbed aloud. Touching circum-
stances! which cannot fail to bring to the recollection
of the classical reader that exquisite passage in relation
to the fitness of things, which is to be found in the
commencement of the third volume of that admirable
and venerable Chinese novel, the Jt-Gt-$lov>.
In my solitary walk through the city I had two
humble but faithful companions. Diana, my poodle!
sweetest of creatures! She had a quantity of hair over
her one eye, and a blue ribband tied fashionably around
her neck. Diana was not more than five inches in
height, but her head was somewhat bigger than her
body, and her tail, being cut off exceedingly close,
gave an air of injured innocence to the interesting ani-
mal which rendered her a favorite with all.
And Pompey, my negro ! — sweet Pompey! how
shall I ever forget thee? I had taken Pompey's arm.
He was three feet in height (I like to be particular)
and about seventy, or perhaps eighty, years of age.
He had bow-legs and was corpulent. His mouth
should not be called small, nor his ears short. His
teeth, however, were like pearl, and his large full eyet
were deliriously white. Nature had endowed him
with no neck, and had placed his ankles (as usual with
that race) in the middle of the upper portion of the
feet. He was clad with a striking simplicity. His
sole garments were a stock of nine inches in height,
and a nearly-new drab overcoat which had formerly


A PREDICAMENT. 285
been in the service of the tall, stately, and illustrious
Dr. Moneypenny. It was a good overcoat. It was
well cut. It was well made. The coat was nearly
new. Pompey held it up out of the dirt with both
hands.
There were three persons in our party, and two of
them have already been the subject of remark. There
was a third — that third person was myself. I am the
Signora Psyche Zenobia. I am not Suky Snobbs. My
appearance is commanding. On the memorable occa-
sion of which I speak I was habited in a crimson satin
dress, with a sky-blue Arabian mantelet. And the
dress had trimmings of green agraffas, and seven grace-
ful flounces of the orange colored auricula. I thus
formed the third of the party. There was the poodle.
There was Pompey. There was myself. We were
three. Thus it is said there were originally but three
Furies — Melty, Nimmy and Hetty — Meditation,
Memory, and Fiddling.
Leaning upon the arm of the gallant Pompey, and
attended at a respectful distance by Diana, I proceeded
down one of the populous and very pleasant streets of
the now deserted Edina. On a sudden, there presented
itself to view a church — a Gothic cathedral — vast,
venerable, and with a tall steeple, which towered into
the sky. What madness now possessed me? Why
did I rush upon my fate? I was seized with an uncon-
trollable desire to ascend the giddy pinnacle, and thence
survey the immense extent of the city. The door of
the cathedral stood invitingly open. My destiny pre-
vailed. I entered the ominous archway. Where then
was my guardian angel ?— if indeed such angels there
be. If! Distressing monosyllable! what a world
of mystery, and meaning, and doubt, and uncertainty


286 TALES.
is there involved in thy two letters! I entered the
ominous archway! I entered; and, without injury
to my orange-colored auriculas, I passed beneath the
portal, and emerged within the vestibule! Thus it is
said the immense river Alfred passed, unscathed, and
unwetted, beneath the sea.
I thought the staircases would never have an end.
Round! Yes, they went round and up and round and
up and round and up, until I could not help surmising,
with the sagacious Pompey, upon whose supporting
arm I leaned in all the confidence of early affection —
I could not help surmising that the upper end of the
continuous spiral ladder had been accidentally, or per-
haps designedly, removed. I paused for breath; and,
in the meantime, an incident occurred of too momen-
tous a nature in a moral, and also in a metaphysical
point of view, to be passed over without notice. It
appeared to me — indeed I was quite confident of the
fact — I could not be mistaken — no! I had, for
some moments, carefully and anxiously observed the
motions of my Diana — I say that / could not be mis-
taken — Diana smelt a rat! At once I called Pom-
pey's attention to the subject, and he — he agreed
with me. There was then no longer any reasonable
room for doubt. The rat had been smelled — and
by Diana. Heavens ! shall I ever forget the intense
excitement of that moment? Alas! what is the
boasted intellect of man? The rat !— it was there —
that is to say, it was somewhere. Diana smelled the
rat. I — / could not! Thus it is said the Prussian
Isis has, for some persons, a sweet and very powerful
perfume, while to others it is perfectly scentless.
The staircase had been surmounted, and there were
now only three or four more upward steps intervening


A PREDICAMENT. 287
between us and the summit. We still ascended, and
now only one step remained. One step! One little,
little step! Upon one such little step in the great
staircase of human life how vast a sum of human
happiness or misery often depends! I thought of my-
self, then of Pompey, and then of the mysterious and
inexplicable destiny which surrounded us. I thought
of Pompey ! — alas, I thought of love! I thought of
the many false steps which have been taken, and may
be taken again. I resolved to be more cautious, more
reserved. I abandoned the arm of Pompey, and,
without his assistance, surmounted the one remaining
step, and gained the chamber of the belfry. I was
followed immediately afterwards by my poodle. Pom-
pey alone remained behind. I stood at the head of the
staircase, and encouraged him to ascend. He stretched
forth to me his hand, and unfortunately in so doing
was forced to abandon his firm hold upon the overcoat.
Will the gods never cease their persecution? The
overcoat it dropped, and, with one of his feet, Pom-
pey stepped upon the long and trailing skirt of the
overcoat. He stumbled and fell — this consequence
was inevitable. He fell forwards, and, with his ac-
cursed head, striking me full in the — in the breast,
precipitated me headlong, together with himself, upon
the hard, filthy and detestable floor of the belfry. But
my revenge was sure, sudden and complete. Seizing
him furiously by the wool with both hands, I tore out
a vast quantity of the black, and crisp, and curling
material, and tossed it from me with every manifesta-
tion of disdain. It fell among the ropes of the belfry
and remained. Pompey arose, and said no word.
But he regarded me piteously with his large eyes and
— sighed. Ye gods — that sigh! It sunk into my


288 TALES.
heart. And the hair — the wool! Could I have
reached that wool I would have bathed it with my
tears, in testimony of regret. But alas! it was now
far beyond my grasp. As it dangled among the
cordage of the bell, J fancied it still alive. I fancied
that it stood on end with indignation. Thus the bappj-
dandy Flos Aeris of Java, bears, it is said, a beautiful
flower, which will live when pulled up by the roots.
The natives suspend it by a cord from the ceiling and
enjoy its fragrance for years.
Our quarrel was now made up, and we looked about
the room for an aperture through which to survey the
city of Edina. Windows there were none. The
sole light admitted into the gloomy chamber proceeded
from a square opening, about a foot in diameter, at a
height of about seven feet from the floor. Yet what
will the energy of true genius not effect? I resolved
to clamber up to this hole. A vast quantity of wheels,
pinions, and other cabalistic looking machinery stood
opposite the hole, close to it; and through the hole
there passed an iron rod from the machinery. Be-
tween the wheels and the wall where the hole lay,
there was barely room for my body — yet I was des-
perate, and determined to persevere. I called Pompey
to my side.
"You perceive that aperture, Pompey. I wish to
look through it. You will stand here just beneath the
hole — so. Now, hold out one of your hands, Pom-
pey, and let me step upon it — thus. Now, the other
hand, Pompey, and with its aid I will get upon your
shoulders."
He did everything I wished, and I found, upon
getting up, that I could easily pass my head and neck
through the aperture. The prospect was sublime.


A PREDICAMENT. 289
Nothing could be more magnificent. I merely paused
a moment to bid Diana behave herself, and assure
Pompey that I would be considerate and bear as lightly
as possible upon his shoulders. I told him I would be
tender of his feelings — ossi tender que beefsteak.
Having done this justice to my faithful friend, I gave
myself up with great zest and enthusiasm to the enjoy-
ment of the scene which so obligingly spread itself out
before my eyes.
Upon this subject, however, I shall forbear to dilate.
I will not describe the city of Edinburgh. Every one
has been to Edinburgh — the classic Edina. I will
confine myself to the momentous details of my own
lamentable adventure. Having, in some measure, sat-
isfied my curiosity in regard to the extent, situation,
and general appearance of the city, I had leisure to
survey the church in which I was, and the delicate
architecture of the steeple. I observed that the aper-
ture through which I had thrust my head was an open-
ing in the dial-plate of a gigantic clock, and must have
appeared, from the street, as a large key hole, such as
we see in the face of French watches. No doubt the
true object was to admit the arm of an attendant, to
adjust, when necessary, the hands of the clock from
within. I observed also, with surprise, the immense
size of these hands, the longest of which could not
have been less than ten feet in length, and, where
broadest, eight or nine inches in breadth. They were
of solid steel apparently, and their edges appeared to
be sharp. Having noticed these particulars, and some
others, I again turned my eyes upon the glorious pros-
pect below, and soon became absorbed in contempla-
tion.
From this, after some minutes, I was aroused by the
vol. 11.—19


290 TALES.
voice of Pompey, who declared he could stand it no
longer, and requested that I would be so kind as to
come down. This was unreasonable, and I told him
so in a speech of some length. He replied, but with
an evident misunderstanding of my ideas upon the sub-
ject. I accordingly grew angry, and told him in plain
words that he was a fool, that he had committed an
ignoramus e-clencb-eye, that his notions were mere in-
summary Bovis, and his words little better than an
ennemywerryior' em. With this he appeared satisfied,
and I resumed my contemplations.
It might have been half an hour after this alterca-
tion when, as I was deeply absorbed in the heavenly
scenery beneath me, I was startled by something very
cold which pressed with a gentle pressure upon the
back of my neck. It is needless to say that I felt in-
expressibly alarmed. I knew that Pompey was be-
neath my feet, and that Diana was sitting, according
to my explicit directions, upon her hind legs in the
farthest corner of the room. What could it be?
Alas! I but too soon discovered. Turning my head
gently to one side, I perceived, to my extreme horror,
that the huge, glittering, scimjtar-like minute-hand of
the clock, had, in the course of its hourly revolution,
descended upon my neck. There was, I knew, not a
second to be lost. I pulled back at once — but it
was too late. There was no chance of forcing my
head through the mouth of that terrible trap in which
it was so fairly caught, and which grew narrower and
narrower with a rapidity too horrible to be conceived.
The agony of that moment is not to be imagined. I
threw up my hands and endeavored, with all my
strength, to force upwards the ponderous iron bar. I
might as well have tried to lift the cathedral itself.


A PREDICAMENT. 291
Down, down, down it came, closer, and yet closer.
I screamed to Pompey for aid: but he said that I had
hurt his feelings by calling him "an ignorant old
squint eye." I yelled to Diana; but she only said
"bow-wow-wow," and that " I had told her on no
account to stir from the corner." Thus I had no
relief to expect from my associates.
Meantime the ponderous and terrific Scythe of Time
(for I now discovered the literal import of that classical
phrase) had not stopped, nor was it likely to stop, in
its career. Down and still down, it came. It had
already buried its sharp edge a full inch in my flesh,
and my sensations grew indistinct and confused. At
one time I fancied myself in Philadelphia with the
stately Dr. Moneypenny, at another in the back parlor
of Mr. Blackwood receiving his invaluable instructions.
And then again the sweet recollection of better and
earlier times came over me, and I thought of that happy
period when the world was not all a desert, and
Pompey not altogether cruel.
The ticking of the machinery amused me. Amused
me, I say, for my sensations now bordered upon perfect
happiness, and the most trifling circumstances afforded
me pleasure. The eternal click-clack, click-clack,
click-clack, of the clock was the most melodious of
music in my ears, and occasionally even put me in mind
of the grateful sermonic harangues of Dr. Ollapod.
Then there were the great figures upon the dial-plate
— how intelligent, how intellectual, they all looked!
And presently they took to dancing the Mazurka, and
I think it was the figure V who performed the most to
my satisfaction. She was evidently a lady of breeding.
None of your swaggerers, and nothing at all indelicate
in her motions. She did the pirouette to admiration


292 TALES.
— whirling round upon her apex. I made an en-
deavor to hand her a chair, for I saw that she appeared
fatigued with her exertions — and it was not until then
that I fully perceived my lamentable situation. Lament-
able indeed! The bar had buried itself two inches in
my neck. I was aroused to a sense of exquisite pain.
I prayed for death, and, in the agony of the moment,
could not help repeating those exquisite verses of the
poet Miguel De Cervantes:
Vanny Buren, tan cscondida
Query no te senty venny
Pork and pleasure, delly morry
Nommy, torny, darry widdy!
But now a new horror presented itself, and one in-
deed sufficient to startle the strongest nerves. My
eyes, from the cruel pressure of the machine, were
absolutely starting from their sockets. While I was
thinking how I should possibly manage without them,
one actually tumbled out of my head, and, rolling down
the steep side of the steeple, lodged in the rain gutter
which ran along the eaves of the main building. The
loss of the eye was not so much as the insolent air of
independence and contempt with which it regarded me
after it was out. There it lay in the gutter just under
my nose, and the airs it gave itself would have been
ridiculous had they not been disgusting. Such a winking
and blinking were never before seen. This behaviour
on the part of my eye in the gutter was not only irri-
tating on account of its manifest insolence and shameful
ingratitude, but was also exceedingly inconvenient on
account of the sympathy which always exists between
two eyes of the same head, however far apart. I was
forced, in a manner, to wink and to blink, whether I


A PREDICAMENT. 293
would or not, in exact concert with the scoundrelly
thing that lay just under my nose. I was presently
relieved, however, by the dropping out of the other
eye. In falling it took the same direction (possibly a
concerted plot) as its fellow. Both rolled out of the
gutter together, and in truth I was very glad to get rid
of them.
The bar was now four inches and a half deep in my
neck, and there was only a little bit of skin to cut
through. My sensations were those of entire happi-
ness, for I felt that in a few minutes, at farthest, I
should be relieved from my disagreeable situation.
And in this expectation I was not at all deceived. At
twenty-five minutes past five in the afternoon precisely,
the huge minute-hand had proceeded sufficiently far on
its terrible revolution to sever the small remainder of my
neck. I was not sorry to see the head which had oc-
casioned me so much embarrassment at length make a
final separation from my body. It first rolled down
the side of the steeple, then lodged, for a few seconds,
in the gutter, and then made its way, with a plunge,
into the middle of the street.
I will candidly confess that my feelings were now
of the most singular — nay of the most mysterious, the
most perplexing and incomprehensible character. My
senses were here and there at one and the same mo-
ment. With my head I imagined, at one time, that I,
the head, was the real Signora Psyche Zenobia — at
another I felt convinced that myself, the body, was
the proper identity. To clear my ideas upon this topic
I felt in my pocket for my snuff-box, but, upon getting
it, and endeavoring to apply a pinch of its grateful con-
tents in the ordinary manner, I became immediately
aware of my peculiar deficiency, and threw the box at


294 TALES.
once down to my head. It took a pinch with great
satisfaction, and smiled me an acknowledgment in re-
turn. Shortly afterwards it made me a speech, which
I could hear but indistinctly without ears. I gathered
enough, however, to know that it was astonished at
my wishing to remain alive under such circumstances.
In the concluding sentences it quoted the noble words
of Ariosto —
// pover /tommy che non sera certy
And have a combat tjnty erry morty,
thus comparing me to the hero who, in the heat of the
combat, not perceiving that he was dead, continued to
contest the battle with inextinguishable valor. There
was nothing now to prevent my getting down from my
elevation, and I did so. What it was that Pompev
saw so very peculiar in my appearance I have never yet
been able to find out. The fellow opened his mouth
from ear to ear, and shut his two eyes as if he were
endeavoring to crack nuts between the lids. Finally,
throwing off his overcoat, he made one spring for the
staircase and disappeared. I hurled after the scoundrel
those vehement words of Demosthenes —
Andrew O' Pblegetbon, you really make baste to fly,
and then turned to the darling of my heart, to the one-
eyed, the shaggy-haired Diana. Alas! what a horrible
vision affronted my eyes! Was that a rat I saw skulk-
ing into his hole? Are these the picked bones of the
little angel who has been cruelly devoured by the mon-
ster? Ye Gods! and what do I behold — is that the
departed spirit, the shade, the ghost of my beloved
puppy, which I perceive sitting with a grace so melan-


A PREDICAMENT. 295
choly, in the corner Hearken! for she speaks, and,
heavens ! it is in the German of Schiller —
“Unt stubby duk, so stubby dun
Duk she duk she ''
Alas! and are not her words too true :
And if I died at least I died
For thee — for thee.
Sweet creature she too has sacrificed herself in my
behalf. Dogless, niggerless, headless, what now re-
mains for the unhappy Signora Psyche Zenobia Alas
—nothing / I have done.





NOTES.

(297)


ABBREVIATIONS USED IN THE NOTES.
o. — Omit.
o, c. — Omit comma or commas.
o. h. — Omit hyphen.
o, d. — Omit dash.
o, q. m. – Omit quotation marks.
o. a. — Omit accent.
s. 1. — Small letter.
cap. – Capital.
i. — Italics.
n. i. — Not italics.
p. – Page.
1. – Line.
The dates 1840, 1843, 1845, refer to the respective col-
lected editions.
The first group of each body of notes gives the variations
of the earliest collated form of the tale from the text of the
edition, the reading of the text standing first, with the cor-
responding reading of the collated form in parentheses. In
order to economize space, the second, third, or fourth state
was in most cases collated with the earliest forms, the read-
ing of the later form being placed first in the notes, with
the earliest form in parentheses.
(298)


INTRODUCTION TO THE
NOTES.
The works of few authors have been subjected by the
authors themselves to such careful and repeated revision as
were the Tales of Poe. The great majority of these tales
were published in magatines, newspapers, or volumes at
least twice, sometimes as many as four or five times, dur-
ing Poe's lifetime; and on nearly every republication the
Tales appeared in a revised form, the revision varying in
extent from a few unimportant emendations to the careful
reconstruction of almost every sentence.
Poe never seemed fully content with any state of his
work, correcting and emending with manuscript notes on
the margin even the latest printed form as found in the
edition of 1845 and in the Broadway Journal.
The carelessness of editors and of printers of that period
was a source of constant irritation to him, and he was ever
fearful that the work which he had been at such pains to
perfect would be bungled and mutilated at their hands.
The words taken as the motto of this edition, "I am
naturally anxious that what I have written should circulate
as I wrote it, if it circulate at all," express clearly his
intense solicitude for the preservation of the integrity of
his work, and it is in the hope of fulfilling as nearly as
possible this earnest desire that the present work on his
text has been undertaken.
Poe was unfortunate in having as the first editor of his
collected works a man so entirely lacking in sympathy for
him as was Griswold, and the result was an edition incom-
plete in matter and very defective in typography. Up to
(299)


300 NOTES.
the present time nearly every editor has been content to
accept the Griswokl text with all or most of its blunders,
and at the same time to present new errors not found in
the original.
In order to determine to what extent the best editions
of recent years vary from the Griswold text, and when
such variations are justifiable, a careful collation has been
made of the Stedman & Woodberry, Stoddard, and
Ingram texts with the Griswold, and the results, so far as
regards the principal verbal deviations, set down in the
Notes. The changes justified by the last form of a tale
or by manuscript notes are indicated ; others are the result
of error or unwarranted change by the editor under dis-
cussion. The variations in punctuation are too numer-
ous to catalogue; but it may be stated in, general terms
that Stoddard follows Griswold closely; Ingram varies
chiefly through numerous omissions; and Stedman &
Woodberry have made extensive revisions throughout with
a view to conforming to modern notions.
The Stedman & Woodberry edition was the first (that
is, if we disregard Ingram with his few corrections) to
start on independent lines, and attempt to establish a trust-
worthy text by reference to the original sources; but the
end has been but imperfectly accomplished. Some of the
Broadway Journal variant readings, together with the
manuscript notes, and most of the Lorimer Graham man-
uscript corrections, have been introduced, but Poe's punc-
tuation has been ignored even when a correction in such
occurs in his own handwriting ; capitals have been changed
to small letters and small letters to capitals; italics have
been disregarded in many cases; a "corrected form"
has been substituted for the quotations as given by Poe;
the spelling has been altered to conform to present-day
"usage and taste" ; and with the exception of the edi-
tion of 1845 and the Broadway Journal, little use seems
to have been made of other final forms, as very few of their
variant readings appear in the text.
The Stoddard edition is founded on Griswold, but


TALES. 301
alters, omits, or inserts numerous words without the
authority of the original issue or the manuscript notes of
Poe. Some of the typographical errors of Griswold are
corrected, but at the same time some of the worst
blunders are retained.
As hinted above, Ingram did not accept the text of
Griswold absolutely, but made some few changes on the
authority of the Broadway Journal, and altered a foreign
word here and there. Whatever improvement appears is
offset by a number of verbal errors. In several instances
unwarranted liberties have been taken with the text, as in
the passage in "The Murders in the Rue Morgue,"
where the editor attempts to improve the sense by re-
modelling the sentence, and again the omission of two
sentences in "The Tell-tale Heart." (See Notes.) The
earlier Graham state of "The Oval Portrait," with
alterations in spelling and punctuation, is published by
Ingram in preference to the shortened form as it appeared
later in the Broad-way Journal, sanctioned by Poe.
In the present edition the latest form of the tale
printed in Poe's lifetime has been taken as the text,
wherever this form was known and accessible, and this
original issue has been followed as closely as possible, the
only changes made being the insertion of manuscript
notes of Poe, the correction of a few obvious errors on
the authority of an earlier state of the tale, and the cor-
rection by the Editor of foreign or technical words; but
in every case where the original text is changed, the fact
is stated in the Notes. Under no circumstances has un-
warranted liberty been taken with either spelling, punctu-
ation, or verbiage, but the aim has been to preserve the
text as nearly as possible as Poe wrote it. In the Notes,
readings of the text variant from Griswold will be found
with the Griswold form immediately following in paren-
theses. In the case of a foreign or a technical word cor-
rected by the Editor, the corrected form comes first
enclosed in square brackets, with the incorrect Griswold
form following in parentheses, as elsewhere.


302 NOTES.
The Broadway Journal furnishes the text for forty-one
of Poe's tales, and as most of these were printed under
his own eye and supervision, we are to expect greater
typographical accuracy here than elsewhere; and such we
find to be the case. We have further the advantage of
knowing that Poe must have been fairly well satisfied with
the work, as the corrections made by him in manuscript in
his own copy of the Journal are confined to one verbal
change and the correction of a few typographical errors.
A few obvious errors, however, were overlooked by Poe,
and these have been corrected in this edition on the
authority of an earlier text.
The Duyckinck edition of 1845 contains the latest
form for eleven more of the Tales. Here, too, we have
the final seal of authority in the revisions as found in the
Lorimer Graham copy, formerly owned by Poe. These
manuscript corrections are much more numerous than
those found in the Broadway Journal, but are confined
to "The Gold Bug," "A Descent into the Mael-
strom," "The Murders in the Rue Morgue," "The
Mystery of Marie Roget," "The Purloined Letter,"
"The Man of the Crowd," and "Mesmeric Revela-
tion," the last two, however, having only one slight cor-
rection each. In '' The Gold Bug" the emendations
are much more frequent than in any of the others, and
some are quite important.
All the manuscript corrections in " A Descent into the
Maelstrom," as well as several in "The Gold Bug"
and in "The Mystery of Marie Roget," and nearly all
the corrections in punctuation appear in this edition for
the first time incorporated in a printed text. The above
mentioned constitute the extent of known manuscript
corrections in the Tales; elsewhere we have to accept
the printed form as final.
"Thou art the Man," "The Cask of Amontillado,"
and "Mellonta Taut a" follow the text as found in
Godey's Lady's Book. "The Cask of Amontillado"
appears in a somewhat revised form in Griswold, but as


304 NOTES.
Poe may determine the extent of the revision each tale
underwent from one publication to another and may trace
the gradual transformation of the text to its highly
finished state under the repeated touches of the master's
hand. The results of these collations have been collected
into groups of notes arranged in chronological order.
The first group of each body of notes gives the variations
of the earliest collated form of the tale from the text of
the edition, the reading of the text standing first, with
the corresponding reading of the collated form in paren-
theses. In order to economite space, the second, third,
or fourth state was in most cases collated with the earliest
form, the reading of the later form being placed first in
the Notes with the earliest form in parentheses.
The collation has been of the most minute character,
attempting to show even the slightest deviation in punctu-
ation as well as the most important verbal changes.
Every known text, with a few exceptions, has been col-
lated. The uncollated known texts are those in the
Philadelphia papers and in the "Mayflower," which
were not accessible, and "The Baltimore Saturday
Visiter," "The Flag of Our Union," and the exceed-
ingly rare edition of 1843, "Prose Romances of Edgar
A. Poe," none of which can be located.
As before stated, the revisions discovered by collation
vary considerably in extent, being now confined to sev-
eral slight changes in punctuation and verbiage, again
amounting to a rewriting verbally of the whole tale. As
to the character of these changes, we find the phraseology
polished and simplified, objectionable passages omitted,
the punctuation improved, titles altered, typographical
errors and inaccuracies of various kinds corrected, mot-
toes added or omitted, notes introduced, and so on.
Of the forty-one tales that appeared in the Broadivay
Journal, nearly all are found there in a far more revised
state than in any previous publication. Besides the other
changes, several of the tales were shortened, one con-
siderably. In "Berenice" one gruesome passage was


TALES. 305
omitted entirely. In "Morella" the hymn is left out.
"Lioniting" was extensively revised, so many variations
being noted that they would occupy nearly as much space
as the tale itself, so here the earliest. Southern Literary
Messenger, form is given in the Notes instead. "Loss of
Breath'' was abridged more than any other tale, several
pages describing the death on the gallows and subsequent
burial being left out entirely. "The Oval Portrait" is
shortened by the omission of all the passages referring to
the use of opium. "The Business Man" is the only
tale that occurs in the Broadway Journal lengthened to
any considerable extent. A number of the other Broad-
way Journal tales show the omission or insertion of a
sentence or phrase here and there, but in no others is
such variation in length discovered as in those above
mentioned.
In the collation of the tales of the edition of 1845 with
the earlier form of these tales, the changes are found to
be in general less extensive than those observed in the
case of the Broadivay Journal tales. However, in some
instances this revision was considerable, as in "The
Murders in the Rue Morgue," "The Mystery of Marie
Roget," and " The Fall of the House of Usher." The
extent of revision in "The Gold Bug" and " The Black
Cat" cannot be stated, as the earlier issues could not be
found and were not collated.
Of the tales other than those in the Broadivay Journal
and in the 1845 edition, the greater part are not known
to have appeared in print more than once, and the rest
show no great revision in their latest form, except '' The
Imp of the Perverse," which underwent extensive verbal
emendation.
The first chapters of '' A. Gordon Pym," which were
published in the Southern Literary Messenger, appear but
slightly revised in the edition of 1838.
The tales of the edition of 1840 which appeared in the
1 Southern Literary Messenger show no great number of
variations from the latter form. In general a few verbal
Vol. II. -jo


306 NOTES.
emendations were made, the spelling and punctuation
revised, and many of the numerous capitals of the South-
ern Literary Messenger substituted by small letters. So,
for the most part, the variations of the 1840 tales from
the earlier texts. Burton s Gentleman's Magazine, The
American Museum, etc., are seen to be fen as compared
with the last revision.
For more detailed information as to the various revi-
sions, the reader is referred to the Notes themselves.
R. A. Stewart.
Nots: — The editions used in collation were : — Ingram (The
Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe | by John H. Ingram j in
four Tolumes | London | John C. Nimmo | 1884); Stedman &
Woodberry (The Works of Edgar Allan Poe | Chicago | Stone &
Kimball | MDCCCXCV); Stoddard (Fordham Edition | New
York I A. C. Armstrong Sc Son | 1895); Griswold (J. S. Red-
field, New York, 1849-50 56).
The teat of the Tiles in the Ingram edition published by Black
of Edinburgh was also collated, and found to be substantially the
same as the same editor's edition published by Nimmo.


NOTES.
MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE.
Baltimore Saturday Visiter, October 12, 1833;
Southern Literary Messenger, December, 1835;
The Gift, 1836; 1840; Broadway Journal,
II., 14.
Text: Broadway Journal.
The earliest form of this tale could not be collated, as no file of
the Baltimore Saturday Visiter is known.
The Southern Literary Messenger state shows a number of varia-
tions from the text, and closely resembles The Gift state; in fact,
below the title in the Southern Literary Messenger the announce-
ment is made that the tale was " From The Gift, edited by Miss
Leslie.** The 1840 shows few verbal variations from the text.
Griswold has several verbal changes as well as variations in punc-
tuation.
Variations of Southern Literary Messenger from the text.
Motto — A wet sheet and a flowing sea.
Page I 1. 7 things, (things) 1. 7 up. — (up-) 1. 13
genius; (genius —) 1. 14 crime; (crime —) 1. 15 Indeed,
(o. c.) 1. 16 physical philosophy (cap.) page 2 1. 2 much,
(much) 1. 4 ratling (ravings) I. 12 as (like) 1. 31 eastward
and ivestivard (Eastward and Westward) 1. 34 dusky-red
(o. h.) page 3 1. 20 Indeed, (o. c.) 1. 21 fears; (fears —)
1. 23-24 , however, (o. c.) 1. 25 deck. — (.) 1. 26 com-
panion- (o. h.) 1. 26 by (with) 1. 33 , in (in) 1. 34
(3°7)


308 NOTES.
measure, (measure) page 4 1. 1 ber (all her) 1. 7 , upon
(upon) 1. 10 breakers ; (,) 1. 11 , beyond . . im-
agination, (o. c.) 1. 19 : — the (, and the) 1. 31 injury;
(—) 1. 33 made (o.) 1. 33 shifting of our ballast. —
(difficulty in keeping free.) 1. 34 blast (Simoom) page 5
1. 1 wind; (—) 1. 3 dismay; (,) I. ij S. (south) 1. 16
— on (o. d.) 1. 18 northward (cap.) 1. 20— There
(o. d.) 1. 21 clouds (clouds whatever) 1. 26-27 , without
. polarivud (unaccompanied by any ray) 1. 27
sea, (o. c.) 1. 33 not (not yet) 1. 33 the Swede (him)
page 6 1. 9 were (was) 1. 10 ebony. — (.) 1. 14 , as
. possible, (o. c.) 1. 18 , however, (o. c.) 1. 19
southward (cap.) 1. 20 great (extreme) 1. 23 anything
(any thing) 1. 27 ship ; (—) 1. 34 albatross (cap.) page 7
1. 1 bell (cap.) 1. 3 kraken (cap.) 1. 5-6" . . ."
(' . . .') 1. 6 See! (! —) 1. 7 ears, (, —) I. 8-9 red
light (light) 1. 9 streamed (rolled, as it were,) 1. 15 of,
perhaps, (of nearly) 1. 16 more (of more) 1. 22 front
(off from) 1. 28 her (her stupendous) 1. 29 rose (rose
up, like a demon of the deep,) 1. 33 then (and then)
page 8 1. 8 , with -violence, (o. c.) 1. 10 about; (,)
1. 12 / (, I) I. 16 indefinite (nameless and indefinite)
1. 24 , in (o. c.) 1. 34 himself, (o. c.) page 9 I. 3
and (, and) after Is. 7 and 18 omit asterisks 1. 8
for (, for) 1. 11 and (, and) 1. 12 own, (o. c.)
1. 13 never—(, —) 1. 16 sense—(,) 1. 24 mate
— (, —) 1. 28 write (write,) 1. 34 endeavour (endeavor)
page 10 after 1. 2 omit asterisks I. 4 operation (opera-
tions) 1. 7 sails, (o. c.) 1. 18 not, (p. c.) 1. 18 perceive —
(,) 1. 25 such . . . shadows (such shadows, as it
were) after 1. 27 omit asterisks page II 1. 5 would
have (has) 1. 6-7 if . . . means (i.) 1. 6 distended
(distended or swelled) 1. 10-14 "• •" ('• .')
1. 15 ago, (o. c.) 1. ai infirmity; (,) 1. 22 decrepitude;
(,) 1. 23 wind; (,) 1. 24 and (, and) 1. 24 broken; (,)
1. 25 years; (,) 1. 27 , on . . deck, (p. c.) 1. 29
omit asterisks 1. 32 continued (held) 1. 33 south (cap.)
1. 33 ber, (o. c.) 1. 34 lower studding- (lower-studding)


TALES. 309
page 13 1. 2 water (water,) 1. 8 for ever (forever) 1. 12
gull; (,) 1. 17 effect. — (.) 1. 19 omit asterisks 1. 27
height; (,) 1. 30 face — (,) 1. 31 age, (o. c.) I. 32-33
within . . . ineffable (strikes upon my soul with
the shock of a Galvanic battery) page 13 1. 1 years. —
(.) 1. 5 obsolete (obsolete,) 1. 7 , ivitb a fiery, unquiet eye,
(o. c.) 1. 11 low (low,) 1. 13 his (yet his) 1. i\mile . . .
(omit asterisks) 1. 17 centuries; (,) 1. 18 meaning; (,)
24 ruin. . . . (omit asterisks) 1. 29 simoom (cap.)
30 ineffective? (!) page 14 1. 1 universe (Universe) 1. a
(omit asterisks) 1. 3 current; (,) 1. 6 southward
(cap.) 1. 7 . . omit asterisks 1. 9 impossible; (—)
10 regions, (p. c.) Lis southern pole (Southern Pole)
15 itself—it (itself. It) 1. 17 omit asterisks 1. 19
step; (,) 1. 22 and, (p. c.) 1. 26 , in (p. c.) 1. 34
thundering (shrieking).
Variations of The Gift from the text.
Motto : — A wet sheet and a flowing sea. — Cunning-
ham.
Page 11. 3 one, (o. c.) 1. 7 up.—(.) 1. 7 things, (o. c.)
I. 8 delight; (:) 1. 9 any (my) 1. 13 genius; (, —)
I. 14 crime; (—) 1. 20 -whole, (o. c.) page 3 1. 8
Batavia, (o. c.) 1. 10 islands (cap.) 1. 11 raving
(ravings) 1. 16 and (, and) 1. 16 oil, (o. c.) 1. 23 course
(course,) 1. 27 cloud, (o. c.) 1. 27 N. W. (north-west)
1. 28 color (colour) 1. 32 vapor (vapour) I. 34 dusky-
(o. h.) page 3 1. 8 away, (;) 1. 11 hair, (o. c.)
1. 16 furled, (o. c.) 1. 19 below— (;) 1. 20 Indeed,
(o. c.) 1. 22 left me (went below) 1. 23 a (me a) 1. 23-24
, bovsever, (o. c.) 1. 26 loud, (o. c.) 1. 26 companion-
(o. h.) 1. 27 by (with) 1. 30 instant, (o. c.) 1. 32 and,
(o. c.) 1. 33 blast (simoom) page 4 1. 1 her (all her)
1. 2-3 dismay; (,) 1. 7 myself (myself,) 1. 10 ; so (,)
I. 11 , beyond (o. c.) 1. 13 a ivhile, (awhile) 1. 19 over-
board; (,) 1. 20 the (and the) 1. 22 assistance, (p. c.)
1. 25 pack-thread, (packthread) 1. 29 respect, (p. c.)


31 o NOTES.
l. 3o and, (o. c.) 1. 31 ; but (–) 1. 32–33 had . . .
ballast (had no great difficulty in keeping free) page 51.3
, that (o. c.) 1. 3 condition, (o. c.) 1. 1 1 , which (o. c.)
1. 14–15 S. E. and by South; (south east and by south,)
l. 20 horizon — (,) 1. 21 clouds (clouds whatever) 1. 24
. It (– it) l. 25 gave out (emitted) 1. 26–27 without
- - polarized (unaccompanied by any ray) l. 3 orim,
(o. c.) 1. 32 the . . . of (o.) 1. 33 the Swede,
(him) l. 33 not (not yet) page 6 1. 3 envelop (enve-
lope) l. 4 to (, to) l. 8 or foam, (o. c.) 1. 9 were (was)
I. 9 around (around us.) 1. 9 thick (a thick) 1. Io black
(black, ) i. 12 wrapped (wrapt) l. 1 3 useless, (;) 1. 14
that, (o. c.) 1. 14 poſsible, (o. c.) 1. 27 ship; (–) l. 34
albatross (cap.) page 7 l. I hell, (o. c.) 1.4 “hºe were ''
(not new par.) 1.5 , when (o. c.) 1.8 spoke, (o. c.) l. 8–
9 of red (of) l. 9 streamed (rolled, as it were,) 1. 13 height
(height,) 1. 16 more (of more) I. 16–17 hundred (million)
1. 18 however (, however,) 1. 19 southward (cap) 1. 22
from (off from) l. 2 5 , was (was,) 1. 28 bows (stupen-
dous bows) l. 29 rose (rose up, like a demon of the deep)
I. : ) seen, (o. c.) 1. 29 dim and horrible (everlasting,)
l. 3: sublimity, ( –) l. 34 instant, (o. c.) page 81. 3 own
(o.) . ; 6 , consequently, (o. c.) 1. 8 , with . . .
violence, (o. c.) 1. o about ; (,) 1. I I I (, I) 1. 16
indefinite (nameless and indefinite) l. 2 o offered, (o. c.)
I. : 7 work, (o. c.) I. 34 himself, (o. c.) page 9
l. 1 , in (o, c.) I. low (low,) 1. 6 God (s. 1.) 1. 8
freling, (o. c.) 1. 8 name, (o. c.) 1. 1 o by-gone (o. h.)
... I inadequate, (–) l. 12 own (own,) 1. 13 never —
(o. d.) 1. 17 sense — (, 1.) 24 part : (–) 1. 24 will not
(m. i.) page Iol. 4 operation (operations) l. 6 and (, and
had) 1. 7 sail, (o. c.) 1. 17 this (the) l. 18 is not (n. i.) l. 18
not, (o. c.) 1. 19 is (n. i.) l. 2 o model (model,) 1. 21 spars,
\ –) l. 2 ſize (size,) 1. 22 stern, (–) 1. 24 things, (–)
!. 27 such (such indistinct) l. 28 of (, of) l. 32 porousness,
(o, c.) page II l. 6 if . . . distended (i.) I. 6 by (or
*welled by) i. 6–7 any . . . means (i.) 1.8 sentence, (o. c.)
1, 9 weather- (o. h.) l. 9 navigator (navigator,) 1. 11


TALES. 3 11
ray, (o. c.) 1. 12 ºverarity, (-)l. 19 at first (first) l = 1
infirmity; (–) 1. az decrepitade: (–) 1. as swind; (–)
1. 24 broken; (–) 1. 25 years; (–) 1. as gray (grey)
1. 27 them, (o. c.) 1. 27 deck, (o. c.) l. 31 period (period,)
1. 32 continued (held) l. 33 south (cap.) l. 34 lower-
studding (o. h.) 1. 35 her, (o. c.) page 12 l. 1 top-gallant
(o. h.) 1.7 bulk (hulk) 1. 7 wallowed (buried) l. s for-
ever (for ever) l. 12 sea-gull; (sea gull,) 1. 13 as (us,)
l. 16 escapes (escapes from imminent and deadly peril)
l. zo.face (face, and) 1.22 is (was) l. 17 height; (-) I. a7
is (is, I mean,) 1. 29 nor (, nor) l. 32–33 which , , ,
ineffable (which strikes upon the soul with the shock of a
galvanic battery) page 13 1. 5 obsolete (obsolete,) 1. . .
low (low,) 1. 20 before, (3) I. 3 o ineffective * º l. 34 ice,
(o. c.) page 141. 3 current; (,) 1. 9 impossible; (,) 1. to
regions, (o. c.) l. 13 *::: l. 15 . It (; it) 1, 15-
16 southern pole (cap.) l. 17 wild (wild,) 1. 18 favor
(favour) l. 20 ship; (,) 1. 23, and, (o, c.) l. 28 circles,
(o. c.) l. 28 round and round (round and round and
round). [Omit asterisks, as in Southern Literary Mei-
senger.]
Wariations of 18/o from the text.
Page 1 1. 7 things, (o. c.) 1. 7 up. — (.) 1. 13 geniuſ i
(—) 1. 14 crime; (–) 1.15 Indeed, (o, c.) page 2 1, 1 much,
(o. c.) 1.12 as (like) 1.27 singular (singular.) page 3 1. a
fears; (,) 1. 25 deck. — (.) 1. 27 by (with) I. 33-34, in
. . . measure, (o. c.) page 4.1. 1 o breakerſ; (,) 1.
terrific, (o. c.) 1. 11, was (o. c.) 1.20 * —the (, and the)
l. 31 injury; (–) 1.33 ballaſt. — (,) 1.34 blaſt (Simoom)
page 51.2 ; but (–) i. 2-3 diſmay; (,) 1.15 S. (south)
1. 16 Holland. — (.) 1. 18 northward. — (.) I, 11 ''.
— (.) i. 22 clouds (clouds whatever) 1, 27-28 glow
. . . polarized. (glow unaccompanied by any ray.)
1. 27 ſea, (o. c.) page 6 L. 10 ebony. - () I. 14, at
(o. c.) 1. 14, to (o. c.) 1.27 ſhip; (–) 1, 34 albatrou
(cap.) page 71.3 kraken (cap.) L 6-7 cried . . . eart,
(—cried . . . ears, –) i. 13, perhapu, (nearly) i. 14


31 o NOTES.
l. 3o and, (o. c.) 1. 31 ; but (–) 1. 32–33 had - -
ballast (had no great difficulty in keeping free) page 51.3
, that (o. c.) I. 3 condition, (o. c.) 1. 11 , which (o. c.)
1. 14–15 S. E. and by South; (south east and by south,)
1. 20 horizon — (,) 1. 21 clouds (clouds whatever) 1. 24
. It (– it) l. 25 gave out (emitted) 1. 26–27 without
- - polarized (unaccompanied by any ray) l. 3 orim,
(o. c.) 1. 32 the . . . of (o.) 1. 33 the Swede,
(him) l. 33 not (not yet) page 6 1. 3 envelop (enve-
lope) 1.4 to (, to) l. 8 or foam, (o. c.) l. 9 were (was)
l. 9 around (around us) l. 9 thick (a thick) 1. 1 o black
(black, ) l. 12 wrapped (wrapt) l. 1 3 useless, (;) 1. 14
that, (o. c.) 1. 14 possible, (o. c.) 1. 27 ship; (–) l. 34
albatross (cap.) page 7 l. I hell, (o. c.) 1.4 “He were ''
(not new par.) 1.5 , when (o. c.) 1.8 spoke, (o. c.) 1. 8–
9 of red (of) l. 9 streamed (rolled, as it were,) 1. 13 height
(height,) 1. 16 more (of more) 1, 16–17 hundred (million)
l. 18 however (, however,) 1. 19 southward (cap) l. 2:
from (off from) 1. 25 , was (was,) 1. 28 bows (stupen-
dous bows) 1. 29 rose (rose up, like a demon of the deep)
l. 29 ſeen, (o. c.) 1. 29 dim and horrible (everlasting,)
l. 32 ſublimity, (–) l. 34 instant, (o. c.) page 81. 3 own
(o.) 1. 5–6 , consequently, (o. c.) 1. 8 , with - -
-violence, (o. c.) 1. 1 o about ; (,) 1. I I I (, I) 1. 16
indefinite (nameless and indefinite) 1. 2 o offered, (o. c )
1. 27 work, (o. c.) l. 34 himself, (o. c.) page q
l. 1 , in (o, c.) l. I low (low,) 1. 6 God (s. 1.) l. 8
feeling, (o. c.) 1. 8 name, (o. c.) 1. Io by-gone (o. h.)
I. : 1 inadequate, (–) l. 12 own (own,) 1. 13 never —
ſo. d.) 1. 17 sense — (, l.) 24 part : (-) 1. 24 will not
(n. i.) page Iol. 4 operation (operations) 1.6 and (, and
had) 1. 7 fails, (o. c.) 1. 17 this (the) 1.18 is not (n. i.) l. 1's
not, (o. c.) 1. 19 is (n. i.) l. 2 o model (model,) 1. 21 spars,
(-) 1. 21 ſize (size,) 1. 22 stern, (–) 1. 24 things, (–)
!. 27 such (such indistinct) 1. 28 of (, of) l. 32 porousness,
(o. c.) page II l. 6 if . . . distended (i.) I. 6 by (or
swelled by) i. 6–7 any . . . means (i.) 1.8 sentence, (o. c.)
1. 9 weather- (o. h.) l. 9 navigator (navigator,) 1. 11


TALES. 3 II
ray, (o. c.) 1. 12 veracity, (–) l. 19 at first (first) 1. 21
infirmity; (–) 1. 22 decrepitude; (–) 1. 23 wind; (–)
l. 24 broken; (–) 1. 25 years; (–) 1. 25 gray (grey)
1. 27 them, (o. c.) 1.27 deck, (o. c.) 1.31 period (period,)
1. 32 continued (held) l. 33 south (cap.) l. 34 lower-
studding (o. h.) I. 35 her, (o. c.) page 12 l. 1 top-gallant
(o. h.) 1.7 bulk (hulk) 1. 7 rºwallowed (buried) 1.8 for-
ever (for ever) l. 12 sea-gull; (sea gull,) 1. 13 us (us,)
1. 16 escapes (escapes from imminent and deadly peril)
l. zo.face (face, and) 1.22 is (was) 1.27 height; (–) 1.27
is (is, I mean,) 1. 29 nor (, nor) 1. 32–33 which . . .
ineffable (which strikes upon the soul with the shock of a
galvanic battery) page 13 1. 5 obsolete (obsolete,) 1. 11
low (low,) 1. 20 before, (3) 1.30 ineffective f (!) l. 34 ice,
(o. c.) page 141. 3 current; (,) 1. 9 impossible; (,) 1. 1 o
regions, (o. c.) l. 13 knowledge— (,) 1. 15. It (; it) l. 15–
16 southern pole (cap.) l. 17 wild (wild,) 1. 18 favor
(favour) l. zo ship; (,) 1. 23, and, (o. c.) 1. 28 circles,
(o. c.) l. 28 round and round (round and round and
round). [Omit asterisks, as in Southern Literary Mei-
senger.]
Wariations of 1840 from the text.
Page 1 1. 7 things, (o. c.) 1.7 up. — (.) 1. 13 genius ;
(—) 1. 14 crime; (–) 1.15 Indeed, (o. c.) page 2 l. 1 much,
(o. c.) 1.12 as (like) 1.27 singular (singular,) page 3 1. 21
fears; (,) 1. 25 deck. — (.) 1. 27 by (with) l. 33–34, in
- - measure, (o. c.) page 4 l. 1 o breakers; (,) 1. 11
terrific, (o. c.) 1. 11, was (o. c.) l. zo; —the (, and the)
l. 31 injury; (–) 1.33 ballast. — (,) 1.34 blaſt (Simoom)
page 51.2 ; but (–) i. 2-3 diſmay; (,) 1. 15 S. (south)
1. 16 Holland. — (.) 1. 18 northward. — (.) 1. 21 light.
— (.) i. 22 clouds º whatever) 1. 27–28 glow
- polarized. (glow unaccompanied by any ray.)
l. 27 sea, (o. c.) page 6 l. 1 o ebony. - (.) 1. 14, as
(o. c.) 1. 14, to (o. c.) 1.27 ſhip; (–) l. 34 albatross
(cap.) page 71.3 kraken (cap.) 1.6–7 cried . . . ears,
(—cried ears, –) l. 13, perhaps, (nearly) 1. 14


310 NOTES.
1. 30 and, (o. c.) 1. 31 ; but (—) 1. 32-33 bad . . .
ballast (had no great difficulty in keeping free) page 5 1. 3
, that (o. c.) 1. 3 condition, (o. c.) 1. 11 , which to. c.)
1. 14-15 5. E. and by South; (south east and by south,)
1. 20 borixon— (,) 1. 21 clouds (clouds whatever) i. 24
. // (—it) 1. 25 gave out (emitted) 1. 26-17 swithout
polarited (unaccompanied by any ray) 1. 30 rim,
(o. c.) 1. 32 the . of (o.) 1. 33 the Swede,
(him) 1. 33 not (not yet) page 6 1. 3 envelop (enve-
lope) 1. 4 to (, to) I. 8 or foam, (o. c.) 1. 9 lujre (was)
1. 9 around (around us) 1. 9 thick (a thick) 1. 10 black
(black,) I. 12 'wrapped (wrapt) 1. 13 useless, (;) 1. 14
that, (o. c.) 1. i+possible, (o. c.) 1. 27 ship; (—) 1. 34
albatross (cap.) page7 I. 1 bell, (o. c.) I. 4 " We were"
(not new par.) 1. 5 , 'wben (o. c.) 1. S spoke, (o. c.) I. 8-
9 of red (ot) 1. 9 streamed (rolled, as it were,) 1. 13 height
(height,) 1. 16 more (of more) 1. 16-17 hundred (million)
1. 18 however (, however,) 1. 19 southward (cap) 1. 22
from (off. from) 1. 25 , ivas (was,) 1. 28 bows (stupen-
dous bows) 1. 29 rose (rose up, like a demon of the deep)
1. 29 sent, (o. c.) 1. 29 dim and horrible (everlasting,)
1. 32 sublimity, (—) 1. 34 instant, (o. c.) page 8 1. 3 own
(o.) 1. 5-6 , consequently, (o. c.) 1. 8 , 'with
violence, (o. c.) 1. 10 about; (,) 1. 11 / (, I) 1. 16
indefinite (nameless and indefinite) 1. 20 offered, (p. c.)
1. 27 work, (o. c.) 1. 34 himself, (o. c.) page Q
1. 1 , in (o. c.) 1. 1 low (low,) \. 6 God (s. 1.) 1. S
feeling, (o. c.) 1. 8 name, (o. c.) 1. 10 by-gone (o. h.)
L 11 inadequate, (—) 1. 12 own (own,) 1. 13 never —
(o. d.) 1. 17 sense — (, 1.) i+part; (—) 1. 24 will not
(n. i.) page 10 1. 4 operation (operations) 1. 6 and (, and
had) 1. 7 sails, (o. c.) 1. 17 this (the) I. iS is not (n. L)l. 18
not, (o. c.) 1. 19 is (n. i.) 1. 20 model (model,) 1. 21 spars,
(—) 1. at size (site,) 1. 22 stem, (—) 1. 24 things, (—)
I.27 such (such indistinct) 1. 28 of (, of) 1. 32 porousness,
(o. c.) page 11 I.61/. . . distended (i.) I. 6 by (or
swelledby)\. 6-7 any . . . means (i.) 1. 8 sentence, (o. c.)
1. 9 weather- (a. h.) 1. 9 navigator (navigator,) L 11


TALES. 311
say, (o. c.) I. ia veracity, (—) 1. 19 at first (first) I. ai
infirmity; (—) 1. a2 decrepitude; (—) 1. 23 wind; (—)
1. 24 broken; (—) 1. a5 years; (—) 1. 25 gray (grey)
1. a7 them, (o. c.) 1. a7 '/«•£, (o. c.) I. 3i period (period,)
1. 3a continued (held) 1. 33 south (cap.) 1. 34 lower-
studding (o. h.) 1. 35 her, (o. c.) page 12 1. 1 top-gallant
(o. h.) 1. 7 /•«/* (hulk) 1. 7 swallowed (buried) 1. 8,/ar-
ever (forever) 1. 1a sea-gull; (sea gull,) I. 13 m (us,)
1. 16 escapes (escapes from imminent and deadly peril)
1. ao face (face, and) I. 22 is (mas) 1. 27 height; (—) 1. 27
is (is, I mean,) 1. 29 nor (, nor) 1. 32-33 which . . .
ineffable (which strikes upon the soul with the shock of a
galvanic battery) page 13 1. 5 obsolete (obsolete,) 1. 11
|o'w (low,) 1. ao before, (;) 1. 30 ineffective t (!) 1. 34 ice,
(o. c.) page 14 1. 3 current; (,) 1. 9 impossible; (,) 1. 10
regions, (o. c.) 1. 13 knowledge — (,) 1. 15 . It (; it) 1. 15-
16 southern pole (cap.) 1. 17 ivitd (wild,) 1. 18 favor
(favour) 1. ao ship; (,) 1. 23 , and, (o. c.) 1. a8 circles,
(o. c.) 1. a8 round and round (round and round and
round). [Omit asterisks, as in Southern Literary Mes-
senger.]
Variations of 1840 from the text.
Page I 1. 7 things, (p. c.) 1. 7 up. — (.) 1. 13 genius;
(—) 1. 1+ crime; (—) 1. 15 Indeed, (o. c.)page2 1. 1 much,
(o. c.) I. 1z 1>1 (like) 1. 27 singular (singular,) page 3 1. a 1
fears; (,) 1. as deck. — (.) I. a7 by (with) 1. 33-34 , tn
. . measure, (o. c.) page 4 1. 10 breakers; (,) 1. 11
terrific, (o. c.) 1. 1 1 , ivas(p. c.) 1. ao ;—the (, and the)
1. 31 injury; (—) 1. 33 ballast (.) 1. 34 blast (Simoom)
page 5 1. a ;but (—) 1. a-3 dismay; (,) 1. 1$ S. (south)
1. 16 Holland. — (.) 1. 18 northward. — (.) 1. ai light.
— (.) 1. 22 clouds (clouds whatever) 1. 27-28 glow
. . polarized, (glow unaccompanied by any ray.)
1. 27 sea, (o. c.) page 6 1. 10 ebony.— (.) 1. 14 , as
(o. c.) 1. 14 , to (p. c.) I. a7 ship; (—) 1. 34 albatross
(cap.) page71. 3 kraken (cap.) 1. 6-7 cried . . . ears,
(—cried . . . ears, —) 1. 13 , perhaps, (nearly) 1. 14


312 NOTES.
more (of more) 1. 22 from (off from) 1. 23 lantern;
(lanterns,) 1. 28 bows (stupendous bows) 1. 29 rose
(rose up, like a demon of the deep) page 8 l. 6 God
(s. 1.) 1. 8 , with . . . violence, (o. c.) l. lo
about; (,) 1. 12 own, (o. c.) 1. 13 never — (, —)
1. 14 never — (,) 1. 16 An (A nameless and) after 1. 18
(o. asterisks) 1. 24, in (o. c.) 1. 25 mate — (, –) page
Iol. 2 (o. asterisks) l. 9 , I (o. c.) 1. 28 (o. asterisks)
page II 1.5 would have (has) l. 6–7 , if . . . means,
(i.) l. 14 (o. asterisks) 1. 21 infirmity; (,) 1. 22–23–24–
25 : (,) 1. 27 them, (o. c.) 1. 27 deck, (o. c.) 1. 29 (o.
asterisks) 1. 32 continued (held) 1. 33 her, (o. c.) page 12
1. 7 wallowed (buried) l. 17 effect. — () I. 19 (o. aster-
isks) 1. 27 that (,) 1. 3o face — (,) page 13 1. 7 pored.
(o. c.) 1. 7 eye, (o. c.) 1. Io , as (—) 1. 1 1 hold, (–)
1. 14 (o. asterisks) l. 17 centuries ; (–) l. 18 meaning ;
(..) I. 19 lanterns (lantherns) l. 3o ineffective * (!) page
14 l. 2 (o. asterisks); l. 8 . . . (o.) 1. 9 : yet (–)
l. 1 o regions (o. c.) l. 16 . It (– it) l. 18 . . . (o. as-
terisks) l. 2 o ſtep; (,) 1. 23 and, (o. c.) 1. 34 thundering
(shrieking) l. 34 of (o.).
Wariations of Griswold from text.
Page 1 1.6 methodize (methodise) 1. 7 very (o.) 1. 7 up.
— (...) page 3 l. 2 1 Simoom (Simoon) 1. 25 deck. —(...)
page 4 l. 9 , at firſt, (o. c.) 1. I 5 of our (of) l. 19 : –
the (;) page 5 1. 3 that, (o. c.) 1. 1 1 which, (o. c.) 1. 1 =
Simoom (Simoon) l. 16 Holland. — (.) 1. 18 northward. —
(..) 1. 20 light. — (..) page 6 l. 5 too (, too) 1. Io ebony. —
(..) page 7 l. 15 ſhip (ship,) 1. 15 , perhaps, (o. c.) l. 13
India (Indian) page 8 1. 6 already (nearly) l. 13 unper-
ceived (, unperceived,) page 9 l. 5, and (o. c.) 1. 2 othink,
(o. c.) 1. 25 mate — (;) 1, 31 endeavour (endeavor) page
1o 1. 5 Chance (s. 1.) 1. 13 omit asterisks 1, 18 — ‘what (;)
i. 19 I (, 1) 1, 22 canvass (canvas) page II 1.8 a (, a) l. 15
thrust (trust) 1. 24 and (, and) 1. 30 some (, some) 1.30 ago
(ago,) 1.31 the (, the) l. 33 canvass (canvas) l. 34 trucks


TALES. 313
(truck) page 12 1. t forever (for ever) 1. 9 Eternity (s. 1.)
1. 15 and (, and) 1. 15 led (led) I. 17 effect. — (.) 1. 24
man — (,) 1. 24 still (still,) 1. 26 be (, he) 1. 29 remark-
ably (remarkable) page 13 1. 1 yean. — (.) 1. 2 Sybils
(s. 1.) 1. 7 fiery (fiery,) 1. 10 , as (—) 1. 11 bold, (—)
1. 12 . and (;) 1. 25 me (me,) 1. 29 the (, the) 1. 29
simoom (simoon) 1. 31 is (, is) page 14 1. 4 ; if (—) 1. 20
countenances (countenance) 1. 24 canvass (canvas) 1. 25
sea — (!) 1. 26 the (— the) 1. 31 — tbe (! The) 1. 34
and of (and) page 15 1. 1 , oh (—). 1. 2 down. (!.)
BERENICE.
Southern Literary Messenger, March, 1835;
1840; Broadway Journal, I., 14.
The text follows the Broadway Journal. Griswold has a
number of variations from Broadway Journal', but these are con-
fined to punctuation and spelling.
1840 shows slight revision from Southern Literary Meuenger.
The next state ( Broadway Journal') is carefully revised from 1840.
Numerous changes were made in phraseology and punctuation, and
one gruesome passage of some length omitted entirely.
Variations of Southern Literary Messenger from tbe text.
Page 16 1. 2 as (like) 1. 4 , — as (,) 1. 5 as (like) 1. 6
beauty (cap.) 1. 7 peace (cap.) 1. 7 sorroiv? But (sorrow»
But thus it is. And) 1. 8 evil (cap.) 1. 8 good (cap.)
I. 9 joy (cap.) Add at end par. I. I have a tale to tell
in its own essence rife with horror — I would suppress
it were it not a record more of feelings than of facts.
1. 11 ecstasies (ecstacies) 1. 13 ; that (—) 1. 15 gray
(grey) 1. 17 ; and (;) 1. 19-20 chiselling (chiseling)
page 17 1- 9 T — let (. Let) 1. 10 myself (o. c.)
1. 12 sounds, (o. c.) 1. 13 excluded; (:) 1. 14 un-
steady; (—) 1 . 15 , too (p. c.) 1. 16 it (, it) 1. 17


31+ NOTES.
from (, as it were, from) 1. 19 , at (p. c.) 1. 19 fairy-
land (o. h.) 1. 24 is (n. i.) 1. 29 commonest (com-
mon) 1. 32 existence, (—) page 18 1. 2 balls. ( )
I. 3 (o. h.) 1. 6 — /(.) 1. 11 gray (grey) 1. 16 sylph
(cap.) —/ (.) 1. 3 , and {p. c.) 1. 4 ;bers, (. Hers)
1. 5 hill-side 1. 17 ///(her) 1. 20 simoom (cap.) 1. X4
identity (very identity) page 19 1. 4 ««'/ (and, ag-
gravated in its symptoms by the immoderate use of
opium,) 1. 6 momently (momentarily) 1. 7 most (most
singular and) 1. 8 , if (—) 1. 8 it, (—) 1. 9 of (of the
nerves immediately affecting) 1. 911 (, in) 1. 11 ;but (—)
I. 16 and (, and, as it were,) 1. 16 , in (o. c.) 1. 17
ordinary (common) 1. 19 riveted (rivetted) 1. 19 on (upon)
1. 20 boot; (—) 1. 22 ; to (—) 1. 24 fire ; (—) 1. 25
flvwer; (—) 1. 29 by means of (in a state of) 1. 30 ;—
such (—Such) 1. 34 anything (any thing) page SO 1. 1
— The (o. d.) 1. 6 . // (By no means. It) 1. 9 instance,
(o. c.) 1. 15 entirely (utterly) 1. 20 in (in, so to speak,)
1. 31 and (, and) 1. 34 Amplitedine Beati Regni (ampli-
tudine beati regni) page 31 1. 1 Dei; (—) I. 1 ivork,
(o. c.) 1. 2 God; (—) 1. 3 paradoxical (unintelligible)
I. 15 alteration (fearful alteration) 1. 18 abnormal (morbid)
1. 20 in any degree (by any means) 1. 31 — in (, and in)
page 22 1. 2 feelings (feelings,) I. 4 gray (grey) I. 9
, earthy, (—earthly —) 1. i+yet (yet,) 1. 15-16 called to
mind (knew) 1. 20year, — (,) 1. 22 Halcyon, — (,) 1. 22
(. . .) (o.) 1. 24 Isaiv that (o.) 1. 27 gray (grey)
1. 28-29 caused . . . outline? (caused it to loom
up in so unnatural a degree >) 1. 29 tell. (tell. Per-
haps she had grown taller since her malady.) 1. 29 spoke
(spoke, however,) page 23 1. 2 sinking (, sinking) 1. 3
breathless (breathless,) 1. 4 ivitb (and with) 1. 4 riveted
(rivetted) 1. 7 tbe (her) 1. 9 jetty (golden) 1. 10-11 innu-
merable . . . yelloiv. (ringlets now black as the raven's
wing,) 1. 13-14, and . . . pupil-less (p.) I. 14 shrank
(shrunk) 1. 16 parted ; (:) 1. 16 in (, in) 1. 17 the teeth
(n. i.) 1. 27 enamel— (enamel —not a line in their con-
figuration) 1. 32 me; (,) page 24 1. 5-6 For — {desire


TALES. 315
(o.) 1. ii light. (—) 1. 12 . / (—) 1. i2 . /(—) 1. 13
/(—) 1. 14 . /(—and) 1. and, (o. c.) 1. 20-24 Du
. . . reason, (o.) 1. 34 a (a wild) page 25 1. t voices,
(0. c.) 1. 3 and (, and) 1. 3 arose (arose hurriedly) 1. 4
saiv standing (there stood) 1. 5 , ivbo (; and she) 1. 6-7
She . . . epilepsy (Seited with an epileptic fit she had
fallen dead) after par. I. insert: —
With a heart full of grief, yet reluctantly, and op-
pressed with awe, I made my way to the bed-chamber
of the departed. The room was large, and very dark,
and at every step within its gloomy precincts I encoun-
tered the paraphernalia of the grave. The coffin, so a
menial told me, lay surrounded by the curtains of yonder
bed, and in that coffin, he whisperingly assured me, was
all that remained of Berenice. Who was it asked me
would I not look upon the corpse? I had seen the lips
of no one move, yet the question had been demanded,
and the echo of the syllables still lingered in the room.
It was impossible to refuse; and with a sense of suffoca-
tion I dragged myself to the side of the bed. Gently I
uplifted the sable draperies of the curtains. As I let
them fall they descended upon my shoulders, and shutting
me thus out from the living, enclosed me in the strictest
communion with the deceased. The very atmosphere
was redolent of death. The peculiar smell of the coffin
sickened me; and I fancied a deleterious odor was already
exhaling from the body. I would have given worlds to
escape — to fly from the pernicious influence of mortality
— to breathe once again the pure air of the eternal
heavens. But I had no longer the power to move — my
knees tottered beneath me—and I remained rooted to
the spot, and gating upon the frightful length of the
rigid body as it lay outstretched in the dark coffin without
a lid. God of heaven ! — is it possible? Is it my brain
that reeled — or was it indeed the finger of the en-
shrouded dead that stirred in the white cerement that
bound it' Froten with unutterable awe I slowly raised
my eyes to the countenance of the corpse. There had


316 NOTES.
been a band around the jaws, but, I know not how, it
was broken asunder. The livid lips were wreathed in a
species of smile, and, through the enveloping gloom,
once again there glared upon me in too palpable a reality,
the white and glistening, and ghastly teeth of Berenice.
I sprang convulsively from the bed, and, uttering no
word, rushed forth a maniac from that apartment of triple
horror, and mystery, and death.
Page 25 1. 4 myself (myself again) 1. 16 intervened
(had intervened) 1. 18 replete (rife) 1. 23 vain; (—)
1. 26-27 '— ivbispering (o.) 1. 28 me, (o. c.) 1. 30 box
(box of ebony) 1. 30 ivas of{yna a box of) 1. 31 , for it
was (, it being) 1. 34 , upon (o. c.) page 26 1. 1 thing
wree (were things) 1. 4 but (, but) 1. 4 ones (words) 1. 6
, turns (o. c.) page 26 Note translated at bottom of
page in Southern Literary Messenger as follows : — My
companions told me I might find some little alleviation of
my misery, in visiting the grave of my beloved. 1. 8-9
become congealed (congeal) 1. 15 disturbing (heard in)
1. 17 sound;— (—) 1. 19 body (body discovered upon its
margin—a) 1. 20 , still (—) 1. 20 , still (—) 1. 21
garments; (—) 1. 23 ;— it (—but it) 1. 25 ;— /(—)
1. 26 minutes ; — (—) 1. 27 box (ebony box) I. 28 open;
(,) 1. 28 and, (o. c.) 1. 29 from (from out) 1. 31-32
thirty-two small, (many) 1. 32 ivory-looking (glistening).
Variations of 1840 from above.
Page 16 1. 6 beauty (cap.) 1. 7 peace (cap.) 1. 7 But
(But thus it is. And) 1. 8 evil (cap.) 1. 8 good (cap.)
I• 9ioy (^P-) Pa8e x7 l. I2 sou"<is. (f>• c-) I• '5 gray
(grey) 1. 16 it (it,) 1. 17 from (, as it were, from) 1. 19
, at (o. c.) page 18 1. 16 sylph (cap.) 1. 24 identity (verr
identity) page 19 1. 6 momently (momentarily) 1. 7 most
(most singular and) 1. 9 in (, in) 1. 16 , in (o. c.) 1. 20
book ; (—) page 20 1. 15 , entirely (utterly) 1. 34 Italian.
(o. c.) 1. 34 Curio, (o. c.) i. 34 De (s. 1.) page 21 1. 1


TALES. 317
**, (o. c.) 1. - God; (–) i. 31 – in (,) page 22 1.4
grey (grey) i. 22 spoke (spoke, however,) 1... is , aplifting
*y eyes, (2 c.) i. 29 tell (tell. Perhaps . . . . malady)
Page 23 l. 4 with (and with) . 16 in (, in) l =6 ºn
(uPon) l 27 enamel – (enamel – not a line in their
Configuration) i. 29 spoke (spoke, however,) page 24
l. I. 23–24 Deº . . . reason. (o.) page 25 1.5 , and
(,) [, who (text)] page 261.4 but (, but) i. 4 ones (words)
!. 5-6 no trans. in 1840 l. 15 disturbing (heard in)
|- 29 from (from out) i. 32 small (many).
Wariations of Griswold from text.
Page 16 1.4 , — as (—) 1.7 a (, a) 1. 11 ecstasies
(ecstacies) 1. 11 are (are,) page 17 l. 2, there (–) 1.4
revolutions (revolution) 1. 11 aerial (aerial) i. 12 sad—
(3) 1. 14 thadow, (–) l. 19 fairy-land (o. h.) 1. 24
reverie (revery)l. 24 that (, that) l. 32 turn, – (,) 1.33
—but (,) page 18 l. 1 I (, I) 1. 3 I (I,) 1.3 she (she,) 1.4
hers (her's) 1.5 mine (mine,) 1.6—I (; I,) 1.7 body (, body)
1. 8 she (she,) 1.8 life (life,) 1. 13 Ah! (,) 1.15 Oh (Oh,)
1. 16 Oh (Oh,) 1. 17 Oh! (Oh) l. 17 — and (. And) 1.19
-a (,) 1. 19 — fell (,) 1. zo frame, (3) 1. 20 simoom
(simoon) l. 25 went, (!—) 1.25 was (is) 1. 26 Berenice.
(!) page 19 l. 1 time (time,) 1.7 ascendancy (ascendency)
l. 18 hours (hours,) 1. 19, or (o. c.) 1. 20 for (, for) 1.21
in (, in) l. 22, or (o. c.) 1.23 for (, for) 1.23 night (night,)
1.26 monotonously (, monotonously,) 1.30 in;– (5) page
20 l. 1 — The (o. d.) 1. 13 day dream (day-dream) 1: 14
or (, or) 1.16 case (case,) 1.22 reverie (revery) 1.34 Ital-
ian (Italian,) 1. 34 Curio, (o. c.) 1.34 de (cap.) page 21
l. 2 the “ (“The) l. 3 sentence (sentence,) 1.4 est: (,)
1. 23 frequently (, frequently) i. 23–24 bitterly (bitterly.)
page 22 1.5 trelisted (trelised) 1.6 night, (-) 1.9 —not
(3) 1. 10 – not (;) 1. 11 not— (;) 1. 12 yet (yet.) 1. 20
year, – (–) 1.23 But (But,) 1.24 eyes, (o. c.) 1. 39
word, (5) page 23 1. 2 and (and,) 1.6 being, (o.c.) 1. 11
now (, now) l. 14 pupil-less (o. h.) 1.31 every where
(everywhere) page 24, 1.6 phrenied (frensied) 1. 15 in


3 18 NOTES.
imagination (, in imagination,) I. 17 Mao"ttlle (Made-
moiselle) 1. 17 Salli (o. a.) 1. 18 que (cap.) 1. 18 [etaient]
(o. a.) 1. 20 [itaient] (o. a.) 1. 20-21 ah (ah,) 1. 20-ti
idefs (o. a.) 1. 29 room; (—) 1. 30 , and (—) 1. 31 a
(, as) page 25 1. 3 , or (o. c.) 1. 3 and, (, and) 1. 6 more.
(!) 1. 14 that (, that) 1. 15 sun (sun,) 1. 17 — at (,) 1. 28
me, (—) 1. 28 what (cap.) page 26 1. 5 laiat. (: —)
1. 6 Why (Why,) 1. 10 , and (— and,) 1. 17 ;— and (;)
I. 20 , still palpitating, (—still palpitating—) 1. 23
band; — (:)1. 23 wall; — (!) 1. 26 minutes ; — (:) 1. 28
in (, in) I. 28 tremor (tremor,) 1. 32 white (white,).
MORELLA.
Southern Literary Messenger, April, 1835; Bur-
ton's Gentleman's Magazine, November, 1839;
1840; Broadway Journal, I., 25.
The text follows the Broadway Journal.
Griswold has several verbal variations from the text.
1840 shows a number of variations from the earlier {Southern
Literary Mesienger} form.
In the Gentleman's Magatine the tale has the following state-
ment prefixed: — "Extracted by permission of the publishers,
Messrs. Lea and Blanchard from forthcoming ' Tales of the Gro-
tesque and Arabesque,' " and this is borne out by the very slight
difference in the two texts.
The tale appears again, revised, in the Broadway Journal. The
most important variation from the earlier form is the omission of
Morella's hymn, with necessary alteration of adjacent passages.
Variations of Southern Literary Messenger from the text.
Motto: — Itself . . . single. (Auto hath'auto meth'-
auton, mono eides aei on. Itself alone by itself— eternally
one and single.)


TALES. 319
Page 27 1. 4 before (o.) 1. 5 ; but (—) 1. 5 Eros, (—)
1. 6 spirit (eager spirit) 1. 8 met; (:) 1. 8 fate (cap.) 1. 9
altar; (:) 1. 9-10 spoke of passion, nor thought of love
(spoke of love, or thought of passion) 1. 12; — it (It)
1. 16 and, (p. c.) 1. 17 matters, (p. c.) 1. 18 , perhaps
(Morella, perhaps) I. 19 , she placed (laid) page 28 1. 2
study— (:) 1. 3 that, (o. c.) 1. 8 the ideal (my imag-
ination) 1. 11 Persuaded (Feeling deeply persuaded) 1. 11
this, (o. c.) 1. 11-12 implicitly (more implicitly) 1. 13
unflinching (bolder) 1. 14 ivben, (p. c.) 1. 14 pages, (o. c.)
1. 15 a forbidden spirit enkindling (the spirit kindle) 1. 15
me — (,) 1. 17 loiv, (p. c.) 1. 18 burned (burnt) I. 19
And (: and) 1. 19-20 , hour . . . hour, (o. c.)
1. 21 voice — (thrilling voice,) 1. 21 , at length, (o. c.)
1. 22 tainted (tinged) 1. 22 terror, —(terror) 1. 22 there
(p.) 1. 23 —and(,) 1. 24 . And (— and) 1. 24 joy (cap.)
I. 24 thus, (o. c.) 1. 25 horror (cap.) 1. 27 those (these)
1. 28 which (, which) 1. 34 Fichte; etc, (—) page 29 1. 2
Schelling, (p. c.) 1. 4 identity (cap. and i.) 1. 4 termed
personal (not improperly called Personal) 1. 5 Mr. Locke,
I think, (I think Mr. Locke) 1. 12 principium (cap. and
n. i.) 1. 12 ind. (cap. n. i.) 1. 13 , or (o. c.) 1. 14 me —
(,) 1. 15 perplexing (mystical) I. 15 ;not (,) 1. lom
(like) 1. 23 this, {p. c.) 1. 24 ;she (. She) 1. 25 folly,
(—)1. 26 , also, (o. c.) 1. 29 time, (o. c.) 1. 31 promi-
nent; (:) I. 31 , one instant, (o. c.) 1. 32 , in the next,
{p. c.) 1. 33 then (o.) page 30 1. 1-2 unfathomable
(fathomless) 1. 3 longed (long'd) 1. 5 ; but (. But) 1. 8
through (with) 1. 9 , cursed (, I cursed) 1. 9 and, (o. c.)
1. 10 moments, (p. c.) 1. 11 and (, and) 1. 14 heaven
(cap.) 1. 14 bed-side (side) 1. 16 and, (o. c.) 1. 17 forest,
(p. c.) after 1. 18 insert :— As I came, she was mur-
muring in a low under-tone the words of a Catholic hymn:
Sancta Maria! turn thine eyes
Upon a sinner's sacrifice
Of fervent prayer, and humble love,
From thy holy throne above.


32 o NOTES.
At morn, at noon, at twilight dim,
Maria thou hast heard my hymn,
In joy and wo, in good and ill,
Mother of God! be with me still.
When my hours flew gently by,
And no storms were in the sky,
My soul, lest it should truant be;
Thy love did guide to thine and thee.
Now when clouds of Fate o'ercast
All my Present, and my Past,
Let my Future radiant shine
With sweet hopes of thee and thine.
l. 19 , the . . . approached : (– said Morella —)
1. 21 earth (cap.) 1. 21 life (cap.) 1. 21 ah, (ah!) l. 22.
heaven (cap.) 1. 22 death (cap.) 1. 23 kissed her forehead
(turned towards her,) 1. 23 continued: (...) l. 24, yet (–)
after 1. 24 insert : – Therefore for me, Morella, thy wife.
hath the charnel-house no terrors — mark me ! — not
even the terrors of the worm. The days have never
been when thou couldst love me ; but her whom in life
thou didst abhor, in death thou shalt adore. l. 25–29
“ The day; . . . Morella " (o.) 1. 31 — which
(which) 1. 32 thou did it feel (you felt) page 31 l. 3 over;
(, ) l. 3 joy (cap.) 1. 5 no longer (not) l. 6 time (cap.) 1.7
the (o.) i. 8 aſ do (like) l. 9 “Morella.’” I cried,
Morella – I cried—) l. 13 foretold (foreseen) 1. 15
antil (till) 1, 16 ſtature (size) l. 19–2 oftel . . . of (feel
on) l. 2 i , ere long, (o. c.) 1. 21 heaven (cap.) 1. 22
darkened, (overcast;) l. 22 gloom (cap.) 1. 22 horror (cap.)
I. : z brief (cap.) 1. 23 fivept (came) page 32 1. 3 it —
\,) 1. 4 , of (o. c.) 1. 4 fearful (fearful,) 1. 8 destiny
(cap.) 1. 9 rigorous (rigid) l. 9 home, (ancestral home, I)
l. 1 the belove.f. (my daughter) l. 12 And, (o. c.) l. 12-
13 and . . . day (and daily I gazed) l. 13 her holy,
and mild and eloquent (her eloquent and mild and


TALES. 321
holy) 1. 14 , day after day, (o.) 1. 16 mother, (—) 1. 16
melancholy (melancholy,) 1. 16 , hourly, (o. c.) 1. 17
shadows (shadows, as it were,) 1. 17 more (became
more) 1. 18-19 more hideously terrible (to me more terri-
ble) 1. 20 bear; (—) 1. xi identity — (:) 1. 22 like
Moreno's (Morella's own) 1. 22 endure; (—) 1. 22-23
too often looked down (looked down too often) 1. 24 own
(p.) 1. 27 sad(p.) 1. 28 all — (all,) 1. 28 oh, (!) 1. 31
would (n. i.) 1. 32 lustra (lustrums) 1. 32-33 and, as yet,
(, yet) page 33 1. 4 daughter;— (—) 1. 5 Indeed,
(o. c.) 1. 7 save (but) 1. 9 mind, (o. c.) 1. 11 terrors
(horrors) 1. 13 old (antique) 1. 15 lips, with (lips — and)
1. 16 happy, (o. c.) 1. 17 , then, (o. c.) 1. 19 ebb (ebb
and flow) I. 20 torrents (tides) 1. 21 when, (o. c.) 1. 23
whispered (shrieked ) 1. 24 — Morella (,) 1. 25 child,
(o. c.) I. 26 hues (the hues) 1. 26 as (as,) 1. 26 scarcely
audible (o.) 1. 27 earth (cap.) 1. 27 heaven (cap.) 1. 28
and, (o. c.) 1. 28 on (upon) 1. 28 our (her) 1. 29 — /
(o. d.) 1. 30-32 fell . brain (— like a knell
of death — horrible death, sank the eternal sounds within
my soul.) 1. 33 pass (roll) 1. 34 Nor (Now) page 34 1. 3
fate (cap.) 1. 4 heaven (cap.) 1. 4 and (and,) 1. 4-5 the
. figures (, my spirit grew dark, and the figures
of the earth) 1. 5 me, (o. c.) 1. 9 died; (,) 1. 10 tomb;
(,) 1. 10 'witb (, with) 1. 1 1 first, (o. c.)
Variations of 1840 from the text.
Motto. Itself . . everlastingly. (Itself, alone
by itself, eternally one, and single.)
Page 27 1. 5 Eros, (;) page 28 1. 3 that, (o. c.) 1. 3
own, (o. c.) 1. 9 read, (o. c.) 1. 11 Persuaded (Feeling
deeply persuaded) 1. 19 . And (—and) 1. 19-20 , hour
. hour, (o. c.) 1. 20 side, (p. c.) 1. 22 terror,
(o. c.) 1. 22 and . . . fell (and fell like) 1. 24
thus, (o. c.) page 29 1. 14 me —(,) 1. 15; not (,) 1. 15
perplexing (mystical) 1. 23 this, (o. c.) 1. 24 uphraid:
(—) PaKC 30 1. 14 bed-side (side) after 1. 19 insert : —
Vol. II.-»i


TALES. 323
SOME PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF A LION.
[LIONIZING.]
Southern Literary Messenger, May, 1835; 1840;
1845; Broadway Journal, I., 11.
Note: The text follows the Broadway Journal,
Griswold shows a number of variations in punctuation, spelling,
and accent. 1845 dill'ers in no respect from Griswold. The var-
iations of the text from the Southern Literary Messenger state are
so numerous that it was deemed best to reprint the entire tale in its
earliest form (see below).
1840 shows moderate revision from Southern Literary Mcuenger.
The next revision was extensive. There is hardly a sentence of
any length that was not reworded. It will be observed, however,
that, although the phraseology was thoroughly revised, the inci-
dents were retained unchanged throughout.
LiON-izing. A Tale. (Southern Literary Messenger.)
. all people went
Upon their ten toes in wild wonderment.
Biiho/' Hairs Satires.
I am — that is to say, I ivas, a great man. But I am
neither the author of Junius, nor the man in the mask —
for my name is Thomas Smith, and I was born some-
where in the city of Fum-Fudge. The first action of my
life was the taking hold of my nose with both hands.
My mother saw this and called me a genius. My father
wept for joy, and bought me a treatise on Nosology.
Before I was breeched I had not only mastered the trea-
tise, but had collected into a common-place book all that
is said on the subject, by Pliny, Aristotle, Alexander
Ross, Minutius Felix, Hermanns Pictorius, Del Rio,
Villaret, Bartholinus, and Sir Thomas Browne.
I now began to feel my way in the science, and soon
came to understand, that, provided a man has a nose suf-
ficiently big, he might, by merely following it, arrive at


324 NOTES.
a Lionship. But my attention was not confined to theo-
ries alone. Every morning I took a dram or two, and
gave my proboscis a couple of pulls. When I came of
age my father sent for me to his study.
‘My son —said he – “what is the chief end of your
existence 2 "
“Father — I said – “it is the study of Nosology."
“And what, Thomas – he continued — ‘is Nos-
ology
“Sir” – I replied – “it is the science of Noses."
“And can you tell me — he asked — ‘what is the
meaning of a nose * *
“A nose, my father' — said I — ‘has been variously
defined, by about a thousand different authors. It is now
noon, or thereabouts. We shall therefore have time
enough to get through with them all by midnight. To
commence : — The nose, according to Bartholinus, is
that protuberance, that bump, that execrescence, that —
‘That will do Thomas – said my father. “I am
positively thunderstruck at the extent of your informa-
tion — I am, upon my soul — come here! (and he took
me by the arm.) Your education may be considered as
finished, and it is high time you should scuffle for your-
self – so—so – so (here he kicked me down stairs and
out of the door,) so get out of my house, and God bless
wou ! ”
As I felt within me the divine afflatus, I considered
this accident rather fortunate than otherwise, and deter-
mined to follow my nose. So I gave it a pull or two,
and wrote a pamphlet on Nosology. All Fum-Fudge
was in an uproar.
“Wonderful genius!” – said the Quarterly.
• Superb physiologist – said the New Monthly.
• Fine writer ' ' — said the Edinburgh.
* Great man ' ' — said Blackwood.
• I/ho can he be — said Mrs. Bas-Bleu.
• What can he be — said the big Miss Bas-Bleu.
• Where can he be 2 " — said little Miss Bas-Bleu.


TALES. 325
But I paid them no manner of attention, and walked
into the shop of an artist.
The Duchess of Bless-my-soul was sitting for her por-
trait. The Marchioness of So-and-so was holding the
Duchess' poodle. The Earl of This-and-that was flirt-
ing with her salts, and His Royal Highness of Touch-me-
not was standing behind her chair. I merely walked
towards the artist, and held up my proboscis.
'O beautiful I ' — sighed the Duchess of Bless-my-
soul.
'O pretty !' — lisped the Marchioness of So-and-so.
* Horrible I' —groaned the Earl of This-and-that.
* Abominable !' — growled his Highness of Touch-
me-not.
'What will you take for it ?' — said the artist.
'A thousand pounds' — said I, sitting down.
'A thousand pounds ?' — he inquired, turning the
nose to the light.
* Precisely ' said I.
'Beautiful' — said he, looking at the nose.
4 A thousand pounds' — said I, twisting it to one
side.
'Admirable !' — said he.
'A thousand pounds' — said I.
'You shall have them * —said he — ' what a piece of
Virtu!'
So he paid me the money, and made a sketch of my
nose. I took rooms in Jermyn street, sent his Majesty
the ninety-ninth edition of the Nosology with a portrait
of the author, and his Royal Highness of Touch-me-not
invited me to dinner. We were all Lions and Recherchis.
There was a Grand Turk from Stamboul. He said
that the angels were horses, cocks, and bulls, that some-
body in the sixth heaven had seventy thousand heads and
seventy thousand tongues — and the earth was held up
by a sky-blue cow with four hundred horns.
There was Sir Positive Paradox. He said that all fools
were philosophers, and all philosophers were fools.


326 NOTES.
There was a writer on Ethics. He talked of Fire,
Unity, and Atoms — Bi-part, and Pre-existent soul—
Affinity and Discord — Primitive Intelligence and Ho-
moomeria.
There was Theologos Theology. He talked of Euse-
bius and Arianus – Heresy and the Council of Nice—
Consubstantialism, Homousios and Homouioisios.
There was Fricassée from the Rocher de Cancale.
He mentioned Latour, Markbrunnen and Mareschino
– Muriton of red tongue and Cauliflowers with Velouté
sauce — veal a la St. Menehoult, Marinade à la St.
Florentin, and orange jellies en mosaiques.
There was Signor Tintontintino from Florence. He
spoke of Cimabue, Arpino, Carpaccio and Agostino –
the gloom of Caravaggio, the amenity of Albano — the
golden glories of Titian — the frows of Rubens, and the
waggeries of Jan Steen.
There was the great geologist Feltzpar. He talked of
Hornblende, Mica-slate, Quartz, Schist, Schorl, and
Pudding-stone.
There was the President of the Fum-Fudge University.
He said that the moon was called Bendis in Thrace,
Bubastis in Egypt, Dian in Rome, and Artemis in
Greece.
There was Delphinus Polyglot. He told us what had
decome of the eighty-three lost tragedies of Aeschylus —
of the fifty-four orations of Isaeus — of the three hundred
and ninety-one speeches of Lysias — of the hundred and
eighty treatises of Theophrastus — of the eighth book of
the Conic Sections of Apollonius — of Pindar's Hymns
and Dithyrambics, and the five and forty tragedies of
Homer Junior.
There was a modern Platonist. He quoted Porphyry,
Iamblichus, Plotinus, Proclus, Hierocles, Maximus, Ty-
rius, and Syrianus.
There was a human-perfectibility man. He quoted
Turgot, Price, Priestly, Condorcet, De Staël, and the
* Ambitious Student in rather ill health."


TALES. 327
There was myself. I talked of Pictorius, Del Rio,
Alexander Ross, Minutius Felix, Bartholinus, Sir Thos.
Browne, and the Science of Noses.
• Marvellous clever man !' — said his Highness.
'Superb !' — said the guests: and the next morning
her Grace of Bless-my-soul paid me a visit.
• Will you go to Almacks, pretty creature?' she said.
'Certainly' — said I. 'Nose and all ?' — she asked.
'Positively ' — I replied.
• Here then is a card ' — she said. 'Shall I say you
will be there?'
'Dear duchess! with all my heart.'
• Pshaw! no — but with all your nose ? *
'Every bit of it, my life,' — said I. So I gave it a
pull or two and found myself at Almacks. The rooms
were crowded to suffocation.
1 He is coming !' — said somebody on the staircase.
• He is coming!' — said somebody farther up.
'He is coming !' — said somebody farther still.
'He is come !' — said the Duchess — 'he is come,
the little love!' And she caught me by both hands, and
looked me in the nose.
'Ah joli' — said Mademoiselle Pas Seul.
• Dios guarda !' — said Don Stiletto.
• Diavolo !' —said Count Capricornuto.
'Tousand Teufel !' — said Baron Bludenuff.
• Tweedle-dee-tweedle-dee-tweedle-dum !' — said the
orchestra.
'Ah joli! Dios guarda ! — Diavolo ! — and Tousand
Teufel!' repeated Mademoiselle Pas Seul, Don Stiletto,
Count Capricornuto, and Baron Bludenuff. It was too
bad —it was not to be borne. I grew angry.
'Sir !' — said I to the baron — ' you are a baboon!'
• Sir!' — replied he, after a pause, — ' Donner and
Blitten!'
This was sufficient. The next morning I shot off his
nose at six o'clock, and then called upon my friends.
'Bfite !' — said the first.


328 NOTES.
• Fool " " — said the second.
“Ninny!' – said the third.
• Dolt ' ' — said the fourth.
• Noodle ' ' — said the fifth.
• Ass " " — said the sixth.
“Be off " " — said the seventh.
At all this I felt mortified, and called upon my father.
• Father' — I said — ‘what is the chief end of my ex-
istence * *
‘My son " — he replied – “it is still the study of Nos.
ology. But in hitting the Baron's nose you have overshot
vour mark. You have a fine nose it is true, but then
Bludenuff has none. You are d–d, and he has become
the Lion of the day. In Fum-Fudge great is the Lion
with a proboscis, but greater by far is the Lion with no
proboscis at all."
Pariations of 1840 from above.
Page 323 1. 1 , a (—) l. 1 . But (; but) 1. z. mask —
(,) 1. 6. My (; my) l. lo , by (o. c.) 1. 14, that (o. c.)
1. 14 has (had) page 324 l. 1 Lionship (s. 1.) l. 2 . Every
(; every) l. 4 sent . . . to (asked me, one day, if I would
step with him into) 1.5 — said he – (, said he, when we
got there,) 1. 7 — I ſaid – (, I said,) 1. 8 continued —
(,) 1. 8 — he (,) 1. 1 o – I replied — (, I replied,) 1. 11
— he asked – (, he asked,) 1. 13 — ſaid I – (, said I.)
i. 14, by (o. c.) 1. 14. It ((here . . . watch). It) i. 17
– The (, then. The) l. 19 do (do,) 1. 19 my father
(the old gentleman) 1. 20 positively (o.) 1. 22 arm.) ().)
I. : 1 am, (am —) 1. 24 to (so –) 1. 25 door, (o. c.)
1. 32 etc. omit dash after quotations. page 325 1. 3 seal
(cap.) 1. 4. The (; the) l. 4 so (cap.) I. 5 . The (; they
!. 5 Duchess's (Duchess) i. 5 that (cap.) 1. 6 salts, (;) 1.9
of Bless-my-soul (o.) 1. 11 of So-and-so (o.) 1. 12 of This-
and-that (o.) . 12 Horrible (O horrible) l. 13 Abominable
(O abominable) l. 13 Highness . . . not (Royal High-
ness) 1. 26 Pirtº (virtu) 1 3o author (author's nose) 1. 3 o
not (cap.) i. 31 Lions (s. 1.) I. 31 Recherchés (s. 1.) l. 35 with


TALES. 329
(, having) page 326 1. 2 soul— (;) write with s. 1. nouns
beginning with cap. in par. I (" Fire, etc.") 1. 6 Heresy
(; heresy) 1. 7 and (, and) 1. 10 Muriton (s. 1.) 1. 10
Cauliflowers (s. 1.) 1. 10 Vcloutt (s. 1.) 1. 11 sauce — (;)
1. 11 Marinade (s. 1.) I. 14 Cimabue (Cimabue") 1. 14
— the (; the) 1. 18-21 He . . . stone (He talked of
internal fires and tertiary formations; of aeriforms, rluidi-
forms, and solidiforms; of quartt and marl; of schist and
schorl; of gypsum, hornblende, mica-slate, and pudding-
stone) 1. 26 Polyglot (Polyglott) 1. 27 —of (;) 1. t8 etc.
— of (;) 1. 31 Conic Sections (s. 1.) 1. 31 Hymns (s. 1.)
1. 32 Ditbyrambics (s. 1.) 1. 32 five and forty (five-and-
forty) 1. 35 Maximus, (o. c.) 1. 38 the' ("The) 1. 39
rather (o.) 1. 39 ill health (cap.) page 327 1. 1 talked
(spoke) 1. 6 /on/(cap.) 1. 7 Almacks (Almack's) 1. 7 said
(said, chucking me under the chin) 1. 8 Certainly (Upon
honor) 1. 8 'Nose etc. (new line) 1. 9 Positively— (As I
live,) 1. 10 then (, then,) 1. 10 she said (my life) 1. 11
will (i.) I. 11 duchess (cap.) 1. 12 I no (,) I. 13 life (love)
1. 13 . So (;) 1. 14 Almacks (Almack's) 1. 17-18 farther
(further) 1. 19 —said (o. d.) 1. 19 Duchess— (;) 1. 30
Bludenuff(Bludenmiff) 1. 30 Zr (This applause — it was
obstreperous; it was not the thing ; it) 1. 32 — (o.) 1. 33
replied he (he replied) I. 33 and (und) page 328 1. 7 and
(and so) 1. 11 nose (nose,) 1. 12 , but (;) 1. 15 a (a big)
L 13 , and (;) 1. 14-16 Lion (s. 1.).
Variations of Grinuold from text.
Page 35 The title in Griswold is "Lioniting."
[Motto] All (s. 1.) 1. 10 science; (,) page 36 1. 10 We
(1. L) 1. 11 soul (cap.) 1. 11 be, (.) 1. 11 ivhat (cap.)
1. 12 [fir**] (o. a.)l. 12 — So (o. d.) 1. i% — Will
(o. d.) 1. 15 with (, with) 1. 16 proboscis. (.—) 1. 19
Oh (Oh,) 1. 20 Oh (Oh,) 1. 23 [Turgot] (Turgot) 1. 23
[Priestley] (Priestly) 1. 23 [Condorcet] (Condorcet)
1. 23 [Stael (Stael)] 1. 24 door, (door) 1. 25 and
(, and) 1. 30 [bomoomeria (homoomeria)] 1. 33 [//t-
moousios-] (Homousios) 1. 34 \Homoonioisios] (Homouio-
iiios)page 39 1. 4 [mosaiques] (mosaiques) 1. 6 [Mark-


330 NOTES.
hrinen\ (Markbr|innen) 1. 7 [Richeboarg (Richbourg)]
1. 8 {LtonvilU (o. a.)] I. 8 \Midoc (o. a.)] 1- 9 upoa
Sauterne, upon I.atitte, (not in Broadway Journal) 1. 9
\Ptray (o. a.)] I. 22 and (, and) 1. 31 Conic Sectionj
(s. 1.) page 40 1. 10 of (, of) 1. 11 nose (note,) I. 11
and (and I) 1. 14 guests; (:—) 1. 15 soul (cap.) 1. 16
Almacks (Almack's) 1. 21 , shall (. Shall) 1. 26 t-t-o
(two,) 1. 26 Almacks (Almack's) 1. 31 —he (. He) 1. 3 1
and (and,) page 41 1. 5 Tausend (Tousand) 1. 32-33
Good Heavens (s. 1.).
HANS PFAALL.1
Southern Literary Messenger, June, 1835; 1840;
Griswold.
The text follow! Griswold, with a few corrections by the Editor.
1840 was somewhat revised from Soulier* Literary Mttsenger.
Especially to be noted are the insertion of several passages (one
with note), several omissions, and the addition of the long note at
the end of the tale.
Griswold must have had a considerably revised form, as his varia-
tions from 1840 are numerous. Several passages are omitted, the
opening paragraph of the note at the end of the tale rewritten, and
numerous emendations made in phraseology and in punctuation
throughout the piece.
The variations of the Southern Literary Messenger from
the text are as follows: —
No motto in Southern Literary Messenger. Page 42
1. 1 , that (o. c.) 1. 2 high (singularly high) 1. 3 Indeed,
(o. c.) 1. 4 — so . . . novel—(, so . . . novel,)
1. 5 preconceived (pre-conceived) 1. 5 opinions — (,) 1. 7
physics (cap.) 1. 7-8 reason . . . astronomy (cap.) 1. 10
date, (o. c.) 1. 12 in the (in the goodly and) 1. 15 stirring;
(,) page 43 1. 1 duration . . . firmament, (duration.
1 Poe himself spells the hero's name in several different ways:
as in the text, " Hans Phaal" (in his correspondence: see vol.
xvii), and '' Hans Pfaal. " — Ed.


TALES. 331
These occasionally fell from large white masses of cloud
which chequered in a fitful manner the blue vault of the
firmament.) 1. 3 , about noon, (o. c.) 1. 6 , in . . .
afterwards, (o. c.) 1. 9 shout, (o. c.) 1. 10 Niagara,
(o. c.) 1. 11 loudly (loud) 1. 11 all the city and (o.) 1. 15
sharply defined (sharply-defined) 1. 17 solid (solid body or)
1. 18 shaped, (shaped, so outre in appearance,) 1. 20
admired, (o. c.) 1. 21 open-mouthed (open-mouthed and
thunderstruck) 1. 22 devils (vrows and devils) 1. 23 knew;
(—) 1. 24 imagine; (—) 1. 24-25 — not
Vnderduk — (, not . . . Underduk,) 1. 26 mystery;
(:) 1. 28 corner (left corner) 1. 28-29 maintaining . . .
upon (, cocking up his right eye towards) page 44 1. 4
baloon; (:) 1. 6-7 manufactured entirely (entirely manu-
factured) 1. 7-8 certainly; (; —) 1. 8 here, (o. c.) 1. 9
rather (rather, so to speak,) 1. 12 before (o.) 1. 13 —
// was an (It was too bad — it was not to be borne: it
was an insult—an) 1. 15 , it (p. c.) 1. 15 . Being
(, being) 1. 16 fool' s -cap (fools-cap) 1. 17 ivas . . . as
(was) 1. 18 when (when,) 1. 18-19 the crowd saiv (there
was perceived) 1. 19 and, (o. c.) 1. 20 cone, (cone) 1. 23
ribbons (ribbands) 1. 23 worse. — (.) 1. 24 hung, (hung)
1. 25 car, (p. c.) 1. 28 that (, that) 1. 31 ;white (o. sc.)
page 45 1. 4-5 attempts . . . failed, (attempts had
failed of obtaining any intelligence concerning them
whatsoever.) 1. 6 human, (human, and) 1. 8 the city
(Rotterdam) 1. 12 —But (o. d.) 1. i%for . . . was
(, for . . . was,) 1. 17 singular (droll little) 1. 18
height; (—) 1. 19 sufficient (enough) 1. 18-20 equilibrium
(n. i.) 1. 25 absurd (grotesque) 1. 25 all. (all, although a
horny substance of suspicious nature was occasionally
protruded through a rent in the bottom of the car,
or, to speak more properly, in the top of the hat.)
1. 26 gray (extremely gray) 1. 27 queue (cue) 1. 29 in-
flammatory; (—) 1. 29 acute; (—) 1. 30 double; (—)
I. 31 kind (kind or character) page 46 1. 3 blood-red
(o. h.)l. 5 bosom, (o. c.) 1. 10 appeared (appeared al-
together) 1. 14 proceeded (preceded,) 1. 15 side-pocket (o. h.)


3.32 NOTES.
1. 1 ; in (of) 1. 16 hand: (–) l. zo wax (wax,) 1. 27
half a dozen (one and twenty) l. 2: reascend (re-ascend)
1. 28 bags (bags of sand) 1. 32 individual (man) page 47
l. 2 that (that, ) i. 2-3 each . . . circumvolutions, (the
period of each and every one of his one and twenty cir-
cumvolutions,) 1. 3 half a dozen (one and twenty) 1.6
, God willing, (o.) 1.7 decease. (death.) l. 15 thereupon,
(o. c.) 1. Is the descent of which (whose descent) l. 16
dignity (dignity,) 1. 16, Jon (the illustrious burgomaster
Mynheer Superbus Von) 1. 18 movements (movement)
l. 2 o epistle (packet in question) 1. 22 Rubadub (Rub-a-
dub) l. 27 extraordinary, — serious, (o. c.) 1. 27 com-
munication : —(.) i. 28 Rubadub (Rub-a-dub) l. 28–29
President (President,) 1. 3 o', in (o. c.) 1. 32 artizan,
(o. c.) page 48 l. 3 considered (considered by all parties
at once sudden, and extremely) l. 7 fellow-citizens (o. h.)
1. 7 I (, I) i. 9 in (and in) l. 1 1 mind – (,) 1. 14 : for
(. For 1. 14 years, (o. c.) 1. 16 politics (the troubles and
politics) 1. 23 world, (o. c.) 1. 24 had (had, so they
said, ) i. 2 - and (, and) 1. 28 fanning, (o. c.) 1. 29 and
(and, ) i. 3 I — for, (, for) page 49 l. 3 the (the speed-
iest and l. 5 meantime, (o. c.) 1. 7 night. (night, so that
I began to rave, and foam, and fret like a caged tiger
against the bars of his inclosure.) 1. Io vowed (internally
vowed) i. 1 o law (utmost severity of the law) l. 12
clutches ; (, ) i. 2 o them (my creditors) 1. 23 object (any
object whatever) l. 26 and, (o. c.) 1. 33 book – (,) 1. 34
awoke (awoke, as it were,) page 50 l. 2 toward (towards)
1. 3-5 (in . . . Nantz,) (o.) 1. 6 and, (and) 1. Io
in an (in a powerful and) l. 15 natural philosophy (cap.)
1. 23, the reality, (– the reality —) 1, 24 intuition (in-
tuition and whether to proceed a step farther, profundity
itself might not, in matters of a purely speculative nature,
be detected as a legitimate source of falsity and error.)
After the above, insert : — In other words, I believed,
and still do believe, that truth is frequently, of its
own essence, superficial, and that, in many cases, the
depth lies more in the abysses where we seek her,


334 NOTES.
1. i of greater (three feet in) L i3 situation! (.) 1. 15
dlpfit (depot) 1. 16 secreted, (p. c.) 1. 20 labor (labor,)
I. a I But, (o. c.) I. 24 easily, I calculated, (I ca'cu-
lated, easily) 1. 29 , being quite (—quite) 1. 31 Every-
thing (Every thing) 1. 33 stall; (,) I. 34 and (and.)
page 54 1. 1 permit (admit) 1. 1 ivhat little (all the) 1. a
no (little) 1. 6-7 — a . . . weight — (, a . .
weight,) 1. 8 air— (,) 1. 9 and (and,) 1. 10 aides (aids)
1. 17 dark; (—) I. 17 seen; (,) 1. 18 rain, (o. c.) L 18
intervals, (o. c.)l. 20 lhe (my) 1. 20 'which, (o. c.) 1. 22
moisture; the (moisture: my) 1. 29-30 (so . . . said)
(, so . . . said.) I.31 skin, (p.c.)\. 33 night; (—)
page 55 1. 5 all scores in full, (immediate payment) 1. 7
interpretation; (—) 1. 13 (not new par.) 1. 15 car, (o.c.)
1. 16-21 a telescope . . . stopper (o.) 1. 22-23 some
. . . ivax, (o.) 1. 28 daybreak (day-break) I. 28 (not
new par.) 1. 32 end of ivhich (whose end) 1. 33 little
(very little) page 56 I. 1 duns; (,) 1. 4 with . . .
rapidity, (, rapidly) 1. 7-8 As I . . . ig°. (o.) 1. 11
tumultuous and terrible (horrible and tumultous) 1. 12 fire,
(tire, and smoke, and sulphur, and legs and arms,) 1. 13
and mangled limbs (o.) 1. 15 terror (unmitigated terror
1. 15 Indeed, (o. c.) 1. 26 line (exact line) I. 27 time,
(o. c.) 1. 28 collapse, (—) 1. 28 expanded, (—) 1. 29
sickening (horrible) 1. 29 velocity, (—) 1. 31 me (me
with great force) 1. 32 downward (downwards) page 57
1. 8 me— (me — my brain reeled) 1. 9 at length . . .
s^joon (I fainted away) 1. 10 state (state,) 1. 12 ivien
(when, at length,) 1. 17 replete (rife) 1. 18 Indeed, (o. c.)
1. 19 oj'(of incipient) 1. 27 not, (—) 1. 27 suspected, (—)
1. 29 and, (o. c.) 1. 30 case, (case, I) page 58 1. 5-6
and never, . . . did I look (and I never, . . . ,
looked) 1. 17 pantaloons (inexpressibles) 1. 19 on (upon)
1. 20 them, (p. c) 1. 22-23 within . . . obtained,
(the instrument thus obtained, within my teeth,) 1. 26
; but (— but) 1. 29 now (now,) page 59 1. 1 degrees; (—)
1. 4 iorb&mt; (—) 1. 6 outvoard (outwards) 1. 8 imminent
(imminent and dangerous) L 10 ttivard (towards) 1. 14


TALES. 335
tar— (, —) 1. 18 disclosures now made (wonderful ad-
ventures of Hans Pfall) 1. 20 grateful—(;) 1. 21 any
thing (anything) 1. 21 perhaps (I suppose) 1. 23 exertion
(exertion whatsoever) 1. 26 sense (chilling sense) 1. 29
delirium (madness and delirium) page 60 1. 2 and, with
frantic cries and struggles, (and amid horrible curses and
convulsive struggles,) 1. 3 till, (o. c.) 1. 7 (not new par.)
1. 7 afterward (afterwards) 1. 7 some time (sometime)
1. 11 , fortunately . . . bad, (I had fortunately) 1. 16
the (my) 1. 16 gave (showed) 1. 17 three-quarter (three
quarter) 1. 19-21 of a domino . . . toys. (, and in
every way bearing a great resemblance to one of those
childish toys called a domino.) I. 21 telescope (spy-
glass) 1. 28 voyage (perilous voyage) 1. 32 disgust, (—)
1. 29 mind, (o. c.) 1. 34 mind, (—) page 61 1. 1 life,
(—) 1. 2-3 , backed . . Nantz, (o.) 1. 7 could,
(—) 1. 7-8 to tbe moon (n. i.) 1. 8 Now, (o. c.) 1. 12 full
(incontestably full) 1. 17 radii (n. i.) I. 18 337,000
(237000) 1. 18 ;— but (. But) 1. 19 amounting (, amount-
ing) 1. 22 moon (moon, as it were,) 1. 26 that, (, that)
1. 27 237,000 (237000) 1. 27 would (should) 1. 28
radius (n. i.) 1. 31 231,920 (231920) 1. 33 tbe (o.)l. 33
sixty (thirty) 1. 34 hour; (,) page 62 1. 2 161 (322) 1. 5
sixty (thirty) 1. 9-10 one . . . importance (, was a
matter of far greater importance) 1. 12 earth (earth,) I. 13
us (us,) 1. 14-15 ; that . . . third; (—that
third—) 1. 14 10,600 (10600) iS,ooo (1 Sooo)
1. 15 one-third (o. h.) 1. 16-17 one-half (p. h.) 1. 17
the (of the) 1. 22 excessive (excessive,) 1. 22 in no man-
ner (, in no manner,) 1. 23 and, (o. c.) 1. 29 compression,
(o. c.) 1. 32 granted (granted,) 1. 32 is (is,) 1. 34 reasoning
(reasoning,) page63 1. 1 data (n. i.) 1. 2 man (man,) 1. 3
23,000 (25000) 1. 13 before, (before) 1. 14 ratio (n. i.)
1. 16 mo (n. i.) 1. 17 argued; (,) 1. 29 disturbances (dis-
turbances or perturbations) 1. 31 ; that . . . say,
(—that . . . say—) 1. 33 Now, (o. c.) 1. 34
from (by) page 64 1. 3 tbe comet's (its) 1. 9: — The
(. The) I. 12 toward (towards) I. 16-17 dense . . .


336 NOTES.
sun (only denser in proportion to its solar vicinity, L 2]
evidently (evidently,) 1. 32 perhaps at some (in some)
[o. note] page 65 1. 1-3 purely orbs.
(, so to speak, purely geological.) 1. 9 quantity (quanti-
ties) 1. 10 purposes (purpose) 1. 13 object (purposes) 1. 13
and (and I) 1. 16 period.—(.) 1. 17 ivould (might)
1. 20 Noie, (o. c.) 1. 21-Ji gravity . . baloon;
(lightness of the gas in the balloon, compared with the
atmospheric air;) 1. 25 strata (n. i.) 1. 26 say, (o. c.)
1. 27 upward (upwards) 1. 30 diminution (n. i.) !. 30
had . . . to be (was) 1. 31 ascent; (—) page 66
1. 1 suci (such an) 1. 3-+ of the acceleration .
centre, (of some accelerating power.) 1. 5 that, (, that)
1. 6 medium (n. i.) 1. 7 essentially (actually
and essentially) 1. 12-14 similar . . . -explosion,) (a
rarefaction partially similar,) 1. 15 ivould (would still)
1. 17-27 Tbus . . . pounds (o.) 1. 27 meantime,
(o. c.) I. 29 so (thus) 1. 31 force (power) 1. 31 After
"the moon." insert : — In accordance with these ideas,
I did not think it worth while to encumber myself with
more provisions than would be sufficient for a period of
forty days. 1. 32 that of the moon (the moon's) 1. 33
another difficult?, however, (still, however, another diffi-
culty) page 67 1. t that, (o. c.) 1. 1 in (in all) 1. 3 it
(is invariably) [Note on p. 67 not in Southern Literary
Messenger.'] 1. 8-9 increase (increase indefinitely) I. 9
until (, or at least until) 1. 16 for the (for the pur-
pose of a) I. 19 vacuum: (—) 1. 25 diminish — (,)
1. 26 tvith confidence (strongly) 1. 28 may it (it may)
1. 29 all, (o. c) page 68 1. 4-5 mankind (humankind)
1. 7—that . . . quarters — (, that . .
quarters,) 1. ^rapidity; (—) 1. 12-14 <i* obvious . . .
■mot. (reasons which will be explained in the sequeL)
1. 19 nonchalance (aem chalance) 1. 27 hoiv great an
(what a great) 1. 30 Nov:, (o. c.) 1. 30 segment (segment
is) 1. 32 m*— (,) page 69 1. 5 telescope (spy glass) 1. 15
a (within a) 1. 27 ignited (ignited and glowing) 1. 34
descend (descend, as it were,) page 70 1. 5 say (say —)


TALES. 337
1. 5 ivet, (o. c.) 1. 6 ballast— (,) 1. 6-7 my . . .
probably (inevitable ruin) 1. 16 , too,(o. c.) 1. 22 degree;
(,) 1. 26 imprudently, (o. c.) 1. 27 five-pound (o. h.)
1. 29 obtained, (o. c.) 1. 30 stratum (n. i.) 1. 33 more
(better) page 71 1. 1 manner, — (—) 1. 8-9 of ivhich
I . . . guilty (which I guilty of) 1. 14,
indeed (o. c.) 1. 20 possible (inevitable) 1. 21 return
(return to Rotterdam) 1. 28 left (right) 1. 28 penknife
(pen-knife) 1. 31 basin-full (p. h.) page 72 1. 8 meantime,
(o. c.) 1. 16 any thing (anything) 1. 26 (Not new par.)
page 73 1. 10 and (and a) 1. 11 blue, (blue, and began
already to assume a slight appearance of convexity.
After 1. 17 insert: From the rock of Gibraltar, now
dwindled into a dim speck, the dark Mediterranean sea,
dotted with shining islands as the heaven is dotted with
stars, spread itself out to the eastward as far as my vision
extended, until its entire mass of waters seemed at length
to tumble headlong over the abyss of the horiton, and I
found myself listening on tiptoe for the echoes of the
mighty cataract.
Omit Par. II., page 73. Page 74 1. 10-1 1 , a
. . . pigeon, (— a ... pigeon — ) 1. 14
noise, (—) 1. 16 balf-a- (half a) 1. 17 from (from off)
I. 21 rim, (—) page 75 1. 1 lively (lively,) 1. 2 uneasiness
(uneasiness whatever) 1. 3 quarter-past (o. h.) 1. 4 breadth
(breadth at all) 1. 1 1 existing, (—) 1. 19 , up . . .
sides, (— up . . . sides —) I. 25 ivork, — (—)
1. 26 words, (o. c.) page 76 1. 4 bag; (—) I. 16 depend-
ence; (,) 1. 20 Indeed, (o. c.) 1. 32 tourniquet (n. i.)
page 77 1. > 2 ; for (—) 1. 16, three (eight) 1. 22
vacuum (n. i.) 1. 23-24 , in . . . condensation, (o. c.)
1. 25 being (, being) 1. 28 , in . . . time, (o. c.) 1. 31
car; — (--) 1. 34 chamber, (chamber) page 78 1. 9
before (before-) 1. 12 As soon . . elastic, (p.)
1. 19 employed, (o. c.) 1. 20 respiration; (,) 1. 22 guilty, of
(guilty in) 1. 23 last (very last) 1. 30 headache (headach)
page 79 1. 7 , or (or) 1. 11 five-and-tvuenty (o. h.) 1. 14
hit (entirely lost) 1. 15 became (became fully) I. 18 The
Vol. II. - *a


338 NOTES.
acta* concavity, (The convexity of the ocean
beneath me was very evident indeed —) After 1. 19
insert: I obienred now that even the lightest vapors never
rose to more than ten miles above the level of the sea)
1. 2s expected, (—) L 24 velocity, (o. c.) 1. 26 ,• not
(:) I. 30 feathers; (—) L 31 rapidly; (—) page 80 1. 3
momently (momentarily) I. 7 Riurrdam; (,)1. 22 solitudes,
(o. c.) 1. 25 fir ever (forever) I. 28 After "clouds"
insert:— And out of this melancholy water arose a forest
of tall eastern trees, like a wilderness of dreams. And
I bore in mind that the shadows of the trees which fell
upon the lake remained not on the surface where they fell
— but sunk slowly and steadily down, and commingled
with the waves, while from the trunks of the trees other
shadows were continually coming out, and taking the
place of their brothers thus entombed. "This, then," I
saip thoughtfully, "a the very reason why the waters of
this lake grow blacker with age, and more melancholy
as the hours run on." 1. 30 appalling (appaling).
Page 81 1. 4 o'clock, (o. c.) 1. 4 Af., (M.) 1. 9 breath-
ing; (,) L 11 , of course, (o. c.) 1. 19 uneasiness, (un-
easiness whatever.) 1. 21 around, (o. c.) 1. 22 , possibly,
[p. c.) I. 24 medium (n. i.) 1. 26 strata (n. i.) 1. 29 , at
tkis time, (o. c.) 1. 33 vaive, (o. c.) page 82 1. 3 air,
(o. c.) 1. 5 Positively, (o. c.) 1. 7 absolute (absolute and
total) 1. 12 o'clock, (o. c.) 1. 14 rapidity, (o. c.) 1. 31
night; (—) 1. 33 escaped (totally escaped) page 83 1. 2
interim (n. i.) 1. 4 or, (o. c.) 1. 7 disquietude; (,) 1. 7
believed, (p. c.) 1. 11 custom, (—) 1. 15 sleep; (—) 1. 16
intervals (regular intervals) 1. 19 manner — (,) L 20
ivas, (o. c.)l. tiivbici, (o. c.)L 33 idea; (—) page 84
1. 6 premise, (p. c.)I. 11 vacillation (vacillation whatever)
1. 15 these, (—) 1. 16-17 , and taking Iivo ropes, (— took
two ropes, and) 1. 17 other ; (,) 1. 19 keg, (o. c.) 1. 25
keg, (o. c.) 1. 28 , it (it) 1. 31 ivater, (o. c.)l. 32 would
(should) 1. 34 , by (o. c.) page 85 1. 9 more (better) 1. 9
that (that,) 1. 16 bed, (o. c.) 1. 23 anticipated; (,) 1. 24
day, (o. c.) 1. 28-29 convexity . . . manifest, (ap-


TALES. 339
parent convexity increased in a material degree.) 1. 31-33
Overhead . . . ascent, (o.) page 86 1. 1 , or streak,
(or streak) I. 3 disc (disk) I. 9 , however, (however)
1. 10 (not new par.) 1. 19 soundly, (—) 1. i$grayish-ivhite
(o. h.) 1. 26-30 The convexity . . . cataract (o.) 1. 31
visible; (—) 1. 32 south-east (o. h.) 1. 34 inclined, (o. c.)
page 87 1. 1 was (, was) 1. 4 reading, (—) 1. 11 distinct,
(". c.) 1. 14-11; , and . . . ivejtivard,(—and . . .
westward—) 1. 30 me, (o. c.) page 88 1. 2 feet; (—)
1. 3, that (o. c.) 6 , at (o. c.) 1. 6 , respectively, (o. c.)
1 7 six, A.M., (six A.M.) 1. 8 nine, A.M., (nine A. M.)
1. ii-ii certainly, (o. c.) 1. 17-18 ; the . . . pro-
jected; (—the . projected—) 1. 20 may,(p. c.)
1. 26 sight, (o. c.) 1. 27 , ivhat (o. c.) 1. 30 , may (o. c.)
1. 34 , farther . . plane, (— farther .
plane—) page 891. 2 , at . . . itself', (at . . .
itself) 1. 5 seconds, (;) 1. 8 absolute (absolute and im-
penetrable) 1. 8 this, (o. c.) 1. 10 seven, P.M., (seven
P.M.) 1. 11 entirely; (—) I. 21 clouds, (o. c.) 1. 25
hours; (—) 1. 28-29 Nevertheless, (—) 1. 31-32 , due
south, (o. c.) page QO 1. 1 Indeed, (p. c.) 1. 2 ; for (,)
1. 6 j° 8' (s°, 8",) 1. 7-10 Strange . . . ellipse, (o.)
1. 14-15 , at nine, P.M., (at nine P.M.) 1. 16 Gulf{&. 1.)
1. 22 say (say,) 1. 29 state of great (pitiable state of)
page 91 1. 7 suddenly, (p. c.) 1. 8 angle, (o. c.) 1. 12
route, (o. c). I. 16 loud (loud,) 1. 19 diameter, (o. c.)
1. 28 perigee, (o. c.) 1. 30 orbit (orbit,) 1. 32 overhead
(over-head) 1. 3 3 long continued (long-continued) page 92
1. a ivith (with anything approaching to) 1. 4 appalling
(unearthly and appalling) 1. 6 intensity (horrible intensity)
1. 7 ivbile, (p. c.) 1. 7 stricken, (o. c.) 1. 8 of(, of) 1. 8
kneiv (know) 1. 10 a (the) 1. 25 extreme; (—) 1. 26
Indeed, (o. c.) 1. 27 , had (o. c.) page 93 1. 1 insert:
— The consequence of a concussion with any of them
would have been inevitable destruction to me and my
balloon.) 1. 4 remembered, (o. c.) 1. 6 diminished; (—)
I. 7-8 observable; (—) 1. 8 and, (o. c.) 1. 8 sixteenth,
(o. c.) 1. 11 , on (o. c.) 1. 12 slumber, (o. c.) 1. 14 ,


340 NOTES.
as (o. c.) 1. 16 thunderstruck! (.) 1. 16 No 'wordi
(No words — no earthly expression) 1. 17 extreme,
(—) I. if , with (o. c.) I. 21 , then, (p. c.) 1. as /
"These (—these) 1. 24 burst!—(—) 1. 25 velocity!
(.) 1. 29 annihilation! (.) I. 30 paused 1 considered;
(paused — considered—) 1. 32 After "down" insert:
— There was some mistake. Not the red thunderbolt
itself could have so impetuously descended.) page 94 1. 1
conceived (so horribly conceived) 1. 4 fact, (o. c.) 1. 5
senses, (o. c.)l. 12 affairs, (o. c.) 1. 16 anticipated, (o. c.)
I. 23 slumber, (o. c.) 1. 23 confusion, (o. c.) 1. 31 say,
(p. c.) 1. 31 , either (o. c.) 1. 33 , that, (p. c.) page 95
1. 4 chart— (,) I. 11 say, (say!) L 12 alluvial, (—)
1. 17 three-quarter (o.h.) 1. 18 ; but (but)l. 24 paver,
(o. c.) 1. 25 mis-called (o. h.) 1. 25 stones, (o. c.) 1. 29
bulk — (,) 1. 30 descent, (o. c.) 1. 31 , that (o. c.) 1. 33 ,
in its vicinity, (o. c.) page 96 1. 1 planet, (o. c.) 1. 1
calculations; (—) 1. 3-4 a general at all.
(the positive evidence of our senses.) 1. 4-31 But, in
. . . the limb, (o.) page 97 1. 1 (not new par.)
1. 2 o» (this) 1. 6 expect, (p. c.) I. 6 adventure, (o. c.)
I. 8 , indeed, (o. c.) 1. 17 ten, (o. c.) I. 19 eleven, (o. c.)
1. 19 apparatus ; (—) 1. 21 tourniquet (n. i.) page 98 1. 1
headache (headach) 1. 6 momently (momentarily) I. 7
strata (n. i.) I. 17 supposed in the ratio (being in exact
ratio) 1. 17 of the (of their) 1. 19 , however, (o. c.) 1. 20
enough; (—) 1. 24-25 , accordingly, (o. c.) 1. 27 article
(individual article) 1. 30 mile (mile at farthest) 1. 34 net-
ivork (loop of the network) page 99 1. 1 , at . . .
reach, (as . . . reach) 1. 9 , ivitb (with) 1. 9 askant,
(o. c) 1. 10 and, (o. c.) 1. 11 for ever (forever) 1. 13 im-
movably (immoveably) 1. 20 -of (pf) 1. 24 momentous,
(p. c.) 1. 27 that, (o. c.) page IOO 1. 4 planet ; (—) 1. 5
cold; (—) 1. 6 frigidity (severity of winter) 1. 7 next;
(—) 1. 8 like that in (in) 1. 9 it; (—) 1. 10 ivater; (—)
1. 10 themselves; (—) 1. 11 institutions; (—) 1. 12 con-
struction; (—) 1. 12 ugliness; (—) 1. 14 modified; (—)
1. 14 modified (modified as to be insufficient for the


TALES. 341
conveyance of any but the loudest sounds—) I. ij
speech; (—) 1. 16 communication; (—) 1. 23 other ; (—)
1. 24 Excellencies— (,) 1. 25 those (these) 1. 26 moon, —
(—) 1. 3 1 turned, (o. c.) 1. 32 But, (o. c.) page 101
1. 14 &., (.) 1. 16 Excellencies' (Excellencies) 1. 20
Underduk (Underduk,) 1. 26 swore, (o. c.) 1. 32 pro-
fessor (cap.) L 33 suggest (suggest,) page 102 1. 4'-vast
(horrible) 1. 9 over-wise (overwise) 1. 9 ridiculous (ridicu-
lous,) 1. 14 part, (o. c.) 1. 18 After "astronomers,"
insert : — Don't understand at all. I. 22 After Bruges,
insert : — Well — what of it 1. 24 balloon, (o. c.) 1. 28
After Rotterdam, insert : — He was mistaken — un-
doubtedly — mistaken. 1. 32 in a (in the) 1. 34 After
sea, insert : — Don't believe it — don't believe a word
of it. page 103 1. 3 Rotterdam, (—) 1. 4 colleges (cap.)
1. 5 colleges and astronomers (Colleges and Astronomers)
1. 5 world, (o. c.) 1. 6general, (o. c.) 1. 7 After " ought
to be." insert: — The d—1, you say! Now that's too
bad. Why, hang the people, they should be prosecuted
for a libel. I tell you, gentlemen, you know nothing
about the business. You are ignorant of Astronomy —
and of things in general. The voyage was made — it
was indeed — and made, too, by Hans Pfaal. I wonder,
for my part, you do not perceive at once that the letter —
the document — is intrinsically — is astronomically true
— and that it carries upon its very face the evidence of
its own authenticity.
The note at the end of the tale does not occur in the
Southern Literary Messenger.
The deviations of the 1840 from the Southern Literary
Messenger are noted below : —
The first reading given is that of the 1840, the second,
that of the Southern Literary Messenger.
Page 42 1. 2 high (singularly high) 1. 5 preconceived
(pre-conceived) 1. 7 physics (cap.) 1. 7-8 dynamics . . .
astronomy (cap.) 1. 10 date, (o. c.) page 43 1. 11 loudly
(loud) 1. 18 shaped, (o. c.) 1. 20 admired, (o. c.) 1. 21
open-mouthed (open-mouthed and thunderstruck) 1. 27


34* NOTES.
mystery; (:) page 44 I. 5 balloon; (:) 1. 13 It ivas am
egregious insult to tbe good sense of the burghers of Rotter-
dam. (It was too bad, etc.) page 45 1. 35 absurd (gro-
tesque) page 46 1. s bosom, (o. c.) 1. 6 super- (o. h.)
1. 19 and, (o. c.) 1. 20 tvax (wax,) 1. 29 tumbled, (o. c.)
page 47 1. 28-29 President (President,) page 48 1. 19
, and (and on all hands) page 51 1. 29 dimensions; (,)
page 53 1. 27-2$ material (material,) page 53 1. 16
secreted, (o. c.) page 54 1. iS rain, (o. c.) page 55 1. 15
ear, (o. c.) page 56 1. 13 legs, (o. c.) [Not in text]
page 57 1. 8 my brain reeled (omit 1840) [Not in text]
1. 9 , at length, (o. 1840) page 59 1. 8 deadly (danger-
ous) [Not in text] page 60 1. 2 and with frantic cries
and convulsive struggles, (and amid horrible curses and
convulsive struggles,) 1. 3 till, (till) 1. 7 new par. in
1840, not Southern Literary Messenger 1. 7 some time
(sometime) 1. 30 , bad (o. c.) page 61 1. 7 , if{—)
1. 15 Now, (o. c.) page 6a 1. 13 us (us,) page 63 1. 10
given (stated) 1. 13 before, (o. c.) 1. 33 Nov.; (o. c.)
page 64 The note occurs in 1840 1. 23 evidently, (evi-
dently) page 65 1. 12-14 rarefaction partially similar,
(in explosion,) (rarefaction partially similar,)
1. 27 meantime, (o. c.) L 29 thus (so) page 67 1. 1 or
(in all) 1. 3 is (is invariably) Note page 67 occurs in
1840 1. 28 may it (it may) [1. 30 , / (o. c.) I. 34
, — (—) 1. 34 urged (urged in a spirit of banter)] (var.
of 1840 from text) page 68 1. lyou (you,) 1. 19 noncial-
ence (non chalence) page 71 1. 14 , indeed (o. c.) After
'cateract,' above page 337 1. 20 insert: — Overhead, the
sky was of a jetty black, and the stars were brilliantly
visible.) page 75 1. 3+ beg — (,) page 7* l- 2° &-
deed, (p. c.) page 77 1. 3+ chamber, (o. c.) Above
page 338 1. 16 This. (o. c.) page 83 1. 24 which, (o. c.)
page 87 1. 11 distinct, (o. c.) page 88 1. 20 may, (p. c.)
page 89 1. 5 seconds, (;) I. 21 clouds, (o. c.) page 90
l.2;fir (,) ley?**" (s°, 8', 48") 1. i5 Gulf
(s. 1.) 1. 21 say (say.) 1. 29 state of great (pitiable state
of) page 91 1. 16 loud (loud,) 1. 19 diameter, (p. c.)


TALES. 343
1. 30 orbit (orbit,) page 92 1. 6 moments, (o. c.) 1. 8
of (of,) The Southern Literary Messenger passage
above:—"The . . . ballon." page 339 1. 34-36
does not occur in 1840. page 93 1. 24 with (with the
most intense,) The Southern Literary Messenger passage
above, page 340 1. 7-9 There . . . conceived."
does not occur in 1840. page 94 1. 23 confusion, (o. c.)
page 95 1. 17 three-quarter (o. h.) page 96 1. 26 eigbty-
second (82d). From "But" page 96 1. 4 to bottom
page 96, together with note, which does not occur in
Southern Literary Messenger, is found in 1840. The next
lines give variations of 1840 from text, in above-men-
tioned passage. 1. 21 light (liight) I. 23 neva, (o. c.) 1. 28
, that, (o. c.) Note :— page 97 1. 33 ; (,) 1. 35 , that
(o. c.) 1. 35 times, (a. c).
Page 97 1. 1 (new par. in 1840) 1. 1 an (this) 1. 7
than, (o. c.) page 98 1. 8 extreme; (:) page 99 1. 24
momentous, (o. c.) page 100 1. 14 modified (modified as
to . . . sounds—) 1. 24—above (,) I. 26 ,—
(—) page 101 1. 44 &c, (Sec.) 1. 14 t^xcellencies* (Ex-
cellencies) 1. 20 Underduk (Underduk;) 1. 26 sivore,
(o. c.) 1. 33 suggest (suggest,) page 102 1. 9 over-ivisc
(o. h.) 1. 10 ridiculous (ridiculous,). The ending of the
tale in the Southern Literary Messenger, beginning, "The
d—evil, you," etc., does not occur in 1840.
Below are noted the variations of 1840 from the text
(in the note pages 103-108, which does not occur in the
Southern Literary Messenger).
Instead of paragraphs I. and II. in the text, substitute
for 1840 the following : —
In a note to the title of the story, called " Hans Pfaal,"
I made allusion to the "Moon hoax" of Mr. Locke.
As a great many more persons were actually gulled by
this jeu d' esprit than would be willing to acknowledge
the fact, it may here afford some little amusement to
show why no one should have been deceived — to point
out those particulars of the story which should have been


34-4 NOTES.
sufficien: tº establist its real character. Indeed, however
rict. :nt imaginatºr displayed in this ingenious fiction, it
wantec muct of the force which might have been given
r ºv a more scruºious attention to general analogy and
prvsica trutt. That the public were misled, even for an
instant, merev Proves the gross ignorance which is gen-
e-..." n-evalen: uñol subjects of an astronomical nature.
Now herit page 103 paſſ. III. “The moon l. 35–
- . . p- frnºr-zzing to. 1. 38 ,) (),) 1. 4o par-
‘. ...cº.zec Particiarised page Io.4 l. 2 ), (,) 1. 6 in
tº inf er passin: ... : :#: this 1. s , in (o. c.) 1. 21
tº. 40-ce: ; ... : : moor – i. 35 agged: (–) 1. 42
-o-,n-ºnſ page Ios I. - fºr : —) l. 4 Science 1 (–)
:-eer : : - ; ºrº-zine (49) i. 7 planet: — (–)
- prº-zvºz discovered ... i - surface: — (–) l. 15
. …:” ... : : ***:: subject at all) 1. 25, indeed,
ºr part I.. II. page Ios, and I., II., page Iod.
page I of . i - ::1: ... — — page 1071. 14 they (, they)
- 8–3 - ºnce . . . marring. (n. i.) l. 32 judge, (o. c.)
: 8-5 c <!--21: . . . earth. (n. i.) l. 41–42 we
ear; tr. i. page 108 1. - , a (—) l. 6, the
w: ºr is no doch: a mere lapius linguae) l. 1 o , and (–)
~1: Fars II. and III., page 108.
Tzrizioz ºf Griz-calf from text.
Page 64 Note a trašeň (Trabes) [quas) (quos)
- ºrt: Docos page 96 1. - 1 light (liight) page Iod
: [-º,-- rºseas page Ios I. 33 comes (come). The
as: “ comes is 1843 reading.


TALES. 345
THE ASSIGNATION (THE VISIONARY).
Southern Literary Messenger, July, 1835; 1840;
Broadway Journal, I. 23.
The text follows the Broadway Journal.
The Griswold variation! are confined to spelling, accent, and
punctuation.
1840 was moderately revised from Southern Literary Meuenger.
The Bioadway Journal shows more extensive revision. In the
latter form of the tale the earlier title, "The Visionary," is
changed to '' The Assignation.*'
Variation! of Southern Literary Messenger from the text.
Title : —The Visonary — A Tale.
Page 109 1. 1 — bewildered (. Bewildered) 1. 9
Elysium (1. 1.) page no I. 9 Genius (demon) 1. 9-
10 Romance (s. 1.) 1. 10 that (, who) 1. 11 Piazza
(s. 1.) 1. 23 consequently (, consequently,) 1. 26 condor
(cap.) 1. 27 flambeaux (flambeaus) 1. 28 staircases
(stair-cases) 1. 29 into (to) 1. 30 prefer (super) page
III 1. 4 broad (broad,) 1. 5 at (, at) 1. 6 water, (o. c.)
I. 11 Mentoni, (—) 1. 19, amid (o. c.) 1. 21 those of (p.)
1. si-ii snowy-white (o. h.) 1. 23 form; (—) 1. 23 mid-
summer (o. h.) 1. 25 motion (motion — no shadow of
motion) 1. 25 the (that) 1. 34 dark, (o. c.) page 112
1. 1 , too, (o. c.) 1. ^cornices— (o. d.) 1. 5 —Who (o. d.)
1. 8 oot (woe) 1. 11 ivater-gate (Water-Gate) 1. 11 stood,
(o. c) 1. 13 ennuyi (ennuied) 1. 18 group (group,) 1. 19
as (as,) 1. 25-26 child; . . but (child — but)
1. 28 prison (cap.) 1. 29 figure (figure,) 1. 29 cloak, (o. c.)
1. 30 and, (o. c.) 1. i+grasp, (o. c.) page 113 1. 1 water,
(o. c.) 1. 5 the (, the) 1. 14 acanthus (own Acanthus)
1. 24 not new par. 1. 24 blush ! (?) 1. 25 left, (o. c.) 1. 28
slippers, (;) 1. 32 eyes; (?—) page 114 1. 8 be!
(—) 1. 10-11 recognised (recognited) 1. 14 own ; (—,)
L 15 water-gate (Water-Gate) 1. 27 slender (ital.) 1. 32


346 NOTES.
datj —< deity — a nose like those delicate creations of the
mind to be found only in the medallions of the He-
brews —i page 115 \.i jet — (,) I. 1 curling (glossy) 1. 2
ftrtbead . . gUameJ (fore head rather low than
otherwise, gleamep) I. S-9 peculiar — (peculiar — I wish
to be perfectly understood—) 1. 1 a settled . . ex-
pression (L) 1. 13 Jailed, (o- c) L xi structures (piles)
L 22 pomtp (grandeur) 1. 26 blind (sick) 1. 33 the princely
(the tar more titan imperial) page 116 L 12 painters,
^—) 1. 15 .aibrudon (vibrations) 1. 15 days, (—) 1. 15-16
trigea ... discovered (unseen origin, undoubtedly lay
in tile recesses of the crimson trelUss work which tapestried
the ceiling) L x% convolute (Arabesque) 1. 18-19 censers
Jire (censers, which seemed actually endued
with a monstrous vitality, as their particolored flames
writhed up and down, and around about their extravagant
proc-ortions) L 27 tijuid-lotking (o. h.) 1. 27 After
'-goid.. . insert :— Here then had the hand of genius been
at work. A chaos — a wilderness of beauty lay before
me. A sense of dreamy and incoherent grandeur took
possession of my soul, and I remained within the door-
way speechless.) I. 28" . . ." (o.) 1. 29 seat (seat,)
1. 29-30 as rmm (o.) 1. 32 bienslance (o. a.)
page 117 I. 2 magniheence? (.) 1. 4 cordiality, (o. c.)
L 4 me (me. mv dear sir.) 1. 11 Also in the Absurdities
. . there (Also there . . . end, in . . .
Absurdities) 1. 13-14. continued he. Musingly, (—con-
tinued he musingly—) L 17 stele, (o. c.) 1. 22 . ht
(—) 1. 23 manner, (—) 1. 23 / (in the present in-
stance I) L af ;mere (—) I. 34 and my valet (o.)
page 118 I. 1-2 precincts see!" (precincts.)
L 6, in 'words, (o.) 1. 9, he (—) 1. 10 apartment,
(—) I. 15 chefs {chtf) I. 19 , said (—) L 27 be (he,)
L 27 renus— (? —) L 28 Venus?— (—) 1. 28 Medici
(Medico) 1. 2S-29 she tf . . . head and (she of) 1. 29
hair ? (hair ? — the work of Cleomenes, the son of the
Athenian ?) 1. 33 Geot . . . Canova! (o.) 1. 34 , too
(o. c.) page 119 1. +-5 found . . . marble f (o.) 1. 31


TALES. 347
unction (intensity) 1. 32 manner (manner,) 1. 33
upon (, upon) page 120 1. 6 or (, or) I. 17 English
(o.) 1. 19-20 recognising (recogniting) 1. 25 ivilh
and (around about with ;) 1. 26 all .
mine (the flowers — they all were mine) 1. 27-28 Ah
. arise (But the dream — it could not last; And
the star of Hope did rise) 1. 29 overcast! (.) 1. 31—but
(—while) page 121 1. 1 alas! (—alas!—) 1. 2 The . . .
life (Ambition — all—) 1. 8 Now (And) 1. 29 —not,
(—but not,) 1. 29 as (, as) page 122 1. 9 , an (o. c.)
1. 26 downward (downwards) 1. 33 lips: (—) page 123
I. 9-10 Jobannisberger (Vin de Barac) 1. 12 , musingly,
(thoughtfully) 1. i6jron(the) 1. 29 outstretched (stretch-
ing) 1. 34 a decorist (i.) page 124 1. 2 arabesque (cap.)
I.6-12 He . . . -vale." (p.) 1. 13 In . . . con-
Jessing (Thus saying, he confessed).
Variations of 1840 from above.
Page 109 1. 8 star-beloved (o. h.) page 110 1. 19
hysterical, (o. c.) 1. 23 consequently (, consequently,)
1. 26 condor (cap.) 1. 27 flambeaux (flambeaus) 1. 28
staircases (stair-cases) page III 1. 4 broad (broad,) 1. 5
at (, at) 1. 6 ivater, (o. c.) I. 1 1 Mentoni— (,) 1. 21-
22 snowy-white (o. h.) 1. 23 mid-summer (o. h.) 1. 25
the (that) 1. 34 dark, (o. c.) page 112 1. 8 wo (woe) 1. 9
band? (.) 1. 11 ivater-gate (Water-Gate) 1. 13 ennuyl
(ennuied) 1. 29 cloak, (o. c.) 1. 30 and, (o. c.) 1. 34
grasp, (o. c.) page 113 1. 1 ivater, (o. c.) 1. 5 the (, the)
1. 24 new par. in 1840. page 114 1. 10-11 recognised
(recognited) 1. 15 ivater-gate (Water-Gate) 1. 27 slender
(i.) 1. 32 deity— (deity . . . Hebrews—) page 115
1. 1 jet— (,) 1. 13 failed, (o. c.) page IIO 1. 11-12
Cimabue (Cimabue) 1. 15 chif (chtf) 1. 27 be, (p. c.)
I. 29 bair? (hair? . . . Athenian ?) page IIO, 1. 4-5
found . . . marble? (o.) 1. 31 unction (intensity)
1. 32 manner (manner,) page 120 1. 19-20 recognising
(recogniting) page 121 1. 19 willow ! (.).


348 NOTES.
Pariations of Griswold from text.
Page III 1. 12 now (now,) 1. 16 , and (o. c.) 1. 34
only (own) page 112 l. 7 multiplies (multiples) 1. 13
ennuyé (o. a.) 1. 15 Stupefied (Stupified) page II.4.1, 5 —
she (,) 1. 6 me — (;) page 116 1. 21 formed (, formed)
1. 30 full length (full-length) 1. 32 bienséance (o. a.) page
117 l. 1 upholstery — (!) 1.2 eh? (,) 1.7 that (, that) 1.7
or (, or) 1.8 must (, must) 1. 14 he (he,) 1.15), at (,) at)
1. 17–18 [Greek corrected] I. 18 Now (Now,) 1.28 order;
(—) i. 33 you (, you) page 1181. 2 bedizened (bedizzened)
l. 3 ; for (–) l. 13 Wirtù (o. a.) 1. 15 too (, too) 1. 15
[chef] (chef) l. 16 — and (;) 1. 21 Pietà (o. a.) 1. 22.
said (said,) 1. 25 — she (she) 1. 27 he (he,) 1. 31), (, ))
l. 3 I right (right,) 1. 31 , and (;) 1. 34 too ! — (,) page
1191. 8 [circonscrivaj (circunscriva) page 120 l. 8 tragedy
(tragedy), l. 16, and (;) 1. 20 own. (: –) 1. 27 last : (1)
l. 28 that (, that) 1. 3o cries (cries,) 1. 33 , motionless,
(— motionless –) page 121 l. 17 pillow — (1–) i. 30
say (say,) page 122 I. 6 of course (, of course,) 1.8 was
(, was) l. 26 earth — (;) 1. 32 Ambois (Ambois,) page
123 l. 3 Till ('Till) 1. 4 Come! (,) 1. Io Come ! (,) 1. Io
said (said ;) 1. 13 , made (o. c.) 1. 14 ſunrise — (3) 1. 14
It (s. 1.) 1. I 5 , but (–) l. 33 : but (;) page 124 l. 1 o
and (, and) 1. Io Chichester : — (:).I. 11–12 Stay . . .
vale. (“Stay . . . vale.”) 1. 21 poisoned – (cap.)
1. 2 Oh (Oh,) 1. 21 oh (oh,).
BON.—BON.
South ERN Liter ARY MEssenger, AUGUST, 1835 ;
184o ; BRoadway Journ AL, I. 16.
The text follows Broadway journal, with corrections by the
Editor of accent and spelling of the French and the Greek words.
Griswold shows several verbal errors, as well as a number of
variations in spelling and in punctuation.


35o NOTES.
direct family (direct and friendly) i. 15 bibliothèque
(bibliothèque) 1. 17 melange (o. a.) 1. 23 de Bon-Bon
(n. i.) 1. 24 usual restaurants (Cafes) 1. 25 large (gigan-
tic) 1. 27 After “bottles.” insert: — (There Mous-
seux, Chambertin, St. George, Richbourg, Bordeaux,
Margaux, Haubrion, Leonville, Médoc, Sauterne, Bārac,
Pregnac, Grave, Lafitte, and St. Péray contended with
many other names of lesser celebrity for the honor of
being quaffed. From the ceiling, suspended by a chain
of very long slender links, swung a fantastic iron lamp,
throwing a hazy light over the room, and relieving in
some measure the placidity of the scene.) 1. 3 I neighbour;
(neighbors) l. 33 an oath (a sacre Dieu) page 132 1. 4-6
It . . ruſhing (The snow drifted down bodily in
enormous masses, and the Café de Bon-Bon tottered to
its very centre, with the floods of wind that, rushing)
1. 9 disorganised (disorganized) 1. 9 paté-pans (cap.)
1. 14. It . . . the (I have said that it was in no
very placid temper the) l. 18 des oeufs (cap.) 1. 19
omelete (Omelette) l. 19 Reine; (–) 1. 2 o ethics (cap.)
I. : 1 ſtew: (-) 1. 26 some (a) page 1331. 1 (new par.)
1, 2 he (Bon-Bon) 1. 3 close (closer) 1.7 He . . .
when (o.) 1. 8–9 , suddenly whispered (– whispered)
1. 10 devil ' ' (!” –) 1. 13 true,” (” —) l. 1; here?”
(?" –) i. 17 the (Bon-Bon's) 1, 18 , said (–) 1. 19
, “I (– “) 1. 26 exposition (Exposition) 1. 27 replied
(– replied) 1. 28 tone : (;) 1. 29 and, (o. c.) 1. 29 bed,
(o. c.) 1. 3o an (the) l. 30–31 that depended (o.)
page 134 l. 5 intended (intended a priori) 1. 19 ends,
(o. c.) 1. 20 (although . . . unintentionally) (although
. . . unintentionally,) 1. 22 demeanour (demeanor) l. 24
ear, (o. c.) 1. 33 lofty, (o. c.) page 135 l. 12 , to (o. c.)
!. 22–23 — he . . . hat (o.) 1. 24 about (in) 1.28
of a (of a - of a) 1, 29 the most (such) l. 3 I suspicions
(suspicions, or rather — I should say — his certainty)
page 136 l. 1 ideas, (o. c.) 1.4 visitor's (visiter's) 1. 6
morals, (Morals) 1.8 views, (o. c.) 1. 12 of Mousseux
(of the powerful Win de Mousseux) i. 13 -ā- (a) 1, 16


TALES. 351
restaurateur (cap.) 1. 17 himself (himself entirely) I. 17
nonplussed (nonplused) 1. 19 , said (,—) 1. 19 he:
(:—) 1. 22 demeanour (demeanor) 1. 23 ear, (o. c.)
1. 24 jagged (jagged,) I. 25 loudly (loud) 1. 26 dog,
(o. c.) 1. 26 haunches, (p. c.) 1. 28 , stood (o. c.)
1. jo ;he (:) 1. 33 he (however, that he) page 137
1. 1-2 , momently (momentarily) 1. 3 seconds, (o. c.)
1. 4 Regitre (o. a.) 1. 7-8 probably might not othemuise
have (might not probably have otherwise) 1. 8 observed
(observable) 1. 9 said ( — said) 1. 9 , '"why (— "why)
I. 10 are (i.) 1. 14 interrupted (—interrupted) 1. 15
Majesty ; ("majesty—) 1. 20 much increased (increased
to an intolerable degree) 1. 26 yellow (yellow,) 1. 30
Majesty (s. I.) 1. 32 period; (,) I. 34 flesb (cadaverous
flesh) page 138 I. 3 and (and to his surprise) I. 3 Majesty
(s. 1.) 1. 5 my (—my) 1. 10 bead?— (—) 1. 14 see
(see,) 1. 17 ivhich . . . engendered (engendering)
1. 18 There (new par.) 1. 18 not. (!) 1. 19 the . . . tail
and (o.) 1. 23-24profession, (o. c.) 1. 28 ivell;— (—)
1. 33 , resumed (—) page 139 1. 1 put (set) 1. a bis -vis-
iter's (this) 1. 3 "A clever (new par.) 1. 15 it ivas I
who (I) 1. 15 , that (o. c.) 1. 17 case, (—) 1. 21 , too,
(o. c.) l.ai , continued (— continued) 1. 21 Majesty
(s. 1.) 1. 22-23 '' implied (o.) 1. 29 6 vovc tariv avXoc ('o
nous estin augos') 1. 30 pyramids (cap.) 1. 31-32 for
. . . friend (for the lie) 1. 32 and (and,) 1. 34 'av/.6c'
('augos') 1. 34 lambda (gamma) page 140 1. 2 'iS voie
ioriv avyoc' ('o nous estin aulos') 1. 3 in (of) 1. 4-5
asked the restaurateur (—asked the Restaurateur) 1. 5
of(o{ Vin de) 1. 7 Bon, (Bon—) 1. 9-10 a time .
an (an) 1. 10 years, (o. c.) 1. 13 poiver— (power,)
[Note: 1. 33-34 Pbilosophie, (o. c.) 1. 33 icri-vaient
(o. a.) 1. ,54 hnit (o. a.) 1. 34 Grecque (Greeque)] 1. 17
tbink of— ivbat (think of Epicurus — what) 1. 19 said
(—said) 1. 20 ,you (—) 1. 25 said (—said) 1. 28-29
said . . . flattered, (said his majesty.) 1. 30-31 re-
peated . . . restaurateur (— repeated . . . Restaura-
teur,) 1. 31 , tbat 's (— that's) 1. 31 a lie (lie) 1. 32 said


- -- - -
- - - -- - - - - - - -zº-e - - -
- -- - - - - - ----
i- - - - - -** * * * - - Iaze- * - - -
* --- -º-º-º- ---
- - " - ----- - ----- º --
-
-- - - º - - -
--- ---- - - :* - - - - - - -
- - -- --- -
- -** -º-º: - ---lie- tº - tº
- - - - - - - -
- - ---- - - - --ºf- - --- - - -
- - - - - - - - -
- - ------> ------ - -age -i > -
-
--
- --- -- ---- --- - - - -----
- - -- --- ---- - --~~~~~ - - - a-rº -
- -
- - - -
- - - — - "f: - - seria: N-e-
-
- ------ ----- -
- - - ------ - ------- - -
-
- - - - - -
- - - - - -- --- - - -
- - ----- -- -- -
- ---- - - - -- *** * * -i-º-
- - -
- - ----- _- – º – ... --
- - - --- - - ---
- - - - - - - - -- -- ºr- * - - -
- -
- - - -- -
--- - ----- - - - *r- * *- -
- *
- - -- - - - e ---- - -- --
- - - - - - - ------ —- - - - -
Tº - - -- ºr- ºr º- - - --
- - - - - ------". . . . *- :: *- : *- :-
--> - - - - Cº-º-º-º-º- in- - - -º-º:
- --
*- :-- - - ºr . .” --- - - - ºr
:----- re -:-screer, is he irisser
-
- - - - - - -- a - -- sº ſº. - :- - ºr
- --- - -- - ----- --- - - - -
-- " - - - - - -- 4---- tº small =rs.
- - - - - -- – ----- ºrd - -a - Gerrºr-
– ºr - - - - - rerº. -, - 3-cut ºr
-----> -- - - - - - - - - - ºritie: justifiable
- -— . . -------- - - 3 - -----
- -- - -serie. Yitzsieur Bºm-Bom... - 5
- - -- - - - - -czeez raise."
-- ---------. ---------v - := arria:met echºes:
- - - - - - - - - Fire: i. i. L = 5 ºr--
- - * *-- " - - - 15 Mººr. 2- c.
- - ----, -º-; in I. : 1 Squilee Sce:ee
222 - :45 - - - - -- . 1. . . It ºran fera or F-
***
* ** - * - – - *… - I - —and I * * ---
- -
- * * * - * : * * ~ * - :e liter (his majesty) i. is


TALES. 353
Majesty (s. I.) 1. 11 said (—said) 1. 18-19 present . . .
situation (present situation) 1. 20 the visiter (his majesty)
1. 21 could . . . ascertained (the philosopher could not
precisely ascertain).
Variations of 184O from Southern Literary Messenger are
as follows : —
Page 125 1. 1 restaurateur (cap.) page 127 1. 18
rilievo— (o. d.) 1. 20 — He (Bon-Bon) 1. 22 he (Bon-
Bon) page 128 1. 17 proof, (o. c.) 1. 21 restaurateur
(cap.) page 129 I. 21 restaurateur (cap.) page 131 1. 2
pdlis (cap.) \.t,of. . . construction, (o. c.) 1. 9 Cafe
(Cafe in the Cul-de-Sac Le Febvre) 1. 13 opposite, (o. c.)
[above, page350 Peray, (o. c.)] 1. 18 desoeufs (cap.) I. 19
omelette (cap.) 1. 20 ethics (cap.) page 131 1. 1 not new
par. 1840. 1. 2 he (Bon-Bon) 1. 17 the (Bon-Bon's) 1. 29
and, (p. c.) 1. 29 bed, (o. c.) page 134 1. 5 intended (in-
tended a priori) 1. 19 ends, (o. c.) 1. 33 lofty, (o. c.)
page 135 1. 33 honour (honor) page 136 1. 16 restaura-
teur (cap.) 1. 23 ear, (o. c.) 1. 1.+. jagged (jagged,) 1. 26
dog, (o. c.) 1. 26 haunches, (o. c.) page 137 1. 1-2
, momently (momentarily) 1. 20 much increased (increased
to an intolerable degree) page 138 1. 18 There (not new
par. 1840) 1. 18 not! (.) page 139 1. 1 put (set) 1. 2 bis
"visiter's (this) 1. 3 ",A clever (not new par. in 1840) 1. 29
o vouf eoriv avyot (o nous estin augos) 1. 32 and (and,)
1. 34 avyoc (augos) page 140 1. 5 restaurateur (cap.)
1. 9-10 a time . . . an (an) 1. 26 o vovc, eoriv av?.oc
(o nous estin aulos) 1. 31 restaurateur (cap.) page 142
1. 32 Tel, (o. c.) page 143 1. 1 good; (,) 1. 34 however,
(o. c.) 1. 34 sigh, (o. c.) page 144 I. 26 saying, (o. c.)
1. 33 specify, (;) page 145 1. 11 fricassied shadoiv!
(f-r-i-c-a-s-s-e-e-d s-h-a-d-o-w ! !) 1. 16 Novo, (o. c.)
1. 17 nincompoop. (!).
Deviations of Grisivold from text.
Page 125 [Motto] 1. 3 [Cafe (Cafe)] 1. 7 [> (Ji0]
1. 8 [pdlis (pates)] 1. 8 [fits (foie)] 1. 8 but: (;) 1. 10
Vol. II. - t3


3.54 NOTES.
[fit (fit)]. I. 1 1 [Présenter (o. a.)] l. 2 1 fricassée (frica-
sée)] page 1261. 21 gradu (gradiº) page 127 l. 18 [rilievo)
(relievo) page 128 1. 23 characterise (characterize) 1. 27
[Mºtoc (o. a.)] l. 28 [Péray (o. a.)] page 129 i. 5
[Café (Cafe)]. I. 6 Febvre (Febre) page 130 l. 30 [Café
(Cafe)] page 131 l. 2 [paté] (pate)] l. 6 the (, the) 1. 9
Café (Cafe) 1. . . [Grecque (Greque)] 1. 15 [bibliothèque
(o. a.) 1. 17 mélange (o. a.)] 1. 23 Café (Cafe)] 1.31
neighbours (neighbors) page 132 l. 6 in (of) I. 9 dis-
organized (disorganised) 1. 9 ſpaté-pans (patépans)] 1. 19
ſomelette] (omelete) 1. 19 he (, he) page 133 1. 16 full
length (full-length) I. 19 that (, that) 1. 21 is (, is) 1. 22 that
(, that) 1. 26 exposition (cap.) 1. 26 ° —good (—) 1. 27
tone; (3) 1 34 a (his) page 1341. 1 1 hinder part (hinder-
part) l = 2 demeanour (demeanor) page 135 1. 13–14 In-
..ſec.f. (Indeed.) 1. 26 then (, then,) 1. 33 , but (; but, )
page 136 1.4 visitor's (visiter's) 1.5 well (well-) l 13 and
( , and ) . 14 But (But,) 1. 15 are (, are) l. 15 skillfully
(skilfully) l. 16 , and (–) 1. 22 demeanour (demeanor)
1, 28 end (end,) 1. 3o he (3) page 137 l. 4 [Regitre
(Régitre) | 1. I say (say,) 1. 29 ſhort (short,) 1. 32.
; fºr (–) page 138 1. 3 , and (;) 1. 5 , eyes (–)
!. 6 ºth (– ah) 1. 7 ch? (,) 1. 8 Eyes.'" (!) 1. 13 cat, (o. c.)
!. 14 her.' (her) 1. 18 now ! (, now) l. 18 not. (!) 1. 22
superfluous (superficial) l. 2.3 : but (; ) page 139 l. 4 of
(of the) l. 15 alluding. (?) 1, 16 by sneezing (, by sneez-
ing, ) i. 24 implied, (–) i. 26 ah! (,) [Greek accents
pages 139–140 supplied by Ed.) 1. 34 [lambda (gamma)]
Page 140 l. I finger (finger, ) i. 5 as (, as) 1.8 time — (,)
l. 3 o in (, in) 1. 21 astonishment, (;) ". .22 Epicurus. (!)
1. 27 well (well,) 1. 30–31 dogmatically (, dogmatically)
1. 32 well ' (, ) Note. 1. 53 |&crivaient (o. a.)] l. 33
*lºsºphie (Philosophie,) 1. 34 [ćtait (o. a.)] l. 39 way,
('') page 141 1. I devil (devil,) 1. 5 outré (outre) l. 22 a
(, a 1. 23 ſir! (,) 1. 2; thing. (!) 1. 26 hic-cup (o. h.)
page 142 l. 4 poet; (3) I. 6 Naevius (Noevius) || 8
& intus (Quintius) 1. 29. Hic-cup (o. h.) 1. 3.; ºcho (, who)
page 143 i. 5 ºn, ºn (mean, ) i. 6 hic-cup (o. h.) page 144
1. " If hy (Why, ) page 145 l. 8 shadow (shadow,) page
146 l. 3 (Raſoºt (o. a.)] ll. 1 1, 17 Hic, up (Hic-cup).


356 NOTES.
LOSS OF BREATH.
Southern Literary Messenger, September, 1835;
1840; Broadway Journal II., 26.
The text follows the Broadway Journal, with Poe's MS.
Notes (Mrs. Whitman's copy).
1840 shows but few variations from the earlier form.
In the Broadivay Journal the rale appears in a much shortened
and revised form. Especially to be noted is the omission of the
long passage recounting the death on the gallows and subsequent
burial.
In the Mtuengtr the tale is entitled:
LOSS OF BREATH.
A Tale A la Blackwood. By Edgar A. Poe.
O breathe not, &c.
Moore'i MeloSes.
Variations of Southern Literary Messenger from the text.
Page 151 1. 5 ;yet (:) 1. 6 ;but (:) 1. 8 lustrum ; (:)
1. 13 said (—said) I. 13 wedding, (—) 1. 14 whipper-
snapper (o. h.) 1. 17 here (cap.) page 152 1. 1 , which
(o. c.) I. 7 ; but (,) 1. 8 bona (bona) 1. 10 imagine, (o. c.)
1. 12 never (never, at any time,) 1. 15 Lord . . .
"Julie" (Rousseau) 1. 36 -viritable (o. a.) 1. 18 / (I
unhesitatingly) 1.19a/ . . . conceal (to conceal at all
events) 1. 20 ivife, (p. c.) 1. 28 Ztpbyr (p. a.) 1. 31 alive,
(o. c.) 1. 32 dead, (o. c.) page 153 1. 6 , upon trial,
(o. c.) I. 20 idea of suicide (phantom Suicide) 1. 24
while (, while) 1. 26 ;each (,) 1. 32 footsteps (footstep)
page 154 1. 1 o , and this (. This,) 1. 11 is (, is) 1. 1 3 , it
(—) 1. 13 remembered, (—) 1. 16; but (:) 1. 22 any-
thing (any thing) 1. 25 and (and,) 1. 29 Before "But"
insert: — It is by logic similar to this that true philosophy
is enabled to set misfortune at defiance, page 155


TALES. 357
1. i Granjean . . . angel: (Hewitt's "Seraphic and
Highly-Scented Extract of Heaven or Oil of Archangels")
1. i bottle (bottle (I had a remarkably sweet breath),) 1. 16
tragedy (tragedies) 1. 16 "Metamora " (. . ., and . . .)
1. 17-18 this drama (these dramas) 1. 19 the hero (their
heroes) 1. 2 3-24 ivell frequented (well-frequented) 1. 24
marsh;— (—) 1. 32 tragedy— (tragedies,) page 156
1. 6 sure, (o. c.) 1. 7 but, (o. c.) 1. 12 , among (o. c.)
1. 12 acquaintances, (o. c.) 1. 14 in that city (o.) 1. 15
; but (—) 1. 24 to (to the) 1. 24-25 the bull of Phalaris
(a Phalarian bull) 1. 28 , however (o. c.) 1. 30 and
(and,) 1. 33 and (, and) page 157 1. 3 living (living
bond fide) 1. 4 ;here (—) 1. 5 demonstrating (evidencing)
1. 7 Hereupon (Thereupon) 1. 8 , believed (o. c.) 1. 13 a
(their) 1. 16 , accordingly, (o. c.) 1. 30 ten (five and
twenty) 1. 32-a cut off my ears, bowever, (, however, cut
off my ears) page 158 1. 1 case (case, however,) 1. 12 gal-
vanic battery (caps.) 1. 15 , I (o. c.) 1. 18 in abeyance
(ital.) 1. 22 pathology (cap.) 1. 25 farther (further) 1. 29
pocket handkerchief (pocket-handkerchief) page 159 1. 1-
2 the . . Deity " (the —) 1. 7 to (to unseemly and)
1. 16 bandage. — (.) 1. 17 and, (o. c.) 1. 19 , very (—)
1. 19 dexterously, (—)1. 20 robber, (o. c.) I. 23-24 long
continued (long-continued) 1. 26 one (a dress) I.30 , who
(o. c.) page 160 1. 1 , he (o. c.) I. 2 recruits, (o. c.)
1. 7-8 the rascal . . . escape, ("the rascal . . .
escape,") 1. 7 rascal (rascal,) 1. 8 themselves, (o. c.)
After par. II. insert : — My convulsions were said to be
extraordinary. Several gentlemen swooned, and some
ladies were carried home in hysterics. Pinxit, too,
availed himself of the opportunity to retouch, from a
sketch taken on the spot, his admirable painting of the
"Marsyas flayed alive." 1. 19 forbear (will endeavor)
1. 19-a galloivs; . . . , to ivrite (gallows. To write)
1. 25 composed (wrote) 1. 25 getting drunk (drunkenness)
After 25 insert: —
Die I certainly did not. The sudden jerk given to my
neck upon the falling of the drop, merely proved a cor-


358 NOTES.
rective to the unfortunate twist afforded me by the gentle-
men in the coach. Although my body certainly ivas, I
had, alas! no breath to be suspended; and but for the
shaking [chafing, 1840] of the rope, the pressure of the
knot under my ear, and the rapid determination of blood
to the brain, should, I dare say, have experienced very
little inconvenience.
The latter feeling, however, grew momentarily more
painful. I heard my heart beating with violence — the
veins in my hands and wrists swelled nearly to bursting —
my temples throbbed tempestuously — and I felt that
my eyes were starting from their sockets. Yet when I
say that in spite of all this my sensations were not abso-
lutely intolerable, I will not be believed.
There were noises in my ears, first like the tolling of
huge bells — then like the beating of a thousand drums —
then, lastly, like the low, sullen murmurs of the sea.
But these noises were very far from disagreeable.
Although, too, the powers of my mind were confused
and distorted, yet I was — strange to say ! — well aware
of such confusion and distortion. I could, with unerring
promptitude determine at will in what particulars my sen-
sations were correct — and in what particulars I wandered
from the path. I could even feel with accuracy boiv far
— to ivbat -very point, such wanderings had misguided
me, but still without the power of correcting my devia-
tions. I took besides, at the same time, a wild delight
in analyting my conceptions.
(Note at bottom of page.)
[The general reader will I dare say recognite, in
these sensations of Mr. Lack-o*-Breath, much of the ab-
surd metapbysieianism of the redoubted Schelling.]
Memory, which, of all other faculties, should have first
taken its departure, seemed on the contrary to have been
endowed with quadrupled power. Each incident of my
past life flitted before me like a shadow. There was not
a brick in the building where I was bom — not a dog-
leaf in the primer I had thumbed over when a child —


TALES. 359
not a tree in the forest where I hunted when a boy —
not a street in the cities I had traversed when a man
— that I did not at that time most palpably behold. I
could repeat to myself entire lines, passages, chapters,
books, from the studies of my earliest days ; and while, I
dare say, the crowd around me were blind with horror,
or aghast with awe, I was alternately with Aeschylus, a
demi-god, or with Aristophanes, a frog.
A dreamy delight now took hold upon my spirit, and
I imagined that I had been eating opium, or feasting
upon the Hashish of the old Assassins. But glimpses of
pure, unadulterated reason — during which I was still
buoyed up by the hope of finally escaping that death
which hovered, like a vulture above me — were still
caught occasionally by my soul.
By some unusual pressure of the rope against my face,
a portion of the cap was chafed away, and I found to my
astonishment that my powers of reason were not alto-
gether destroyed. A sea of waving heads rolled around
me. In the intensity of my delight I eyed them with
feelings of the deepest commiseration, and blessed, as I
looked upon the haggard assembly, the superior benignity
of my proper stars.
I now reasoned, rapidly I believe — profoundly I
am sure — upon principles of common law — propriety
of that law especially, for which I hung — absurdities in
political economy which till then I had never been able
to acknowledge—dogmas in the old Aristotelians now
generally denied, but not the less intrinsically true—de-
testable school formulae in Bourdon, in Gamier, in
Lacroix — synonymes in Crabbe — lunar-lunatic theories
in St. Pierre — falsities in the Pelham novels — beauties
in Vivian Grey — more than beauties in Vivian Grey —
profundity in Vivian Grey — genius in Vivian Grey —
every thing in Vivian Grey.
Then came, like a flood, Coleridge, Kant, Fichte,
and Pantheism — then like a deluge, the Academij, Per-


360 NOTES.
gola, La Scala, San Carlo, Paul, Albert, Noblet, Ronti
Vestris, Fanny Bias, and Taglion.
A rapid change was now taking place in my sensa-
tions. The last shadows of connection flitted away from
my meditations. A storm — a tempest of ideas, vast,
novel, and soul-stirring, bore my spirit like a feather
afar off. Confusion crowded upon confusion like a wave
upon a wave. In a very short time Schelling himself
would have been satisfied with my entire loss of self-
identity. The crowd became a mass of mere abstraction.
About this time I became aware of a heavy fall and
shock — but, although the concussion jarred through my
frame, I had not the slightest idea of its having been
sustained in my own proper person, and thought of it as
an incident peculiar to some other existence — an idio-
syncrasy belonging to some other Ens. It was at this
moment — as I afterwards discovered — that having been
suspended for the full term of execution, it was thought
proper to remove my body from the gallows — this the
more especially as the real culprit had been retaken and
recognited.
Much sympathy was now exercised in my behalf —
and as no one in the city appeared to identify my body,
it was ordered that I should be interred in the public
sepulchre in the following morning. I lay, in the mean-
time, without signs of life — although from the moment,
I suppose, when the rope was loosened from my neck, a
dim consciousness of my situation oppressed me like the
nightmare.
I was laid out in a chamber sufficiently small, and very
much encumbered with furniture — yet to me it ap-
peared of a site to contain the universe. I have never
before or since, in body or in mind, suffered half so
much agony as from that single idea. Strange ! that the
simple conception of abstract magnitude — of infinity —
should have been accompanied with pain. Yet so it was.
"With how vast a difference," said I, "in life as in


TALES. 361
death — in time and in eternity — here and hereafter,
shall our merest sensations be imbodied!"
The day died away, and I was aware that it was grow-
ing dark — yet the same terrible conceit still over-
whelmed me. Nor was it confined to the boundaries of
the apartment — it extended, although in a more definite
manner, to all objects, and, perhaps, I will not be under-
stood in saying that it extended also to all sentiments.
My fingers as they lay cold, clammy, stiff, and pressing
helplessly one against another, were, in my imagination,
swelled to a site according with the proportions of the An-
taeus. Every portion of my frame betook of their enor-
mity. The pieces of money — I well remember —
which, being placed upon my eyelids, failed to keep
them effectually closed, seemed huge, interminable
chariot-wheels of the Olympia, or of the Sun.
Yet it is very singular that I experienced no sense of
weight — of gravity. On the contrary I was put to
much inconvenience by the buoyancy — that tantaliting
difficulty of keeping dtnvn, which is felt by the swimmer
in deep water. Amid the tumult of my terrors I
laughed with a hearty internal laugh to think what incon-
gruity there would be—could I arise and walk — be-
tween the elasticity of my motion, and the mountain of
my form.
The night came— and with it a new crowd of horrors.
The consciousness of my approaching interment, began
to assume new distinctness, and consistency — yet never
for one moment did I imagine that I ivas actually dead.
"This then " — I mentally speculated — " this dark-
ness which is palpable, and oppresses with a sense of suf-
focation — this — this — is— indeed death. This is death
— this is death the terrible — death the holy. This is
the death undergone by Regulus — and equally by Seneca.
Thus — thus, too, shall I always remain — always —
always remain. Reason is folly, and Philosophy a lie.


362 NOTES.
No one will know my sensations, my horror — my
despair. Yet will men still persist in reasoning, and phil-
osophiting, and making themselves fools. There is,
I find, no hereafter but this. This — this — this — is
the only Eternity !— and what, O Baaltebub ! — iviat
an Eternity ! — to lie in this vast— this awful void — a
hideous, vague, and unmeaning anomaly — motionless,
yet wishing for motion — powerless, yet longing tor
power — forever, forever, and forever!"
But the morning broke at length, and with its misty
and gloomy dawn arrived in triple horror the parapher-
nalia of the grave. Then — and not till then — was I
fully sensible of the fearful fate hanging over me The
phantasms of the night had faded with its shadows, and
the actual terrors of the yawning tomb left me no heart
for the bugbear speculations of Transcendentalism.
I have before mentioned that my eyes were but imper-
fectly closed — yet I could not move them in any degree,
those objects alone which crossed the direct line of vision
were within the sphere of my comprehension. But across
that line of vision spectral and stealthy figures were con-
tinually flitting, like the ghosts of Banquo. They were
making hurried preparations for my interment. First
came the coffin which they placed quietly by my side.
Then the undertaker with attendants and a screw-driver.
Then a stout man whom I could distinctly see and who
took hold of my feet — while one whom I could only feel
lifted me by the head and shoulders.
Together they placed me in the coffin, and drawing the
shroud up over my face proceeded to fasten down the lid.
One of the screws, missing its proper direction, was screwed
by the carelessness of the undertaker deep — deep — down
into my shoulder. A convulsive shudder ran through-
out my frame. With what horror, with what sickening
of heart did I reflect that one minute sooner a similar
manifestation of life would, in all probability, have pre-
vented my inhumation. But alas! it was now too late,
and hope died away within my bosom as I felt myself


TALES. 363
lifted upon the shoulders of men — carried down the stair-
way — and thrust within the hearse.
During the brief passage to the cemetery my sensations,
which for sometime had been lethargic and dull, assumed,
all at once, a degree of intense and unnatural vivacity for
which I can in no manner account. I could distinctly
hear the rustling of the plumes — the whispers of the at-
tendants — the solemn breathings of the horses of death.
Confused as I was in that narrow and strict embrace, I
could feel the quicker or slower movement of the proces-
sion — the restlessness of the driver — the windings of
the road as it led us to the right or to the left. I could
distinguish the peculiar odor of the coffin — the sharp
acid smell of the steel screws. I could see the texture of
the shroud as it lay close against my face ; and was even
conscious of the rapid variations in light and shade which
the flapping to and fro of the sable hangings occasioned
within the body of the vehicle.
In a short time however, we arrived at the place of
sculpture [sepulture], and I felt myself deposited within
the tomb. The entrance was secured — they departed
— and I was left alone. A line of Marston's "Mal-
content,"
"Death's a good fellow and keeps open house,"
struck me at that moment as a palpable lie.
Sullenly I lay at length, the quick among the dead —
Anacharsii inter Scythas.
From what I overheard early in the morning, I was
led to believe that the occasions when the vault was made
use of were of very rare occurrence. It was probable
that many months might elapse before the doors of the
tomb would be again unbarred — and even should I sur-
vive until that period, what means could I have more
than at present, of making known my situation or of
escaping from the coffin? I resigned myself, therefore,
with much tranquility to my fate, and fell, after many
hours, into a deep and deathlike sleep.


364 NOTES.
How long I remained thus is to me a mystery. When
I awoke my Limbs were no longer cramped with the
cramp of death — I was no longer without the power of
motion. A very slight exertion was sufficient to force
the Lid of my prison — for the dampness of the atmosphere
had already occasioned decay in the wood-work around
the screws.
My steps as I groped around the sides of my habita-
tion were, however, feeble and uncertain, and I felt all
the gnawings of hunger with the pains of intolerable
thirst. Yet, as time passed away, it is strange that I ex-
perienced little uneasiness from these scourges of the
earth, in comparison with the more terrible visitations of
the fiend Ennui. Stranger still were the resources by
which I endeavored to banish him from my presence.
The sepulchre was large and subdivided into many
compartments, and I busied myself in examining the
peculiarities of their construction. I determined the
length and breadth of my abode. I counted and re-
counted the stones of the masonry. But there were
other methods by which I endeavored to lighten the
tedium of my hours. Feeling my way among the nu-
merous coffins ranged in order around, I lilted them down
one by one, and breaking open their lips, busied myself
in speculations about the mortality within.
Page 161 I. 31 soliloquized (reflected) page 163 I. 6
, and (—) L 1 a poetry (philosophy) L 11 pirouette (cap.)
I. it pus (cap.) L 11 papillan (cap.) I. 12 new par. L 13
new par. 1. 1+ Heat (new par.) 1. t{ He (new par.) L 19
, ke (—) 1. at He (new par.) L it. fans, (—) I. as sails,
(—) I. 22 , and (—) L. 24 His (new par.) 1. 25 a (o.)
L 27—said (o. d.) I. 27 bert..— (here," said I —
"here) I. 33 fore-finger (o. h.) I. 3+ and (and,) 1. 33
its (his) 1. 3+ it (Him) page 163 I. 1 it (him,) L 3 Entitled
(s. L) 1. 5 , has (—) L 8 Usmbardy (lombardy—) L $-9
". . . "(t') L 10-it He . . . Banes.
.
(o.) I. t1-12 pneuuatics (cap.) I. 12 , talked (—) 1. is
eternally, (—) I. :3 Frencb-born (o. h.) L 13 He (new


366 NOTES.
1. 17 and, (o. c.) 1. 20 robber, (o. c.) 1.30, who (o. c.)
page 160 l. 1 and, (o. c.) 1. 11 but (butt) l. 13 course,
(o. c.) 1. 27 be (o. c.) 1. 28 and, (o. c.) page 161 1. 8–9
toward (towards) l. 1 1 wonders (wonder) l. 14 course,
(o. c.) 1. 2 1 , and (o. c.) 1. 28 and, (o. c.) page 163
1. Io, on (o. c.) (Note) [corrumpitur] (corrupitor [Broad-
way journal corrupitur]) [fama] (famas) page 1641. 29
neighbor, (o. c.) page 165 l. 29 whom (, whom) l. 34
, indeed (o. c.) page 1661. 24 same time (time).
Pariations of 1840 from Southern Literary Messenger.
Page 151 1, 5 ; yet (:) l. 6; but (:) 1. 8 lustrum ;
(:) I. 17 here (cap.) page 152 l. 1 , which (o. c.) page
1541. 29 Lack-o' Breath (Lacko Breath [throughout])
page 156 l. 14 in that city (o.) 1. 28, however (o. c.)
page 157 l. 3 living (living bona fide) l. 15 carcases
(carcasses) 1. 20 hind- (o. h.) 1. 3o five-and-twenty (o. h.)
page 158 1. 12 galvanic battery (caps.) 1. 15 , 1 (o. c.)
1. 18 in abeyance (i.) page 159 l. 3o recruits, (o. c.)
page 16o 1.7 rascal (rascal,) 1.7 themselves, (o. c.) 1.7–8
the rascal . . . escape (“the rascal . . . escape,”)
l. 1 1 butt (but) page 358 l. 4 chafing (shaking) l. 6 I
should (should) 1. 8 The latter (new par.) 1.8 momently
(momentarily) i. 30 say, (o. c.) 1.30 recognise (recognize)
l. 3 I Lacko Breath (Lack-o'-breath) page 359 1. 11
Aashiſh (cap.) 1. 11 aſsassins (cap.) 1. 36 came (came,)
page 360 l. 14 own (o.) 1. 21 recognised (recognized)
page 361 l. 2 imbodied (embodied) 1. 17 Met (not new
par.) 1. 30 “This (not new par.) 1. 36 philosophy (cap.)
page 362 l. 5–6 eternity (cap.) I. 16 transcendentalism
(cap.) 1. 30 up over (upon) l. 33 through (throughout)
page 363 1. 20 sepulture (sculpture) page 1621. Io poetry
(philosophy) 1. 11 pirouette (cap.) 1. 11 paſ (cap.) 1. 11
papillon (cap.) 1. 12 new par. l. 13 He (new par.) 1. 14
Heat (new par.) 1. 33 fore-finger (o. h.) page 1631. 3
Entitled (s. 1.) 1. 11–12 pneumatics (cap.) 1. 13 French-
horn (o. h.) 1. 13 He (new par.) 1. 27 anything (any


TALES. 367
thing) page 164 1. 6-7 by-and-by (, by and bye) 1. 10 it,
(o. c.) I. 18 epilepsit (cap.) 1. 28 recognised (recognited)
page 165 1. jbe (bealone) 1. 25 W. (W) 1. i^dost (cap.)
page 166 1. 4 / (, I) 1. 24 so (n. i.) page 167 1. 16
, 'when (o. c.) 1. totemple (templetoprostekonte Tbeo—).
KING PEST.
Southern Literary Messenger, Septembbr, 1835;
1840; Broadway Journal II., 15.
The text follows the Broadway Journal. Griswold has several
verbal variations from the text.
The tale appears slightly revised in 1840, and in a more extended
way, in the Broadway Journal.
In the Messenger the tale is entitled King Pest the First | A
Tale Containing an Allegory— By—.
It is introduced by two lines from Buckhurst's "Ferrex and
Porrex."
Variations of Southern Literary Messenger from 1840
(belrw).
Page 169 [Motto.] 1. 1 gods (cap.) 1. 22 , in (o. c.)
1. 27 off (off,) page 170 1. 19 very (very identical)
page 171 1. 9 Pest! (Pest ! Pest! Pest !) 1. 9 Plague (Fever)
1. 25 , such (o. c.) page 172 1. 3 spirits (cap.) 1. 3 gob-
lins (cap.) 1. 3 demons (cap.) 1. 29 ankles (ancles) page
173 1. 13 war- (o. h.) 1. 17 , by (o. c.) 1. 18 stentorian
(cap.) 1. 23 momently (momentarily) page 174 1. 7 proved
(, proved) page 175 1. 32 look (looked) page 176 1. 2
patronise (patronite) 1. 8 degagl (o. a.) 1. 9 arch (cap.)
[not in text] 1. 26 gaudy- (o. h.) 1. 27 him (o.) page
177 1. 30 skull (scull) page 178 1. 31 Hugh, (o. c.) I. 33
winding- (p. h.) 1. 34 skull (scull) page 179 I. 3 ;and
(t) 1. 9 Legs, (°- c) >• " nere' (°- c) 1. 21 1 (.) 1. 34


368 NOTES.
Pest (Pest,) page 180 I. 10 concerns, (o. c.) 1. 10 alone,
(o. c.) 1. 18 —of (o. d.) 1. 20 metropolis (cap.) 1. 26
skull (scull) 1. 34 , for (o. c.) page 181 1. 7 table,
(o. c.) page 182 1. 31-32 the stage player (, the organ
grinder) page 183 1. 2 assembly (junto) 1. 3 shouted
(— shouted) 1. 5 said (— said) 1. 6 screamed (— screamed)
1. 8 muttered (—muttered) 1. 10 growled (— growled)
1. 11 shrieked (—shrieked) 1. 14 skull (scull) 1. 26 the
(the huge) page 184 1. 4 fire- (o. h.) 1. 9 floated (sailed).
Variations of 1840 from the text.
Page 167 1. i one (one sultry) 1. 1 night (night,) 1. a
October (August) 1. 1 o room, (room, it is needless to say,)
page 169 1. 3 ivas (was also much the most ill-favored,
and,) 1. 3 time (time,) 1. 4-5 and a half (nine inches) 1. 9
thin (, wofully, awfully, thin) 1. 10 drunk (sober) I. 11
sober (stiff with liquor) 1. 14 cachinnatory (leaden) 1.23 con-
verse (antipodes) page 170 1. 7 neighbourhood (neighbor-
hood) 1. 17 words, (o. c.) 1. 29 allegorical (pithy) 1. 31
disposed of (drank up) page 171 1. 5 the (the landlord
and) 1. 9 Plague (Pest) 1. 13 Aive (s. 1.) 1. 13 Terror
(s. 1.) 1. 14 Superstition (s. 1.) page 172 1. 3 plague
(cap.) I. 3 fever (cap.) 1. 25 moral sense (all sense of
human feelings) 1. 26 ivas (was damp,) 1. 30 Fallen
(Rubbish of fallen) 1. 32 ;— and (—) 1. 32 the (the oc-
casional) 1. 32 light (and uncertain light) page 173 1. 5
— But (o. d.) 1. 6 such as (like) 1. 8 stuff! (,) 1. 10 of
(of the arch-angel) 1. 11 grim (gigantic) 1. 14 , still (—)
1. 23 beams, (o. c.) 1. 25 houses; (buildings,) 1. 27-29
rubbish . . . corpses, (putrid human corpses.)
1. 29 The following note to paragraph ending "corpses."
occurs in 1840: [The description here given, of the condi-
tion of the banned districts, at the period spoken of, is
positively not exaggerated.] 1. 30 the (these) 1. 31 tall
(gigantic) page 174 1. 4 rushed . . open (burst
open the pannels of the door) 1. 6 After "curses,**
insert: — It is not to be supposed, however, that the


TALES. 369
scene which here presented itself to the eyes of the
gallant Legs and worthy Tarpaulin, produced at first
sight any other effect upon their illuminated faculties than
an overwhelming sensation of stupid astonishment. 1. 8
; but (—) I. 9 ,i« (o. c.) 1. 1 1 sound (sounds) 1. 16 jugs
(grotesque jugs) 1. 18 . This (—this) 1. 25-26 asyelloiv
as (yellower than the yellowest) 1. 26 feature (feature of
his visage) 1. 30 superadded (superseded) page 175 1. 1
pall, (p. c.) 1. ifull (all full) 1. 5 air; (,) 1. 11 just (who
had just been) 1. 14 that of (in outline the shapeless pro-
portions of) 1. 17 full ; (—) 1. 22 indeed (indeed,) 1. 31
»hmi/A (jaws) 1.32 look (looked) page 176 1. 4—His(p.d.)
1. 7 appearance; (—) 1. 8 ixiore (wore,) 1. 8 dc'gage
(degage) 1. 9 laivn; (—) I. 10neck; (—) 1. 11 mouth; (—)
1. 13 and (and,) 1. 15-16 a . . . expression) (an ex-
pression rather doubtful) 1. 19 reposed (hung down) 1. 22 de-
posited upon (cocked up against) 1. 26 surtout (surcoat) 1. 27
bim (o.) 1. 31 , in (o. c.) 1. 32 place, (o. c.) page 177
1. 1 ridiculous (ludicrous) 1. 5 at (as) 1. 12-13 up . . .
at (, or depressed, as) 1. 13 sound (sounds) 1. 13 the
. . . cork, (bursting bottles increased, or died away,
in the cellars underneath.) 1. 19 /// (The) 1. 19 piece
(piece of the coffin) 1. 24 ;but (—) 1. 32 a (an enor-
mous) 1. 34 limb (limb,) page 178 1. 2 about (about in
a singular manner,) 1. 5 ignited (ignited and glowing)
I. 10 ray (straggling ray) I. 11 At (It has been before
hinted that at) 1. 13 that (that proper) 1. 14 leaning (hav-
ing leant himself back) 1. 15 wall (wall,) 1. 31 ;ivbile
(—) I. 34 and (and,) page 179 1. 1 quaffed (drank it
off) 1. 9 interrupted (—interrupted) 1. 10 serious, (—)
1. 12 blue ruin ('blue ruin') 1. 13 mate, (o. c.) 1. 34
Pest (Pest and) page 180 1. 8 , continued (—) 1. 8 he,
(—) 1. 23 all, (—) 1. 23 , and (—) 1. 25 ejaculated
(—ejaculated) 1. 28 said (—said) 1. 29 Hugh, (—) 1. 33
Wt (We,) page 181 1. 1 tbee (you) 1. 4 thy (your) 1. 4
fe (you) 1. 9-10 , replied (—) 1. 19 bave (am) 1. 20 a
full cargo (full up to the throat) 1. 27 interrupted (— in-
terrupted) page 182 1. 1 , interposed (—) 1. 1 President,
Vol. II. - 34


370 NOTES.
(president—) 1. it shouted (—shouted) 1. 1+ wrinkles;
(—) 1. 15 bellows; (—) 1. 16 fro; (—) 1. 17 'art; (—)
1. iS flsb; (—) 1. 19 chuckled (—chuckled) 1. 20 exci-
tation, (—) 1. 20 ugh! (— ugh!—) 1. xi —/(,) I. 23
, said he, (—said he—) 1. 23 mar|in (marling) 1. 25 of(0.)
1. 28 (whom God assoilzie) (—whom God assoiltie—)
1. 31 , but (o. c.) 1. 32 player— (!—) page 183 1. 15
high (high up) 1. 15 let bim fall (dropped him) I. 22
, however, (o. c) page 184 I. +-5 Piles . . . about.
(o.) 1. S The man (Piles of death furniture floundered
around. Skulls floated en masse — hearse-plumes nodded
to escutcheons — the man) 1. 11 rushed . . . her
(scudded out) 1. 12 and . . . Easy. (p.).
Variations of Griswold from the text.
Page 170 1. 7 neighbourhood (neighborhood) 1. 12
fellow (fellow,) page 171 1. 32 neighbourhood (neighbor-
hood) page 173 1. 5 — But (o. d.) 1. 29 fleshly (fleshy)
page 175 1. 3 — His (o. d.) page 176 1. 8 dtgagi (de-
gagi) page 180 1. 18 nare (nature) page 1811. 9-14 im-
possibility (unpossibilitv) L 19 different (various) 1. 29
that (that,) page 182 L 1 Resident (s. I.) 1. 20 -without
(. without) I.32 player — (! —) 1. 32 it's (its) page 184
1. 6 \mllie\ (melee).
METZENGERSTEIN.
Southern Literary Messenger, January, 1836;
1840; Griswold.
The text follows Giiswold, who must have had the latest revision.
1840 was slightly revised from Southern Literary Messenger. The
emendations from 1840, as found in Griswold, are numerous.
Especially to be noted is the omission of one passage of some length.
In the Messenger the Tale has attached to the title, "In Imi-
tation of the German."


TALES. 371
Variations of Souther* literary Messenger from the text.
Page 185 1. 1 fatality (cap.) 1. 3 tell? (tell? I will
not.) 1. 9 (as . . unhappiness) (— as
unhappiness—) 1. 9 [Bruyere] (Bruyere) 1. 16 demeure
(demure) No note in Southern Literary Messenger, page
186 1. 6 illustrious, (o. c.) 1. 7 The origen (Indeed, at
the era of this history, it was observed by an old crone of
haggard and sinister appearance, that " fire and water might
sooner mingle than a Berlifitxing clasp the hand of a Mett-
engerstein." The origen) 1. i) as (like) 1. 18 ;(—) 1. 20
Palace (Ch.iteau) 1. 21 had (was) 1. 22 a tendency (calcu-
lated) 1.31/7 (on the side of) 1. 33 loftily (honorably and
loftily) page 187 1. 10 him quickly (quickly after) 1. 1
1
eighteenth (fifteenth) 1. 11 city, (o. c) 1. 1 1 eighteen (fif-
teen) 1. 12: (— a child may be still a child in his third
lustrum :) I. 13-14 the . . . a (fifteen years have a far)
After 1. 9 insert: — The beautiful Lady Mary ! How could
she die' — and of consumption! But it is a path I have
prayed to follow. I would wish all I love to perish of
that gentle disease. How glorious! to depart in the hey-
day of the young blood — the heart all passion — the
imagination all fire — amid the remembrances of happier
days — in the fall of the year — and so be buried up
forever in the gorgeous autumnal leaves! Thus died the
Lady Mary. The young Baron Frederick stood without
a living relative by the coffin of his dead mother. He
placed his head upon her placid forehead. No shudder
came over his delicate frame — no sigh from his flinty
bosom. Heartless, self-willed, and impetuous from his
childhood, he had reached the age of which I speak
through a career of unfeeling, wanton, and reckless
dissipation; and a barrier had long since arisen in the
channel of all holy thoughts and gentle recollections.
1. 20 The (— of these the) 1. 21 Palace (Chateau) 1. 22;
(—) I. 24 , (—) 1. 25 , (—) 1. 25 , (—) I. 28 behaviour
(behavior) I. 28 days, (o. c.) page 188 1. 3 ; (:) I. 4
added (instantaneously added) 1. 8 , sat (sat,) 1. 11


37.2 NOTES.
tapestry (tapestry —) 1. 16, or (–) 1. 18 enemy (cap.)
l. 2 o fallen foes (a fallen foe) l. 26, to (o. c.) 1. 28
novel, (–) l. 3o turned unwittingly (became unwittingly
rivetted) 1. 33 fore- (o. h.) 1. 34 while, (o. c.) page
189 l. 1 back, (o. c.) 1. I discomfited (discomfitted) 1... 6
, he (o. c.) 1. 7 the (the singular, intense and) 1. 8
pall (shroud) 1. 15 compulsory (kind of compulsory
and desperate) l. 18 (—) 1. zo , the (o. c.) 1. 27
; (3) 1. 30 , the (o. c.) 1. 32 light, (o. c.) page 190
1. 2 , of (o. c.) I. 5 , the (o. c.) 1. 7 palace (Chateau)
I. 9 convulsive (unnatural and convulsive) 1.12, in (o. c.)
l. 12 , as (o. c.) 1. 12 tone (tone of voice) 1. 16 sire
(cap.) 1. 16, replied (–) l. 17, at (o. c.) 1. 23 : which
(—) I. 27, (–) l. 28 ; I (– I) 1. 33 He (– He)
page 191 l. 2 let : (–) l. 2 , (–) l. 6; (–) l. 8 had
been (were) l. 1 1 , drily ; (drily —) l. 12 bed-chamber
(o. h.) l. 1 2-13 palace (Chateau) 1. 13 a (o.) I. 15 sudden
(miraculous and sudden) 1. 16 ; (;) 1. 18 ; (–) 1. 25–26
the . . . question (a certain chamber) l. 3o huge
(huge and mysterious) l. 30 departure (affair) 1. 32 cur-
veted (curvetted) 1. 32 redoubled (redoubled and super-
natural) l. 33 palace (Chateau) page 1921. I said (–
said) 1. 2 speaker, (–) l. 3 ; (–) l. 6 smile (smile of a
peculiar and unintelligible meaning) l. 6 the (the beautiful)
1. 7 . ( –) l. 14 ; (–) l. 15 youth, (o. c.) 1. 16 palace
(Chateau) I. 19, his (o. c.) 1. 19 behaviour (behavior)
I. : : ; (–) 1. 3 1 - (-) I. 34 – (o.) 1. 34 ; (–) page
1931. 1 were, (–) i. 6 was (, was) 1. 7 “ (“–) 1. 9
: (...) 1. 17 : — (–) 1. 18 behaviour (behavior) I. 22–23
. . . ) (– . . . —) 1. 24 health; (–) 1. 27
, the (o. c.) 1. So demon- (o. h.) 1.34 tempest — (tempest
– in moonlight or in shadow –) page 194 l. 1 riveted
rivetted) 1. 2 his own spirit (the spirit of his own) 1. 16
horse' : (o.) . 8 steed (horse) 1. 25 high- (o. h.) 1. 25
horse (steed) 1. 26, but (especially among men who, daily
trained to the labors of the chase, might appear well ac-
quainted with the sagacity of a horse —) 1. 27 force
(force,) 1. - 8 (–) i. 29 caused (, caused) l. 3o in (in


37+ NOTES.
l. 3 qu'il (qui'l) i. 3 filt (o. a.) 1. 3 fièvre (o. a.) 1.4
Andromaque (Andromache). The French is translated in
Southern Literary Messenger: “The man then who would
know of what I died, let him not ask if it were of the
fever, the dropsy, or the gout ; but let him know that it
was of The Andromache.”] [Motto] clime. — (.) page
1971. 2 “” (o). l. 3 brève (o. a.) l. 4 Assist me, (– as-
sist me) After l. 9 insert : — It was “All for Love.” I. 11
bureau (bureau,) 1. 13 king, (o. c.) 1. 14. The (– the)
page 1981. 6 déhabillé (deshabillé) l. 7 more: – (–)
l. 9 ſaid (–said) 1. 11 replied (– replied) 1. 12 hauteur
(n. i.) l. 13 ſerious, (o. c.) 1. 13 retorted (– retorted)
1. 18 ſaid (– said) 1. 18 his majesty (cap.) 1. 31 , just
now, (o. c.) 1. 34 thee, (o. c.) page 1991. 7 revoirſ”
(!) l. 16. It . . . breadth, (It was not very long, nor
very broad,) 1. 18 dense (dense,) 1. 21 like . . . Boston
(like C–) 1. 22 swung (hung) 1. 23 ruby: (–) l. 26–
27 , drugged . . . opium, (o. c.) 1. 29 Apollo. (!) 1.29
oath, (o. c.) 1. 32 — three (o. d.) page 200 l. 1
veiled ; (–) l. 1 not (n. i.) l. 1 o luxury (cap.) 1. 11
love (cap.) 1. 1 1 who, (o. c.) I. 1 1 beauties, (o. c.)
1. 12–14 frames . . . ºval's P (frames that lie em-
bedded and asleep against those swelling walls of eider-
down 2) l. 2 o for, (o. c.) 1. 27 window-panes (o. h.)
l. 28 there, (o. c.) 1. 28 too ! (too) l. 30 maitre (o. a.)
1. 32 amerement (o. a.) 1. 33 agir, (o. c.) 1. 33 say,
(o. c.) page 201 1. 3 : il (,) 1. 4 , then, (o. c.) 1.4
“chapper (o. a.) l. 8 how . . . a (what a) I. 8 —but
(But) i. 12 carté (Ecarté) l. 14 desperate; (3) 1. 14
scarcely (not) 1. 16 Père (o. a.) 1. 16 — was (o. d.)
1. 18 perdu — (;) i. 19 voilà (o. a.) 1. 2 o–21 gagne . . .
preparées (gagne Je serai libre, — que les cartes soient
preparces) i. 2; think; (–) 1. 26 cut (coupa) 1.30 placed
(laid) 1. 34, said (–) l. 34 , cutting (o. c.) page 202
l. 2 présentant (o. a.) 1. 6 leave, (o. c.) 1. 6 etht pas &té
(etais pas) 1. 7 &tre (o. a.).


TALES. 377
(have let fall his tail) 1. 1 1 tail; (—) 1. 13 , then, (o. c.)
1. 14 ; but (—) 1. 14 courage, (—) 1. 14 , and (—) 1. 15
hippodrome (cap.) 1. 16 F.piphanes, (.) 1. 17 etc. o. q. m.
Antiochus, (o. c.) 1. 21 Prince! —(!) 1. 22 Epiphanes!—
(!) 1. 22 Camelopard!— (!) 1. 23 leaps (moves) 1. 24
arrow (shell) 1. 24-25 hippodrome (cap.) 1. 26 well;
(—) page 213 1. 2-3-4-5-6 what (cap.) 1. 9 hip-
podrome (cap.) 1. 10 jou! (?) 1. 11—oh (Oh) 1. 14
eye- (o. h.) 1. 16-17 poetic crown (cap.) I. 17 foot-
(o. h.) 1. 20 and which . . . advance, (p.).
Variations of 1840 from above.
Page 204 I. St/ (o.) 1. 16-17 Prefect (cap.) 1. 27
That ("That) page 205 1. 8 be, (o. c.) page 206 1. 13
satyr (cap.) 1. 14 all (all the) 1. 23 deity (cap.) 1. 34
clubs — (,) page 209 1. 9 paraphrased: (.) page 210
I.28 how (what a) 1. 28 a (o.) 1. 29 fours! (.) page 211
1. 2 etc. hippodrome (cap. throughout) 1. 14 Remarkable
(1. 1.) 1. 19 poetic wreath (cap.) 1. 29 etc. camelopard
(cap. throughout) page 212 1. 28 amphitheatre (cap.)
1. 29 carcass (carcase) page 213 1. 2 etc. what (cap.
throughout) 1. 11 —oh (Oh) 1. 14 eye- (o. h.) 1. 16-17
poetic croivn (cap.) 1. 17 foot- (o. h.) 1. 20 and which
. advance (o.).
Variations of Griswold from text.
Page 205 1. 24 come. — (.) page 206 I. 15 palace.
(!) I. 22 there; (—) page 207 1. 11 species. — (.) page
208 1. 4 palace; — (—) 1. 5 Yes ; — (—) 1. 21 deity. —
(—) 1. 23 see! (! —) 1. 29 skies! — (—) 1. 32^0. (:)
page 209 1. 23 Yes; (—) 1. 25 reverence. (!) 1. 25 comes;
(!) 1. 25 coming; (!) 1. 27 do (I do) 1. 30 \Vopiscus]
(Vospicus) 1. 30 says (says,) page 210 1. 7 / (, I) 1. 14
Epiphanes (Epiphanes —) 1. 16 true (true,) page 211 1. 16
Remarkable (s. I.) 1. 31 , in (o. c.) page 212 1. 16
Epiphanes, (.) 1. 17 etc. '. . . * (" . . .")1. 29
carcase (carcass).


378 NOTES.
A TALE of JERUSALEM.
SouthERN LITERARY MEssenger, APRIL, 1836;
184o ; BROADwAY Journal, II. 22.
The text follows the Broadway journal. Griswold has few
variations from the text.
1840 shows slight revision from Southern Literary Messenger.
The next revision was more extensive, but few changes of im-
portance were made.
Pariations of Southern Literary Messenger from the text.
[Motto] De (de) intonios (intensos) page 2141. 1 , said
(—) 1. Abel-Phittim (Abel-Shittim) l. 2 and (, and) 1.7
; for (–) 1.1 Phittim (Shittim) l. 12 sub-collectors (Sub-
Collectors) l. 12 , in (o. c.) 1. 14, replied . . . Phari-
fee, (– replied . . . Pharisee –) page 215 1. 4. . said
- - Levi, (– said . . . Levi –) i. 7 interests (in-
terest) 1. o–1 , replied . . . Phittim, (– replied . .
Shittim —) I. 12 city (cap.) 1. 14 to (o. c.) 1. 16 Now,
(o. c.) 1. 16, shouted (–) 1. 29 , interrupted . . . Phit-
tim, ( – interrupted . . . Shittim –) 1.30 ; but (. But)
l. 32 he tº n (cap.) I. 33 . and (–) page 216 1. 4 ; being
(—) l. 6 tranch, (–) 1.6 rock, (–) I. 9 ; the . . . sixty,
( – the . . . sixty –) 1. 9 and the (the) l. 1 1 , in (o. c.)
1. , the (o. c.) 1. 12 from (immediately from) I. 15
cuhit: ; (-) l. 2 o besieging (beseiging) l. 23 temple
cap.) par. I. is marked off by asterisks in Southern
Literary Messenger. 1. 24–25 , fighed . . . precipice,
(-- sighed . . . precipice —) 1. 26 sea- (o. h.)
1, 29 added . . . Levi, (– added . . . Levi
1. 54 here ( – here) page 217 l. 2 with the (with
that 1. - go.! (cap.) 1. 7 god (cap.) 1. 15 ejaculated (–
ejaculated) 1. - temple (cap.) 1. 27 Verily (Verily,) 1.28 :
for ( – ) i. 31 sanctuary (cap.) Asterisks after par.
III. in Southern Literary Messenger. 1. 32 rudely
constructed (rudely-constructed) l. 33 heavily laden


Tales. 379
1 -
(heavily-laden) I. 33-34 carefully lowered (lowered care-
fully) 1. 34 ;and (,) page 218 1. 1 gathering (crowd-
ing) 1. 2 round (around) 1. 2 it; (—) 1. 2 but (but,) 1. 5
Half an hour (A half-hour) 1.6, sighed (—) 1.6 a/ (as,)
1. 8 late! (—) I. 10 , responded . . . Phittim, (—re-
sponded . . . Shittim—) 1. 14 sivore . . . Levi,
(—swore . . . Levi—) 1. 1+ do (—do) 1. 15 or
(—or) 1. 18-19 1 cried the Pharisee, (—roared the
Pharisee—) 1. 19 aivay, (!) 1. 20 Phittim (Shittim) I. 20
Levi, (!) 1. 28 ivas (—was) page 219 1. 1 Phittim
(Shittim) 1. 4 , and (—) 1. 7 , said . . . Pharisee,
(—said . . . Pharisee—) 1. 7 heathen (cap.) 1. 8 us!
(us) 1. 8 psalm!— (—) 1. 1 1 sackbut! (.) 1. 13 , that
(o. c.) I. 15-18 sloivly . . . Philistines (—slowly . . .
Philistines) 1. 18 us (us !) 1. 18-19 it . . . flesh! (n. i.)
At end insert : — "Let me no longer," said the Pharisee
wrapping his cloak around him and departing within the
city — "let me no longer be called Simeon, which sig-
nitit-'th 'he who listens' — but rather Boanerges, ' the Son
of Thunder.'"
Variations of 1840 from Southern Literary Messenger.
For Phittim in 1840, Shittim occurs throughout in
Southern Literary Messenger.
Page 214 1. 12 sub-collectors (Sub-Collectors) 1. 12
, in (o. c.) page 215 1. 12 city (cap.) 1. 14 , to (o. c.)
1. 16 Noiv, (o. c.) 1. 32 heaven (cap.) page 216 1. jo
besieging (beseiging) page 217 1. 7 god (cap.) 1. 7 god
(cap.) I. 31 sanctuary (cap.) page 218 1. 18 cried
(roared) 1. 19 aivay, (!) 1. 20 Levi, (.) page 219 1. 7
heathen (cap.) 1. 13 , that (o. c).
Variations of Grisivoldfrom text.
[Motto] [intonsos] (intensos) page 214 1. 5 gate (gates)
1. 11 tuere (, were) page 215 1. 20 stumbling- (o. h.)
1. 29 Phittim (Phittem) page 216 I. 17 summit (cap.)
1. 21 , by (o. c.) 1. 27 the valley (the vally) page 217
1. 22 idolater (idolater) 1. 31 sanctuary (santuary).


TALES. 381
(o. a.) 1. 30 to (of) 1. 33 solitude; — (—) page 223
I. 9 solitude;— (—) 1. 13 before, (o. c.) 1. 19 rolled
(rolled,) 1. 20-12 And . . . man. (o.) 1. 22 soli-
tude ;— (—) 1. 25 silence (n. i.) 1. 27 accursed, (p. c.)
1. 28 up (in) page 224 1. 3 changed; — (—) 1. 7 rock
(rock,) 1. 10-11 off, in haste, (off, and) 1. 11 so that
(and) 1. 16 sea (cap.) 1. 19 Sybils (s. 1.).
Variations of 1840 from the text.
Siope. A Fable. (In the manner of the Psychological
Autobiographists.)
No translation to motto. Page 220 1. 2 head. (head.
"There is a spot upon this accursed earth which thou
hast never yet beheld. And if by any chance thou hast
beheld it, it must have been in one of those vigorous
dreams which come like the simoon upon the brain of the
sleeper who hath lain down to sleep among the forbidden
sunbeams — among the sunbeams, I say, which slide from
off the solemn columns of the melancholy temples in the
wilderness.) 1. 2 "The (The) 1. 4 Zaire{o. a.) 1. 6 but;
(—) 1. 17 Zaire (o. a.) 1. 26 lighted (Utten) 1. 32 them
(the characters) page 222 1. 1 ;—and the characters
(And . . . the characters) 1. 4 rod ; (,) 1. 24 waned,
(o. c.) 1. 27 Zaire (o. a.) 1. 33!; — but (—) page 223
1. 9 ;— but (—) 1. 9 solitude;— (—) 1. 13 where,
before, (o. c.) 1. 19 rolled — (,—) 1. 22 solitude; (—)
1. 28 its (in its) 1. 28 , and (o. c.) 1. 29 to (up the)
page 224 1. 3 ;— and (—) 1. 6 , and (o. c.) 1. 11 , in
baste, (o.) 1. 1 1 so that (and) I. 19 Sybils (sybils) 1. 22
demon (cap.).
Variations of Griswold from text.
Accents in motto supplied by Ed. Page 220 1. 6
onwards (onward) page 223 1- 13 wbere (, where) 1. 16
over-ruled (o. h.) page 224 1. 21 Demon (s. 1.).


TALES. 383
A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM.
Graham's Magazine, May, 1841 ; 1845.
The text follows 1845, with manuscript corrections from the
Lorimer Graham copy. Griswold does not differ from 1845.
1845 shows several sentences reworded, as well as a number of
other lesser emendations from Graham's.
Variations of Graham's from the text.
Motto not in Graham. Page 225 1. 2 rest (rest,) page
226 1. 4 be (he,) 1. 8 Nothing (No consideration) 1. 24-25
particularizing (particularising) 1. 31 out, (o. c.) 1. 32
us, (o. c.) page 227 1. 1 geographer (cap.) 1. 7 gloom
(irredeemable gloom) I. 9 for ever (forever) 1. 25 cross
dashing (cross-dashing) 1. 27 little (little,) 1. 32 Iflesen
(Islesen) 1. 32 Hoeybolm (Hotholm) 1. 33 Kieldbolm
(Kieldhclm) page 228 1. 1 Skarbolm (Stockholm) 1. 10
, / (o. c.) 1. 14 us, (p. c.) page 229 1. 4 balf(p.) 1. 6
spray; (—) 1. 13 sbriek, (o. c.) 1. 20 / (I,) 1. 34 time;
(—) page 230 1. 20 relaxes, (o. c.) 1. 29 , that (o. c.)
page 231 1. 28 thing, (o. c.) 1. 28 ships (ship) page 232
1. 3 Feroe (Ferroe) page 233 1. 12 day, (o. c.) page 234
1. 3 everything (every thing) 1. 4 that, (o. c.) 1. 4 length,
(o. c.) 1. 11 ground (grounds) 1. 12 in, (o. c.) 1. 26 all (all
is) page 235 1. 5 o'clock (o'clock,) 1. 5 Af., (M.) 1. 6
soon (had soon) 1. 18 before— (,) 1. 19 uneasy, (o. c.)
page 236 1. 2 seaman (seamen) 1. 4 , at (o. c.) 1. 5 puff,
(o. c.) 1. 10 deck, (o. c.) page 238 1. 7 but (but,) 1. 12
, as (o. c.) 1. 15 . // (— it) 1. 26 " WtU (Well) [not new
par.] page 239 1. 4-5 than . . . mill-race, (than a
mill-race is like the whirl as you now see it.) 1. 11 aftjr-
ivards (afterward) 1. 12 in (in a wilderness of) 1. 17
water (waste) 1. 20 whirl; (,) 1. 20 , of course, (o. c.)
page 240 1. 27 deafen (deafen,) page 241 1. 5 large
(small) 1. 6 under (aft under) 1. 17 thought (knew) 1. 19
went (went, myself,) page 242 1. 2 ivbile (, while) I. 3


TALES. 385
LIGEIA.
The American Museum, September, 1838; 1840;
Broadway Journal, II. 12.
The text follows the Broadway Journal. Poe's copy with hia MS.
corrections was used. Griswold shows one or two verbal variations
from the text and some variations in spelling and in punctuation.
1840 was somewhat revised from the American Museum state.
Several omissions were made, the phraseology and punctuation
altered in a number of instances, and several changes made in
spelling (mostly correction of typographical errors).
The next state (Broadway journal') shows a much more ex-
tensive revision. Language and punctuation were carefully emended
throughout the tale.
Variations of American Museum from the text.
Motto. 1. 2 vigor (vigour) page 248 1. 2 where,
(o. c.) 1. 4 . Or (: or) 1. 8 low (low,) I. 10 so
(, so) I. 11 believe (know) 1. 12 first and (o.) 1. 14
. That it is (—that they are) 1. 15 Ligeia! (o.)
page 249 I. 1 more (, more) I. i else (else,) 1. 3 —that
(,) 1. 8 finally (eventually) 1. 11 , that (o. c.) 1. 16 And,
(o. c.) 1. 17 ivan (wan,) 1. 22 fails (faileth) 1. it. person
(n. i.) 1. 23 days, (o. c.) 1. 25 portray (pourtray) 1. 25
, of (o. c.) 1. 25 demeanor (demeanour) 1. 27 as (like)
1. 30 marble (delicate) 1. 32 opium- (o. h.) page 250 1. 3
heathen (cap.) 1. 4 Bacon . . . Verulam (Verulam, Lord
Bacon) 1. 6 proportion (proportions) 1. 8 regularity —
(,) 1. 11 and (, and) I. 15 —the (. The) 1. 15 rivalling
(rivaling) 1. 16 extent (breadth) 1. 17 temples; (,) 1. 20
byacinthine ! (;) I. 23 ivere (was) 1. 25 nostrils (nostril)
I. 29 slumber (repose) 1. 30 color (colour) 1. 32 serene
(serene,) page 251 1. 3 Greek—(,) 1. 4 , to (o. c.)
I. 11 fuller (far fuller) I. 11 burn (o.) hue (colour) 1. 12
gazelle (cap.)l. 13 Nourjahad (Nourjabad) 1. 19 Verulam
(Verulam) 1. 20 and, (o. c.) 1. 20 them, (o. c.) 1. 22
tint (hue) 1. 23 / . . . eyes, (I have found in the eyes of
Vol. II. - as


386 NOTES.
my Ligeia) 1. 24 color (colour) 1. 29 How (How,) 1. 31
midsummer (mid-summer) page 252 after 1. 3 insert : —
Not for a moment was the unfathomable meaning of
their glance, by day or by night, absent from my soul.
1. 6 believe, (o. c.) l. 7 that, (o. c.) 1. 7 endeavors
(endeavours) 1. 8 , we (o. c.) 1. Io how (, how) l. 12
of (of the secret of) 1. 14 depart 1 (.) 1. 19, from (o. c.)
1. 20 such (, such) l. 21 me (me,) 1. 24–25 the - -
in (in the commonest objects of the universe. It has
flashed upon me in the survey of a rapidly growing
vine — in) l. 26 ocean : (,) page 253 1. 2 which ( (,)
l. 3 say?) (?) 1. 4 sentiment ; – (.-) 1. 9 ſave (but)
l. 1 2-13 connection (connexion) 1. 13 the (the old)
1. 15, was (o. c.) 1. 18 all the (the) l. 2 o the (o.) 1. zo
ever- (o. h.) 1. 24 — by (,) 1. 26 voice — (,) 1. 26 energy
(energy,) 1. 28 habitually (o.) page 254 l. 2 of (, of)
l. 3 singularly — (,) 1. 5 only (, only) i. 6 — but
where (. Where) i. 6 have (had) 1. 7 who (who,
like her,) 1. 8 physical (natural) l. 1 1 ; yet (–)
1. 18 me (me, ) 1. 19 sought (sought for) l. 19 known —
(o, d.) 1. 20 slow (slow but very perceptible) 1. 21
, I (o. c.) 1. 26 fly (flee) 1.29–30 wanting . . . eyes
(o.) 1. 3 i , letters (. Letters) i. 32 lead. (lead wanting
the radiant lustre of her eyes) 1. 34 pored (poured)
page 255 I. 3 sank (sunk) . 7 wife (Ligeia) l. 12 she
(Ligeia) 1, 13 Shadow (dark shadow) I. 15 but, (o. c.)
!. 16 life, – (–) 1. 16 — ſolace (,) 1. 17–18 until the last
instance (not for an instant) i. 22 quietly (quietly) 1. 23
entranced (, entranced) 1.26 she (Ligeia) 1.26 me (me,) 1.28
Žer's (hers) l. 3o strength (intensity) l. 3 o–31 overflowing
\overflowings) l. 34 confessions. (..) 1. 34 how (cap.)
page 256 1. 4 alas ! (,) 1. 5 , I (3) 1. 5–6 recognized
(recognised) 1.6 with (, with) l. 7 , for (o. c.) 1.8-9
whenence (intensity) l. 1 o portray (pourtray) l. 1 o of
expressing (to express) 1. 14 – They (o. d.) 1. 14 these :
–) omit from page 256 l. 1 1 to page 258 l. 6; after
| 1 | page 256 insert : — Methinks I again behold the ter-
rific struggles of her lofty, her nearly idealized nature, with


388 NOTES.
tion (irritability) i. 15 She (Indeed reason seemed fast
tottering from her throne. She) l. 17 — of (,) 1. 17
sounds – (,) 1. 20 not new par. l. 2 o One night, (It was
one night) l. 20 she (when she) 1. 23 an unquiet (a per-
turbed) 1. 24 vague (a vague) l. 29 hear — (,) 1. 33
inarticulate (faint, almost inarticulate,) 1. 33 those (the)
page 263 1. 2 pallor, (o. c.) 1.3 reassure (re-assure)
1. 6 of (of some) 1. 11 although invisible (o.) 1. 12–
14 lay . . . shadow (lay a faint, indefinite shadow
upon the golden carpet in the very middle of the rich
lustre thrown from the censer) 1. 18–19 Having fºund
(Finding) l. 19 recrossed (re-crossed) 1. 20 goblet-ful
(o. h.) 1. 21 She (But she) 1. 21–22, however, (o.) .. 22
the . . . self (, herself, the vessel) 1. 23 fastened
(rivetted) 1. 26 and (and,) page 264 1. 3 own . . .
drops, (self, after this period,) 1. 3 Yet (Yet —) 1.6 wife ;
(,) 1. 9 fantastic (fantastical) l. 1 o bride. —(.) 1. Io opium-
(o. h.) 1. 14 parti-(o. h.) 1. 18 longer; (,) 1. 18 and (and,)
1. 23 we (woe) 1. 26–27 gazing . . . the (with mine
eyes rivitted upon the) l. 32 . I (3) l. 32 an (the) l. 34
corpse — (,) page 265 l. 2 had (n. i.) l. 3 soul (whole
soul) l. 4 I (, as I) 1.4 riveted (rivetted) 1.8 feeble (faint)
1. 8 color (colour) i. 12 felt (felt my brain reel,) 1. 16 prep-
arations (preparations for interment) l. 19 abbey (cap.)
1. – o call – (,) 1. 24 was (became) 1. 25 certain, (evi-
dent) i. 26 color (color utterly) l. 29 repulsive clamminess
and (o.) 1. 29–30 coldness (coldness surpassing that of ice,)
l. 30 body; (,) 1. 32 couch (ottoman) page 266 1. 1 when
(when, ) i. 6 afterward (after) l. 6 they (they slightly)
l. 9 there (therein) 1. Io reason (brain) l. 11 : and (,)
1. violent (convulsive) l. 13 once more (, once more,)
1. 14 and upon (, upon) 1. 14 throat, (–) l. 15 frame ;
(—) i. 17 lived (n. i.) 1. 17 ardor (ardour) 1. 18 chafed
(chafed,) 1. 19 and (, and) 1. 21 color (colour) 1. 23
afterward (afterwards) 1. 25 all (each and all) l. 28
again, (o. c.) 1. 34 gray (grey) page 267 l. 1 repeated;
(,) 1. - how (and how) l. 4 foe; (.) 1. 4-6 and -
corpse. (o.) 1.8-9 The . . . dead, once (the corpse of


390 NOTES.
259 1.5 Lady (s. 1.) page 260 l. 3 candelabra (can-
delabras) l. 14 folds, (o. c.) 1. 14 massive — (massy)
l. 17 and (, and) 1. 24 arabesque (cap.) page 261 I. 3
hiteous (hidious) l. 4 animation (vitality) 1.6 — I (,)
l. 1 o little — (,) 1.2 o-21 (. . .) (o.) 1. 24 through (by)
!. 25 ardor (intensity) 1.26 her (Ligeia) l. 34 I concluded
(o.) page 262 l. 8 epoch (period) page 387 l. 3–4
night (night,) page 262 I. 14 irritation (irritability) i. zo
not new par. l. 20 One night (It was one night) i. zo she
(when she) l. 23 an unquiet (a perturbed) page 263
I. : fallor, (o. c.) 1. 3 reassure (re-assure) l. 19 re-
croſsed (re-crossed) 1. 21–22, however, (o.) page 264
1. 6 wife; (,) 1. 9 fantastic (fantastical) 1. 23 wo (woe)
page 265 1. 2 had (n. i.) l. 19 abbey (cap.) 1. 24 was
(became) 1. 25 certain, (evident) l. 29 repulsive claminess
and (o.) 1. 29–30 coldness (coldness surpassing that of ice)
l. 32 couch (ottoman) page 266 1. 6 afterwards (after)
1. 14 and upon (, upon) l. 17 ardor (ardour) l. 18 chafed
(chafed.) 1. 19 and (, and) 1. 21 color (colour) 1.28 again,
(o, c.) l. 34 gray (grey) page 267 l. 2–4 how -
foe, (o. 1840) 1. 32 demeanor (demeanour) l. 33 — (,)
l. 33 had . . . stone (had sent the purple blood ebbing
in torrents from the temples to the heart) l. 34 the ap-
parition (her who was before me) page 268 l. 1 o Lady
(s. I.) 1.12 but (but — but) 1. 21 then, (o. c.).
Pariations of Griswold from text.
Page 248 1. 7 cast (caste) l. 1 o that (, that) page 249
i. 29 save (, save) page 251 1. 2 fullness (fulness) page
253 l. 3 quaintness : — (:) 1. 7 that, (o. c.) 1. 1 1 years,
(o, c.) 1. 20 aroused (around) 1. 21 me (me,) 1. 23 recog-
nized (recognised) 1.25 and (, and) 1. 28 utterance (utter-
ance,) 1. 31 Lyra (Lyra,) page 255 l. 2 grave, (3) I. Io
terror; — (;) 1. 16 life, (o. c.) 1. 23 entranced (, en-
tranced) 1. 28 [hers] (her's) page 256 l. 5–6 recognized
(recognised) 1. 6 with (, with) 1. 7 for (, for) 1. 14
her. — (.) 1. 14 these : (: –) 1. 25 fly — (;) 1. 29 Con-
dor (s. 1.) page 257 l. 2 spot, (;) 1. 3 and (, and) 1.4


TALES. 391
Horror (s. 1.) 1. 4 plot. (!) 1. 4 the (, the) 1. 5 rout, (p. c.)
1. 16 storm, (—) 1. 20 hero (hero,) I. 20-25 Conqueror
(5. I.) page 258 1. 2 ear (ear,) I. 3 Glan-vill— (:—)
1. 6 died ;— (:) 1. 10 more (more.) I. 18 both, (o. c.) 1. 25
within.— (.) 1. 26 taste (taste,) page 259 1. 13 said
(said,) 1. 15 moment— (;) 1. 23 moon, (o. c.) page 260
1. 4 about; (—) 1. 30 and (and,) page 261 1. 10 me (mc,)
1. 20 dreams (dreams,) I. 21 drug (drug,) 1. 27 forever
(for ever) 1. 31 her (her,) page 262 1. 3 well (, well)
1. 1: ivbich (,-which) page 264 1. 31 — / (I) page 266 I. 1
when (, when) 1. 34 revification (rcvivieation) page 267
1. 9 once (one) page 268 1. 20 of the {the) 1. 24 lady (cap.).
[HOW TO WRITE A BLACKWOOD ARTI-
CLE (THE SIGNORA ZENOBIA)], AND [A
PREDICAMENT (THE SCYTHE OF TIME).]
The American Museum, December, 1838; 1840;
Broadway Journal, II. 1.
The text follows the Broadway Journal.
Griswold shows some variations in spelling and punctuation from
Broadway Journal.
1840 was revised from the American Muteum state, but com-
paratively few verbal changes were made.
In the Broadway Journal both pieces appear with changed
tide, and in a considerably revised state.
Variations of American Museum from the text.
Title : — The Psyche Zenobia :— Page 269 1. 6
soul," (soul " —) 1. 6 and (— and) 1. 6 our (our original)
I. 7 undoubtedly (o.) 1. 11 colored (coloured) 1. 13 wasn't
(was'nt) 1. 19 Mem (Mem:) page 270 1. 2 queen —
(o. d.) 1. 4 —and (p. A.) 1. 13 Regular, (—) 1. 13 Tea,
(—) 1. 13 Belles, (—) 1. 15 , Civilize, (o. c.) 1. 29
Regular, (—) 1. 30 Tea, (—) L 30 Belles, (—)
page 271 1. 3 the Doctor (Dr. Moneypenny) 1. 17
stigmatise (stigmatite) 1. 24 say, (o. c.) 1. 27 . We (, we)


392 NOTES.
1. 34 tailor s (o. h.) page 272 1. 6 Times—(,) 1. 27
place (place) page 273 1. 1 pen, — (,) 1. 3 ,when
(where) 1. 16-21-22-31-32 '•..'(".-.")
I. 18 of (of tact,) page 274 1. 2-5 '. .
('' . . . ") I. 26 instance, — (—) 1. 31 misad-
venture (mis-adventure) page 275 1. 5 so;— (—)
I. 7 Brandreth's (Morrison's) 1. 17 Someboiu (Some
how) 1. 17 thus— (.) 1. 29 one. (one — but requires
some skill in the handling. The beauty of this lies
in a knowledge of inucndo. Hint all, and assert noth-
ing. If you desire to say 'bread and butter,* do not
by any means say it outright. You may say anything
and everything approaching to "'bread and butter.''*
You may hint at " ' buck-wheat cake,' " or you may even
go so far as to insinuate "'oat-meal porridge,*" but, if
"' bread and butter'" is your real meaning, be cautious,
my dear Miss Psyche, not on any account to say "' bread
and butter!' '' Then par. III.) page 276 I. £i He . . .
and (Hekissed) 1. 31 continued: (.) Then begin page 276
1. 8. 1. 9 mart—(,)1. 9-10 transcendental (metaphysical)
1. 10 the (, the) 1. 14 the 'Dial.' (" ' The Sorrows of
Werther' ") 1. 14 After "way" insert : If you know any
big words this is your chance for them. Talk of the
academy and the lyceum, and say something about the
Ionic, and Italic schools, or about Bossarion, and Kant,
and Schelling, and Fichte, and be sure you abuse a man
called Locke, and bring in the words a priori and a pos-
teriori. After "above" begin 1. 3 page 277 " (o.) 1. 5
portion, — (,) 1. 5 fact, (o. c.) 1. 5 , is (o. c) 1. 5
soul (soul,) 1. 9 it is (is it) 1. 12 " (o.) 1. 14 ** (o.)
1. 24 " (o.) 1. 25 Aoede (and Aoede) 1. 31 " (o.) page
278 1. 11 Java, (p. c.) 1. 17 Expressions (s. 1.) 1. 19
intimate (imtimate) 1. 24 , and (o. c.) 1. 28-30 [Zaire]
(o. a.) page 279 1. 3 [Zaire] (o. a.) 1. 4 Fen (Van)
1. 7 [a] (o. a.) 1. 9 , O (p. c.) 1. 15 // (I'l) 1. 15 sen-
(se'n) 1. 16 ed (e) 1. 25 so (no) page 280 1. 1 ( (,() 1. 2
ivouldn't (would'nt) 1. 5 mosaiques (p. a.) 1. 6 — Write
(write) 1. 10 , — ignoratio (. Ignoratio) 1. 13 feltevo


TALES.
393
(fellow, you perceive,) 1. 14 address (addressed) 1. 15
didn't (did'nt) 1. 28 " (o.) 1. 28 —from (o. d.) 1. 29
Demosthenes, (—) 1. 29 Avqp (Airp) 1. 29 $ev (££") 1. 30
pheugon (pheogon) page 281 1. 6 short, (o. c.) 1. 6 there
is (there's) 1. 14 " (o.) 1. 21 but (but,) 1. 21 offer . . .
only (only offer) page 282 1. 13 have (have,) 1. 14 upon
(, upon).
THE SCYTHE OF TIME. (Tnxi m American Mdiedm.)
No motto. Page 283 1. 8 Alas, (!) 1. 14 — continued
(o. d.) 1. 14.V", (o. c.) page 284 1. 6 — / (, I) 1. 7 — /
(, I) 1. 10 things, (o. c.) 1. 18 her tail, (, her tail) 1. 21
negro (nigger) 1. 21 — sweet (p. A.) page 285 1. 8 that
(cap.) 1. 9 Signora (Seignora) 1. 19 and Fiddling (and
Singing) 1. 23 , / (o. c.) 1. 34 i/««/i/, (o. c.) page 286.1. 4
vestibule 1 (.) 1. 5 Alfred (Alceus) 1. 5 passed, (o. c.) 1. 8
Yes, (o. c.) 1. 8 up (up,) 1. 9 up (up,) 1. io_, ivitb (o. c.)
1. 19 — no (No) 1. 22 At once (o.) page 287 1. 5 depends! (.)
1. 6 then (and then) 1. 26 filthy (the filthy,) 1. 26 and
(the) 1. 27 and (, and) page 288 1. 26 aperture, (o. c.)
1. 28 Noiv, (o. c.) 1. 29 No'w, (o. c.) 1. 30 band (, hand)
1. 32 everything (every thing) page 289 1. 5 beefsteak
(Zaire) 1. 11-12 Edinburgh (Edinburg) 1. 14 , sat (p. c.)
page 290 1. 10 ennemy-iverry (ennemy werry) I. 13
ivben (with Pompey, when) 1. 32 endeavored (en-
deavoured) page 291 1. 2 aid: (,) 1. 4 Diana; (,)
1. 26 ears, (—) page 292 1. 1-2 endeavor (endeavour)
1. 16 eyes, (o. c.) 1. 19 and, (o. c.) page 293
1. 20 , for . . seconds, (o. c.) 1. 24 —nay,
(, nay,) 1. 32 endeavoring (endeavouring) page 294
1. 7-8 it quoted . . Ariosto (it compared me to
the hero in Ariosto, who, in the heat of combat,
not perceiving that he was dead, continued to fight
valiantly dead as he was. I remember that it used
the precise words of the poet.) After this begin
page 293 1. 13 "There was" etc. 1. 21 disap-
peared (—I never saw him again) 1. 22 — (o.) 1. 24


394 NOTES.
/• the (to the far-tailed, the) 1. 29 — is (? Is — is) page
295 1. 2 leavens (cap.) 1. 3-4 " (o.) 1. 4 she! (! —)
1. 9 behalf. (!).
Variations of 1S40 from American Museum.
Page 269 1. 9 sky-blue (o. h.) 1. 19 Mem: (Mem)
page 270 1. 2 So (s. 1.) 1. 30 Tea— (,) page 271 1. 17
stigmatise (stigmatite) 1. 19 endeavor (endeavour) 1. 24
say, (o. c.) 1. 25 , upon (o. c.) I. 27 We (, we) page 272
1. 6 —then (,) 1. 25 colored (coloured) 1. 26 — My (o. d.)
page 273 1. 16 etc. '' (" ") page 274 1. 5 by-the-bye
(by the bye) 1. 31 mis (mis-) page 275 1. 19 thus: (.)
1. 20 snappish (cap.) page 276 1. 31 continued: (.) page
391 1. 21-22 Coleridge"s Table-Talk ('The Sorrows of
Wertcr') I. 24 Academy (s. 1.) 1. 24 Lyceum (s. 1.) page
277 1. 1 , pertinent (and pertinent) 1. 5 soul (soul,) 1. 5
business, (o. c.) page 278 I. 5 others (others,) 1. 11
Java, (o. c.)l. 24 , and (o. c.) page 280 1. 1 (or (, (or)
1. 13 fellonv (fellow, you perceive,) 1. 15 and (o.) 1. 23
Silius Italicus (Longinus) 1. 24 thoughts, (o. c.) 1. 28 " /*
(In) 1. 30 uaxeocTiu (ftaxveTat) page 281 1. 6 short.
(o. c.) page 284 1. 22 negro!— (nigger!) page 285
1. 8 that (cap.) 1. 14colored (coloured) 1. 34 doubt, (o. c.)
page 286 1. 3 colored (coloured) 1. 19 no (. No) 1. 21
— / (.) 1. 22 - Diana (.) page 287 1. 5 depends! (.)
page 288 1. 26 , Pompey (o. c.) 1. 28 Afcui, (o. c) 1. 29
other (other,) page 289 1. 14 measure, (o. c.) page 290
1. 19 explicit (express) 1. 19 bind- (o. h.) 1. 32 endeav-
ored (endeavoured) 1. 33 iron (iron-) page 291 1. 1
aid; (,) 1. 27 Dr. Morphine (Dr. Ollapod) 1. 30 pres-
ently (presently,) page 292 1. 1-2 endeavor (endeavour)
1. 9 Cervantes: (.) 1. 16 eyes, (o. c.) I. 19 and, (o. c.)
1. 27 behavior (behaviour) page 293 1. 31 endeavoring
(endeavouring) page 392 1. 33 poet! (.) page 293 I. 19
endeavoring (endeavouring) 1. 22 Demosthenes — (o. d.)
page 295 1. +She!'- (!).


398 NOTES.
DUC DE L'OMELETTE.
S. & W. [Note] page 197 I. 3 si ce (si) I. 3 la (o.)
1. 4 VAndromaque (The Anilrumaciie) page 200 1. 23
// est (C'est) 1. 23 a (tie) page 201 1. 22 Fingt-un
(Vingt) page 202 1. 7 en (o.) 1. 7 a (d').
FOUR BEASTS IN ONE.
S. & w. page 205 I. 19 most (do) page 209 I. s
J'udil sanguinis (sanguinis effudit) [Note] Fopiscus
(Vospicus).
A TALE OF JERUSALEM.
Stod. page 213 I. 5 [B. J.] gate (gates).
S. & W. [Motto] descendere (ascendere) page 2181. 33
Jehoshaphat (Jehosaphat).
SILENCE.
Stod. page 219 I. 11 heavens (heaven) page 223 1. 3
upon (unto) page 224 1. 17 ivere (was).
A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM.
Stod. [Motto] page 225 I. 2 in any (any) page 226
1. 9 to be (be) page 230 1. 28 •were carried (were) page
231 1. 17 unmeasurably (immeasurably) page 238 1. 24
strange (very strange) page 240 1. 21 saiv for (saw)
1. 21 of the (of).
S. & W. page 227 1. 32 Iflesen (Islesen) 1. 32 Hoey-
bolm (Hotholm) 1. 33 Kieldholm (Keildhelm) page 228
1. 1 Skarkolm (Stockholm) page 232 1. 3 Feroe (Faroe)
page 243 1. s Mussulmans (Mussulmen).
The Lorimer Graham corrections do not appear in
S. & W.
LIGEIA.
Ing. page 260 1. 1 out (out of them) page 266 L iS
sank (sunk).
S. & W. page 268 1- 20 of the [B. J.] (of).














Jay . . . .
*














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