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Book_I?2___ 
 Gopight N° 
 
 COFIIRIGHT DEPOSm 
 
POEMS AND TALES 
 
 BY 
 
 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 M 
 EDITED BY 
 
 HARRY GILBERT PAUL, Ph.D. 
 
 ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN THE 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 
 D. C. HEATH & CO., PUBLISHERS 
 
 BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO 
 
<^l 
 
 >,o* 
 
 /^5 
 
 The text here followed is that of Professor James A. 
 Harrison's authoritative " Virginia Edition " of the 
 Works of Edgar Allan Poe; it is used by the kind per- 
 mission of the publishers, T. Y. Crowell and Company. 
 
 Copyright, 1918, 
 
 By D. C. Heath & Co. 
 
 1d8 
 
 MAY 18 1918 
 )CI,A499036 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction v 
 
 POEMS 
 
 Sonnet — to Science i 
 
 Romance i 
 
 To Helen 2 
 
 Iseafel 3 
 
 The City in the Sea 4 
 
 Lenore 6 
 
 Hymn 7 
 
 To One in Paradise 8 
 
 Dream-Land 8 
 
 EuLALiE — A Song 10 
 
 The Raven 11 
 
 Ulalume 15 
 
 To My Mother . 18 
 
 Annabel Lee 19 
 
 The Bells 20 
 
 Eldorado ~ 24 
 
 TALES 
 
 Shadow — A Parable 25 
 
 The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion 28 
 
 Eleonora 35 
 
 Ligeia 42 
 
 The Fall of the House of Usher 60 
 
 The Tell-Tale Heart 81 
 
 The Masque of the Red Death 87 
 
 The Pit and the Pendulum 94 
 
 A Descent into the Maelstrom in 
 
 The Gold-Bug 130 
 
 The Purloined Letter 170 
 
 The Cask of Amontillado 191 
 
 Notes and Questions 199 
 
 Bibliography 209 
 
 Glossary 211 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Life of Poe 
 
 The year 1809 marked the birth of many children destined to 
 become famous, including in England Gladstone, Darwin, and Ten- 
 nyson, and in America, Lincoln, Holmes, and Poe. The briefest 
 and saddest among the lives of these children of genius was that 
 of Edgar Allan Poe, which began in Boston on January igth. 
 His father was the son of a Revolutionary patriot. General David 
 Poe, whom Lafayette honored by kissing the turf on his grave and 
 saying, "Here rests a noble heart." This stern old aristocrat of 
 Baltimore disowned his son, who not only left his law books for 
 the stage, but also married a little English actress, Elizabeth Arnold. 
 Edgar was the second of the three children born to this couple as 
 their small troupe made its way from town to town along the At- 
 lantic coast. Soon the father disappeared from the stage, and the 
 brave little mother, stricken with consumption, fought hard to gain 
 bread for her young family. Finally, late in November, 181 1, the 
 following card appeared in a Richmond newspaper: 
 
 "On this night Mrs. Poe, lingering on a bed of disease and surrounded 
 by her children, asks your assistance, and asks it, perhaps, for the last time. 
 The generosity of a Richmond audience can need no other appeal." 
 
 A week later the mother died, and the three children were thrown 
 upon the charity of relatives and friends. Mrs. John Allan, the 
 wife of a Richmond tobacco merchant, was attracted by the dark- 
 eyed, curly-haired Edgar and took the little waif into her home. 
 When the lad was six, the Allans went to England on a business 
 venture and placed him in a school at Stoke-Newington, a London 
 suburb. Years later, in his tale of William Wilson, Poe pictured this 
 old, irregular building, with its thick walls, its low ceihngs, and 
 winding passages. Here he passed five years, conjugating Latin 
 verbs, learning French, and spending more pocket-money than he 
 should. In 1820 he returned to Richmond with the Allans, and 
 soon was one of the leaders in his school, equally ready to declaim, 
 
VI EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 take part in a play, run a race, or put on the boxing-gloves. Once 
 he swam six miles against a strong current in the James River. But 
 this proud, moody boy Uved largely in his land of dreams and made 
 but few friends. Among these few, however, was the mother of one 
 of his schoolmates, Mrs. Jane Standard, who so won his heart that 
 after her death he is said to have haunted her grave at night for 
 months. Early in 1826 Poe entered the University of Virginia, 
 recently founded by Thomas Jefferson, where he frequented the li- 
 brary, the card-table and punch-bowl, and the lonely mountain 
 paths. At the close of the year he returned to Richmond with 
 honors in Latin and French and with some large gambling debts 
 which his foster-father refused to pay. Set at work in Mr. Allan's 
 office, the youth of eighteen soon rebelled and ran away to Boston, 
 where he published in 1827 a thin book of forty pages entitled Tamer- 
 lane and Other Poems, By a Bostonian. To-day this small sheaf of 
 verse sells for many times its weight in gold. 
 
 No one has yet been able to trace Poe in all his wanderings during 
 these years. We are sure, however, that he enlisted as a private 
 under the name of Edgar A. Perry, thus, like Coleridge in a similar 
 case, retaining his own initials. He served so faithfully at Fort 
 Moultrie, near Charleston, and later at Fortress Monroe, that he 
 was made a sergeant-major. By the fatal illness of Mrs. Allan, Poe 
 was partly reconciled to his foster-father, who secured his release 
 from the army and helped gain him a cadetship at West Point. 
 Before entering the Academy the young soldier published an en- 
 larged edition of his verse, Al Aaraf, Tamerlane and Other Poems, 
 1829. The melody of these strange poems puzzled the few critics 
 who noticed them. At West Point, Poe found the strict disciphne so 
 little to his liking that, after six months, he deliberately provoked 
 his own expulsion. Soon after leaving, he dedicated to the cadets 
 his third volume, Poems, 183 1, containing To Helen, Israfel, and 
 Lenore, which show that at twenty-two he had found himself as a 
 poet. 
 
 We catch our next glimpse of Poe in Baltimore, half-starved at 
 the hard task of earning his bread by his pen. his first bit of fortune 
 coming as a hundred dollar prize which he won from the Baltimore 
 Visiter with his story, A MS. Found in a Bottle. One of the judges 
 of the contest, John P. Kennedy, also helped him to secure a place 
 
INTRODUCTION VU 
 
 as editor of the Southern Literary Messenger at Richmond. Here, 
 for the next year and a half, Poe did four men's work as editor, 
 proof reader, story writer, and critic; the subscription list lengthened 
 from seven hundred to five thousand names; and the nation turned 
 to hsten to this clever young critic. At this time he married his 
 pretty child-cousin, Virginia Clem, and brought her and her mother 
 to hve in Richmond. 
 
 But disaster dogged his steps. In January, 1836, he lost his po- 
 sition with the Messenger, and after trying jn vain to establish him- 
 self in New York, he moved to Philadelphia, then, the magazine 
 center of the nation. The following six years, 1838-1844, found 
 Poe at his best as a critic and a short-story writer. During this 
 period appeared his fine criticism of Hawthorne and Tennyson and 
 such masterpieces of the short story as The Fall of the House of 
 Usher, The Pit and the Pendulum, The Purloined Letter, and his 
 best-known story. The Gold-Bug, which won another hundred dol- 
 lar prize. As editor of The Gentleman's Magazine and afterward 
 of Graham's he did splendid service. For the latter he gained a 
 name of perhaps the leading literary journal of the nation and in- 
 creased the circulation from five thousand to thirty-five thousand. 
 His ability to decipher secret messages, or cryptograms, aroused a 
 wide interest; and his prediction of the plot of Barnaby Rudge, after 
 the first chapters had appeared, caused Dickens to ask if he was 
 the devil. 
 
 Poe's industry and energy, his originality and versatility, made him 
 one of the best editors of the day. Unfortunately, however, he was 
 a child of impulse, always yielding to the "Imp of the Perverse" 
 which stood at his elbow and tumbled down what he had built 
 with such skill and care. He was tactless and touchy, impatient 
 of restraint, dissatisfied with the present, and ever seeking some land 
 of heart's desire. Furthermore, he fought a losing fight with drink 
 and drugs. A single glass of liquor would work like poison in his 
 veins and set his brain on fire. He paid dearly for these weaknesses 
 and indulgence, not only in the loss of good positions but also in 
 health and strength. 
 
 In 1844 Poe made a fresh start in New York, where at first he found 
 a small market and poor pay for his wares. When he was too ill 
 to leave the house, his tall, gaunt mother-in-law, one of nature's 
 
Vm EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 noblewomen, went uncomplainingly from publisher to publisher, 
 trying to sell some story for which many present-day magazines 
 would gladly give more than Poe sometimes received for whole 
 years of toil. Editors valued his work more highly after the pub- 
 lication of The Raven in 1845 ^^^ won him a wide name and fame 
 as a poet; and in that same year appeared a volume of his Tales 
 and another of his verse. But he never gained any very steady or 
 profitable position; he never escaped the pinch of poverty; and when 
 finally he secured control of the Broadway Journal, and thus realized 
 his dream of a magazine of his own, he lacked the capital to tide it 
 over the first few months. 
 
 In 1846 the Uttle family moved out to a cottage among the cherry 
 trees in Fordham, a village now swept away by the tide of the city, 
 in the vain hope that a purer air might benefit the young wife, 
 Virginia. For years she had lived near the brink of death; and as 
 the dreaded consumption tightened its final grip upon her, Poe knew 
 the fullest measure of bitterness and despair. Here is a picture 
 of the bed of suffering left us by one who went to her aid: 
 
 "There was no clothing on the bed, which was only straw, but the snow- 
 white counterpane and sheets. The weather was cold, and the sick lady 
 had the dreadful chills that accompany the hectic fever of consumption. 
 She lay on a straw bed, wrapped in her husband's great-coat, with a large 
 tortoise-shell cat in her bosom. The wonderful cat seemed conscious of 
 her great usefulness. The coat and the cat were the sufferer's only means 
 of warmth, except as her husband held her hands and her mother her feet. " 
 
 After her death in 1847, Poe battled with a long, hard fever which 
 left him shattered both in body and in spirit. Over the remainder 
 of his ill-starred life we need not hnger. Haggard and careworn, 
 he produced little abiding work except such short poems as Ulalume, 
 Annabel Lee, and The Bells. He tried in vain to estabhsh a maga- 
 zine of his own; he lectured and read his verse in public. His 
 nature seemed to demand the sympathy and encouragement of 
 women; and some of those whose friendship and love he sought 
 were, after his death, his strongest champions. In 1849 he visited 
 Richmond and left for the North carrying the receipts from a lecture 
 before an audience of generous friends. No one knows exactly what 
 happened to him at Baltimore, where he was found dazed, and pos- 
 sibly drugged; but it is generally believed that at the election there 
 
INTRODUCTION IX 
 
 he had been carried from booth to booth and used as a repeater. 
 He died at the Washington Hospital, in Baltimore, October 7, 1849. 
 
 "There is one spot in America," said Tennyson, "which I should 
 like to visit, viz., the long-neglected spot in Baltimore where the 
 greatest American genius li^s buried. In my opinion he is the 
 literary glory of America." 
 
 Poe was scarcely in his grave when a bitter debate arose concerning 
 his life and writings, the echoes from which may still at times be 
 heard. To-day, however, certain phases of his character seem fairly 
 clear. First, he was a dreamer of dreams whose imagination worked 
 freely in a charnel land of tombs, far from the happy haunts of men. 
 "To dream," he wrote, "has been the business of my life." Again, 
 he was blessed, or cursed, with a morbidly acute nervous system, as 
 responsive to ev^ery impression as is a delicate thermometer to the 
 slightest change in temperature. i\ll his senses were keenly alive. 
 "I have often thought," he once said, "that I could hear the sound 
 of the darkness as it stole over the horizon." But Poe was more 
 than a dreamer and a visionary, for he was gifted with one of the 
 keenest minds America has ever known. He was quick to analyze 
 these moods and subject them so thoroughly to his intellect that his 
 passion seemed less of the heart than of the head. His range of 
 intellectual interests was remarkably wide: mathematics, astronomy, 
 and architecture; landscape gardening and furniture; physical and 
 mental science; theories of literary style and prosody; curious read- 
 ing and secret writing — such are the many subjects that filled his 
 busy brain. He was possessed of an abnormal curiosity that throve 
 upon the extravagant, the unreal, the mysterious, and the puzzling. 
 His mind loved to dwell in the regions of the unknown if not the 
 unknowable. In a word, Poe was not a learned man, a scholar, 
 but a pioneer on the frontiers of knowledge, who sent his thoughts 
 out along the boundaries that divide life and death as freely as he 
 sent them to the borderland where verse passes into music. 
 
 His Work and its Characteristics 
 
 What has just been said of Poe as a pioneer should help us in 
 appreciating his threefold work as (i) a critic, (2) a poet, and (3) 
 a writer of tales. To-day the emphasis has shifted; but during the 
 
X EDGAR Allan poe 
 
 greater part of his life he was known as an original, vigorous, and 
 pungent critic. The sheer power of his keen mind did much to 
 offset his lack of scholarship and the hurried pressure under which 
 he usually wrote. He was not without his faults and weaknesses; 
 for example, he could seldom deal severely with the writings of a 
 woman, and how thoroughly he was possessed of a mania for dis- 
 covering literary thefts may be seen in his attacks upon "Mr. Long- 
 fellow and Other Plagiarists." Nevertheless, after every allowance 
 has been made, Poe still deserves honor as the first important Amer- 
 ican critic. He was quick to discern genuine literary power and was 
 among the first to welcome Tennyson, Mrs. Browning, Dickens, 
 Lowell, and Hawthorne. His longer essays, such as The Poetic Prin- 
 ciple and The Philosophy of Composition, stand as modest milestones 
 along the path of literary theory, and have pointed the way for 
 many writers both in America and in Europe. Furthermore, since 
 Poe strove to practice what he preached, his criticisms are valuable 
 in helping us understand his own prose and verse. 
 
 Poe's claitn to remembrance as a poet rests on some ten or twelve 
 poems written either at the beginning or near the close of his literary 
 career. During his busy middle life he produced practically no 
 verse, for poetry was his passion, he said, "and as such to be held 
 in reverence." His early verse, with its parade of dark-browed 
 sorrow and a mysterious past, bears so plainly the stamp of Byron 
 that we might well ascribe the following lines to the English bard 
 rather than to'Poe, should we find them detached: • 
 
 "The happiest day — the happiest hour 
 My sered and blighted heart hath known, 
 The highest hope of pride and power, 
 I feel hath flown." 
 
 After Poe had outgrown his Byronism, he learned from Coleridge 
 much about the witchery of musical words. We must be careful, 
 however, not to overestimate this influence, for Poe's verse has an 
 elfin tone of its own and strikes a unique, distinctive note in poetry. 
 Here, again, he was a pioneer; but "pioneer" does not suggest his 
 nice craftsmanship, his fine command of his art. No other American 
 poet chiseled and polished his work so carefully, or toiled with such 
 skill and pains till the perfect poem emerged. Poe wrought his 
 
INTRODUCTION XI 
 
 verse largely in accord with certain theories he had evolved; con- 
 sequently, if we would understand his aims and methods of work, 
 we must study these theories. 
 
 His definition of poetry as "the rhythmical creation of beauty" 
 emphasizes his hunger and thirst for a loveliness beyond that of 
 this earth. Poe was haunted by visions of beauty, exalting the soul 
 and granting it glimpses of infinite beauty. To elevate the soul with 
 these supernal visions of lovehness, he maintained, is the great pur- 
 pose of poetry. Beauty appeals to the soul, just as duty appeals 
 to the conscience, and truth to the reason. Such a conception 
 helps us to understand why Poe's poetry is usually as free from any 
 message or any moral purpose as it is from any impure suggestion. 
 
 But while Poe thus allowed little place for duty or truth, he ever 
 emphasized the close relation of beauty and sorrow. " Let me remind 
 you," he urged, "that, how or why we know not, this certain taint 
 of sadness is inseparably connected with all the higher manifestations 
 of beauty." These ghmpses of divine loveliness, this "light that 
 never was on sea or land," deepened Poe's perception of man's 
 weakness and mortality. Consequently, he scarcely ever wrote a 
 happy poem. His verse is the home of Regret and Despair, of Mel- 
 ancholy and Remorse, where Beauty walks side by side with Death. 
 
 Images of melancholy beauty wedded to musical verse — such 
 was Poe's conception of poetry; and few have ever equaled him in 
 evoking the charm and melody lurking in words. His verse Hes 
 on the borderland where poetry passes into music; it offers us but 
 little truth that appeals to the intellect; but it appeals strongly to 
 our emotion and allures us with its weird, unearthly melodies. 
 Much in the manner of a skillful musician, Poe presents his theme, 
 repeats it, varies it, and returns to it till he holds us in his spell. 
 Like Coleridge's Wedding Guest, we "cannot choose but hear." 
 
 Poe recognized clearly that such moods are transient, and that 
 the spell is short-lived; consequently, he maintained that all true 
 poetry must be brief, and that a long poem is a contradiction of 
 terms. How thoroughly he carried this beHef into practice may be 
 judged from the fact that the longest of his better poems, The 
 Raven, scarcely exceeds one hundred lines. 
 
 Such poetry further resembles music in that it works through its 
 power of suggestion, and of this art Poe was a master. Some- 
 
XU EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 times he charms us with the melody of beautiful cadences, as in the 
 following: 
 
 'Banners yellow, glorious, golden, 
 On its roof did float and flow, 
 (This — all this — was in the olden 
 Time long ago.) " 
 
 Again, he condenses into a phrase all the power of appeal in some 
 splendid, bygone age: 
 
 "The glory that was Greece 
 And the grandeur that was Rome." 
 
 At times this suggestive power is felt in some undercurrent of mean- 
 ing, some symbolism, which adds to the melody a force and charm 
 like that of an accompaniment in music. Such, for example, is 
 the suggestion of the overthrow of a human mind in The Haunted 
 Palace. 
 
 Poe's passion for the perfect union of word and image, of melody 
 and emotion, led him to plan and poHsh his verse with loving patience. 
 He chose his phrases with cunning; or he coined new words of beauty 
 and suggestive power — "Weir," "Auber," "Nicean," "Ulalume." 
 He called to his aid every poetic device of alliteration and assonance, 
 rhyme and rhythm, refrain and repetend, and used them aptly in 
 developing his chosen mood or tone. He fitted part to part with 
 nicest care, worked deftly and surely toward his climax, and invari- 
 ably brought his verse to a fitting close. He is our greatest crafts- 
 man in verse. 
 
 When we turn to the third class of Poe's work, his prose tales, we 
 can trace the same skill and care that mark his verse. We can again 
 discern that love of dreaming, curbed by the keen intellect; and 
 once more we notice that the themes are remote from the ordinary 
 concerns of men. But we also discover that if poetry was his passion, 
 prose was his pot-boiler and bread-winner, — that many of his 
 stories were written to keep the wolf from the door. Of his sixty 
 or seventy tales less than a third hold a place among our best stories. 
 These better tales may be divided into three fairly distinct classes: 
 (i) Stories of Mystery and Terror, intended to thrill us, such as 
 The Fall of the House of Usher, The Pit and the Pendulum, and The 
 Masque of the Red Death; (2) Analytical or Detective Stories, which 
 
INTRODUCTION Xlll 
 
 interest us in the solution of a puzzle, as The Purloined Letter and 
 The Gold-Bug; (3) Poetic Prose Tales, presenting novel combinations 
 of beauty, as Eleonora and The Oval Portrait. 
 
 Most of these tales were constructed in keeping with his belief 
 that every element in a story — description, plot, character portrayal, 
 and style — should be made subordinate and subservient to the 
 effect as a whole. Poe's own statement of his conception is as 
 follows : 
 
 "A skillful literary artist has constructed a tale. If wise, he has not 
 fashioned thoughts to accommodate his incidents; but having conceived 
 a certain unique or single effect to be wrought out, he then invents such 
 incidents — he then combines such events as may best aid him in establish- 
 ing this preconceived effect. If his very initial sentence tend not to the 
 outbringing of this effect, then he has failed in his first step. In the whole 
 composition there should be no word written of which the tendency, direct 
 or indirect, is not to the one preestablished design. And by such means, 
 with such skill and care, a picture is at length painted which leaves on the 
 mind of him who contemplates it with a kindred art the sense of fullest 
 satisfaction. The idea of the tale has been presented unblemished, be- 
 cause undisturbed." 
 
 Poe's definition and practice of the short story mark a distinct 
 advance in the development of that form and have given it a direc- 
 tion which all subsequent theorizing has followed. His influence 
 may also be traced in the tales of Stevienson and Kipling, of Maupas- 
 sant and Doyle. Here, again, he was a pioneer. 
 
 The union of Poe's theory with his practice finds good illustration 
 in his story The Black Cat, whereby he strove deliberately to evoke 
 a shudder of horror and determined that a murder offered the best 
 subject for his purpose. The murder of a wife by her husband was 
 chosen to deepen the horror; and then Poe worked from one terrible 
 detail to another up to the last touch in depicting the murderer as 
 telling the story on the night before his execution. 
 
 In devising his total impression Poe recognized the worth of a 
 well-selected setting. The scenes of his detective stories gain an 
 added semblance of truth by being laid in some such definite place 
 as Charleston or Paris; but there is really little local color. In 
 his tales of mystery and horror the setting occasionally becomes 
 almost as important as the actors and the action. Here Poe chooses 
 a setting detached from definite time and place; and though he 
 
XIV EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 may talk of castles by the Rhine, Venetian palaces, and English 
 abbeys, we know that these are built in one country — the realm 
 of his dreams. Poe-land is a dim, gloomy, far-oflf country, where 
 the late autumn is the single season, where the winds moan through 
 black groves of cypress and time-eaten towers and across open graves. 
 Through the small, high windows of his crumbling castles struggles 
 a dim light; it falls upon heavy black draperies, embroidered with 
 grotesque figures, and upon fantastic gold censers which load the 
 air with their heavy perfume. We are soon glad to escape to some 
 fresher, purer atmosphere; but we admire the magician who has thus 
 led our imagination captive down through the valley of the shadow 
 of death. 
 
 In his effort to secure a maximum of effect in a minimum of space 
 Poe usually devised an opening sentence that would both set the 
 tone of his story and attract attention like an electric bell. When he 
 wishes to create a mood or an atmosphere, as in his tales of mystery 
 and horror, he lingers and gradually draws us under his spell by every 
 power of suggestion — dwelling upon some emotion, appealing to 
 our five senses, and even intensifying the mood through the order 
 and cadence of his words and phrases. Never for a moment does he 
 forget the effect he would produce upon his reader. He lures us 
 into surrendering for a time our disbelief, and then holds us in the 
 web of his novel and daring conceptions. He realizes that we can- 
 not long be held, so most of his stories are short; he knows that he 
 must give these unique fancies every appearance of truth, so he uses 
 a minute realism, which, as Lowell puts it, "does not leave a pin or 
 a button unnoticed. " 
 
 In his analytical or detective stories, however, he pays less atten- 
 tion to tone or atmosphere. Here he invariably presents us with 
 some mystery or puzzle, solves it, and then explains the steps in the 
 solution. But whatever the kind of tale, when once he has struck 
 off along the path of his plot to his predetermined goal, he steadily 
 increases the tension and interest. He is a past master in using 
 suspense and surprise; and though he sometimes lingers, tempted 
 by some favorite theme, he usually sweeps to a rapid ending in a 
 series of short, ringing phrases. We do not easily forget Poe's 
 stories, largely because these vivid conclusions clinch them in our 
 memories. 
 
INTRODUCTION XV 
 
 This brilliant mastery in his management of plot makes more 
 noticeable his deficiencies in character-portrayal. Such a weakness 
 is not surprising when we recall that Poe was a soul that dwelt apart, 
 misunderstood by his fellows, and in turn misunderstanding them. 
 Hence his characters are all the children of his dreams, or perhaps 
 they might better be described as Poe himself playing many parts. 
 Almost always these tales are told in the first person; and despite 
 their diversity, they seem the adventures of one man displaying some 
 phase of Poe's own nature. At times, as in A MS. Found in a 
 Bottle and in The Fall of the House of Usher, he has even endowed his 
 heroes with his physical appearance — the dark hair, the full massive 
 brow, and the weak chin. Frequently his hero is an ingenious man, 
 fond of mental analysis, quick to solve a puzzle, to read secret 
 writings, or to unravel the mystery of a crime. Again, he is a 
 dreamer, usually a man of rank and of wealth, whom Poe knew 
 only in the castles of his fancy. Many of his heroes are men of 
 wonderfully acute sensibilities, haunted by impulse, plagued by fear, 
 and dwelling in the borderland between sanity and madness. All in 
 all they are far from a sane, healthy company; and there is scarcely 
 one whom we should choose as a companion or friend. They are as 
 isolated from the usual life of the world as Robinson Crusoe on his 
 desert island; our interest in them ceases with the story, and they 
 have no existence apart from it. His women are shadowy creatures, 
 with melodious names, beautiful of body and often noble of mind, 
 but touched by the finger of death. They, too, dwell far from the 
 world of flesh and blood; they are the creations of his reveries, the 
 daughters of his mystic dreams. 
 
 When we turn to examine Poe's style, we are impressed by the 
 difference between the bald, meager sentences of his hurried stories 
 and the finished work of his better tales. In the latter he fitted his 
 phrases to gain the best emphasis and rhythm; he made cunning use 
 of questions and exclamations; and he even employed his punctu- 
 ation to give just the right color and tone to his narrative. His 
 store of words for expressing horror, grief, and every morbid passion 
 of the mind has seldom been equaled; and he is a master in repeat- 
 ing a word till it drives its way home to the nerves of the reader. 
 
 In his poetical tales we discover many of the characteristics that 
 mark his verse — the vague symbolism, the brevity, the slow move- 
 
XVI EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 ment, repetition and repetend, musical cadence, and skillful allit- 
 eration. Here he has woven into his diction many quaint old words, 
 many simple but suggestive monosyllables, many phrases that re- 
 call the prophets of Israel. In this domain lying between prose and 
 poetry Poe holds by right of discovery and conquest a sure kingdom. 
 His excellence, in both prose and verse, was widely recognized 
 in Europe many years before it had been commonly acknowledged 
 in America. Continental critics have long regarded him as our 
 greatest, if not our single, literary genius. Here at home, as the 
 prejudices against his life and work have subsided, Americans have 
 come to regard his writings with ever-increasing admiration. Year 
 by year his tales and poems are more widely read and more highly 
 valued. They are standing well that supreme test of literature — 
 the test of time; and to-day they seem safely enrolled in that small 
 company of books which the world will "not wiUingly let die." 
 
POE'S POEMS AND TALES 
 
 POEMS 
 SONNET — TO SCIENCE 
 
 Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art! 
 
 Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes. 
 Why preyest thou thus upon the poet's heart, 
 
 Vulture, whose wings are dull realities? 
 How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise, 
 
 Who would not leave him in his wandering 
 To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies, 
 
 Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing? 
 Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car? 
 
 And driven the Hamadryad from the wood 
 To seek a shelter in some happier star? 
 
 Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood, 
 The Elfin from the green grass, and from me 
 The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree? 
 
 ROMANCE 
 
 Romance, who loves to nod and sing. 
 With drowsy head and folded wing. 
 Among the green leaves as they shake 
 Far down within some shadowy lake. 
 To me a painted paroquet 
 Hath been — a most familiar bird — 
 Taught me my alphabet to say — 
 To lisp my very earliest word 
 While in the wild wood I did lie, 
 A child — with a most knowing eye. 
 
POE'S POEMS 
 
 Of late, eternal Condor years 
 So shake the very Heaven on high 
 With tumult as they thunder by, 
 I have no time for idle cares 
 Through gazing on the unquiet sky. 
 And when an hour with calmer wings 
 Its down upon my spirit flings — 
 That Httle time with lyre and rhyme 
 To while away — forbidden things! 
 My heart would feel to be a crime 
 Unless it trembled with the strings. 
 
 TO HELEN 
 
 Helen, thy beauty is to me 
 
 Like those Nicean barks of yore, 
 
 That gently, o'er a perfumed sea. 
 The weary, way-worn wanderer bore 
 To his own native shore. 
 
 On desperate seas long wont to roam, 
 Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, 
 
 Thy Naiad airs have brought me home 
 To the glory that was Greece, 
 And the grandeur that was Rome. 
 
 Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche 
 How statue-Hke I see thee stand. 
 
 The agate lamp within thy hand! 
 Ah, Psyche, from the regions which 
 Are Holy Land! 
 
ISRAFEL 3 
 
 ISRAFELi 
 
 In Heaven a spirit doth dwell 
 
 "Whose heart-strings are a lute;" 
 None sing so wildly well 
 As the angel Israfel, 
 And the giddy stars (so legends tell) 
 Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell 
 
 Of his voice, all mute. 
 
 Tottering above 
 
 In her highest noon, 
 
 The enamoured moon 
 Blushes with love, 
 
 While, to listen, the red levin 
 
 (With the rapid Pleiads, even, 
 
 Which were seven,) 
 
 Pauses in Heaven. 
 
 And they say (the starry choir 
 
 And the other listening things) 
 That Israfeh's fire 
 Is owing to that lyre 
 
 By which he sits and sings — i 
 
 The trembling living wire 
 
 Of those unusual strings. 
 
 But the skies that angel trod. 
 
 Where deep thoughts are a duty — 
 Where Love's a grown-up God — 
 Where the Houri glances are 
 
 Imbued with all the beauty 
 Which we worship in a star. 
 
 1 And the angel Israfel, [whose heart-strings are a lute, and] who has the 
 sweetest voice of all God's creatures. — Koran. 
 
POE S POEMS 
 
 Therefore, thou art not wrong, 
 
 IsrafeU, who despisest 
 An unimpassioned song; 
 To thee the laurels belong, 
 
 Best bard, because the wisest! 
 Merrily Hve, and long! 
 
 The ecstasies above 
 
 With thy burning measures suit — 
 Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love, 
 
 With the fervor of thy lute — 
 
 Well may the stars be mute! 
 
 Yes, Heaven is thine; but this 
 Is a world of sweets and sours; 
 Our flowers are merely — flowers. 
 
 And the shadow of thy perfect bliss 
 Is the sunshine of ours. 
 
 If I could dwell 
 Where Israfel 
 
 Hath dwelt, and he where I, 
 He might not sing so wildly well 
 
 A mortal melody. 
 While a bolder note than this might swell 
 
 From my lyre within the sky. 
 
 THE CITY IN THE SEA 
 
 Lo! Death has reared himself a throne 
 
 In a strange city lying alone 
 
 Far down within the dim West, 
 
 Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best 
 
 Have gone to their eternal rest. 
 
THE CITY IN THE SEA 
 
 There shrines and palaces and towers 
 (Time-eaten towers that tremble not!) 
 Resemble nothing that is ours. 
 Around, by lifting winds forgot, 
 Resignedly beneath the sky 
 The melancholy waters He. 
 
 No rays from the holy heaven come down 
 On the long night-time of that town; 
 But light from out the lurid sea 
 Streams up the turrets silently — 
 Gleams up the pinnacles far and free — 
 Up domes — up spires — up kingly halls — 
 Up fanes — up Babylon-like walls — 
 Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers 
 Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers — 
 Up many and many a marvellous shrine 
 Whose wreathed friezes intertwine 
 The viol, the violet, and the vine. 
 Resignedly beneath the sky 
 The melancholy waters lie. 
 So blend the turrets and shadows there 
 That all seem pendulous in air. 
 While from a proud tower in the town 
 Death looks gigantically down. 
 
 There open fanes and gaping graves 
 Yawn level with the luminous waves 
 But not the riches there that He 
 In each idol's diamond eye — 
 Not the gayly- jewelled dead 
 Tempt the waters from their bed; 
 For no ripples curl, alas! 
 Along that wilderness of glass — 
 
6 POE'S POEMS 
 
 No swellings tell that winds may be 
 Upon some far-off happier sea — 
 No heavings hint that winds have been 
 On seas less hideously serene. 
 
 But lo, a stir is in the air! 
 The wave — there is a movement there! 
 As if the towers had thrust aside, 
 In slightly sinking, the dull tide — 
 As if their tops had feebly given 
 A void within the filmy Heaven. 
 The waves have now a redder glow — 
 The hours are breathing faint and low — 
 And when, amid no earthly moans, 
 Down, down that town shall settle hence, 
 Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, 
 Shall do it reverence. 
 
 LENORE 
 
 Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown for ever! 
 Let the bell toll! — a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river; 
 And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear? — weep now or never more! 
 See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore! > 
 Come! let the burial rite be read — the funeral song be sung! — 
 An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young — 
 A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young. 
 
 "Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her 
 
 pride. 
 And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her — that she 
 
 died! 
 How shall the ritual, then, be read? — the requiem how be sung 
 By you — by yours, the evil eye, — by yours, the slanderous 
 
 tongue 
 That did to death the innocence that died, and died so young?" 
 
HYMN 7 
 
 Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song 
 Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong! 
 The sweet Lenore hath "gone before," with Hope, that flew 
 
 beside, 
 Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy 
 
 bride — 
 For her, the fair and dehonnaire, that now so lowly lies, 
 The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes — 
 The life still there upon her hair — the death upon her eyes. 
 
 " Avaunt! — avaunt! from fiends below, the indignant ghost is 
 
 riven — 
 From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven — 
 From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of 
 
 Heaven, 
 Let no bell toll then! — lest her soul, amid its hallowed mirth, 
 Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damned 
 
 Earth! — 
 And I! — to-night my heart is Hght! No dirge will I upraise, 
 But waft the angel on her flight with a Paean of old days! " 
 
 HYMN 
 
 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 the Hours flew brightly by. 
 And not a cloud obscured the sky. 
 My soul, lest it should truant be. 
 Thy grace did guide to thine and thee; 
 Now, when storms of Fate o'ercast 
 Darkly my Present and my Past, 
 Let my Future radiant shine 
 With sweet hopes of thee and thine! 
 
POE S POEMS 
 
 TO ONE IN PARADISE 
 
 Thou wast all that 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, 
 "On! on!" — but o'er the Past 
 
 (Dim gulf !) my spirit hovering lies 
 Mute, motionless, aghast! 
 
 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! 
 
 And all my days are trances, 
 
 And all my nightly dreams 
 Are where thy grey eye glances. 
 
 And where thy footstep gleams — 
 In what ethereal dances. 
 
 By what eternal streams. 
 
 DREAM-LAND 
 
 By a route obscure and lonely, 
 Haunted by ill angels only, 
 Where an Eidolon, named Night, 
 On a black throne reigns upright. 
 
DREAM-LAND 
 
 I have reached these lands but newly 
 From an ultimate dim Thule — 
 From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime, 
 Out of Space — out of Time. 
 
 Bottomless vales and boundless floods, 
 And chasms, and caves and Titan woods, 
 With forms that no man can discover 
 For the tears that drip all over; 
 Mountains toppling evermore 
 Into seas without a shore; 
 Seas that restlessly aspire. 
 Surging, unto skies of fire; 
 Lakes that endlessly outspread 
 Their lone waters — lone and dead, — 
 Their still waters — still and chilly 
 With the snows of the lolling lily. 
 
 By the lakes that thus outspread 
 Their lone waters, lone and dead, — 
 Their sad waters, sad and chilly 
 With the snows of the lolling lily, — 
 By the mountains — near the river 
 Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever, — 
 By the grey woods, — by the swamp 
 Where the toad and the newt encamp, — 
 By the dismal tarns and pools 
 Where dwell the Ghouls, — 
 By each spot the most unholy — 
 In each nook most melancholy, — 
 There the traveller meets, aghast. 
 Sheeted Memories of the Past — 
 Shrouded forms that start and sigh 
 As they pass the wanderer by — 
 White-robed forms of friends long given. 
 In agony, to the Earth — and Heaven. 
 
lO POE S POEMS 
 
 For the heart whose woes are legion 
 'T is a peaceful, soothing region — 
 For the spirit that walks in shadow 
 ' T is — oh 't is an Eldorado! 
 But the traveller, traveUing through it, 
 May not — dare not openly view it; 
 Never its mysteries are exposed 
 To the weak human eye unclosed; 
 So wills its King, who hath forbid 
 The upUfting of the fringed lid; 
 And thus the sad Soul that here passes 
 Beholds it but through darkened glasses. 
 
 By a route obscure and lonely. 
 Haunted by ill angels only. 
 Where an Eidolon, named Night, 
 On a black throne reigns upright, 
 I have wandered home but newly 
 From this ultimate dim Thule. 
 
 EULALIE — A SONG 
 
 I DWELT alone 
 
 In a world of moan, 
 And my soul was a stagnant tide. 
 Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride — 
 Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiUng bride. 
 
 Ah, less — less bright 
 The stars of the night 
 Than the eyes of the radiant girl! 
 And never a flake 
 That the vapor can make 
 With the moon-tints of purple and pearl, 
 Can vie with the modest Eulahe's most unregarded curl — 
 Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulahe's most humble and 
 careless curl. 
 
THE RAVEN II 
 
 Now Doubt — now Pain 
 Come never again, 
 For her soul gives me sigh for sigh, 
 And all day long 
 Shines, bright and strong, 
 Astarte within the sky, 
 While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye — 
 While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye. 
 
 THE RAVEN 
 
 Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and 
 
 weary. 
 Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore — 
 While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, 
 As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. 
 *"Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber 
 
 door — 
 
 Only this and nothing more." 
 
 Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; 
 
 And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 
 
 Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow 
 
 From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost 
 Lenore — 
 
 For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Le- 
 nore — 
 
 Nameless here for evermore. 
 
 And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain 
 Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; 
 So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating 
 "'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door — 
 Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door; — 
 This it is and nothing more." 
 
12 
 
 Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, 
 "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; 
 But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, 
 And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, 
 That I scarce was sure I heard you" — here I opened wide the 
 door; — 
 
 Darkness there and nothing more. 
 
 Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, 
 
 fearing, 
 Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream 
 
 before; 
 But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, 
 And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, 
 
 "Lenore!" 
 This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word 
 
 "Lenore!" 
 
 Merely this and nothing more. 
 
 Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning. 
 Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. 
 "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window 
 
 lattice; 
 Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery* explore — 
 Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; — 
 'Tis the wind and nothing more!" 
 
 Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter 
 In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. 
 Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or 
 
 stayed he; 
 But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber 
 
 door — 
 Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -^ 
 Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 
 
THE RAVEN I3 
 
 Then this ebony bird beguihng my sad fancy into smiHng, 
 By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 
 "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art 
 
 sure no craven, 
 Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly 
 
 shore — 
 Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian 
 
 shore!" 
 
 Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." 
 
 Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly. 
 Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore; 
 For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 
 Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door — 
 Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber 
 door. 
 
 With such name as "Nevermore." 
 
 But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 
 That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 
 Nothing farther then he uttered — not a feather then he 
 
 fluttered — 
 Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown 
 
 before — 
 On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." 
 Then the bird said "Nevermore." 
 
 Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
 "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store 
 Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster 
 Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden 
 
 bore — 
 Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore 
 
14 poe's poems 
 
 But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, 
 Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust 
 
 and door; 
 Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
 Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore — 
 What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird 
 
 of yore 
 
 Meant in croaking "Nevermore." 
 
 This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 
 To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; 
 This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 
 On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, 
 But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-Hght gloating o'er. 
 She shall press, ah, nevermore! 
 
 Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen 
 
 censer 
 Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. 
 "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these angels 
 
 he hath sent thee 
 Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore; 
 Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" 
 Quoth the Raven "Nevermore." 
 
 "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or 
 
 devil! — 
 Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here 
 
 ashore, 
 Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — 
 On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore — 
 Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I 
 
 implore!" 
 
 Quoth the Raven "Nevermore." 
 
ULALUME 15 
 
 "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or 
 
 devil! 
 By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both 
 
 adore — ^ 
 Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, 
 It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore — 
 Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Le- 
 nore." 
 
 Quoth the Raven "Nevermore." 
 
 "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, 
 
 upstarting — 
 "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian 
 
 shore! 
 Leave no black plume as a token of that He thy soul hath spoken! 
 Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the bust above my door ! 
 Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off 
 
 my door!" 
 
 Quoth the Raven "Nevermore." 
 
 And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 
 On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; 
 And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming. 
 And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on 
 
 the floor; 
 And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 
 Shall be lifted — nevermore! 
 
 ULALUME 
 
 The skies they were ashen and sober; 
 The leaves they were crisped and sere — 
 The leaves they were withering and sere; 
 
 It was night in the lonesome October 
 Of my most immemorial year; 
 
i6 
 
 It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, 
 In the misty mid region of Weir — 
 
 It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, 
 In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. 
 
 Here once, through an alley Titanic, 
 Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul — 
 Of cj^ress, with Psyche, my Soul. 
 
 These were days when my heart was volcanic 
 As the scoriae rivers that roll — 
 As the lavas that restlessly roll 
 
 Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek 
 In the ultimate climes of the pole — 
 
 That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek 
 In the realms of the boreal pole. 
 
 Our talk had been serious and sober. 
 But our thoughts they were palsied and sere - 
 Our memories were treacherous and sere — 
 
 For we knew not the month was October, 
 And we marked not the night of the year — 
 (Ah, night of all nights in the year!) 
 
 We noted not the dim lake of Auber — 
 
 (Though once we had journeyed down here) — 
 
 Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, 
 Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. 
 
 And now, as the night was senescent 
 
 And star-dials pointed to morn — 
 
 As the star-dials hinted of morn — 
 At the end of our path a liquescent 
 
 And nebulous lustre was born. 
 Out of which a miraculous crescent 
 
 Arose with a duplicate horn — 
 Astarte's bediamoned crescent 
 
 Distinct with its dupHcate horn. 
 
ULALUME 17 
 
 And I said — "She is warmer than Dian: 
 
 She rolls through an ether of sighs — 
 
 She revels in a region of sighs: 
 She has seen that the tears are not dry on 
 
 These cheeks, where the worm never dies 
 And has come past the stars of the Lion 
 
 To point us the path to the skies — 
 
 To the Lethean peace of the skies — 
 Come up, in despite of the Lion, 
 
 To shine on us with her bright eyes — 
 Come up through the lair of the Lion, 
 
 With love in her luminous eyes." 
 
 But Psyche, uphfting her finger, 
 
 Said — " Sadly this star I mistrust — 
 
 Her pallor I strangely mistrust: — 
 Oh, hasten! — oh, let us not linger! 
 
 Oh, fly! — let us fly! — for we must." 
 In terror she spoke, letting sink her 
 
 Wings until they trailed in the dust — 
 In agony sobbed, letting sink her 
 
 Plumes till they trailed in the dust — 
 
 Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. 
 
 I replied — "This is nothing but dreaming: 
 
 Let us on by this tremulous light! 
 
 Let us bathe in this crystalline light! 
 Its Sibyllic splendor is beaming 
 
 With Hope and in Beauty to-night: — 
 
 See! — it flickers up the sky through the night! 
 Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming. 
 
 And be sure it will lead us aright — 
 We safely may trust to a gleaming 
 
 That cannot but guide us aright. 
 
 Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night." 
 
1 8 poe's poems 
 
 Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed hep, 
 And tempted her out of her gloom — 
 And conquered her scruples and gloom; 
 
 And we passed to the end of the vista, 
 But were stopped by the door of a tomb — 
 By the door of a legended tomb; 
 
 And I said — " What is written, sweet sister, 
 On the door of this legended tomb? " 
 She replied — " Ulalume — Ulalume — 
 'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!" 
 
 Then my heart it grew ashen and sober 
 As the leaves that were crisped and sere — 
 As the leaves that were withering and sere, 
 
 And I cried — "It was surely October 
 On this very night of last year 
 That I journeyed — I journeyed down here — 
 That I brought a dread burden down here — 
 On this night of all nights in the year, 
 Ah, what demon has tempted me here? 
 
 Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber — 
 This misty mid region of Weir — 
 
 Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, 
 This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir." 
 
 TO MY MOTHER 
 
 Because I feel that, in the Heavens above, 
 
 The angels, whispering to one another. 
 Can find, among their burning terms of love, 
 
 None so devotional as that of "Mother," 
 Therefore by that dear name I long have called you — 
 
 You who are more than mother unto me, 
 And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you. 
 
 In setting my Virginia's spirit free. 
 
ANNABEL LEE 1 9 
 
 My mother — my own mother, who died early, 
 Was but the mother of myself; but you 
 
 Are mother to the one I loved so dearly, 
 And thus are dearer than the mother I knew 
 
 By that infinity with which my wife 
 Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life. 
 
 ANNABEL LEE 
 
 It was many and many a year ago, 
 
 In a kingdom by the sea 
 That a maiden there lived whom you may know 
 
 By the name of Annabel Lee; 
 And this maiden she lived with no other thought 
 
 Than to love and be loved by me. 
 
 / was a child and she was a child, 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea. 
 But we loved with a love that was more than love — 
 
 I and my Annabel Lee — 
 With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven 
 
 Coveted her and me. 
 
 And this was the reason that, long ago, 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea, 
 A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 
 
 My beautiful Annabel Lee; 
 So that her highborn kinsmen came 
 
 And bore her .away from me, 
 To shut her up in a sepulchre 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea. 
 
 The angels, not half so happy in heaven, 
 
 Went envying her and me — 
 Yes! — that was the reason (as all men know, 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea) 
 That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 
 
 Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 
 
20 poe's poems 
 
 But our love it was stronger by far than the love 
 
 Of those who were older than we — 
 
 Of many far wiser than we — 
 And neither the angels in heaven above, 
 
 Nor the demons down under the sea, 
 Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 
 
 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: 
 
 For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams 
 
 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 
 And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes 
 
 Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: 
 And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side 
 Of my darling — my darling — my life and my bride, 
 
 In her sepulchre there by the sea — 
 
 In her tomb by the sounding sea. 
 
 THE BELLS 
 
 I 
 
 Hear the sledges with the bells — 
 Silver bells! 
 What a world of merriment their melody foretells! 
 How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 
 
 In the icy air of night! 
 While the stars that oversprinkle 
 All the heavens, seem to twinkle 
 With a crystalline delight; 
 Keeping time, time, time. 
 In a sort of Runic rhyme, 
 To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 
 From the bells, bells, bells, bells. 
 Bells, bells, bells — 
 From the jingUng and the tinkling of the bells. 
 
THE BELLS 21 
 
 II 
 
 Hear the mellow wedding bells — 
 Golden bells! 
 What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! 
 Through the balmy air of night 
 How they ring out their delight! — 
 From the molten-golden notes, 
 
 And all in tune, 
 What a liquid ditty floats 
 To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats 
 On the moon! 
 Oh, from out the sounding cells, 
 What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! 
 How it swells! 
 How it dwells 
 On the Future! — how it tells 
 Of the rapture that impels 
 To the swinging and the ringing 
 Of the bells, bells, bells — 
 Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
 Bells, bells, bells — 
 To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! 
 
 Ill 
 
 Hear the loud alarum bells — 
 Brazen bells! 
 What a tale of terror, now their turbulency tells! 
 In the startled ear of night 
 How they scream out their affright! 
 Too much horrified to speak, 
 They can only shriek, shriek. 
 Out of tune. 
 
22 POE's poems 
 
 In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, 
 In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, 
 Leaping higher, higher, higher, 
 With a desperate desire. 
 And a resolute endeavor 
 Now — now to sit, or never. 
 By the side of the pale-faced moon. 
 Oh, the bells, beUs,beUs! 
 What a tale their terror tells 
 Of Despair! 
 How they clang, and clash, and roar! 
 What a horror they outpour 
 On the bosom of the palpitating air! 
 Yet the ear, it fully knows, 
 By the twanging, 
 And the clanging, 
 How the danger ebbs and flows; 
 Yet the ear distinctly tells, 
 In the janghng. 
 And the wrangling. 
 How the danger sinks and swells. 
 By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells — 
 Of the bells — 
 Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
 Bells, bells, bells — 
 In the clamor and the clanging of the bells! 
 
 IV 
 
 Hear the tolling of the bells — 
 Iron bells! 
 What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! 
 In the silence of the night. 
 How we shiver with affright 
 At the melancholy menace of their tone! 
 For every sound that floats 
 From the rust within their throats 
 Is a groan. 
 
THE BELLS 23 
 
 And the people — ah, the people — 
 They that dwell up in the steeple, 
 
 All alone, 
 And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, 
 
 In that muffled monotone. 
 Feel a glory in so rolling 
 
 On the human heart a stone — 
 They are neither man nor woman — 
 They are neither brute nor human — 
 They are Ghouls: — 
 And their king it is who tolls: — 
 And he rolls, rolls, rolls, 
 Rolls 
 A paean from the bells! 
 And his merry bosom swells 
 
 With the paean of the bells! 
 And he dances, and he yells: 
 Keeping time, time, time. 
 In a sort of Runic rhyme, 
 To the paean of the bells: — 
 Of the bells: 
 Keeping time, time, time 
 In a sort of Runic rhyme. 
 
 To the throbbing of the bells — 
 Of the bells, bells, bells — 
 To the sobbing of the bells: — 
 Keeping time, time, time. 
 
 As he knells, knells, knells, 
 In a happy Runic rhyme. 
 To the rolling of the beUs — 
 Of the bells, bells, beUs: — 
 To the tolling of the bells — 
 Of the beUs, bells, bells, bells. 
 Bells, bells, beUs — 
 To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. 
 
24 poe's poems 
 
 ELDORADO 
 
 Gayly bedight, 
 
 A gallant kiiight, 
 In sunshine and in shadow, 
 
 Had journeyed long, 
 
 Singing a song, 
 In search of Eldorado. 
 
 But he grew old — 
 
 This knight so bold — 
 And o'er his heart a shadow 
 
 Fell as he found 
 
 No spot of ground 
 That looked like Eldorado. 
 
 And, as his strength 
 
 Failed him at length. 
 He met a pilgrim shadow — 
 
 "Shadow," said he, 
 
 "Where can it be — 
 This land of Eldorado?" 
 
 "Over the Mountains 
 
 Of the Moon, 
 Down the Valley of the Shadow, 
 
 Ride, boldly ride," 
 
 The shade repHed, — 
 If you seek for Eldorado." 
 
TALES 
 SHADOW — A PARABLE 
 
 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 centuries 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 hundred 
 and ninety-fourth year when, at the entrance of 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 chamber there was no entrance 
 save by a lofty door of brass; and the door was fashioned by 
 the artisan Corinnos, and, being of rare workmanship, was 
 
 25 
 
26 poe's tales 
 
 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 
 round us and about of which I can render no distinct account 
 
 — things material and spiritual — heaviness in the atmosphere 
 
 — a sense of suffocation — 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 household 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 hght, they thus 
 remained 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 unquiet glare in the downcast 
 eyes of his companions. Yet we laughed and were merry in 
 our proper way — which was hysterical; and sang the songs 
 of Anacreon — which are madness ; and drank deeply — al- 
 though 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, enshrouded — 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 
 merriment 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 
 
SHADOW — A PARABLE 27 
 
 my songs they ceased, and their echoes, roUing afar off among 
 the sable draperies of the chamber, became weak, and undis- 
 tinguishable, and so faded away. And lo! from among those 
 sable draperies where the sounds of the song departed, there 
 came forth a dark and undefined 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 Chaldaea, 
 nor any Egyptian 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 became 
 stationary and remained. And the door whereupon the shadow 
 rested was, if I remember aright, over against the feet of the 
 young Zoilus enshrouded. But we, the seven there assembled, 
 having seen the shadow as it came out from among the draperies, 
 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 dwelKng is near to the 
 Catacombs 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- 
 remembered and familiar accents of many thousand departed 
 friends. 
 
THE CONVERSATION OF EIROS AND CHARMION 
 
 ILvp (TOL TrpocroLO-io 
 
 I will bring fire to thee 
 EURIPIDES, Androm. [257]. 
 
 Eiros 
 Why do you call me Eiros? 
 
 Charmion 
 So henceforward will you always be called. You must 
 forget, too, my earthly name, and speak to me as Charmion. 
 
 Eiros 
 This is indeed no dream ! 
 
 Charmion 
 Dreams are with us no more; — but of these mysteries anon. 
 I rejoice to see you looking life-like and rational. The film 
 of the shadow has already passed, from off your eyes. Be of 
 heart, and fear nothing. Your allotted days of stupor have 
 expired; and, to-morrow, I will myself induct you into the full 
 joys and wonders of your novel existence. 
 
 Eiros 
 True — I feel no stupor — none at all. The wild sickness 
 and the terrible darkness have left me, and I hear no longer that 
 mad, rushing, horrible sound, like the "voice of many waters." 
 Yet my senses are bewildered, Charmion, with the keenness 
 of their perception of the new, 
 
 Charmion 
 A few days will remove all this; — but I fully understand you, 
 and I feel for you. It is now ten earthly years since I under- 
 
 28 
 
THE CONVERSATION OF EIROS AND CHARMION 29 
 
 went what you undergo — yet the remembrance of it hangs 
 by me still. You have now suffered all of pain, however, which 
 you will suffer in Aidenn. 
 
 Eiros 
 In Aidenn? 
 
 Charmion 
 In Aidenn. 
 
 Eiros 
 
 Oh God ! — pity me, Charmion ! — I am overburdened with 
 the majesty of all things — of the unknown now known — of 
 the speculative Future merged in the august and certain 
 Present. 
 
 Charmion 
 
 Grapple not now with such thoughts. To-morrow we will 
 speak of this. Your mind wavers, and its agitation will find 
 rehef in the exercise of simple memories. Look not around, nor 
 forward — but back. I am burning with anxiety to hear the 
 details of that stupendous event which threw you among us. 
 Tell me of it. Let us converse of famiUar things, in the old 
 familiar language of the world which has so fearfully perished. 
 
 Eiros 
 Most fearfully, fearfully! — this is indeed no dream. 
 
 Charmion 
 Dreams are no more. Was I much mourned, my Eiros? 
 
 Eiros 
 Mourned, Charmion? — oh, deeply. To that last hour of 
 all, there hung a cloud of intense gloom and devout sorrow 
 over your household. 
 
 Charmion 
 
 And that last hour — speak of it. Remember that, beyond 
 
 the naked fact of the catastrophe itself, I know nothing. 
 
 When, coming out from among mankind, I passed into Night 
 
 through the Grave — at that period, if I remember aright, the 
 
30 poe's tales 
 
 calamity which overwhelmed you was utterly unanticipated. 
 But, indeed, I knew little of the speculative philosophy of 
 the day. 
 
 Eiros 
 
 The individual calamity was, as you say, entirely unantici- 
 pated; but analogous misfortunes had been long a subject of 
 discussion with astronomers. I need scarce tell you, my friend, 
 that, even when you left us, men had agreed to understand 
 those passages in the most holy writings which speak of the 
 final destruction of all things by fire, as having reference to 
 the orb of the earth alone. But in regard to the immediate 
 agency of the ruin, speculation had been at fault from that 
 epoch in astronomical knowledge in which the comets were 
 divested of the terrors of flame. The very moderate density 
 of these bodies had been well established. They had been 
 observed to pass among the satellites of Jupiter, without 
 bringing about any sensible alteration either in the masses or 
 in the orbits of these secondary planets. We had long regarded 
 the wanderers as vapory creations of inconceivable tenuity, 
 and as altogether incapable of doing injury to our substantial 
 globe, even in the event of contact. But contact was not in 
 any degree dreaded; for the elements of all the comets were 
 accurately known. That among them we should look for the 
 agency of the threatened fiery destruction had been for many 
 years considered an inadmissible idea. But wonders and wild 
 fancies had been, of late days, strangely rife among mankind; 
 and, although it was only with a few of the ignorant that actual 
 apprehension prevailed, upon the announcement by astrono- 
 mers of a new comet, yet this announcement was generally 
 received with I know not what of agitation and mistrust. 
 
 The elements of the strange orb were immediately calculated, 
 and it was at once conceded by all observers, that its path, at 
 perihelion, would bring it into very close proximity with the 
 earth. There were two or three astronomers, of secondary 
 note, who resolutely maintained that a contact was inevitable. 
 
THE CONVERSATION OF EIROS AND CHARMION 31 
 
 I cannot very well express to you the effect of this intelligence 
 upon the people. For a few short days they would not believe 
 an assertion which their intellect, so long employed among 
 wordly considerations, could not in any manner grasp. But 
 the truth of a vitally important fact soon makes its way into 
 the understanding of even the most stolid. Finally, all men 
 saw that astronomical knowledge lied not, and they awaited 
 the comet. Its approach was not, at first, seemingly rapid; 
 nor was its appearance of very unusual character. It was of a 
 dull red, and had little perceptible train. For seven or eight 
 days we saw no material increase in its apparent diameter, and 
 but a partial alteration in its color. Meantime, the ordinary 
 affairs of men were discarded, and all interests absorbed in a 
 growing discussion, instituted by the philosophic, in respect 
 to the cometary nature. Even the grossly ignorant aroused 
 their sluggish capacities to such considerations. The learned 
 now gave their intellect — their soul — to no such points as 
 the allaying of fear, or to the sustenance of loved theory. They 
 sought — they panted for right views. They groaned for 
 perfected knowledge. Truth arose in the purity of her strength 
 and exceeding majesty, and the wise bowed down and adored. 
 That material injury to our globe or to its inhabitants 
 would result from the apprehended contact, was an opinion 
 which hourly lost ground among the wise; and the wise were 
 now freely permitted to rule the reason and the fancy of the 
 crowd. It was demonstrated, that the density of the comet's 
 nucleus was far less than that of our rarest gas; and the harm- 
 less passage of a similar visitor among the satellites of Jupiter 
 was a point strongly insisted upon, and which served greatly to 
 allay terror. Theologists, with an earnestness fear-enkindled, 
 dwelt upon the biblical prophecies, and expounded them 
 to the people with a directness and simplicity of which no 
 previous instance had been known. That the final destruc- 
 tion of the earth must be brought about by the agency of fire, 
 was urged with a spirit that enforced everywhere conviction; 
 
32 poe's tales 
 
 and that the comets were of no fiery nature (as all men now 
 knew) was a truth which relieved all, in a great measure, from 
 the apprehension of the great calamity foretold. It is notice- 
 able that the popular prejudices and vulgar errors in regard to 
 pestilence and wars — errors which were wont to prevail upon 
 every appearance of a comet — were now altogether unknown. 
 As if by some sudden convulsive exertion, reason had at once 
 hurled superstition from her throne. The feeblest intellect 
 had derived vigor from excessive interest. 
 
 What minor evils might arise from the contact were points 
 of elaborate question. The learned spoke of slight geological 
 disturbances, of probable alterations in climate, and conse- 
 quently in vegetation; of possible magnetic and electric in- 
 fluences. Many held that no visible or perceptible effect 
 would in any manner be produced. While such discussions 
 were going on, their subject gradually approached, growing 
 larger in apparent diameter, and of a more brilliant lustre. 
 Mankind grew paler as it came. All human operations were 
 suspended. 
 
 There was an epoch in the course of the general sentiment 
 when the comet had attained, at length, a size surpassing that 
 of any previously recorded visitation. The people now, dismiss- 
 ing any lingering hope that the astronomers were wrong, ex- 
 perienced all the certainty of evil. The chimerical aspect of 
 their terror was gone. The hearts of the stoutest of our race 
 beat violently within their bosoms. A very few days sufficed, 
 however, to merge even such feelings in sentiments more un- 
 endurable. We could no longer apply to the strange orb any 
 accustomed thoughts. Its historical attributes had disappeared. 
 It oppressed us with a hideous novelty of emotion. We saw it 
 not as an astronomical phenomenon in the heavens, but as an 
 incubus upon our hearts, and a shadow upon our brains. It 
 had taken, with inconceivable rapidity, the character of a 
 gigantic mantle of rare flame, extending from horizon to 
 horizon. 
 
THE CONVERSATION OF EIROS AND CHARMION 33 
 
 Yet a day, and men breathed with greater freedom. It was 
 clear that we were already within the influence of the comet; 
 yet we lived. We even felt an unusual elasticity of frame and 
 vivacity of mind. The exceeding tenuity of the object of our 
 dread was apparent; for all heavenly objects were plainly 
 visible through it. Meantime, our vegetation had perceptibly 
 altered; and we gained faith, from this predicted circumstance, 
 in the foresight of the wise. A wild luxuriance of foliage, 
 utterly unknown before, burst out upon every vegetable thing. 
 
 Yet another day — and the evil was not altogether upon us. 
 It was now evident that its nucleus would first reach us. A 
 wild change had come over all men; and the first s^ise of pain 
 was the wild signal for general lamentation and horror. This 
 first sense of pain lay in a rigorous constriction of the breast 
 and lungs, and an insufferable dryness of the skin. It could 
 not be denied that our atmosphere was radically affected; 
 the conformation of this atmosphere and the possible modi- 
 fications to which it might be subjected, were now the topics 
 of discussion. The result of investigation sent an electric 
 thrill of the intensest terror through the universal heart of man. 
 
 It had been long known that the air which encircled us was a 
 compound of oxygen and nitrogen gases, in the proportion of 
 twenty-one measures of oxygen, and seventy-nine of nitrogen, 
 in every one hundred of the atmosphere. Oxygen, which was 
 the principle of combustion and the vehicle of heat, was ab- 
 solutely necessary to the support of animal life, and was the 
 most powerful and energetic agent in nature. Nitrogen, on 
 the contrary, was incapable of supporting either animal life 
 or flame. An unnatural excess of oxygen would result, it had 
 been ascertained, in just such an elevation of the animal spirits 
 as we had latterly experienced. It was the pursuit, the ex- 
 tension of the idea, which had engendered awe. What would 
 be the result of a total extraction of the nitrogen? A com- 
 bustion irresistible, all-devouring, omni-prevalent, immediate; 
 — the entire fulfilment, in all their minute and terrible details, 
 
34 poe's tales 
 
 of the fiery and horror-inspiring denunciations of the prophecies 
 of the Holy Book, 
 
 Why need I paint, Charmion, the now disenchained frenzy 
 of mankind? That tenuity in the comet which had previ- 
 ously inspired Us with hope, was now the source of the bitter- 
 ness of despair. In its impalpable gaseous character we clearly 
 perceived the consummation of Fate. Meantime a day again 
 passed — bearing away with it the last shadow of Hope. We 
 gasped in the rapid modification of the air. The red blood 
 bounded tumultuously through its strict channels. A furious 
 dehrium possessed all men; and, with arms rigidly outstretched 
 towards the threatening heavens, they trembled and shrieked 
 aloud. But the nucleus of the destroyer was now upon us; 
 — even here in Aidenn, I shudder while I speak. Let me be 
 brief — brief as the ruin that overwhelmed. For a moment 
 there was a wild lurid light alone, visiting and penetrating all 
 things. Then let us bow down, Charmion, before the excessive 
 majesty of the great God! — then, there came a shouting and 
 pervading sound, as if from the mouth itself of HIM; while 
 the whole incumbent mass of ether in which we existed, burst 
 at once into a species of intense flame, for whose surpassing 
 brilliancy and all-fervid heat even the angels in the high Heaven 
 of pure knowledge have no name. Thus ended all. 
 
ELEONORA 
 
 Sub conservatione formae specificae salva anima. 
 
 — Raymond Lully. 
 
 I AM come of a race noted for vigor of fancy and ardor of 
 passion. Men have called me mad; but the question is not 
 yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelli- 
 gence — whether much that is glorious — whether all that is 
 profound — does not spring from disease of thought — from 
 moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect. 
 They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which 
 escape those who dream only by night. In their grey visions 
 they obtain glimpses of eternity, and thrill, in awaking, to 
 find that they have been upon the verge of the great secret. 
 In snatches, they learn something of the wisdom which is of 
 good, and more of the mere knowledge which is of evil. They 
 penetrate, however rudderless or compassless, into the vast 
 ocean of the "light ineffable" and again, like the adventures 
 of the Nubian geographer, "agressi sunt 'mare tenehrarum, 
 quid in eo esset exploraturi.^' 
 
 We will say, then, that I am mad. I grant, at least, that 
 there are two distinct conditions of my mental existence — 
 the condition of a lucid reason, not to be disputed, and belong- 
 ing to the memory of events forming the first epoch of my life 
 — and a condition of shadow and doubt, appertaining to the 
 present, and to the recollection of what constitutes the second 
 great era of my being. Therefore, what I shall tell of the earlier 
 period, believe; and to what I may relate of the later time, 
 give only such credit as may seem due; or doubt it altogether; 
 or, if doubt it ye cannot, then play unto its riddle the (Edipus. 
 
 She whom I loved in youth, and of whom I now pen calmly 
 and distinctly these remembrances, was the sole daughter of 
 
 35 
 
36 poe's tales 
 
 the only sister of my mother long departed. Eleonora was the 
 name of my cousin. We had always dwelled together, beneath 
 a tropical sun, in the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass. No 
 unguided footstep ever came upon that vale; for it lay far away, 
 up among a range of giant hills that hung beetling around 
 about it, shutting out the sunlight from its sweetest recesses. 
 No path was trodden in its vicinity; and, to reach our happy 
 home, there was need of putting back, with force, the foliage 
 of many thousands of forest trees, and of crushing to death the 
 glories of many millions of fragrant flowers. Thus it was that 
 we Hved all alone, knowing nothing of the world without the 
 valley, — I, and my cousin, and her mother. 
 
 From the dim regions beyond the mountains at the upper 
 end of our encircled domain, there crept out a narrow and 
 deep river, brighter than all save the eyes of Eleonora; and, 
 winding stealthily about in mazy courses, it passed away, at 
 length, through a shadowy gorge, among hills still dimmer than 
 those whence it had issued. We called it the "River of Si- 
 lence"; for there seemed to be a hushing influence in its flow. 
 No murmur arose from its bed, and so gently it wandered along, 
 that the pearly pebbles upon which we loved to gaze, far down 
 within its bosom, stirred not at all, but lay in a motionless con- 
 tent, each in its own old station, shining on gloriously forever. 
 
 The margin of the river, and of the many dazzling rivulets 
 that glided, through devious ways, into its channel, as well as 
 the spaces that extended from the margins away down into 
 the depths of the streams until they reached the bed of pebbles 
 at the bottom, — these spots, not less than the whole surface 
 of the valley, from the river to the mountains that girdled it 
 in, were carpeted all by a soft green grass, thick, short, per- 
 fectly even, and vanilla-perfumed, but so besprinkled through- 
 out with the yellow buttercup, the white daisy, the purple 
 violet, and the ruby-red asphodel, that its exceeding beauty 
 spoke to our hearts, in loud tones, of the love and of the glory 
 of God. 
 
ELEONORA 37 
 
 And, here and there, in groves about this grass, like wilder- 
 nesses of dreams, sprang up fantastic trees, whose tall slender 
 stems stood not upright, but slanted gracefully towards the 
 light that peered at noon-day into the centre of the valley. 
 Their bark was speckled with the vivid alternate splendor of 
 ebony and silver, and was smoother than all save the cheeks 
 of Eleonora; so that but for the brilhant green of the huge 
 leaves that spread from their summits in long tremulous lines, 
 dallying with the Zephyrs, one might have fancied them giant 
 serpents of Syria doing homage to their Sovereign the Sun. 
 
 Hand in hand about this valley, for fifteen years, roamed I 
 with Eleonora before Love entered within our hearts. It 
 was one evening at the close of the third lustrum of her life, 
 and of the fourth of my own, that we sat, locked in each other's 
 embrace, beneath the serpent-like trees, and looked down 
 within the waters of the River of Silence at our images therein. 
 We spoke no words during the rest of that sweet day; and our 
 words even upon the morrow were tremulous and few. We 
 had drawn the god Eros from that wave, and now we felt that 
 he had enkindled within us the fiery souls of our forefathers. 
 The passions which had for centuries distinguished our race 
 came thronging with the fancies for which they had been equally 
 noted, and together breathed a dehrious bliss over the Valley 
 of the Many-Colored Grass. A change fell upon all things. 
 Strange brilliant flowers, star-shaped, burst out upon the trees 
 where no flowers had been known before. The tints of the 
 green carpet deepened; and when, one by one, the white daisies 
 shrank away, there sprang up, in place of them, ten by ten of 
 the ruby-red asphodel. And life arose in our paths; for the 
 tall flamingo, hitherto unseen, with all gay glowing birds, 
 flaunted his scarlet plumage before us. The golden and 
 silver fish haunted the river, out of the bosom of which issued, 
 little by little, a murmur that swelled, at length, into a lulling 
 melody more divine than that of the harp of ^olus — 
 sweeter than all save the voice of Eleonora. And now, too, 
 
38 poe's tales 
 
 a voluminous cloud, which we had long watched in the regions 
 of Hesper, floated out thence, all gorgeous in crimson and gold, 
 and settling in peace above us, sank, day by day, lower and 
 lower, until its edges rested upon the tops of the mountains, 
 turning all their dimness into magnificence, and shutting us 
 up, as if forever, within a magic prison-house of grandeur 
 and of glory. 
 
 The loveliness of Eleonora was that of the Seraphim; but 
 she was a maiden artless and innocent as the brief life she had 
 led among the flowers. No guile disguised the fervor of love 
 which animated her heart, and she examined with me its 
 inmost recesses as we walked together in the Valley of the 
 Many-Colored Grass, and discoursed of the mighty changes 
 which had lately taken place therein. 
 
 At length, having spoken one day, in tears, of the last sad 
 change which must befall Humanity, she thenceforward dwelt 
 only upon this one sorrowful theme, interweaving it into all 
 our converse, as, in the songs of the bard of Schiraz, the same 
 images are found occurring, again and again, in every impressive 
 variation of phrase. 
 
 She had seen that the finger of Death was upon her bosom 
 — that, like the ephemeron, she had been made perfect in 
 loveliness only to die; but the terrors of the grave to her lay 
 solely in a consideration which she revealed to me, one evening 
 at twilight, by the banks of the River of Silence. She grieved 
 to think that, having entombed her in the Valley of the Many- 
 Colored Grass, I would quit forever its happy recesses, trans- 
 ferring the love which now was so passionately her own to 
 some maiden of the outer and every-day world. And, then 
 and there, I threw myself hurriedly at the feet of Eleonora, 
 and offered up a vow, to herself and to Heaven, that I would 
 never bind myself in marriage to any daughter of Earth — 
 that I would in no manner prove recreant to her dear memory, 
 or to the memory of the devout affection with which she had 
 blessed me. And I called the Mighty Ruler of the Universe 
 
ELEONORA 39 
 
 to witness the pious solemnity of my vow. And the curse 
 which I invoked of Him and of her, a saint in Helusion, should 
 I prove traitorous to that promise, involved a penalty the 
 exceeding great horror of which will not permit me to make 
 record of it here. And the bright eyes of Eleonora grew 
 brighter at my words; and she sighed as if a deadly burden had 
 been taken from her breast; and she trembled and very bitterly 
 wept; but she made acceptance of the vow (for what was she 
 but a child?), and it made easy to her the bed of her death. 
 And she said to me, not many days afterwards, tranquilly 
 dying, that, because of what I had done for the comfort of her 
 spirit, she would watch over me in that spirit when departed, 
 and, if so it were permitted her, return to me visibly in the 
 watches of the night; but, if this thing were, indeed, beyond 
 the power of the souls in Paradise, that she would, at least, 
 give me frequent indications of her presence; sighing upon 
 me in the evening winds, or filling the air which I breathed 
 with perfume from the censers of the angels. And, with these 
 words upon her lips, she yielded up her innocent life, putting 
 an end to the first epoch of my own. 
 
 Thus far I have faithfully said. But as I pass the barrier 
 in Time's path formed by the death of my beloved, and pro- 
 ceed with the second era of my existence, I feel that a shadow 
 gathers over my brain, and I mistrust the perfect sanity of 
 the record. But let me on. — Years dragged themselves 
 along heavily, and still I dwelled within the Valley of the Many- 
 Colored Grass; — but a second change had come upon all 
 things. The star-shaped flowers shrank into the stems of the 
 trees, and appeared no more. The tints of the green carpet 
 faded; and, one by one, the ruby-red asphodels withered away; 
 and there sprang up, in place of them, ten by ten, dark eye- 
 like violets, that writhed uneasily and were ever encumbered 
 with dew. And Life departed from our paths; for the tall 
 flamingo flaunted no longer his scarlet plumage before us, but 
 flew sadly from the vale into the hills, with all the gay glowing 
 
40 poe's tales 
 
 birds that had arrived in his company. And the golden and 
 silver fish swam down through the gorge at the lower end of 
 our domain and bedecked the sweet river never again. And 
 the luUing melody that had been softer than the wind-harp 
 of ^olus, and more divine than all save the voice of Eleonora, 
 it died Httle by little away, in murmurs growing lower and lower, 
 until the stream returned, at length, utterly, into the solemnity 
 of its original silence. And then, lastly, the voluminous cloud 
 uprose, and, abandoning the tops of the mountains to the 
 dimness of old, fell back into the regions of Hesper, and took 
 away all its manifold golden and gorgeous glories from the 
 Valley of the Many-Colored Grass. 
 
 Yet the promises of Eleonora were not forgotten; for I 
 heard the sounds of the swinging of the censers of the angels; 
 and streams of holy perfume floated ever and ever about the 
 valley; and at lone hours, when my heart beat heavily, the 
 winds that bathed my brow came unto me laden with soft 
 sighs; and indistinct murmurs filled often the night air; 
 and once — oh, but once only! I was awakened from a slumber 
 like the slumber of death by the pressing of spiritual lips upon 
 my own. 
 
 But the void within my heart refused, even thus, to be filled. 
 I longed for the love which had before filled it to overflowing. 
 At length the valley pained me through its memories of Eleo- 
 nora, and I left it forever for the vanities and the turbulent 
 triumphs of the world. 
 
 ******** 
 
 I found myself within a strange city, where all things might 
 have served to blot from recollection the sweet dreams I had 
 dreamed so long in the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass. 
 The pomps and pageantries of a stately court, and the mad 
 clangor of arms, and the radiant lovehness of woman, bewildered 
 and intoxicated my brain. But as yet my soul had proved 
 true to its vows, and the indications of the presence of Eleonora 
 were still given me in the silent hours of the night. Suddenly, 
 
ELEONORA 4I 
 
 these manifestations — they ceased; and the world grew dark 
 before mine eyes; and I stood aghast at the burning thoughts 
 which possessed — at the terrible temptations which beset me; 
 for there came from some far, far distant and unknown land, 
 into the gay court of the king I served, a maiden to whose 
 beauty my whole recreant heart yielded at once — at whose 
 footstool I bowed down without a struggle, in the most ardent, 
 in the most abject worship of love. What indeed was my 
 passion for the young girl of the valley in comparison with 
 the fervor, and the delirium, and the spirit-lifting ecstasy of 
 adoration with which I poured out my whole soul in tears 
 at the feet of the ethereal Ermengarde? Oh, bright was the 
 seraph Ermengarde! and in that knowledge I had room for 
 none other. — Oh, divine was the angel Ermengarde! and as 
 I looked down into the depths of her memorial eyes I thought 
 only of them — and of her. 
 
 I wedded; — nor dreaded the curse I had invoked; and its 
 bitterness was not visited upon me. And once — but once 
 again in the silence of the night, there came through my lattice 
 the soft sighs which had forsaken me; and they modelled 
 themselves into familiar and sweet voice, saying: 
 
 "Sleep in peace! — for the Spirit of Love reigneth and 
 ruleth, and, in taking to thy passionate heart her who is Ermen- 
 garde, thou art absolved, for reasons which shall be made 
 known to thee in Heaven, of thy vows unto Eleonora. " 
 
LIGEIA 
 
 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 himself to the angels, 
 nor unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will. 
 
 — Joseph Glanvill. 
 
 I CANNOT, 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, because, in truth, the character of my beloved, her 
 rare learning, her singular yet placid cast of beauty, and the 
 thrilHng 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! 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 before 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 offer- 
 ing on the shrine of the most passionate devotion? I but in- 
 distinctly recall the fact itself — what wonder that I have 
 
 42 
 
LIGEIA 43 
 
 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 Ashtophet of idola- 
 trous 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 latter days, even emaciated. I 
 would in vain attempt to portray the majesty, the quiet ease 
 of her demeanor, or the incomprehensible lightness and elas- 
 ticity 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 radiance 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 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, speaking truly of all the forms and 
 genera of beauty, "without 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 fore- 
 head — it was faultless — how cold indeed that word when 
 apphed to a majesty so divine! — the skin rivaUing 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-curhng tresses, setting 
 forth the full force of the Homeric epithet, "hyacinthine!" I 
 looked at the dehcate outUnes of the nose — and nowhere but 
 
44 
 
 in the graceful 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 glancing 
 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, too, I found the gentleness of breadth, 
 the softness and the majesty, the fulness and the spirituality, 
 of the Greek — the contour which the god Apollo revealed but 
 in a dream, to Cleomenes, the son of the Athenian. 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 beloved 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 
 moments 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 fabulous 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, of the brilliancy 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 in- 
 trench our ignorance of so much of the spiritual. The expres- 
 
LIGEIA 45 
 
 sion of the eyes of Ligeia! How for long hours have I pondered 
 upon it I 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 pos- 
 sessed with a passion to discover. Those eyes! those large, 
 those shining, those divine orbs! they became to me twin stars 
 of Leda, and I to them devoutest of astrologers. 
 
 There is no point, among the many incomprehensible anoma- 
 lies of the science of mind, more thrillingly 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 upon 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 recog- 
 nized it, let me repeat, sometimes in the survey of a rapidly- 
 growing vine — in the contemplation of a moth, a butterfly, a 
 chrysaKs, 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 instruments, and not unfrequently by passages from 
 
46 poe's tales 
 
 books. Among innumerable other instances, I well remember 
 something in a volume of Joseph Glanvill, which (perhaps 
 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 connection 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 result, 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 stern 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 utterance) of the wild words which she 
 habitually uttered. 
 
 I have spoken of the learning of Ligeia : it was immense — 
 such as I have never known in woman. In the classical tongue 
 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, because simply the most abstruse of the boasted 
 erudition 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 rny 
 attention! I said her knowledge was such as I have never 
 
LIGEIA 47 
 
 known in woman — but where breathes the man who has 
 traversed, and successfully, 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 suprem- 
 acy to resign myself, with a child-like confidence, to her guid- 
 ance 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 
 Ifeel, 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 trans- 
 cendentalism 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 a too — too glorious 
 effulgence; the pale fingers became 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 desper- 
 ately 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 behef 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 
 
48 poe's tales 
 
 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 Hfe, — for 
 life — hut for Hfe — solace and reason were alike the uttermost 
 of folly. Yet not until the last instance, amid the most con- 
 vulsive 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 
 overflowing 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 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 
 recognized 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 vehemence of desire for life 
 — hut for hfe — that I have no power to portray — no utter- 
 ance 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: 
 
LIGEIA 49 
 
 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 g 
 At bidding of vast formless tilings 
 
 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 for evermore, 
 
 By a crowd that seize it not. 
 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 seraphs sob at vermin fangs 
 
 In human gore imbued. 
 
 Out — out are the lights — out all I 
 
 And over each quivering form, 
 The curtain, a funeral pall. 
 
 Comes down with the rush of a storm, 
 While the angels, all pallid and wan, 
 
 Uprising, unveiling, aflSrm 
 That the play is the tragedy, " Man, " 
 
 And its hero the Conqueror Worm. 
 
50 poe's tales 
 
 "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 undeviatingly 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 came mingled with 
 them a low murmur from her lips. I bent to them my ear 
 and distinguished, again, the concluding words of the pas- 
 sage in Glanvill — "Man doth not yield him to the angels; nor 
 unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble 
 wilir 
 
 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. Ligeia had 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 pur- 
 chased, 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 Httle 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 
 
LIGEIA SI 
 
 feel how much even of incipient madness might have been dis- 
 covered 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 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 deco- 
 ration 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 thresh- 
 old of an apartment 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 keeping, 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 trellis- 
 work of an aged vine, which clambered up the massy walls of 
 the turret. The ceiling, of gloomy-looking oak, was excessively 
 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 vault- 
 ing, 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 of them, 
 
52 POE S TALES 
 
 as if endued with a serpent vitality, a continual succession of 
 partly-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 sculpture. 
 But in the draping of the apartment lay, alas! the chief phantasy 
 of all. The lofty walls, gigantic in height — even unpropor- 
 tionably 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 irregular 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 anti- 
 quity, they were made changeable in aspect. To one entering 
 the room, they bore the appearance of simple monstrosities; 
 but upon a farther advance, this appearance gradually departed; 
 and step by step, as the visiter moved his station in the chamber, 
 he saw himself surrounded 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 phantasma- 
 goric 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 unhallov/ed hours of 
 
LIGEIA 53 
 
 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 
 otherwise. 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 burn with more than all the fires of her own. In the 
 excitement 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 mar- 
 riage, 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, iii and about the 
 chamber of the turret, which I concluded had no origin save in 
 the distemper of her fancy, or perhaps in the phantasmagoric 
 influences of the chamber itself. She became at length con- 
 valescent — 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 
 
54 POE S TALES 
 
 increase in the nervous irritation of her temperament, and in her 
 excitabihty by trivial causes of fear. She spoke again, and now 
 more frequently and pertinaciously, of the sounds — of the 
 slight sounds — and of the unusual motions among the tapes- 
 tries, 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 all 
 believe) that those almost inarticulate breathings, and those 
 very gentle variations of the figures upon the wall, were but 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 remem- 
 bered where was deposited a decanter of light wine which had 
 been ordered by her physicians, and hastened across the cham- 
 ber 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 excitement of an immoderate 
 dose of opium, and heeded these things but Httle, nor spoke of 
 them to Rowena. Having found the wine, I recrossed the 
 chamber, and poured out a goblet-ful, which I held to the lios 
 
LIGEIA 55 
 
 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 brilHant and ruby 
 colored fluid. If this I saw — not so Rowena. She swal- 
 lowed the wine unhesitatingly, and I forbore to speak to 
 her of a circiunstance which must, after all, I considered, 
 have been but the suggestion of a vivid 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, im- 
 mediately subsequent to the fall of the ruby-drops, a rapid 
 change for the worst 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 re- 
 ceived 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 party- 
 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 breath- 
 ing 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 un- 
 utterable wo with which I had regarded her thus enshrouded. 
 The night waned; and still, with a bosom full of bitter thoughts 
 
56 poe's tales 
 
 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 superstitious terror — but there was no repetition of the 
 sound. I strained my vision to detect any motion in the 
 corpse — 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 unutterable 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 beeai 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 coldness overspread rapidly the surface of the 
 body; and all the usual rigorous stififness immediately super- 
 
LIGEIA 57 
 
 vened. 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, 
 
 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 Ups. In a minute after- 
 wards they relaxed, disclosing a bright line of the pearly teeth. 
 Amazement now struggled in my bosom with the profound 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 res- 
 toration. I chafed and bathed the temples and the hands, and 
 used every exertion which experience, and no Httle 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 revivification was 
 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 
 
58 poe's tales 
 
 struggle was succeeded by I know not what of wild change In 
 the personal appearance of the corpse? Let me hurry to a 
 conclusion. 
 
 The greater part of the fearful night had worn away, and she 
 who had been dead, once again stirred — and now more vigor- 
 ously than hitherto, although arousing from a dissolution more 
 appalling in its utter helplessness than any. I had long ceased 
 to struggle or to move, and remained sitting rigidly upon the 
 ottoman, 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 eye- 
 lids 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, altogether 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 bodily 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 was a mad disorder in my thoughts — a 
 tumult unappeasable. Could it, indeed, be the livi7ig Rowena 
 who confronted me? Could it indeed be Rowena at all — the 
 fair-haired, the blue-eyed Lady Rowena Trevanion of Tre- 
 maine? Why, why should I doubt it? The bandage lay 
 heavily about the mouth — but then might it not be the mouth 
 of the breathing Lady 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 Uving Lady of Tremaine, And the 
 
LIGEIA 59 
 
 chin, with its dimples, as in health, might it not be hers? but 
 had she then grown taller since her 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 the 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." 
 
THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 
 
 Son coeur est un luth suspendu; 
 Sitot qu'on le touche il resonne. 
 
 — De Beranger. 
 
 During the whole of a duU, dark, and soundless day in the 
 autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in 
 the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through 
 a singularly dreary tract of country; and at length found 
 myself, as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the 
 melancholy House of Usher, I know not how it was — but, 
 with the first gHmpse of the building, a sense of insufferable 
 gloom pervaded my spirit. I say insufferable; for the feeling 
 was unrelieved by any of that half -pleasurable, because poetic, 
 sentiment, with which the mind usually receives even the 
 sternest natural images of the desolate or terrible. I looked 
 upon the scene before me — upon the mere house, and the 
 simple landscape features of the domain — upon the bleak 
 walls — upon the vacant eye-like windows — upon a few rank 
 sedges — and upon a few white trunks of decayed trees — 
 with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no 
 earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream of the 
 reveller upon opium — the bitter lapse into everyday life — 
 the hideous dropping off of the veil. There was an iciness, a 
 sinking, a sickening of the heart — an unredeemed dreariness 
 of thought which no goading of the imagination could torture 
 into aught of the sublime. What was it — I paused to think — 
 what was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation of the 
 House of Usher? It was a mystery all insoluble; nor could I 
 grapple with the shadowy fancies that crowded upon me as I 
 pondered. I was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactory 
 conclusion, that while, beyond doubt, there are combinations 
 
 60 
 
THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 6 1 
 
 of very simple natural objects which have the power of thus 
 affecting us, still the analysis of this power lies among considera- 
 tions beyond our depth. It was possible, I reflected, that a 
 mere different arrangement of the particulars of the scene, of 
 the details of the picture, would be sufficient to modify, or 
 perhaps to annihilate its capacity for sorrowful impression; 
 and, acting upon this idea, I reined my horse to the precipitous 
 brink of a black and lurid tarn that lay in unruffled lustre by 
 the dwelling, and gazed down — but with a shudder even more 
 thrilling than before — upon the remodelled and inverted 
 images of the gray sedge, and the ghastly tree-stems, and the 
 vacant and eye-like windows. 
 
 Nevertheless, in this mansion of gloom I now proposed to 
 myself a sojourn of some weeks. Its proprietor, Roderick 
 Usher, had been one of my boon companions in boyhood; but 
 many years had elapsed since our last meeting. A letter, how- 
 ever, had lately reached me in a distant part of the country — 
 a letter from him — which, in its wildly importunate nature, 
 had admitted of no other than a personal reply. The MS. 
 gave evidence of nervous agitation. The writer spoke of acute 
 bodily illness — of a mental disorder which oppressed him — 
 and of an earnest desire to see me, as his best, and indeed his 
 only personal friend, with a view of attempting, by the cheer- 
 fulness of my society, some alleviation of his malady. It was 
 the manner in which all this, and much more, was said — it 
 was the apparent heart that went with his request — which 
 allowed me no room for hesitation; and I accordingly obeyed 
 forthwith what I still considered a very singular summons. 
 
 Although, as boys, we had been even intimate associates, yet 
 I really knew Httle of my friend. His reserve had been always 
 excessive and habitual. I was aware, however, that his very 
 ancient family had been noted, time out of mind, for a peculiar 
 sensibility of temperament, displaying itself, through long ages, 
 in many works of exalted art, and manifested, of late, in re- 
 peated deeds of munificent yet unobtrusive charity, as well as 
 
62 POE S TALES 
 
 in a passionate devotion to the intricacies, perhaps even more 
 than to the orthodox and easily recognizable beauties, of 
 musical science. I had learned, too, the very remarkable fact, 
 that the stem of the Usher race, all time-honored as it was, had 
 put forth, at no period, any enduring branch; in other words, 
 that the entire family lay in the direct line of descent, and had 
 always, with very trifling and very temporary variation, so 
 lain. It was this deficiency, I considered, while running over 
 in thought the perfect keeping of the character of the premises 
 with the accredited character of the people, and while speculat- 
 ing upon the possible influence which the one, in the long lapse 
 of centuries, might have exercised upon the other — it was this 
 deficiency, perhaps, of collateral issue, and the consequent 
 undeviating transmission, from sire to son, of the patrimony 
 with the name, which had, at length, so identified the two as to 
 merge the original title of the estate in the quaint and equivocal 
 appellation of the "House of Usher" — an appellation which 
 seemed to include, in the minds of the peasantry who used it, 
 both the family and the famfly mansion. 
 
 I have said that the sole effect of my somewhat chfldish 
 experiment — that of looking down within the tarn — had been 
 to deepen the first singular impression. There can be no doubt 
 that the consciousness of the rapid increase of my superstition 
 — for why should I not so term it? — served mainly to acceler- 
 ate the increase itself. Such, I have long known, is the para- 
 doxical law of all sentiments having terror as a basis. And it 
 might have been for this reason only, that, when I again up- 
 lifted my eyes to the house itself, from its image in the pool, 
 there grew in my mind a strange fancy — a fancy so ridiculous, 
 indeed, that I but mention it to show the vivid force of the 
 sensations which oppressed me. I had so worked upon my 
 imagination as really to believe that about the whole mansion 
 and domain there hung an atmosphere peculiar to themselves 
 and their immediate vicinity — an atmosphere which had no 
 affinity with the air of heaven, but which had reeked up from 
 
THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 63 
 
 the decayed trees, and the gray wall, and the silent tarn — - a 
 pestilent and mystic vapor, dull, sluggish, faintly discernible, 
 and leaden-hued. 
 
 Shaking off from my spirit what must have been a dream, I 
 scanned more narrowly the real aspect of the building. Its 
 principal feature seemed to be that of an excessive antiquity. 
 The discoloration of ages had been great. Minute fungi over- 
 spread the whole exterior, hanging in a fine tangled web-work 
 from the eaves. Yet all this was apart from any extraordinary 
 dilapidation. No portion of the masonry had fallen; and there 
 appeared to be a wild inconsistency between its still perfect 
 adaptation of parts, and the crumbling condition of the in- 
 dividual stones. In this there was much that reminded me of 
 the specious totality of old wood-work which has rotted for 
 long years in some neglected vault, with no disturbance from 
 the breath of the external air. Beyond this indication of 
 extensive decay, however, tjie fabric gave little token of in- 
 stability. Perhaps the eye of a scrutinizing observer might 
 have discovered a barely perceptible fissure, which, extending 
 from the roof of the building in front, made its way down the 
 wall in a zigzag direction, until it became lost in the sullen 
 waters of the tarn. 
 
 Noticing these things, I rode over a short causeway to the 
 house. A servant in waiting took my horse, and I entered the 
 Gothic archway of the hall. A valet, of stealthy step, thence 
 conducted me, in silence, through many dark and intricate 
 passages in my progress to the studio of his master. Much 
 that I encountered on the way contributed, I know not how, to 
 heighten the vague sentiments of which I have already spoken. 
 While the objects around me — while the carvings of the 
 ceiUngs, the sombre tapestries of the walls, the ebon blackness 
 of the floors, and the phantasmagoric armorial trophies which 
 rattled as I strode, were but matters to which, or to such as 
 which, I had been accustomed from my infancy — while I 
 hesitated not to acknowledge how familiar was all this — I still 
 
64^ 
 
 wondered to find how unfamiliar were the fancies which ordinary- 
 images were stirring up. On one of the staircases, I met the 
 physician of the family. His countenance, I thought, wore a 
 mingled expression of low cunning and perplexity. He accosted 
 me with trepidation and passed on. The valet now threw 
 open a door and ushered me into the presence of his master. 
 
 The room in which I found myself was very large and lofty. 
 The windows were long, narrow, and pointed, and at so vast a 
 distance from the black oaken floor as to be altogether inacces- 
 sible from within. Feeble gleams of encrimsoned light made 
 their way through the treUised panes, and served to render 
 sufficiently distinct the more prominent objects around; the 
 eye, however, struggled in vain to reach the remoter angles of 
 the chamber, or the recesses of the vaulted and fretted ceiling. 
 Dark draperies hung upon the walls. The general furniture 
 was profuse, comfortless, antique, and tattered. Many books 
 and musical instnmients lay scattered about, but failed to give 
 any vitality to the scene. I felt that I breathed an atmosphere 
 of sorrow. An air of stern, deep, and irredeemable gloom hung 
 over and pervaded all. 
 
 Upon my entrance, Usher arose from a sofa on which he had 
 been lying at full length, and greeted me with a vivacious 
 warmth which had much in it, I at first thought, of an overdone 
 cordiality — of the constrained effort of the ennuye man of the 
 world. A glance, however, at his countenance convinced me 
 of his perfect sincerity. We sat down; and for some moments, 
 while he spoke not, I gazed upon him with a feeling half of pity, 
 half of awe. Surely, man had never before so terribly altered, 
 in so brief a period, as had Roderick Usher ! It was with diffi- 
 culty that I could bring myself to admit the identity of the 
 wan being before me with the companion of my early boyhood. 
 Yet the character of his face had been at all times remarkable. 
 A cadaverousness of complexion; an eye large, liquid, and 
 luminous beyond comparison; Hps somewhat thin and very 
 pallid, but of a surpassingly beautiful curve; a nose of a delicate 
 
THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 65 
 
 Hebrew model, but with a breadth of nostril unusual in similar 
 formations; a finely moulded chin, speaking, in its want of 
 prominence, of a want of moral energy; hair of a more than 
 web-like softness and tenuity; these features, with an inordinate 
 expansion above the regions of the temple, made up altogether 
 a countenance not easily to be forgotten. And now in the mere 
 exaggeration of the prevailing character of these features, and 
 of the expression they were wont to convey, lay so much of 
 change that I doubted to whom I spoke. The now ghastly 
 pallor of the skin, and the now miraculous lustre of the eye, 
 above all things startled and even awed me. The silken hair, 
 too, had been suffered to grow all unheeded, and as, in its wild 
 gossamer texture, it floated rather than fell about the face, I 
 could not, even with effort, connect its arabesque expression 
 with any idea of simple humanity. 
 
 In the manner of my friend I was at once struck with an 
 incoherence — an inconsistency; and I soon found this to arise 
 from a series of feeble and futile struggles to overcome an 
 habitual trepidancy — • an excessive nervous agitation. For 
 something of this nature I had indeed been prepared, no less by 
 his letter, than by reminiscences of certain boyish traits, and by 
 conclusions deduced from his peculiar physical conformation 
 and temperament. His action was alternately vivacious and 
 sullen. His voice varied rapidly from a tremulous indecision 
 (when the animal spirits seemed utterly in abeyance) to that 
 species of energetic concision — that abrupt, weighty, un- 
 hurried, and hollow-sounding enunciation — that leaden, self- 
 balanced and perfectly modulated guttural utterance, which 
 may be observed in the lost drunkard, or the irreclaimable eater 
 of opium, during the periods of his most intense excitement. 
 
 It was thus that he spoke of the object of my visit, of his 
 earnest desire to see me, and of the solace he expected me to 
 afford him. He entered, at some length, into what he con- 
 ceived to be the nature of his malady. It was, he said, a con- 
 stitutional and a family evil, and one for which he despaired to 
 
66 poe's tales 
 
 find a remedy — a mere nervous affection, he immediately 
 added, which would undoubtedly soon pass off. It displayed 
 itself in a host of unnatural sensations. Some of these, as he 
 detailed them, interested and bewildered me; although, per- 
 haps, the terms, and the general manner of the narration had 
 their weight. He suffered much from a morbid acuteness of 
 the senses; the most insipid food was alone endurable; he could 
 wear only garments of certain texture; the odors of all flowers 
 were oppressive; his eyes were tortured by even a faint light; 
 and there were but peculiar sounds, and these from stringed 
 instruments, which did not inspire him with horror. 
 
 To an anomalous species of terror I found him a bounden 
 slave. "I shall perish," said he, "I must perish in this deplor- 
 able folly. Thus, thus, and not otherwise, shall I be lost. I 
 dread the events of the future, not in themselves, but in their 
 results. I shudder at the thought of any, even the most 
 trivial, incident, which may operate upon this intolerable 
 agitation of soul. I have, indeed, no abhorrence of danger, 
 except in its absolute effect — in terror. In this unnerved — 
 in this pitiable condition — I feel that the period will sooner or 
 later arrive when I must abandon life and reason together, in 
 some struggle with the grim phantasm. Fear." 
 
 I learned, moreover, at intervals, and through broken and 
 equivocal hints, another singular feature of his mental condition. 
 He was enchained by certain superstitious impressions in regard 
 to the dwelling which he tenanted, and whence, for many years, 
 he had never ventured forth — in regard to an influence whose 
 supposititious force was conveyed in terms too shadowy here 
 to be re-stated — an influence which some peculiarities in the 
 mere form and substance of his family mansion had, by dint of 
 long sufferance, he said, obtained over his spirit — an effect 
 which the physique of the gray walls and turrets, and of the dim 
 tarn into which they all looked down, had, at length, brought 
 about upon the morale of his existence. 
 
 He admitted, however, although with hesitation, that much 
 
THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER ^ 67 
 
 of the peculiar gloom which thus afflicted him could be traced 
 to a more natural and far more palpable origin — to the severe 
 and long-continued illness — indeed to the evidently approach- 
 ing dissolution — of a tenderly beloved sister — his sole com- 
 panion for long years — his last and only relative on earth. 
 "Her decease," he said, with a bitterness which I can never 
 forget, "would leave him (him the hopeless and the frail) the 
 last of the ancient race of the Ushers." While he spoke, the 
 lady Madeline (for so was she called) passed slowly through a 
 remote portion of the apartment, and, without having noticed 
 my presence, disappeared. I regarded her with an utter 
 astonishment not unmingled with dread — and yet I found it 
 impossible to account for such feelings. A sensation of stupor 
 oppressed me, as my eyes followed her retreating steps. When 
 a door, at length, closed upon her, my glance sought instinctively 
 and eagerly the countenance of the brother — but he had buried 
 his face in his hands, and I could only perceive that a far more 
 than ordinary wanness had overspread the emaciated fingers 
 through which trickled many passionate tears. 
 
 The disease of the lady Madeline had long baffled the skill of 
 her physicians. A settled apathy, a gradual wasting away of 
 the person, and frequent although transient affections of a 
 partially cataleptical character, were the unusual diagnosis. 
 Hitherto she had steadily borne up against the pressure of her 
 malady, and had not betaken herself finally to bed; but, on the 
 closing in of the evening of my arrival at the house, she suc- 
 cumbed (as her brother told me at night with inexpressible 
 agitation) to the prostrating power of the destroyer; and I 
 learned that the glimpse I had obtained of her person would 
 thus probably be the last I should obtain — that the lady, at 
 least while living, would be seen by me no more. 
 
 For several days ensuing, her name was unmentioned by 
 either Usher or myself; and during this period I was busied in 
 earnest endeavors to alleviate the melancholy of my friend. 
 We painted and read together; or I listened, as if in a dream, to 
 
68 poe's tales 
 
 the wild improvisations of his speaking guitar. And thus, as 
 a closer and still closer intimacy admitted me more unreservedly 
 into the recesses of his spirit, ^.e more bitterly did I perceive 
 the futility of all attempt at cheering a mind from which dark- 
 ness, as if an inherent positive quality, poured forth upon all 
 objects of the moral and physical universe, in one unceasing 
 radiation of gloom. 
 
 I shall ever bear about me a memory of the many solemn 
 hours I thus spent alone with the master of the House of Usher. 
 Yet I should fail in any attempt to convey an idea of the exact 
 character of the studies, or of the occupations, in which he 
 involved me, or led me the way. An excited and highly dis- 
 tempered ideality threw a sulphureous lustre over all. His long 
 improvised dirges will ring forever in my ears. Among other 
 things, I hold painfully in mind a certain singular perversion 
 and amplification of the wild air of the last waltz of Von Weber. 
 From the paintings over which his elaborate fancy brooded, 
 and which grew, touch by touch, into vaguenesses at which I 
 shuddered the more thrillingly, because I shuddered knowing 
 not why; — from these paintings (vivid as their images now 
 are before me) I would in vain endeavor to educe more than a 
 small portion which should lie within the compass of merely 
 written words. By the utter simplicity, by the nakedness of 
 his designs, he arrested and overawed attention. If ever 
 mortal painted an idea, that mortal was Roderick Usher. For 
 me at least — in the circumstances then surrounding me — 
 there arose out of the pure abstractions which the hypochon- 
 driac contrived to throw upon his canvas, an intensity of 
 intolerable awe, no shadow of which felt I ever yet in the con- 
 templation of the certainly glowing yet too concrete reveries of 
 Fuseli. 
 
 One of the phantasmagoric conceptions of my friend, par- 
 taking not so rigidly of the spirit of abstraction, may be shad- 
 owed forth, although feebly, in words. A small picture pre- 
 sented the interior of an immensely long and rectangular vault 
 
THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 69 
 
 or tunnel, with low walls, smooth, white, and without inter- 
 ruption or device. Certain accessory points of the design 
 served well to convey the idea that this excavation lay at an 
 exceeding depth below the surface of the earth. No outlet was 
 observed in any portion of its vast extent, and no torch, or other 
 artificial source of light was discernible; yet a flood of intense 
 rays rolled throughout, and bathed the whole in a ghastly and 
 inappropriate splendor. 
 
 I have just spoken of that morbid condition of the auditory 
 nerve which rendered all music intolerable to the sufferer, with 
 the exception of certain effects of stringed instruments. It 
 was, perhaps, the narrow limits to which he thus confined him- 
 self upon the guitar, which gave birth, in great measure, to the 
 fantastic character of his performances. But the ierv'id facility 
 of his impromptus could not be so accounted for. They must 
 have been, and were, in the notes, as well as in the words of his 
 wild fantasias (for he not unfrequently accompanied himself 
 with rhymed verbal improvisations), the result of that intense 
 mental collectedness and concentration to which I have pre- 
 viously alluded as observable only in particular moments of 
 the highest artificial excitement. The words of one of these 
 rhapsodies I have easily remembered. I was, perhaps, the 
 more forcibly impressed with it, as he gave it, because, in the 
 under or mystic current of its meaning, I fancied that I per- 
 ceived, and for the first time, a full consciousness on the part of 
 Usher, of the tottering of his lofty reason upon her throne. 
 The verses, which were entitled "The Haunted Palace," ran 
 very nearly, if not accurately, thus: 
 
 I 
 
 In the greenest of our valleys, 
 
 By good angels tenanted, 
 Once a fair and stately palace — 
 
 Radiant palace — reared its head. 
 In the monarch Thought's dominion — 
 
 It stood there! 
 Never seraph spread a pinion 
 
 Over fabric half so fair. 
 
70 poe's tales 
 
 II 
 
 Banners yellow, glorious, golden, 
 
 On its roof did float and flow; 
 (This — all this — was in the olden 
 
 Time long ago) 
 And every gentle air that dallied 
 
 In that sweet day, 
 Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, 
 
 A winged odor went away. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Wanderers in that happy valley 
 
 Through two luminous windows saw 
 - Spirits moving musically 
 
 To a lute's well-tuned law, 
 Roimd about a throne, where sitting 
 
 (Porphyrogene!) 
 In state his glory well befitting. 
 
 The ruler of the realm was seen. 
 
 IV 
 
 And all with pearl and ruby glowing 
 
 Was the fair palace door, 
 Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing 
 
 And sparkling evermore, 
 A troop of Echoes whose sweet duty 
 
 Was but to sing, 
 In voices of surpassing beauty. 
 
 The wit and wisdom of their king. 
 
 V 
 But evil things, in robes of sorrow. 
 
 Assailed the monarch's high estate; 
 (Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow 
 
 Shall dawn upon him, desolate!) 
 And, round about his home, the glory 
 
 That blushed and bloomed 
 Is but a dim-remembered story 
 
 Of the old time entombed. 
 
 VI 
 
 And travellers now within that valley, 
 
 Through the red-litten windows, see 
 Vast forms that move fantastically 
 
 To a discordant melody; 
 While, like a ghastly rapid river, 
 
 Through the pale door, 
 A hideous throng rush out forever, 
 
 And laugh — but smile no more. 
 
THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 7 1 
 
 I well remember that suggestions arising from this ballad 
 led us into a train of thought wherein there became manifest an 
 opinion of Usher's which I mention not so much on account of 
 its novelty, (for other men* have thought thus,) as on account of 
 the pertinacity with which he maintained it. This,opinion, in its 
 general form, was that of the sentience of all vegetable things. 
 But, in his disordered fancy, the idea had assumed a more 
 daring character, and trespassed, under certain conditions, upon 
 the kingdom of inorganization, I lack words to express the 
 full extent, or the earnest abandon of his persuasion. The 
 beHef, however, was connected (as I have previously hinted) 
 with the grsLj stones of the home of his forefathers. The con- 
 ditions of the sentience had been here, he imagined, fulfilled in 
 the method of collocation of these stones — in the order of their 
 arrangement, as well as in that of the many fungi which over- 
 spread them, and of the decayed trees which stood around — 
 above all, in the long undisturbed endurance of this arrange- 
 ment, and in its reduplication in the still waters of the tarn. 
 Its evidence — the evidence of the sentience — was to be seen, 
 he said, (and I here started as he spoke,) in the gradual yet 
 certain condensation of an atmosphere of their own about the 
 waters and the walls. The result was discoverable, he added, 
 in that silent, yet importunate and terrible influence which for 
 centuries had moulded the destinies of his family, and which 
 made him what I now saw him — what he was. Such opinions 
 need no comment, and I will make none. 
 
 Our books — the books which, for years, had formed no small 
 portion of the mental existence of the invalid — were, as might 
 be supposed, in strict keeping with this character of phantasm. 
 We pored together over such works as the Ververt et Chartreuse 
 of Gresset; the Belphegor of Machiavelli; the Heaven and Hell 
 of Swedenborg; the Subterranean Voyage of Nicholas Klimm 
 by Holberg; the Chiromancy of Robert Flud, of Jean DTnda- 
 
 * Watson, Dr. Percival, Spalfanzani, and especially the Bishop of Lan- 
 daff. — See Chemical Essays, vol. v. 
 
72 POE S TALES 
 
 gine, and of De la Chambre; the Journey into the Blue Distance 
 ofTieck; and the City of the Sun of Campanella. One favorite 
 volume was a small octavo edition of the Directorium Inquisi- 
 torum by the Dominican Eymeric de Gironne; and there were 
 passages in Pomponius Mela, about the old African Satyrs and 
 iEgipans, over which Usher would sit dreaming for hours. His 
 chief delight, however, was found in the perusal of an exceed- 
 ingly rare and curious book in quarto Gothic — the manual of 
 a forgotten church — the VigilicB Mortuorum Secundum Cho- 
 rum Ecclesice Maguntince. 
 
 I could not help thinking of the wild ritual of this work, and 
 of its probable influence upon the hypochondriac, when, one 
 evening, having informed me abruptly that the lady Madeline 
 was no more, he stated his intention of preserving her corpse 
 for a fortnight, (previously to its final interment,) in one of the 
 numerous vaults within the main walls of the building. The 
 worldly reason, however, assigned for this singular proceeding, 
 was one which I did not feel at liberty to dispute. The brother 
 had been led to his resolution (so he told me) by consideration 
 of the unusual character of the malady of the deceased, of 
 certain obtrusive and eager inquiries on the part of her medical 
 men, and of the remote and exposed situation of the burial- 
 ground of the family. I will not deny that when I called to 
 mind the sinister countenance of the person whom I met upon 
 the staircase, on the day of my arrival at the house, I had no 
 desire to oppose what I regarded as at best but a harmless, and 
 by no means an unnatural, precaution. 
 
 At the request of Usher, I personally aided him in the ar- 
 rangements for the temporary entombment. The body having 
 been encoffined, we two alone bore it to its rest. The vault in 
 which we placed it (and which had been so long unopened that 
 our torches, half smothered in its oppressive atmosphere, gave 
 us little opportunity for investigation) was small, damp, and 
 entirely without means of admission for light; lying, at great 
 depth, immediately beneath that portion of the building in 
 
THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 73 
 
 which was my own sleeping apartment. It had been used, 
 apparently, in remote feudal times, for the worst purposes of a 
 donjon-keep, and, in later days, as a place of deposit for powder, 
 or some other highly combustible substance, as a portion of its 
 floor, and the whole interior of a long archway through which 
 we reached it, were carefully sheathed with copper. The door, 
 of massive iron, had been, also, similarly protected. Its im- 
 mense weight caused an unusually sharp grating sound, as it 
 moved upon its hinges. 
 
 Having deposited our mournful burden upon tressels within 
 this region of horror, we partially turned aside the yet un- 
 screwed lid of the coffin, and looked upon the face of the tenant. 
 A striking similitude between the brother and sister now first 
 arrested my attention; and Usher, divining, perhaps, my 
 thoughts, murmured out some few words from which I learned 
 that the deceased and himself had been twins, and that sympa- 
 thies of a scarcely intelligible nature had always existed between 
 them. Our glances, however, rested not long upon the dead — 
 for we could not regard her unawed. The disease which had 
 thus entombed the lady in the maturity of youth had left, as 
 usual in all maladies of a strictly cataleptical character, the 
 mockery of a faint blush upon the bosom and the face, and that 
 suspiciously lingering smile upon the lip which is so terrible in 
 death. We replaced and screwed down the Hd, and, having 
 secured the door of iron, made our way, with toil, into the 
 scarcely less gloomy apartments of the upper portion of the 
 house. 
 
 And now, some days of bitter grief having elapsed, an observ- 
 able change came over the features of the mental disorder of my 
 friend. His ordinary manner had vanished. His ordinary 
 occupations were neglected or forgotten. He roamed from 
 chamber to chamber with hurried, unequal, and objectless step. 
 The pallor of his countenance had assumed, if possible, a more 
 ghastly hue — but the luminousness of his eye had utterly gone 
 out. The once occasional huskiness of his tone was heard no 
 
74 poe's tales 
 
 more; and a tremulous quaver, as if of extreme terror, 'habitu- 
 ally characterized his utterance. There were times, indeed, 
 when I thought his unceasingly agitated mind was laboring with 
 some oppressive secret, to divulge which he struggled for the 
 necessary courage. At times, again, I was obhged to resolve all 
 into the mere inexplicable vagaries of madness, for I beheld him 
 gazing upon vacancy for long hours, in an attitude of the pro- 
 foundest attention, as if listening to some imaginary sound. It 
 was no wonder that his condition terrified — that it infected 
 me. I felt creeping upon me, by slow yet certain degrees, 
 the wild influences of his own fantastic yet impressive super- 
 stitions. 
 
 It was, especially, upon retiring to bed late in the night of 
 the seventh or eighth day after the placing of the lady Madeline 
 within the donjon, that I experienced the full power of such 
 f eeUngs. Sleep came not near my couch — while the hours 
 waned and waned away. I struggled to reason off the nervous- 
 ness which had dominion over me. I endeavored to believe 
 that much, if not all of what I felt, was due to the bewildering 
 influence of the gloomy furniture of the room — of the dark 
 and tattered draperies, which, tortured into motion by the 
 breath of a rising tempest, swayed fitfully to and fro upon the 
 walls, and rustled uneasily about the decorations of the bed. 
 But my efforts were fruitless. An irrepressible tremor gradu- 
 ally pervaded my frame; and, at length, there sat upon my very 
 heart an incubus of utterly causeless alarm. Shaking this ofiE 
 with a gasp and a struggle, I uplifted myself upon the pillows, 
 and, peering earnestly within the intense darkness of the cham- 
 ber, hearkened — I know not why, except that an instinctive 
 spirit prompted me — to certain low and indefinite sounds which 
 came, through the pauses of the storm, at long intervals, I knew 
 not whence. Overpowered by an intense sentiment of horror, 
 unaccountable yet unendurable, I threw on my clothes with 
 haste (for I felt that I should sleep no more during the night), 
 and endeavored to arouse myself from the pitiable condition 
 
THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 75 
 
 into which I had fallen, by pacing rapidly to and fro through 
 the apartment. 
 
 I had taken but few turns in this manner, when a hght step 
 on an adjoining staircase arrested my attention. I presently^ 
 recognized it as that of Usher. In an instant afterward he 
 rapped, with a gentle touch, at my door, and entered, bearing 
 a lamp. His countenance was, as usual, cadaverously wan — 
 but, moreover, there was a species of mad hilarity in his eyes — 
 an evidently restrained hysteria in his whole demeanor. His 
 air appalled me — but anything was preferable to the solitude 
 which I had so long endured, and I even welcomed his presence 
 as a relief. 
 
 "And you have not seen it?" he said abruptly, after 
 having stared about him for some moments in silence — 
 "you have not then seen it? — but, stay! you shall." 
 Thus speaking, and having carefully shaded his lamp, he 
 hurried to one of the casements, and threw it freely open 
 to the storm. 
 
 The impetuous fury of the entering gust nearly lifted us from 
 our feet. It was, indeed, a tempestuous yet sternly beautiful 
 night, and one wildly singular in its terror and its beauty. A 
 whirlwind had apparently collected its force in our vicinity; 
 for there were frequent and violent alterations in the direction 
 of the wind; and the exceeding density of the clouds (which 
 hung so low as to press upon the turrets of the house) did not 
 prevent our perceiving the life-like velocity with which they 
 flew careering from all points against each other, without passing 
 away into the distance. I say that even their exceeding 
 density did not prevent our perceiving this — yet we had no 
 glimpse of the moon or stars — nor was there any flashing forth 
 of the hghtning. But the under surfaces of the huge masses 
 of agitated vapor, as well as all terrestrial objects immediately 
 around us, were glowing in the unnatural light of a faintly 
 luminous and distinctly visible gaseous exhalation which hung 
 about and enshrouded the mansion. 
 
76 poe's tales 
 
 "You must not — you shall not behold this!" said I, shud- 
 deringly, to Usher, as I led him, with a gentle violence, from the 
 window to a seat. "These appearances, which bewilder you, 
 are merely electrical phenomena not uncommon — or it may 
 be that they have their ghastly origin in the rank miasma of the 
 tarn. Let us close this casement; — the air is chilling and 
 dangerous to your frame. Here is one of your favorite romances. 
 I will read, and you shall Usten; — and so we will pass away this 
 terrible night together." 
 
 The antique volume which I had taken up was the "Mad 
 Trist" of Sir Launcelot Canning; but I had called it a favorite 
 of Usher's more in sad jest than in earnest; for, in truth, there 
 is little in its uncouth and unimaginative prolixity which could 
 have had interest for the lofty and spiritual ideality of my 
 friend. It was, however, the only book immediately at hand; 
 and I indulged a vague hope that the excitement which now 
 agitated the hypochondriac, might find relief (for the history 
 of mental disorder is full of similar anomalies) even in the 
 extremeness of the folly which I should read. Could I have 
 judged, indeed, by the wild overstrained air of vivacity with 
 which he hearkened; or apparently hearkened, to the words of 
 the tale, I might well have congratulated myself upon the 
 success of my design. 
 
 I had arrived at that well-known portion of the story where 
 Ethelred, the hero of the Trist, having sought in vain for peace- 
 able admission into the dwelling of the hermit, proceeds to 
 make good an entrance by force. Here, it will be remembered, 
 the words of the narrative run thus: 
 
 "And Ethelred, who was by nature of a doughty heart, and who was now 
 mighty withal, on account of the powerfulness of the wine which he had 
 drunken, waited no longer to hold parley with the hermit, who, in sooth, 
 was of an obstinate and maliceful turn, but, feeling .the rain upon his shoul- 
 ders, and fearing the rising of the tempest, uplifted his mace outright, 
 and, with blows, made quickly room in the plankings of the door for his 
 gauntleted hand; and now pulling therewith sturdily, he so cracked, and 
 ripped, and tore all asimder, that the noise of the dry and hollow-sounding 
 wood alarumed and reverberated throughout the forest. " 
 
THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 77 
 
 At the termination of this sentence I started, and for a 
 moment, paused; for it appeared to me (although I at once 
 concluded that my excited fancy had deceived me) — it ap- 
 peared to me that, from some very remote portion of the man- 
 sion, there came, indistinctly, to my ears, what might have been, 
 in its exact similarity of character, the echo (but a stifled and 
 dull one certainly) of the very cracking and ripping sound which 
 Sir Launcelot had so particularly described. It was, beyond 
 doubt, the coincidence alone which had arrested my attention; 
 for, amid the ratthng of the sashes of the casements, and the 
 ordinary commingled noises of the still increasing storm, the 
 sound, in itself, had nothing, surely, which should have inter- 
 ested or disturbed me. I continued the story: 
 
 "But the good champion Ethelred, now entering within the door, was 
 sore enraged and amazed to perceive no signal of the maliceful hermit; 
 but, in the stead thereof, a dragon of a scaly and prodigious demeanor, 
 and of a fiery tongue, which sate in guard before a palace of gold, with a 
 floor of silver; and upon the wall there hung a shield of shining brass with 
 this legend enwritten — 
 
 Who entereth herein, a conqueror hath bin; 
 Who slayeth the dragon, the shield he shall win: 
 
 And Ethelred uplifted his mace, and struck upon the head of the dragon, 
 which fell before him, and gave up his pesty breath, with a shriek so horrid 
 and harsh, and withal so piercing, that Ethelred had fain to close his ears 
 with his hands against the dreadful noise of it, the like whereof was never 
 before heard." 
 
 Here again I paused abruptly, and now with a feeling of wild 
 amazement — for there could be no doubt whatever that, in 
 this instance, I did actually hear (although from what direction 
 it proceeded I found it impossible to say) a low and apparently 
 distant, but harsh, protracted, and most unusual screaming or 
 grating sound — the exact counterpart of what my fancy had 
 already conjured up for the dragon's unnatural shriek as de- 
 scribed by the romancer. 
 
 Oppressed, as I certainly was, upon the occurrence of this 
 second and most extraordinary coincidence, by a thousand 
 conflicting sensations, in which wonder and extreme terror were 
 
78 
 
 predominant, I still retained sufficient presence of mind to avoid 
 exciting, by any observation, the sensitive nervousness of my 
 companion. I was by no means certain that he had noticed 
 the sounds in question; although, assuredly, a strange altera- 
 tion had, during the last few minutes, taken place in his de- 
 meanor. From a position fronting my own, he had gradually 
 brought round his chair, so as to sit with his face to the door of 
 the chamber; and thus I could but partially perceive his fea- 
 tures, although I saw that his lips trembled as if he were mur- 
 muring inaudibly. His head had dropped upon his breast — 
 yet I knew that he was not asleep, from the wide and rigid 
 opening of the eye as I caught a glance of it in profile. The 
 motion of his body, too, was at variance with this idea — for he 
 rocked from side to side with a gentle yet constant and uniform 
 sway. Having rapidly taken notice of all this, I resumed the 
 narrative of Sir Launcelot, which thus proceeded : 
 
 "And now, the champion, having escaped from the terrible fury of the 
 dragon, bethinking himself of the brazen shield, and of the breaking up of 
 the enchantment which was upon it, removed the carcass from out of the 
 way before him, and approached valourously over the silver pavement of 
 the castle to where the shield was upon the wall; which in sooth tarried not 
 for his full coming, but fell down at his feet upon the silver floor, with a 
 mighty great and terrible ringing sound. " 
 
 No sooner had these syllables passed my lips, than — as if a 
 shield of brass had indeed, at the moment, fallen heavily upon 
 a floor of silver — I became aware of a distinct, hollow, metallic, 
 and clangorous, yet apparently muffled reverberation. Com- 
 pletely unnerved, I leaped to my feet; but the measured rocking 
 movement of Usher was undisturbed. I rushed to the chair in 
 which he sat. His eyes were bent fixedly before him, and 
 throughout his whole countenance there reigned a stony rigidity. 
 But, as I placed my hand upon his shoulder, there came a strong 
 shudder over his whole person; a sickly smile quivered about 
 his lips; and I saw that he spoke in a low, hurried, and gibbering 
 murmur, as if unconscious of my presence. Bending closely 
 over him, I at length drank in the hideous import of his words. 
 
THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER 79 
 
 "Not hoar it? — yes, I hear it, and have heard it. Long — 
 long — long — many minutes, many hours, many days, have 
 I heard it — yet I dared not — oh, pity me, miserable wretch 
 that I am! — I dared not — I dared not speak! We have put 
 her living in the tomb! Said I not that my senses were acute? 
 I now tell you that I heard her first feeble movements in the 
 hollow coffin. I heard them — many, many days ago — yet I 
 dared not — / dared not speak! And now — to-night — 
 Ethelred — ha! ha! — the breaking of the hermit's door, and 
 the death-cry of the dragon, and the clangor of the shield! — 
 say, rather, the rending of her coffin, and the grating of the iron 
 hinges of her prison, and her struggles within the coppered 
 archway of the vault! Oh, whither shall I fly? Will she not 
 be here anon? Is she not hurrying to upbraid me for my 
 haste? Have I not heard her footstep on the stair? Do I not 
 distinguish that heavy and horrible beating of her heart? 
 Madman!" — here he sprang furiously to his feet, and shrieked 
 out his syllables, as if in the effort he were giving up his soul — 
 "Madman! I tell you that she now stands without the 
 door!" 
 
 As if in the superhuman energy of his utterance there had 
 been found the potency of a spell — the huge antique panels to 
 which the speaker pointed, threw slowly back, upon the instant, 
 their ponderous and ebony jaws. It was the work of the rush- 
 ing gust — but then without those doors there du) stand the 
 lofty and enshrouded figure of the lady Madeline of Usher. 
 There was blood upon her white robes, and the evidence of some 
 bitter struggle upon every portion of her emaciated frame. For 
 a moment she remained trembling and reeling to and fro upon 
 the threshold, then, with a low moaning cry, fell heavily inward 
 upon the person of her brother, and, in her violent and now final 
 death-agonies, bore him to the floor a corpse, and a victim to 
 the terrors he had anticipated. 
 
 From that chamber, and from that mansion, I fled aghast. 
 The storm was still abroad in all its wrath as I found myself 
 
8o poe's tales 
 
 crossing the old causeway. Suddenly there shot along the path 
 a wild hght, and I turned to see whence a gleam so unusual could 
 have issued; for the vast house and its shadows were alone 
 behind me. The radiance was that of the full, setting, and 
 blood-red moon which now shone vividly through that once 
 barely-discernible fissure, of which I have before spoken as 
 extending from the roof of the building, in a zigzag direction, 
 to the base. While I gazed, this fissure rapidly widened — 
 there came a fierce breath of the whirlwind — the entire orb of 
 the satellite burst at once upon my sight — my brain reeled as 
 I saw the mighty walls rushing asunder — there was a long 
 tumultuous shouting sound like the voice of a thousand waters 
 — and the deep and dank tarn at my feet closed sullenly and 
 silently over the fragments of the "House of Usher." 
 
THE TELL-TALE HEART 
 
 True! — nervous — very, very dreadfully nervous I had 
 been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The 
 disease had sharpened my senses — not destroyed — not 
 dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I 
 heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many 
 things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Harken! and observe 
 how healthily — how calmly I can teU you the whole story. 
 
 It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; 
 but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object 
 there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old 
 man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me 
 insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! 
 yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture — a pale blue 
 eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood 
 ran cold; and so by degrees — very gradually — I made up my 
 mind to take the hfe of the old man, and thus rid myself of 
 the eye forever. 
 
 Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know 
 nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have 
 seen how wisely I proceeded — ■ with what caution — with 
 what foresight — with what dissimulation I went to work! 
 I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week 
 before I killed him. And every night, after midnight, I turned 
 the latch of his door and opened it — oh so gently! And then, 
 when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a 
 dark lantern, all closed, closed, so that no Hght shone out, and 
 then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see 
 how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly — very, very 
 slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took 
 me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far 
 
 8i 
 
82 
 
 that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! — would a 
 madman have been so wise as this? And then, when my head 
 was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously — (for 
 the hinges creaked) — I undid it just so much that a single thin 
 ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long 
 nights — every night just before midnight — but I found the 
 eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; 
 for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. 
 And every morning^ when the day broke, I went boldly into 
 the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by 
 name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed the 
 night. So you see he would have been a very profound old 
 man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I 
 looked upon him while he slept. 
 
 Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in 
 opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly 
 than did mine. Never before that night, had I felt the extent 
 of my own powers — of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain 
 my feeling of triumph. To think that there I was, opening 
 the door, Httle by Httle, and he not even to dream of my secret 
 deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps 
 he heard me; for he moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled. 
 Now you may think that I drew back — but no. His room 
 was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, (for the shutters 
 were close fastened, through fear of robbers), and so I knew 
 that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept push- 
 ing it on steadily, steadily. 
 
 I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when 
 my thumb sHpped upon the tin fastening, and the old man 
 sprang up in bed, crying out — "Who's there?" 
 
 I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I 
 did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I could not hear 
 him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed Hstening; — 
 just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to the death 
 watches in the wall. 
 
THE TELL-TALE HEART 83 
 
 Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew that it was 
 the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of 
 grief — oh, no! — it was the low stifled sound that arises from 
 the bottom of the soul when over-charged with awe. I knew 
 the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the 
 world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, 
 with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say 
 I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him, 
 although I chuckled .at heart. I knew that he had been lying 
 awake ever since the first sHght noise, when he had turned in 
 the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. 
 He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. 
 He had said to himself — "It is nothing but the wind in the 
 chimney — it is only a mouse crossing the floor," or "it is 
 merely a cricket which has made a single chirp." Yes, he 
 had been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions: 
 but he had found all in vain. All in vain; because Death, in 
 approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before 
 him, and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful 
 influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel — • 
 although he neither saw or heard — to feel the presence of my 
 head within the room. 
 
 When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without 
 hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little — a very, very 
 little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it — you cannot 
 imagine how stealthily, stealthily — until, at length a simple 
 dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice 
 and fell upon the vulture eye. 
 
 It was open — wide, wide open — and I grew furious as I 
 gazed upon it. I saw it with~^perfect distinctness — aU a dull 
 blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow 
 in my bones; but I could see nothing else of the old man's 
 face or person: for I had directed the ray as if by instinct, 
 precisely upon the damned spot. 
 
 And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness 
 
84 poe's tales 
 
 is but over-acuteness of the senses? — now, I say, there came 
 to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes 
 when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound too well. It 
 was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury, 
 as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage. 
 
 But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. 
 I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could 
 maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime the helHsh tattoo 
 of the heart increased. It grew quicker an^ quicker, and louder 
 and louder every instant. The old man's terror must have 
 been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! 
 — do you mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous: 
 so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the 
 dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this 
 excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes 
 longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, 
 louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new 
 anxiety seized me — the sound would be heard by a neighbor! 
 The old man's hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open 
 the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once — 
 once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled 
 the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed 
 so far done. But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with a 
 muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not 
 be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man 
 was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, 
 he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart 
 and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He 
 was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more. 
 
 If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when 
 I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of 
 the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in 
 silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the 
 head and the arms and the legs. 
 
 I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber 
 
THE TELL-TALE HEART 85 
 
 and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced 
 the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye — 
 not even his — could have detected anything wrong. There 
 was nothing to wash out — no stain of any kind — no blood- 
 spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had 
 caught all — ha! ha! 
 
 When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o'clock 
 
 — still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there 
 came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it 
 with a light heart, — for what had I now to fear? There 
 entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect 
 suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard 
 by a neighbor during the night; suspicion of foul play had 
 been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, 
 and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises. 
 
 I smiled, — for what had I to fear? I bade t^e gentlemen 
 welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The 
 old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my 
 visitors all over the house. I bade them search — search 
 well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them 
 his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my 
 confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them 
 here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild 
 audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the 
 very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim. 
 
 The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. 
 I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I answered 
 cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I 
 felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head 
 ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat 
 and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct: — it 
 continued and became more distinct: I talked more freely to 
 get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definiteness 
 
 — until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my 
 ears. 
 
86 poe's tales 
 
 No doubt I grew very pale; — but I talked more fluently, 
 and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased — and 
 what could I- do? It was a low, dull, quick sound — much 
 such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I 
 gasped for breath — and yet the officers heard it not. I 
 talked more quickly — more vehemently; but the noise 
 steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high 
 key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily 
 increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor 
 to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the 
 observations of the men — but the noise steadily increased. 
 Oh God! what could I do? I foamed — I raved — I swore! I 
 swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it 
 upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually 
 increased. It grew louder — louder — louder I And the men 
 stiU chatted pleasantly and smiled. Was it possible they heard 
 not? Almighty God! — no, no! They heard! — they sus- 
 pected! — they knew ! — they were making a mockery of my 
 horror! — this I thought, and this I think. But anything was 
 better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than 
 this derision! I could bear these hypocritical smiles no longer! 
 I felt that I must scream or die! and now — again! — hark! 
 louder! louder! louder! louder! 
 
 "Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the 
 deed! — tear up the planks! here, here! — it is the beating of 
 his hideous heart!" 
 
THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH 
 
 The "Red Death" had long devastated the country. No 
 pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was 
 its Avatar and its seal — the redness and the horror of blood. 
 There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then pro- 
 fuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet 
 stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, 
 were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from 
 the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, 
 progress and termination of the disease were the incidents of 
 half an hour. 
 
 But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sa- 
 gacious. When his dominions were half depopulated, he sum- 
 moned to his presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends 
 from among the knights and dames of his court, and with these 
 retired to the deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. 
 This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation 
 of the prince's own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and 
 lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The 
 courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers 
 and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means neither 
 of ingress or egress to tjie sudden impulses of despair or of 
 frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned. 
 With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to 
 contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In 
 the meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think. The prince 
 had provided all the appHances of pleasure. There were 
 buffoons, there were improvisatori, there were ballet-dancers, 
 there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine. 
 All these and security were within. Without was the "Red 
 Death." 
 
 87 
 
8S poe's tales 
 
 It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his 
 seclusion, and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad, 
 that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at 
 a masked ball of the most unusual magnificence. 
 
 It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first 
 let me tell of the rooms in which it was held. There were 
 seven — an imperial suite. In many places, however, such 
 suites form a long and straight vista, while the folding doors 
 slide back nearly to the walls on either hand, so that the view 
 of the whole extent is scarcely impeded. Here the case was 
 very different; as might have been expected from the prince's 
 love of the bizarre. The apartments were so irregularly dis- 
 posed that the vision embraced but Httle more than one at a 
 time. There was a sharp turn at every twenty or thirty 
 yards, and at each turn a novel effect. To the right and left, 
 in the middle of each wall, a tall and narrow Gothic window 
 looked out upon a closed corridor which pursued the windings 
 of the suite. These windows were of stained glass whose 
 color varied in accordance with the prevailing hue of the deco- 
 rations of the chamber into which it opened. That at the 
 eastern extremity was hung, for example, in blue — and- 
 vividly blue were its windows. The second chamber was 
 purple in its ornaments and tapestries, and here the panes 
 were purple. The third was green throughout, and so were 
 the casements. The fourth was furnished and lighted with 
 orange — the fifth with white — the sixth with violet. The 
 seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black velvet tapes- 
 tries that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls, falling 
 in heavy folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue. 
 But in this chamber only, the color of the windows failed to 
 correspond with the decorations. The panes here were scar- 
 let — a deep blood color. Now in no one of the seven apart- 
 ments was there any lamp or candelabrum, amid the profusion 
 of golden ornaments that lay scattered to and fro or depended 
 from the roof. There was no Hght of any kind emanating 
 
THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH 89 
 
 from lamp or candle within the suite of chambers. But in 
 the corridors that followed the suite, there stood, opposite to 
 each window, a heavy tripod, bearing a brazier of fire that pro- 
 jected its rays through the tinted glass and so glaringly il- 
 lumined the room. And thus were produced a multitude of 
 gaudy and fantastic appearances. But in the western or black 
 chamber the effect of the fire-light that streamed upon the 
 dark hangings through the blood-tinted panes, was ghastly in 
 the extreme, and produced so wild a look upon the counte- 
 nances of those who entered that there were few of the company 
 bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all. 
 
 It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against the 
 western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum swung 
 to and fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when 
 the minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was 
 to be stricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the clock 
 a sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly 
 musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each 
 lapse of an hour, the musicians of the orchestra were constrained 
 to pause, momentarily, in their performance, to hearken to 
 the sound; and thus the waltzers perforce ceased their evolu- 
 tions; and there was a brief disconcert of the whole gay com- 
 pany; and, while the chimes of the clock yet rang, it was ob- 
 served that the giddiest grew pale, and the more aged and 
 sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in confused 
 revery or meditation. But when the echoes had fully ceased, 
 a light laughter at once pervaded the assembly; the musicians 
 looked at each other and smiled as if at their own nervous- 
 ness and folly, and made whispering vows, each to the other, 
 that the next chiming of the clock should produce in them no 
 similar emotion; and then, after the lapse of sixty minutes, 
 (which embrace three thousand and six hundred seconds of 
 the Time that flies,) there came yet another chiming of the 
 clock, and then were the same disconcert and tremulousness 
 and meditation as before. 
 
90 poe's tales 
 
 But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and magnificent 
 revel. The tastes of the prince were pecuHar. He had a fine 
 eye for colors and effects. He disregarded the decora of mere 
 fashion. His plans were bold and fiery, and his conceptions 
 glowed with barbaric lustre. There were some who would 
 have 'thought him mad. His followers felt that he was not. 
 It was necessary to hear and see and touch him to be sure 
 that he was not. 
 
 He had directed, in great part, the movable embellishments 
 of the seven chambers, upon occasion of this great Jete; and 
 it was his own guiding taste which had given character to the 
 masqueraders. Be sure they were grotesque. There were 
 much glare and glitter and piquancy and phantasm — much 
 of what has been since seen in "Hernani. " There were ara- 
 besque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments. There 
 were dehrious fancies such as the madman fashions. There 
 was much of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the 
 bizarre, something of the terrible, and not a Httle of that which 
 might have excited disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers 
 there stalked, in fact, a multitude of dreams. And these — the 
 dreams — writhed in and about, taking hue from the rooms, 
 and causing the wild music of the orchestra to seem as the 
 echo of their steps. And, anon, there strikes the ebony clock 
 which stands in the hall of the velvet. And then, for a moment, 
 all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the clock. The 
 dreams are stiflf-frozen as they stand. But the echoes of the 
 chime die away — they have endured but an instant — and 
 a light, half-subdued laughter floats after them as they depart. 
 And now again the music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe 
 to and fro more merrily than ever, taking hue from the many 
 tinted windows through which stream the rays from the tripods. 
 But to the chamber which Ues most westwardly of the seven, 
 there are now none of the maskers who venture; for the night 
 is waning away; and there flows a ruddier light through the 
 blood-colored panes; and the blackness of the sable drapery 
 
THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH 9 1 
 
 appalls; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable carpet, 
 there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more 
 solemnly emphatic than any which reaches their ears who in- 
 dulge in the more remote gayeties of the other apartments. 
 
 But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in 
 them beat feverishly the heart of hfe. And the revel went 
 whirHngly on, until at length there commenced the sounding of 
 midnight upon the clock. And then the music ceased, as I 
 have told; and the evolutions of the waltzers were quieted; 
 and there was an uneasy cessation of all things as before. But 
 now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the bell of the 
 clock; and thus it happened, perhaps, that more of thought 
 crept, with more of time, into the meditations of the thoughtful 
 among those who revelled. And thus, too, it happened, per- 
 haps, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly 
 sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the crowd 
 who had found leisure to become aware of the presence of a 
 masked figure which had arrested the attention of no single 
 individual before. And the rumor of this new presence having 
 spread itself whisperingly around, there arose at length from 
 the whole company a buzz, or murmur, expressive of disap- 
 probation and surprise — then, finally, of terror, of horror, 
 and of disgust. 
 
 In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it may 
 well be supposed that no ordinary appearance could have 
 excited such sensation. In truth the masquerade Hcense of 
 the night was nearly unlimited ; but the figure in question had 
 out-Heroded Herod, and gone beyond the bounds of even the 
 prince's indefinite decorum. There are chords in the hearts 
 of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion. 
 Even with the utterly lost, to whom hfe and death are equally 
 jests, there are matters of which no jest can be made. The 
 whole company, indeed, seemed now deeply to feel that in the 
 costume and bearing of the stranger neither wit nor propriety 
 existed. The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from 
 
92 poe's tales 
 
 head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which 
 concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the coun- 
 tenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must 
 have had difficulty in detecting the cheat. And yet all this 
 might have been endured, if not approved, by the mad revellers 
 around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume the 
 type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled in blood 
 — and his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was 
 besprinkled with the scarlet horror. 
 
 When the eyes of Prince Prospero fell upon this spectral 
 image (which with a slow and solemn movement, as if more 
 fully to sustain its role, stalked to and fro among the waltzers) 
 he was seen to be convulsed, in the first moment, with a strong 
 shudder either of terror or distaste; but, in the next, his brow 
 reddened with rage. 
 
 "Who dares?" he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who 
 stood near him — "who dares insult us with this blasphemous 
 mockery? Seize him and unmask him — that we may know 
 whom we have to hang at sunrise, from the battlements!" 
 
 It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood the 
 Prince Prospero as he uttered these words. They rang through- 
 out the seven rooms loudly and clearly — for the prince was a 
 bold and robust man, and the music had become hushed at the 
 waving of his hand. 
 
 It was in the blue room where stood the prince, with a group 
 of pale courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke, there was a 
 slight rushing movement of this group in the direction of the 
 intruder, who at the moment was also near at hand, and now, 
 with deliberate and stately step, made closer approach to the 
 speaker. But from a certain nameless awe with which the 
 mad assumptions of the mimimer had inspired the whole 
 party, there were found none who put forth hand to seize him; 
 so that, unimpeded, he passed within a yard of the prince's 
 person; and, while the vast assembly, as if with one impulse, 
 shrank from the centres of the rooms to the walls, he made 
 
THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH 93 
 
 his way uninterruptedly, but with the same solemn and meas- 
 ured step which had distinguished him from the first, through 
 the blue chamber to the purple — through the purple to the 
 green — through the green to the orange — through this again 
 to the white — and even thence to the violet, ere a decided 
 movement had been made to arrest him. It was then, however, 
 that the Prince Prospero, maddening with rage and the shame 
 of his own momentary cowardice, rushed hurriedly through 
 the six chambers, while none followed him on account of a 
 deadly terror that had seized upon all. He bore aloft a drawn 
 dagger, and had approached, in rapid impetuosity, to within 
 three or four feet of the retreating figure, when the latter, having 
 attained the extremity of the velvet apartment, turned sud- 
 denly and confronted his pursuer. There was a sharp cry — 
 and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet, upon 
 which, instantly afterwards, fell prostrate in death the Prince 
 Prospero. Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a 
 throng of the revellers at once threw themselves into the black 
 apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood 
 erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock, 
 gasped in unutterable horror at finding the grave-cerements 
 and corpse-like mask which they handled with so violent a 
 rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form. 
 
 And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. 
 He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped 
 the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and 
 died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life 
 of the ebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. 
 And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and 
 Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all. 
 
THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 
 
 Impia tortorum longos hie turba furores 
 Sanguinis innocui, non satiata, aluit. 
 Sospite nunc patria, fracto nunc funeris antro, 
 Mors ubi dira fuit vita salusque patent. 
 — Quatrain composed for the gates of a market to be erected 
 upon the site of the Jacobin Club House at Paris. 
 
 I was sick — sick unto death with that long agony; and 
 when they at length unbound me, and I was permitted to sit, 
 I felt that my senses were leaving me. The sentence — the 
 dread sentence of death — was the last of distinct accentuation 
 which reached my ears. After that, the sound of the inquisi- 
 torial voices seemed merged in one dreamy indeterminate hum. 
 It conveyed to my soul the idea of revolution — perhaps from 
 its association in fancy with the burr of a mill-wheel. This 
 only for a brief period; for presently I heard no more. Yet, 
 for a while, I saw; but with how terrible an exaggeration! 
 I saw the lips of the black-robed judges. They appeared to me 
 white — whiter than the sheet upon which I trace these words 
 — and thin even to grotesqueness; thin with the intensity of 
 their expression of firmness — of immovable resolution — of 
 stern contempt of human torture. I saw that the decrees of 
 what to me was Fate were still issuing from those lips. I saw 
 them writhe with a deadly locution. I saw them fashion the 
 syllables of my name; and I shuddered because no sound suc- 
 ceeded. I saw, too, for a few moments of delirious horror, the 
 soft and nearly imperceptible waving of the sable draperies 
 which enwrapped the walls of the apartment. And then my 
 vision fell upon the seven tall candles upon the table. At 
 first they wore the aspect of charity, and seemed white slender 
 angels who would save me; but then, all at once, there came a 
 most deadly nausea over my spirit, and I felt every fibre in 
 
 94 
 
THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 95 
 
 my frame thrill as if I had touched the wire of a galvanic bat- 
 tery, while the angel forms became meaningless spectres, with 
 heads of flame, and I saw that from them there would be no 
 help. And then there stole into my fancy, like a rich musical 
 note, the thought of what sweet rest there must be in the grave. 
 The thought came gently and stealthily, and it seemed long 
 before it attained full appreciation; but just as my spirit came 
 at length properly to feel and entertain it, the figures of the 
 judges vanished, as if magically, from before me; the tall 
 candles sank into nothingness; their flames went out utterly; 
 the blackness of darkness supervened; all sensations appeared 
 swallowed up in a mad rushing descent as of the soul into Hades. 
 Then silence, and stillness, and night were the universe. 
 
 I had swooned; but stiU wiU not say that all of consciousness 
 was lost. What of it there remained I will not attempt to 
 define, or even to describe; yet all was not lost. In the deepest 
 slumber — no ! In delirium — no ! In a swoon — no ! In 
 death — no! even in the grave all is not lost. Else there is no 
 immortality for man. Arousing from the most profound of 
 slumbers, we break the gossamer web of some dream. Yet 
 in a second afterward, (so frail may that web have been) we 
 remember not that we have dreamed. In the return to life 
 from the swoon there are two stages; first, that of the sense of 
 mental or spiritual; secondly, that of the sense of physical, 
 existence. It seems probable that if, upon reaching the second 
 stage, we could recall the impressions of the first, we should 
 find these impressions eloquent in memories of the gulf beyond. 
 And that gulf is — -what? How at least shall we distinguish 
 its shadows from those of the tomb? But if the impressions 
 of what I have termed the first stage, are not, at will, recalled, 
 yet, after a long interval, do they not come unbidden, while we 
 marvel whence they come? He who has never swooned is not 
 he who finds strange palaces and wildly famihar faces in coals 
 that glow; is not he who beholds floating in mid-air the sad 
 visions that the many may not view; is not he who ponders 
 
g6 POE's tales 
 
 over the perfume of some novel flower — is not he whose brain 
 grows bewildered with the meaning of some musicg,! cadence 
 which has never before arrested his attention. 
 
 Amid frequent and thoughtful endeavors to remember; 
 amid earnest struggles to regather some token of the state of 
 seeming nothingness into which my soul had lapsed, there have 
 been moments when I have dreamed of success; there have been 
 brief, very brief periods when I have conjured up remembrances 
 which the lucid reason of a later epoch assures me could have 
 had reference only to that condition of seeming unconscious- 
 ness. These shadows of memory tell, indistinctly, of tall 
 figures that lifted and bore me in silence down — down — 
 still down — till a hideous dizziness oppressed me at the mere 
 idea of the interminableness of the descent. They tell also 
 of a vague horror at my heart, on account of that heart's un- 
 natural stillness. Then comes a sense of sudden motionless- 
 ness throughout all things; as if those who bore me (a ghastly 
 train!) had outrun, in their descent, the limits of the limitless, 
 and paused from the wearisomeness of their toil. After this 
 I call to mind flatness and dampness; and then all is mad- 
 ness — the madness of a memory which busies itself among 
 forbidden things. 
 
 Very suddenly there came back to my soul motion and sound 
 — the tmnultuous motion of the heart, and, in my ears, the 
 sound of its beating. Then a pause in which aU is blank. 
 Then again sound, and motion, and touch — a tingling sen- 
 sation pervading my frame. Then the mere consciousness of 
 existence, without thought — a condition which lasted long. 
 Then, very suddenly, thought, and shuddering terror, and 
 earnest endeavor to comprehend my true state. Then a 
 strong desire to lapse into insensibiUty. Then a rushing revival 
 of soul and a successful effort to move. And now a full 
 memory of the trial, of the judges, of the sable draperies, of 
 the sentence, of the sickness, of the swoon. Then entire 
 forgetfulness of all that followed; of all that a later day and 
 
THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 97 
 
 much earnestness of endeavor have enabled me vaguely to 
 recall. 
 
 So far, I had not opened my eyes. I felt that I lay upon my 
 back, unbound. I reached out my hand, and it fell heavily 
 upon something damp and hard. There I suffered it to remain 
 for many minutes, while I strove to imagine where and what 
 I could be. I longed, yet dared not to employ my vision. I 
 dreaded the first glance at objects around me. It was not that 
 I feared to look upon things horrible, but that I grew aghast 
 lest there should be nothing to see. At length, with a wild 
 desperation at heart, I quickly unclosed my eyes. My worst 
 thoughts, then, were confirmed. The blackness of eternal 
 night encompassed me. I struggled for breath. The inten- 
 sity of the darkness seemed to oppress and stifle me. The at- 
 mosphere was intolerably close. I still lay quietly, and made 
 effort to exercise my reason. I brought to mind the inquisito- 
 rial proceedings, and attempted from that point to deduce 
 my real condition. The sentence had passed; and it appeared 
 to me that a very long interval of time had since elapsed. Yet 
 not for a moment did I suppose myself actually dead. Such 
 a supposition, notwithstanding what we read in fiction, is 
 altogether inconsistent with real existence; — but where and 
 in what state was I? The condemned to death, I knew, per- 
 ished usually at the autos-da-fe, and one of these had been 
 held on the very night of the day of my trial. Had I been 
 remanded to my dungeon, to await the next sacrifice, which 
 would not take place for many months? This I at once saw 
 could not be. Victims had been in immediate demand. More- 
 over, my dungeon, as well as all the condemned cells at Toledo, 
 had stone floors, and light was not altogether excluded. 
 
 A fearful idea now suddenly drove the blood in torrents upon 
 my heart, and for a brief period, I once more relapsed into- 
 insensibihty. Upon recovering, I at once started to my feet, 
 trembling convulsively in every fibre. I thrust my arms wildly 
 above and around me in aU directions. I felt nothing; yet 
 
go POE S TALES 
 
 dreaded to move a step, lest I should be impeded by the walls 
 of a tomb. Perspiration burst from every pore, and stood in 
 cold, big beads upon my forehead. The agony of suspense 
 grew at length intolerable, and I cautiously moved forward, 
 with my arms extended, and my eyes straining from their 
 sockets, in the hope of catching some faint ray of light. I 
 proceeded for many paces; but still all was blackness and 
 vacancy. I breathed more freely. It seemed evident that 
 mine was not, at least, the most hideous of fates. 
 
 And now, as I still continued to step cautiously onward, 
 there came thronging upon my recollection a thousand vague 
 rumors of the horrors of Toledo. Of the dungeons there had 
 been strange things narrated — fables I had always deemed 
 them — but yet strange, and too ghastly to repeat, save in 
 a whisper. Was I left to perish of starvation in this sub- 
 terranean world of darkness; or what fate, perhaps even more 
 fearful, awaited me? That the result would be death, and a 
 death of more than customary bitterness, I knew too well the 
 character of my judges to doubt. The mode and the hour 
 were all that occupied or distracted me. 
 
 My outstretched hands at length encountered some solid 
 obstruction. It was a wall, seemingly of stone masonry — 
 very smooth, slimy, and cold. I followed it up; stepping with 
 all the careful distrust with which certain antique narratives 
 had inspired me. This process, however, afforded me no 
 means of ascertaining the dimensions of my dungeon; as I 
 might make its circuit, and return to the point whence I set 
 out, without being aware of the fact; so perfectly uniform 
 seemed the wall. I therefore sought the knife which had been 
 in my pocket, when led into the inquisitorial chamber; but 
 it was gone; my clothes had been exchanged for a wrapper 
 of coarse serge. I had thought of forcing the blade in some 
 minute crevice of the masonry, so as to identify my point of 
 departure. The difficulty, nevertheless, was but trivial; 
 although, in the disorder of my fancy, it seemed at first in- 
 
THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 99 
 
 superable. I tore a part of the hem from the robe and placed 
 the fragment at full length, and at right angles to the wall. 
 In groping my way around the prison I could not fail to en- 
 counter this rag upon completing the circuit. So, at least 
 I thought: but I had not counted upon the extent of. the 
 dungeon, or upon my own weakness. The ground was moist 
 and slippery. I staggered onward for some time, when I 
 stumbled and fell. My excessive fatigue induced me to 
 remain prostrate; and sleep soon overtook me as I lay. 
 
 Upon awaking, and stretching forth an arm, I found beside 
 me a loaf and a pitcher with water. I was too much exhausted 
 to reflect upon this circumstance, but ate and drank with 
 avidity. Shortly afterward, I resumed my tour around the 
 prison, and with much toil came at last upon the fragment of 
 the serge. Up to the period when I fell I had counted fifty-two 
 paces, and, upon resuming my walk, I had counted forty- 
 eight more; — when I arrived at the rag. There were in all, 
 then, a hundred paces ; and, admitting two paces to the yard, 
 I presumed the dungeon to be fifty yards in circuit. I had 
 met, however, with many angles in the wall, and thus I could 
 form no guess at the shape of the vault; for vault I could not 
 help supposing it to be. 
 
 I had little object — certainly no hope — in these researches; 
 but a vague curiosity prompted me to continue them. Quit- 
 ting the wall, I resolved to cross the area of the enclosure. 
 At first, I proceeded with extreme caution, for the floor, al- 
 though seemingly of solid material, was treacherous with slime. 
 At length, however, I took courage, and did not hesitate to 
 step firmly; endeavoring to cross in as direct a line as possible. 
 I had advanced some ten or twelve paces in this manner, when 
 the remnant of the torn hem of my robe became entangled 
 between my legs. I stepped on it and fell violently on my face. 
 
 In the confusion attending my fall, I did not immediately 
 apprehend a somewhat startHng circumstance, which yet, in 
 a few seconds afterward, and while I still lay prostrate, arrested 
 
lOO POE S TALES 
 
 my attention. It was this — my chin rested upon the floor 
 of the prison, but my lips and the upper portion of my head, 
 although seemingly at a less elevation than the chin, touched 
 nothing. At the same time my forehead seemed bathed in a 
 clammy vapor, and the peculiar smell of decayed fungus arose 
 to my nostrils. I put forward my arm, and shuddered to find 
 that I had fallen at the very brink of a circular pit, whose ex- 
 tent, of course, I had no means of ascertaining at the moment. 
 Groping about the masonry just below the margin, I succeeded 
 in dislodging a small fragment, and let it fall into the abyss. 
 For many seconds I hearkened to. its reverberations as it dashed 
 against the sides of the chasm in its descent; at length there 
 was a sullen plunge into water, succeeded by loud echoes. 
 At the same moment there came a sound resembling the quick 
 opening, and as rapid closing of a door overhead, while a faint 
 gleam of light flashed suddenly through the gloom, and as 
 suddenly faded away. 
 
 I saw clearly the doom which had been prepared for me, and 
 congratulated myself upon the timely accident by which I 
 had escaped. Another step before my fall, and the world 
 had seen me no more. And the death just avoided, was of 
 that very character which I had regarded as fabulous and friv- 
 olous in the tales respecting the Inquisition. To the victims 
 of its tyranny, there was the choice of death with its direst 
 physical agonies, or death with its most hideous moral hor- 
 rors. I had been reserved for the latter. By long suffering 
 my nerves had been unstrung, until I trembled at the sound of 
 my own voice, and had become in every respect a fitting sub- 
 ject for the species of torture which awaited me. 
 
 Shaking in every limb, I groped my way back to the wall; 
 resolving there to perish rather than risk the terrors of the 
 wells, of which my imagination now pictured many in various 
 positions about the dungeon. In other conditions of mind 
 I might have had courage to end my misery at once by a 
 plunge into one of these abysses; but now I was the veriest 
 
THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 1 01 
 
 of cowards. Neither could I forget what I had read of these 
 pits — that the sudden extinction of Hfe formed no part of 
 their most horrible plan. 
 
 Agitation of spirit kept me awake for many long hours; 
 but at length I again slumbered. Upon arousing, I found by 
 my side, as before, a loaf and a pitcher of water. A burning 
 thirst consumed me, and I emptied the vessel at a draught. 
 It must have been drugged; for scarcely had I drunk, before 
 I became irresistibly drowsy. A deep sleep fell upon me — 
 a sleep like that of death. How long it lasted, of course, I 
 know not; but when, once again, I unclosed my eyes, the ob-, 
 jects around me were visible. By a wild, sulphurous lustre, 
 the origin of which I could not at first determine, I was en- 
 abled to see the extent and aspect of the prison. 
 
 In its size I had been greatly mistaken. The whole cir- 
 cuit of its walls did not exceed twenty-five yards. For some 
 minutes this fact occasioned me a world of vain trouble; 
 vain indeed! for what could be of less importance, under the 
 terrible circumstances which environed me, than the mere 
 dimensions of my dungeon? But my soul took a wild interest 
 in trifles, and I busied myself in endeavors to account for the 
 error I had committed in my measurement. The truth at 
 length flashed upon me. In my first attempt at exploration 
 I had counted fifty- two paces, up to the period when I fell; 
 I must then have been within a pace or two of the fragment of 
 serge; in fact, I had nearly performed the circuit of the vault. 
 'I then slept, and, upon awaking, I must have returned upon my 
 steps — thus supposing the circuit nearly double what it 
 actually was. My confusion of mind prevented me from ob- 
 serving that I began my tour with the wall to the left, and 
 ended it with the wall to the right. » 
 
 I had been deceived, too, in respect to the shape of the 
 enclosure. In feeHng my way I had found many angles, 
 and thus deduced an idea of great irregularity; so potent is the 
 effect of total darkness upon one arousing from lethargy or 
 
102 POE's tales 
 
 sleep! The angles were simply those of a few slight depres- 
 sions, or niches, at odd intervals. The general shape of the 
 prison was square. What I had taken for masonry seemed now 
 to be iron, or some other metal, in huge plates, whose sutures 
 or joints occasioned the depression. The entire surface of 
 this metallic enclosure was rudely daubed in all the hideous 
 and repulsive devices to which the charnel superstition of 
 the monks has given rise. The figures of fiends in aspects of 
 menace, with skeleton forms, and other more really fearful 
 images, overspread and disfigured the walls. I observed that 
 the outlines of these monstrosities were sufficiently distinct, 
 but that the colors seemed faded and blurred, as if from the 
 effects of a damp atmosphere. I now noticed the floor, too, 
 which was of stone. In the centre yawned the circular pit 
 from whose jaws I had escaped; but it was the only one in the 
 dungeon. 
 
 All this I saw distinctly and by much effort: for my personal 
 condition had been greatly changed during slumber. I now 
 lay upon my back, and at full length, on a species of low frame- 
 work of wood. To this I was securely bound by a long strap 
 resembHng a surcingle. It passed in many convolutions 
 about my limbs and body, leaving at liberty only my head, and 
 my left arm to such extent that I could, by dint of much exer- 
 tion, supply myself with food from an earthen dish which lay 
 by my side on the floor. I saw, to my horror, that the pitcher 
 had been removed. I say to my horror; for I was consumed 
 with intolerable thirst. This thirst it appeared to be the 
 design of my persecutors to stimulate: for the food in the dish 
 was meat pungently seasoned. 
 
 Looking upward, I surveyed the ceiling of my prison. It 
 was some thirty or forty feet overhead, and constructed much 
 as the side walls. In one of its panels a very singular figure 
 riveted my whole attention. It was the painted figure of 
 Time as he is commonly represented, save that, in lieu of a 
 scythe, he held what, at a casual glance, I supposed to be the 
 
THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 103 
 
 pictured image of a huge pendulum such as we see on antique 
 clocks. There was something, however, in the appearance of 
 this machine which caused me to regard it more attentively. 
 While I gazed directly upward at it (for its position was im- 
 mediately over my own) I fancied that I saw it in motion. 
 In an instant afterward the fancy was confirmed. Its sweep 
 was brief, and of course slow. I watched it for some minutes, 
 somewhat in fear, but more in wonder. Wearied at length 
 with observing its dull movement, I turned my eyes upon the 
 other objects in the cell. 
 
 A slight noise attracted my notice, and, looking to the 
 floor, I saw several enormous rats traversing it. They had 
 issued from the well, which lay just within view to my right. 
 Even then, while I gazed, they came up in troops, hurriedly, 
 with ravenous eyes, allured by the scent of the meat. From 
 this it required much efifort and attention to scare them away. 
 
 It might have been half an hour, perhaps even an hour, 
 (for I could take but imperfect note of time) before I again 
 cast my eyes upward. What I then saw confounded and 
 amazed me. The sweep of the pendulimi had increased in 
 extent by nearly a yard. As a natural consequence, its veloc- 
 ity was also much greater. But what mainly disturbed me 
 was the idea that it had perceptibly descended. I now observed 
 — with what horror it is needless to say — that its nether 
 extremity was formed of a crescent of glittering steel, about 
 a foot in length from horn to horn; the horns upward, and the 
 under edge evidently as keen as that of a razor. Like a razor 
 also, it seemed massy and heavy, tapering from the edge into 
 a solid and broad structure above. It was appended to a 
 weighty rod of brass, and the whole hissed as it swung through 
 the air. 
 
 I could no longer doubt the doom prepared for me by monk- 
 ish ingenuity in torture. My cognizance of the pit had be- 
 come known to the inquisitorial agents — the pit whose hor- 
 rors had been destined for so bold a recusant as myself — the 
 
104 poe's tales 
 
 pit, typicaf of hell, and regarded by rumor as the Ultima Thule 
 of all their punishments. The plunge into this pit I had avoided 
 by the merest of accidents, and I knew that surprise, or entrap- 
 ment into torment, formed an important portion of all the 
 grotesquerie of these dungeon deaths. Having failed to fall, 
 it was no part of the demon plan to hurl me into the abyss; 
 and thus (there being no alternative) a different and a milder 
 destruction awaited me. Milder! I half smiled in my agony 
 as I thought of such application of such a term. 
 
 What boots it to tell of the long, long hours of horror more 
 than mortal, during which I counted the rushing vibrations of 
 the steel! Inch by inch — hne by Hne — with a descent only 
 appreciable at intervals that seemed ages — down and still 
 down it came! Days passed — it might have been that many 
 days passed — ere it swept so closely over me as to fan me with 
 its acrid breath. The odor of the sharp steel forced itself 
 into my nostrils. I prayed — I wearied heaven with my prayer 
 for its more speedy descent. I grew frantically mad, and 
 struggled to force myself upward against the sweep of the 
 fearful scimitar. And then I fell suddenly calm, and lay smiling 
 at the ghttering death, as a child at some rare bawble. 
 
 There was another interval of utter insensibility; it was brief; 
 for, upon again lapsing into life there had been no perceptible 
 descent in the pendulum. But it might have been long; for 
 I knew there- were demons who took note of my swoon, and 
 who could have arrested the vibration at pleasure. Upon 
 my recovery, too, I felt very — oh, inexpressibly sick and 
 weak, as if through long inanition. Even amid the agonies 
 of that period, the human nature craved food. With painful 
 efifort I outstretched my left arm as far as my bonds permitted, 
 and took possession of the small remnant which had been spared 
 me by the rats. As I put a portion of it within my lips, there 
 rushed to my mind a half formed thought of joy — of hope. 
 Yet what business had / with hope? It was, as I say, a half- 
 formed thought — man has many such which are never com- 
 
THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM 105 
 
 pleted. I felt that it was of joy — of hope; but I felt also 
 that it had perished in its formation. In vain I struggled to 
 perfect — to regain it. Long suffering had nearly annihilated 
 all my ordinary powers of mind. I was an imbecile — an 
 idiot. 
 
 The vibration of the pendulum was at right angles to my 
 length. I saw that the crescent was designed to cross the 
 region of the heart. It would fray the serge of my robe — 
 it would return and repeat its operations — again — again 
 and again. Notwithstanding its terrifically wide sweep (some 
 thirty feet or more) and the hissing vigor of its descent, suffi- 
 cient to sunder these very walls of iron, still the fraying of 
 my robe would be all that, for several minutes, it would accom- 
 plish. And at this thought I paused. I dared not go farther 
 than this reflection. I dwelt upon it with a pertinacity of 
 attention — as if, in so dwelling, I could arrest here the descent 
 of the steel. I forced myself to ponder upon the sound of the 
 crescent as it should pass across the garment — upon the pe- 
 culiar thrilling sensation which the friction of cloth produces 
 on the nerves. I pondered upon all this frivolity until my 
 teeth were on edge. 
 
 Down — steadily down it crept. I took a frenzied pleasure 
 in contrasting its downward with its lateral velocity. To the 
 right — to the left — far and wide — with the shriek of a 
 damned spirit; to my heart with the stealthy pace of the 
 tiger! I alternately laughed and howled as the one or the 
 other idea grew predominant. 
 
 Down — certainly, relentlessly down! It vibrated within 
 three inches of my bosom! I struggled violently, furiously, to 
 free my left arm. This was free only from the elbow to the 
 hand. I could reach the latter, from the platter beside me, 
 to my mouth, with great effort, but no farther. Could I 
 have broken the fastenings above the elbow, I would have 
 seized and attempted to arrest the pendulum. I might as 
 well have attempted to arrest an avalanche! 
 
io6 poe's tales 
 
 Down — still unceasingly — still inevitably down! I gasped, 
 and struggled at each vibration. I shrank convulsively at 
 its every sweep. My eyes followed its outward or upward 
 whirls with the eagerness of the most unmeaning despair; 
 they closed themselves spasmodically at the descent, al- 
 though death would have been a relief, oh! how unspeakable! 
 Still I quivered in every nerve to think how slight a sinking 
 of the machinery would precipitate that keen, gHstening axe 
 upon my bosom. It was hope that prompted the nerve to 
 quiver — the frame to shrink. It was hope — the hope that 
 triumphs on the rack — that whispers to the death-condemned 
 even in the dungeons of the Inquisition. 
 
 I saw that some ten or twelve vibrations would bring the 
 steel in actual contact with my robe, and with this obser- 
 vation there suddenly came over my spirit all the keen, col- 
 lected calmness of despair. For the first time during many 
 hours — or perhaps days — I thought. It now occurred to 
 me thkt the bandage, or surcingle, which enveloped me, was 
 unique. I was tied by no separate cord. The first stroke 
 of the razor-like crescent athwart any portion of the band, 
 would so detach it that it might be unwound from my person 
 by means of my left hand. But how fearful, in that case, 
 the proximity of the steel! The result of the slightest struggle 
 how deadly! Was it likely, moreover, that the minions of 
 the torturer had not foreseen and provided for this possibility! 
 Was it probable that the bandage crossed my bosom in the 
 track of the pendulum? Dreading to find my faint, and, as 
 it seemed, my last hope frustrated, I so far elevated my head 
 as to obtain a distinct view of my breast. The surcingle 
 enveloped my limbs and body close in all directions — save 
 in the path of the destroying crescent. 
 
 Scarcely had I dropped my head back into its original 
 position, when there flashed upon my mind what I cannot 
 better describe than as the unformed half of that idea of 
 deliverance to which I have previously alluded, and of which 
 
THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM I07 
 
 a moiety only floated indeterminately through my brain 
 when I raised food to my burning lips. The whole thought 
 was now present — feeble, scarcely sane, scarcely definite, — 
 but still entire. I proceeded at once, with the nervous energy 
 of despair, to attempt its execution. 
 
 For many hours the immediate vicinity of the low framework 
 upon which I lay, had been literally swarming with rats. They 
 were wild, bold, ravenous; their red eyes glaring upon me as 
 if they waited but for motionlessness on my part to make me 
 their prey. "To what food," I thought, "have they been 
 accustomed in the well?" 
 
 They had devoured, in spite of all my efforts to prevent 
 them, all but a small remnant of the contents of the dish. I 
 had fallen into an habitual see-saw, or wave of the hand about 
 the platter; and, at length, the unconscious uniformity of the 
 movement deprived it of effect. In their voracity the vermin 
 frequently fastened their sharp fangs in my fingers. With 
 the particles of the oily and spicy viand which now remained, 
 I thoroughly rubbed the bandage wherever I could reach it; 
 then, raising my hand from the floor, I lay breathlessly 
 still. 
 
 At first the ravenous animals were startled and terrified at 
 the change — at the cessation of movement. They shrank 
 alarmedly back; many sought the well. But this was only 
 for a moment. I had not counted in vain upon their voracity. 
 Observing that I remained without motion, one or two of the 
 boldest leaped upon the framework, and smelt at the surcingle. 
 This seemed the signal for a general rush. Forth from the 
 well they hurried in fresh troops. They clung to the wood — 
 they overran it, and leaped in hundreds upon my person. 
 The measured movement of the pendulum disturbed them not 
 at all. Avoiding its strokes, they busied themselves with the 
 anointed bandage. They pressed — they swarmed upon me 
 in ever accumulating heaps. They writhed upon my throat; 
 their cold lips sought my own; I was half stifled by their 
 
io8 poe's tales 
 
 thronging pressure; disgust, for which the world has no name, 
 swelled my bosom, and chilled, with a heavy clamminess, my 
 heart. Yet one minute, and I felt ihat the struggle would 
 be over. Plainly I perceived the loosening of the bandage. 
 I knew that in more than one place it must be already severed. 
 With a more than human resolution I lay still. 
 
 Nor had I erred in my calculations — nor had I endured in 
 vain. I at length felt that I was free. The surcingle hung in 
 ribands from my body. But the stroke of the pendulum 
 already pressed upon my bosom. It had divided the serge 
 of the robe. It had cut through the linen beneath. Twice 
 again it swung, and a sharp sense of pain shot through every 
 nerve. But the moment of escape had arrived. At a wave of 
 my hand my deliverers hurried tumultuously away. With a 
 steady movement — cautious, sidelong, shrinking, and slow 
 — I slid from the embrace of the bandage and beyond the reach 
 of the scimitar. For the moment, at least, / was free. 
 
 Free! — and in the grasp of the Inquisition! I had scarcely 
 stepped from my wooden bed of horror upon the stone floor 
 of the prison, when the motion of the hellish machine ceased 
 and I beheld it drawn up, by some invisible force, through the 
 ceiling. This was a lesson which I took desperately to heart. 
 My every motion was undoubtedly watched. Free ! — I had but 
 escaped death in one form of agony, to be delivered unto worse 
 than death in some other. With that thought I rolled my 
 eyes nervously around on the barriers of iron that hemmed me 
 in. Something unusual — some change which, at first, I 
 could not appreciate distinctly — it was obvious, had taken 
 place in the apartment. For many minutes of a dreamy and 
 trembling abstraction I busied myself in vain, unconnected 
 conjecture. During this period, I became aware, for the 
 first time, of the origin of the sulphurous light which illumined 
 the ceU. It proceeded from a fissure, about half an inch in 
 width, extending entirely around the prison at the base of 
 the walls, which thus appeared, and were, completely separated 
 
THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM IO9 
 
 from the floor. I endeavored, but of course in vain, to look 
 through the aperture. 
 
 As I arose from the attempt, the mystery of the alteration 
 in the chamber broke at once upon my understanding. I 
 have observed that, although the outlines of the figures upon 
 the walls were sufficiently distinct, yet the colors seemed 
 blurred and indefinite. These colors had now assumed, and 
 were momentarily assuming, a starthng and most intense 
 brilliancy, that gave to the spectral and fiendish portraitures 
 an aspect that might have thrilled even firmer nerves than 
 my own. Demon eyes, of a wild and ghastly vivacity, glared 
 upon me in a thousand directions, where none had been visible 
 before, and gleamed with the lurid lustre of a fire that I could 
 not force my imagination to regard as unreal. 
 
 Unreal! — Even while I breathed there came to my nostrils 
 the breath of the vapor of heated iron! A suffocating odor 
 pervaded the prison! A deeper glow settled each moment in 
 the eyes that glared at my agonies! A richer tint of crimson 
 diffused itself over the pictured horrors of blood. I panted! 
 I gasped for breath! There could be no doubt of the 
 design of my tormentors — oh! most unrelenting! oh! most 
 demoniac of men! I shrank from the glowing metal to the 
 centre of the cell. Amid the thought of the fiery destruction 
 that impended, the idea of the coolness of the well came over 
 my soul Uke balm. I rushed to its deadly brink. I threw my 
 straining vision below. The glare from the enkindled roof 
 illumined its inmost recesses. Yet, for a wild moment, did 
 my spirit refuse to comprehend the meaning of what I saw. 
 At length it forced — it wrestled its way into my soul — it 
 burned itself in upon my shuddering reason. — Oh! for a voice 
 to speak! — oh! horror! — oh! any horror but this! With a 
 shriek, I rushed from the margin, and buried my face in my 
 hands — : weeping bitterly. 
 
 The heat rapidly increased, and once again I looked up, 
 shuddering as with a fit of the ague. There had been a second 
 
no poe's tales 
 
 change in the cell — and now the change was obviously in the 
 form. As before, it was in vain that I, at first, endeavored to 
 appreciate or understand what was taking place. But not 
 long was I left in doubt. The Inquisitorial vengeance had 
 been hurried by my two-fold escape, and there was to be no 
 more dallying with the King of Terrors. The room had been 
 square. I saw that two of its iron angles were now acute — 
 two, consequently, obtuse. The fearful difference quickly 
 increased with a low rumbling or moaning sound. In an 
 instant the apartment had shifted its form into that of a lozenge. 
 But the alteration stopped not here — I neither hoped nor 
 desired it to stop. I could have clasped the red walls to my 
 bosom as a garment of eternal peace. "Death," I said, "any 
 death but that of the pit! " Fool! might I not have known that 
 into the pit it was the object of the burning iron to urge me? 
 Could I resist its glow? or, if even that, could I withstand its 
 pressure? And now, flatter and flatter grew the lozenge, with 
 a rapidity that left me no time for contemplation. Its centre, 
 and, of course, its greatest width, came just over the yawning 
 gulf. I shrank back — but the closing walls pressed me 
 resistlessly onward. At length for my seared and writhing 
 body there was no longer an inch of foothold. on the firm floor 
 of the prison. I struggled no more, but the agony of my soul 
 found vent in one loud, long, and final scream of despair. I 
 felt that I tottered upon the brink — I averted my eyes — 
 There was a discordant hum of human voices! There was 
 a loud blast as of many trumpets! There was a harsh grating 
 as of a thousand thunders! The fiery walls rushed back! An 
 outstretched arm caught my own as I fell, fainting, into the 
 abyss. It was that of General Lasalle. The French army 
 had entered Toledo. The Inquisition was in the hands of its 
 enemies. 
 
A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 
 
 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, which have a depth m them 
 
 greater than the well of Democritus. 
 
 — Joseph Glanmll. 
 
 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 happened 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 unstring 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 cliff without get- 
 ting giddy?" 
 
 The " Httle cliff," upon whose edge he had so carelessly 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 extreme 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 me 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 
 
112 POE'S tales 
 
 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 distance. 
 
 "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 mentioned — and to tell you 
 the whole story with the spot just under your eye. 
 
 "We are now," he continued, in that particularizing manner 
 which distinguished him — "we are now close upon the Nor- 
 wegian coast — in the sixty-eighth degree of latitude — in the 
 great province of Nordland — and in the dreary district of 
 Lofoden. The mountain 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 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, howHng and 
 shrieking forever. 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 land- 
 
A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM II3 
 
 ward that a brig in the remote offing lay to under a double- 
 reefed trysail, and constantly 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 northward is Ambaaren. Yonder are Mesen, 
 Hoeyholm, Kieldholm, Suarven, and Buckholm. Farther off 
 — between Moskoe and Vurrgh — are Otterholm, Flimen, 
 Sandfiesen, 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 anything? Do you see any change in the water? " 
 
 We had now been about ten minutes upon the top of Hel- 
 seggen, to which we had ascended from the interior of Lofoden, 
 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 moan- 
 ing of a vast herd of buffaloes upon an American prairie; and 
 at the same moment I perceived that what seamen term the 
 chopping character of the ocean beneath us, was rapidly chang- 
 ing 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 chan- 
 nels, burst suddenly into frenzied convulsion — heaving, boil- 
 ing, 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. 
 
114 poe's tales 
 
 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 them- 
 selves 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 a mile in diameter. The edge of the whirl 
 was represented by a broad belt of gleaming spray; but no 
 particle of this slipped into the mouth of the terrififc 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 pre- 
 pared 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 the novel 
 which confounds 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 of Helseggen, 
 nor during a storm. There are some passages of his descrip- 
 
A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM II5 
 
 tion, nevertheless, which may be quoted for their details, 
 although their effect is exceedingly 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 
 spHtting on the rocks, which happens even in the calmest 
 weather. When it is flood, the stream runs up the country 
 between 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 in- 
 evitably 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 impossible to describe their bowlings 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, 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 
 
ii6 
 
 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 aU in the immediate 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 sidelong 
 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 behef, 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 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 Encyclopaedia Britannica. Kircher and 
 others imagine that in the centre of the channel of the Mael- 
 strom is an abyss penetrating the globe, and issuing in some 
 very remote part — the Gulf of Bothnia being somewhat 
 
A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM I17 
 
 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 it to the guide, I was rather sur- 
 prised to hear him say that, although it was the view almost 
 universally entertained of the subject by the Norwegians, it 
 nevertheless 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 around 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 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 minutes' slack to push across the main 
 channel of the Moskoe-strom, far above the pool, and then drop 
 
ii8 
 
 down upon anchorage somewhere near Otterholm, or Sand- 
 flesen, 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, 
 during 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 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 starting, and then we 
 made rather less way than we could wish, while the current 
 rendered the smack unmanageable. 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 
 
A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM II9 
 
 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 for- 
 get — 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 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 two o'clock p.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 watch, 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 Kttle 
 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 copper-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, however, 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. 
 
 "Such a hurricane as then blew it is folly to attempt describ- 
 
I20 poe's tales 
 
 ing. The oldest seaman in Norway never experienced anything 
 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 circum- 
 stance 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 w^e 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 meas- 
 ure, of the seas. I was now trying to get the better of the stupor 
 that had come over me, and to 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 moment all 
 this joy was turned into horror — for he put his mouth close to 
 my ear, and screamed out the word 'Moskoe-strom!' 
 
 "No one will ever know what my feelings were at that 
 moment. I shook from head to foot as if I had had the most 
 
A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 121 
 
 violent fit of the ague. I knew what he meant by that one 
 word well enough — I knew what he wished to make me under- 
 stand. 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 channel, ^e 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 hurricane as this! 'To be sure,' I thought, 'we 
 shall get there just about the slack — there is some httle 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 circular rift of 
 clear sky — as clear as I ever saw — and 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 everything 
 about us with the greatest distinctness — but, oh God, what a 
 scene it was to fight up! 
 
 "I now made one or two attempts to speak to my brother — 
 but in some manner which I could not understand, 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. Pres- 
 ently 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 moon- 
 light, and then burst into tears as I flung it far away into the 
 
122 POe's tales 
 
 ocean. It had run down at seven o^clockl We were behind the 
 time of the slack, and the whirl of the Strom 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 cleverly; 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 believed that any wave could rise 
 so high. And then down we came with a sweep, a sUde, 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 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 recognized the place at all. As it was, I involuntarily 
 closed my eyes in horror. The Hds clenched themselves to- 
 gether as if in a spasm. 
 
 "It could not have been more than two rninutes 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 direction Hke 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 v/hich 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 
 
A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 1 23 
 
 an air-bubble upon the surface of the surge. Her starboard 
 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. 
 
 "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 beheve 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 explore 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 
 singular 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 Httle light- 
 headed. 
 
 "There was another circimistance 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 prisons are 
 
124 POE's tales 
 
 allowed petty indulgences, 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 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 small 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 knew 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 instinc- 
 tively 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 
 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 
 
A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 1 25 
 
 more along. I took courage and looked once again upon the 
 scene. 
 
 "Never shall I forget the sensations of awe, horror, and ad- 
 miration 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 circumference, 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 circular 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 anything 
 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, never- 
 theless, that I had scarcely more difficulty in maintaining my 
 hold and footing in this situation, than if we had been upon a 
 dead level; and this, I suppose, was owing to the speed at which 
 we revolved. 
 
 "The rays of the moon seemed to search the very bottom of 
 the profound gulf; but still I could make out nothing distinctly, 
 on account of a thick mist in which everything there was en- 
 veloped, and over which there hung a magnificent rainbow, like 
 that narrow and tottering bridge which Mussulmans say is the 
 only pathway 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 — 
 
126 poe's tales 
 
 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 proportionate. 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 Uquid 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 fragments of vessels, large masses of build- 
 ing 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 deliri- 
 ous — for I even sought amusement in speculating upon the 
 relative velocities of their several descents toward the foam 
 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 disappointed 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 deceived 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 observation. I called to mind the 
 great variety of buoyant matter that strewed the coast of 
 
A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 1 27 
 
 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 
 roughened as to have the appearance of being stuck full of 
 spHnters — but then I distinctly recollected that there were. 
 some of theni which were not disfigured at all. Now I could not 
 account for this difference except by supposing that the rough- 
 ened 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 before 
 the turn of the flood came, or of the ebb, as the case might be. 
 I conceived it possible, in either instance, that they might thus 
 be whirled up again to the level of the ocean, without under- 
 going the fate of those which had been drawn in more early or 
 absorbed more rapidly. I made, also, three important obser- 
 vations. The first was, that as a general rule, the larger the 
 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 district ; 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.* 
 
 "There was one startling circumstance which went a great 
 way in enforcing these observations, and rendering me anxious 
 * See Archimedes, De Us Qua in Humido Vehuntur, lib. ii. 
 
128 poe's tales 
 
 to turn them to account, and this was that, at every revolution, 
 we passed something hke a barrel, or else the yard or the mast 
 of a vessel, while many of these things, which had been on our 
 level when I j&rst opened my eyes upon the wonders of the 
 whirlpool, were now high up above us, and seemed to have 
 moved but Httle 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 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 admitted of no delay; 
 and so, with a bitter struggle, I resigned 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, with- 
 out 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 already 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 
 conclusion. 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 whirlpool. The slope of the sides of the 
 vast funnel became momently less and less steep. The gyra- 
 
A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM 1 29 
 
 tions of the whirl grew, gradually, less and less violent. By 
 degrees, the froth and the rainbow disappeared, and the bottom 
 of the guK 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 myself on the surface of the ocean, in 
 full view of the shores of Lofoden, 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." 
 
THE GOLD-BUG 
 
 What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad! 
 He hath been bitten by the Tarantula. 
 
 — All in the Wrong. 
 
 Many years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. 
 William Legrand. He was of an ancient Huguenot family, 
 and had once been wealthy; but a series of misfortunes had 
 reduced him to want. To avoid the mortification consequent 
 upon his disasters, he left New Orleans, the city of his fore- 
 fathers, and took up his residence at Sullivan's Island, near 
 Charleston, South CaroHna. 
 
 This Island is a very singular one. It consists of little 
 else than the sea sand, and is about three miles long. Its 
 breadth at no point exceeds a quarter of a mile. It is sepa- 
 rated from the mainland by a scarcely perceptible creek, oozing 
 its way through a wilderness of reeds and slime, a favorite 
 resort of the marsh-hen. The vegetation, as might be sup- 
 posed, is scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees of any magni- 
 tude are to be seen. Near the western extremity, where Fort 
 Moultrie stands, and where are some miserable frame buildings, 
 tenanted, during summer, by the fugitives from Charleston 
 dust and fever, may be found, indeed, the bristly palmetto; 
 but the whole island, with the exception of this western point, 
 and a Hne of hard, white beach on the seacoast, is covered with 
 a dense undergrowth of the sweet myrtle, so much prized 
 by the horticulturists of England. The shrub here often at- 
 tains the height of fifteen or twenty feet, and forms an almost 
 impenetrable coppice, burthening the air with its fragrance. 
 
 In the inmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the 
 eastern or more remote end of the island, Legrand had built 
 himself a small hut, which he occupied when I first, by mere 
 
 130 
 
THE GOLD-BUG 13 1 
 
 accident, made his acquaintance. This soon ripened into 
 friendship — for there was much in the recluse to excite in- 
 terest and esteem. I found him well educated, with unusual 
 powers of mind, but infected with misanthropy, and subject 
 to perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy. 
 He had with him many books, but rarely employed them. 
 His chief amusements were gunning and fishing, or sauntering 
 along the beach and through the myrtles, in quest of shells 
 or entomological specimens ; — his collection of the latter 
 might have been envied by a Swammerdamm. In these ex- 
 cursions he was usually accompanied by an old negro, called 
 Jupiter, who had been manumitted before the reverses of the 
 family, but who could be induced, neither by threats nor by 
 promises, to abandon what he considered his right of attend- 
 ance upon the footsteps of his young "Massa Will." It is 
 not improbable that the relatives of Legrand, conceiving him 
 to be somewhat unsettled in intellect, had contrived to instil 
 this obstinacy into Jupiter, with a view to the supervision 
 and guardianship of the wanderer. 
 
 The winters in the latitude of Sullivan's Island are seldom 
 very severe, and in the fall of the year it is a rare event indeed 
 when a fire is considered necessary. About the middle of 
 October, i8 — , there occurred, however, a day of remarkable 
 chilHness. Just before sunset I scrambled my way through the 
 evergreens to the hut of my friend, whom I had not visited for 
 several weeks — my residence being, at that time, in Charles- 
 ton, a distance of nine miles from the Island, while the facili- 
 ties of passage and re-passage were very far behind those of 
 the present day. Upon reaching the hut I rapped, as was 
 my custom, and, getting no reply, sought for the key where I 
 knew it was secreted, unlocked the door and went in. A fine 
 fire was blazing upon the hearth. It was a novelty, and by 
 no means an ungrateful one. I threw off an overcoat, took an 
 arm-chair by the crackling logs, and awaited patiently the 
 arrival of my hosts. 
 
132 poe's tales 
 
 Soon after dark they arrived, and gave me a most cordial 
 welcome. Jupiter, grinning from ear to ear, bustled about 
 to prepare some marsh-hens for supper. Legrand was in one 
 of his fits — how else shall I term them? — of enthusiasm. He 
 had found an unknown bivalve, forming a new genus, and, 
 more than this, he had hunted down and secured, with Jupiter's 
 assistance, a scarabceus which he believed to be totally new, 
 but in respect to which he wished to have my opinion on the 
 morrow. 
 
 "And why not to-night?" I asked, rubbing my hands 
 over the blaze, and wishing the whole tribe of scarahcei at the 
 devil. 
 
 "Ah, if I had only known you were here!" said Legrand, 
 "but it's so long since I saw you; and how could I foresee that 
 you would pay me a visit this very night of all others? As I 
 
 was coming home I met Lieutenant G , from the fort, 
 
 and, very foolishly, I lent him the bug; so it will be impossible 
 for you to see it until the morning. Stay here to-night, and 
 I will send Jup down for it at sunrise. It is the loveliest thing 
 in creation!" 
 
 "What? — sunrise?" 
 
 "Nonsense! no! — the bug. It is of a brilliant gold color 
 — about the size of a large hickory-nut — with two jet black 
 spots near one extremity of the back, and another, somewhat 
 longer, at the other. The antenna are — " 
 
 "Dey aint no tin in him Massa Will, I keep a tellin on you," 
 here interrupted Jupiter; "de bug is a goole-bug, solid, ebery 
 bit of him, inside and all, sep him wing — neber feel half so 
 hebby a bug in my life. " 
 
 "Well, suppose it is, Jup," repHed Legrand, somewhat more 
 earnestly, it seemed to me, than the case demanded, "is that 
 any reason for your letting the birds burn? The color" — 
 here he turned to me — "is really almost enough to warrant 
 Jupiter's idea. You never saw a more brilliant metallic lustre 
 than the scales emit — but of this you cannot judge till to- 
 
THE GOLD-BUG 133 
 
 morrow. In the meantime I can give you some idea of the 
 shape." Saying this, he seated himself at a small table, on 
 which were a pen and ink, but no paper. He looked for some 
 in a drawer, but found none. 
 
 "Never mind," said he at length, "this will answer;" and 
 he drew from his waistcoat pocket a scrap of what I took to 
 be very dirty foolscap, and made upon it a rough drawing 
 with the pen. While he did this, I retained my seat by the 
 fire, for I was still chilly. When the design was complete, he 
 handed it to me without rising. As I received it, a low growl 
 was heard, succeeded by a scratching at the door. Jupiter 
 opened it, and a large Newfoundland, belonging to Legrand, 
 rushed in, leaped upon my shoulders, and loaded me with 
 caresses; for I had shown him much attention during previous 
 visits. When his gambols were over, I looked at the paper, 
 and, to speak the truth, found myself not a little puzzled at 
 what my friend had depicted. 
 
 "Well!" I said, after contemplating it for some minutes, 
 "this is SL strange scarabcBus, I must confess: new to me: 
 never saw anything like it before — unless it was a skull, or 
 a death's-head — which it more nearly resembles than anything 
 else that has come under my observation." 
 
 "A death's-head!" echoed Legrand — "Oh — yes — well, it 
 has something of that appearance upon paper, no doubt. 
 The two upper black spots look like eyes, eh? and the longer 
 one at the bottom like a mouth — and then the shape of the 
 whole is oval." 
 
 "Perhaps so," said I; "but, Legrand, I fear you are no 
 artist. I must wait until I see the beetle itself, if I am to form 
 any idea of its personal appearance. " 
 
 "Well, I don't know," said he, a little nettled, "I draw 
 tolerably — should do it at least — have had good masters, 
 and flatter myself that I am not quite a blockhead." 
 
 "But, my dear fellow, you are joking then," said I, "this is 
 a very passable skull — indeed, I may say that it is a very 
 
134 poe's tales 
 
 excellent skull, according to the vulgar notions about such 
 specimens of physiology — and your scarahceus must be the 
 queerest scarahceus in the world if it resembles it. Why, we 
 may get up a very thrilling bit of superstition upon this hint. 
 I presume you will call the bug scarahceus caput hominis, 
 or something of that kind — there are many similar titles in 
 the Natural Histories. But where are the antennce you spoke 
 of?" 
 
 "The antennce!^' said Legrand, who seemed to be getting 
 unaccountably warm upon the subject; "I am sure you must 
 see the antennce. I made them as distinct as they are in the 
 original insect, and I presume that is sufficient." 
 
 "Well, well," I said, "perhaps you have — still I don't see 
 them;" and I handed him the paper without additional re- 
 mark, not wishing to ruflfle his temper; but I was much sur- 
 prised at the turn affairs had taken; his ill humor puzzled me 
 — and, as for the drawing of the beetle, there were positively 
 no antennce visible, and the whole did bear a very close resem- 
 blance to the ordinary cuts of a death's-head. 
 
 He received the paper very peevishly, and was about to 
 crumple it, apparently to throw it in the fire, when a casual 
 glance at the design seemed suddenly to rivet his attention. 
 In an instant his face grew violently red — in another as ex- 
 cessively pale. For some minutes he continued to scrutinize 
 the drawing minutely where he sat. At length he arose, took 
 a candle from the table, and proceeded to seat himself upon 
 a sea-chest in the farthest corner of the room. Here again he 
 made an anxious examination of the paper; turning it in all 
 directions. He said nothing, however, and his conduct greatly 
 astonished me; yet I thought it prudent not to exacerbate the 
 growing moodiness of his temper by any comment. Presently 
 he took from his coat pocket a wallet, placed the paper care- 
 fully in it, and deposited both in a writing-desk, which he 
 locked. He now grew more composed in his demeanor; but 
 his original air of enthusiasm had quite disappeared. Yet he 
 
THE GOLD-BUG I35 
 
 seemed not so much sulky as abstracted. As the evening wore 
 away he become more and more absorbed in revery, from which 
 no sallies of mine could arouse him. It had been my intention 
 to pass the night at the hut, as I had frequently done before, 
 but, seeing my host in this mood, I deemed it proper to take 
 leave. He did not press me to remain, but, as I departed, he 
 shook my hand with even more than his usual cordiality. 
 
 It was about a month after this (and during the interval 
 I had seen nothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, at 
 Charleston, from his man, Jupiter. I had never seen the good 
 old negro look so dispirited, and I feared that some serious 
 disaster had befallen my friend. 
 
 "Well, Jup," said I, "what is the matter now? — how is 
 your master?" 
 
 "Why, to speak de troof, massa, him not so berry well as 
 mought be." 
 
 "Not well! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he 
 complain of?" 
 
 "Dar! dat's it! — him neber plain of notin — but him berry 
 sick for all dat." 
 
 ''Very sick, Jupiter! — why didn't you say so at once? 
 Is he conjEined to bed?" 
 
 "No, dat he aint! — he aint find nowhar — dat's just whar 
 de shoe pinch — my mind is got to be berry hebby bout poor 
 Massa WiU." 
 
 "Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is you are 
 talking about. You say your master is sick. Hasn't he told 
 you what ails him?" 
 
 "Why, massa, taint worf while for to git mad bout de matter 
 — Massa Will say noffin at all aint de matter wid him — but 
 den what make him go bout looking dis here way, wid he head 
 down and he soldiers up, and as white as a gose? And den 
 he keep a syphon all de time — " 
 
 "Keeps a what, Jupiter?" 
 
 "Keeps a s3T)hon wid de figgurs on de slate — de queerest 
 
136 poe's tales 
 
 figgurs I ebber did see. Ise gittin to be skeered, I tell you. 
 Hab for to keep mighty tight eye pon him noovers. Todder 
 day he gib me slip fore de sun up and was gone de whole ob 
 de blessed day. I had a big stick ready cut for to gib him 
 
 d d good beating when he did come — but Ise sich a fool 
 
 dat I hadn't de heart arter all — he look so berry poorly." 
 
 "Eh? — what? — ah, yes! — upon the whole I think you 
 had better not be too severe with the poor fellow — don't 
 flog him, Jupiter — he can't very well stand it — but can you 
 form no idea of what has occasioned this illness, or rather this 
 change of conduct? Has anything unpleasant happened since 
 I saw you? " 
 
 "No, massa, dey aint bin noffin onpleasant smce den — 'twas 
 fore den I'm feared — 'twas de berry day you was dare." 
 
 "How? what do you mean?" 
 
 "Why, massa, I mean de bug — dare now." 
 
 "The what?" 
 
 "De bug — I'm berry sartain dat Massa Will bin bit some- 
 where bout de head by dat goole-bug." 
 
 "And what cause have you, Jupiter, for such a supposi- 
 tion?" 
 
 "Claws enuff, massa, and mouff too. I nebber did see sich 
 
 a d d bug — he kick and he bite every ting what cum near 
 
 him. Massa Will cotch him fuss, but had for to let him go gin 
 mighty quick, I tell you — den was de time he must ha got de 
 bite. I didn't like de look ob de bug mouff, myself, no how, so 
 I wouldn't take hold ob him wid my finger, but I cotch him 
 wid a piece ob paper dat I found. I rap him up in de paper 
 and stuff piece ob it in he mouff — dat was de way." 
 
 "And you think, then, that your master was really bitten 
 by the beetle, and that the bite made him sick?" 
 
 "I don't tink noffin about it — I nose it. What make him 
 dream bout de goole so much, if taint cause he bit by de goole- 
 bug? Ise heerd bout dem goole-bugs fore dis." 
 
 "But how do you know he dreams about gold?" 
 
THE GOLD-BUG 137 
 
 "How I know? why cause he talk about it in he sleep — 
 dat's how I nose." 
 
 "Well, Jup, perhaps you are right; but to what fortunate 
 circumstance am I to attribute the honor of a visit from you 
 to-day?" 
 
 "What de matter, massa?" 
 
 "Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand?" 
 
 "No, massa, I bring dis here pissel;" and here Jupiter handed 
 me a note which ran thus: 
 
 My dear Why have I not seen you for so long a time? I hope 
 
 you have not been so fooKsh as to take offence at any little brusquerie of 
 mine; but no, that is improbable. 
 
 Since I saw you I have had great cause for anxiety. I have something 
 to tell you, yet scarcely know how to tell it, or whether I should tell it 
 at all. 
 
 I have not been quite well for some days past, and poor old Jup annoys 
 me, almost beyond endurance, by his well-meant attentions. Would you 
 believe it? — he had prepared a huge stick, the other day, with which to 
 chastise me for giving him the slip, and spending the day, solus, among 
 the hills on the mainland. I verily believe that my ill looks alone saved 
 me a flogging. 
 
 I have made no addition to my cabinet since we met. 
 
 If you can, in any way, make it convenient, come over with Jupiter. 
 Do come. I wish to see you tonight, upon business of importance. I 
 assure you that it is of the highest importance. 
 
 Ever yours, 
 
 William Legrand. 
 
 There was something in the tone of this note which gave 
 me great uneasiness. Its whole style differed materially from 
 that of Legrand. What could he be dreaming of? What new 
 crotchet possessed his excitable brain? What "business of the 
 highest importance" could he possibly have to transact? 
 Jupiter's account of him boded no good. I dreaded lest the 
 continued pressure of misfortune had, at length, fairly un- 
 settled the reason of my friend. Without a moment's hesi- 
 tation, therefore, I prepared to accompany the negro. 
 
 Upon reaching the wharf, I noticed a scythe and three spades, 
 all apparently new, lying in the bottom of the boat in which 
 we were to embark. 
 
138 poe's tales 
 
 "What is the meaning of all this, Jup?" I inquired. 
 
 "Him syfe, massa, and spade." 
 
 "Very true; but what are they doing here?" 
 
 "Him de syfe and de spade what Massa Will sis pon my 
 buying for him in de town, and de debbil's own lot of money 
 I had to gib for em." 
 
 "But what, in the name of all that is mysterious, is your 
 'Massa Will' going to do with scythes and spades?'* 
 
 "Dat's more dan / know, and debbil take me if I don't 
 blieve 't,is more dan he know, too. But it's all cum ob de bug. " 
 
 Finding that no satisfaction was to be obtained of Jupiter, 
 whose whole intellect seemed to be absorbed by "de bug," 
 I now stepped into the boat and made sail. With a fair and 
 strong breeze we soon ran into the little cove to the northward 
 of Fort Moultrie, and' a walk of some two miles brought us to 
 the hut. It was about three in the afternoon when we arrived. 
 Legrand had been awaiting us in eager expectation. He 
 grasped my hand, with a nervous empressement which alarmed 
 me and strengthened the suspicions already entertained. His 
 countenance was pale even to ghastliness, and his deep-set 
 eyes glared with unnatural lustre. After some inquiries 
 respecting his health, I asked him, not knowing what better 
 to say, if he had yet obtained the scarahmis from Lieutenant 
 G . 
 
 "Oh, yes," he repHed, coloring violently, "I got it from him 
 the next morning. Nothing should tempt me to part with 
 that scarabcBus. Do you know that Jupiter is quite right about 
 it?" 
 
 "In what way?" I asked, with a sad foreboding at heart. 
 
 "In supposing it to be a bug of real gold. " He said this with 
 an air of profound seriousness, and I felt inexpressibly shocked. 
 
 "This bug is to make my fortune," he continued, with 
 a triumphant smile, "to reinstate me in my family possessions. 
 Is it any wonder, then, that I prize it? Since Fortune has 
 thought fit to bestow it upon me, I have only to use it properly 
 
THE GOLD-BUG 1 39 
 
 and I shall arrive at the gold of which it is the index. Jupiter, 
 bring me that scarahaus!'' 
 
 "What! de bug, massa? I'd rudder not go fer trubble dat 
 bug — you mus git him for your own self." Hereupon Le- 
 grand arose, with a grave and stately air, and brought me the 
 beetle from a glass case in which it was enclosed. It was a 
 beautiful scarabceus, and, at that time, unknown to naturalists 
 — of course a great prize in a scientific point of view. There 
 were two round, black spots near one extremity of the back, 
 and a long one near the other. The scales were exceedingly 
 hard and glossy, with all the appearance of burnished gold. 
 The weight of the insect was very remarkable, and, taking all 
 things into consideration, I could hardly blame Jupiter for 
 his opinion respecting it; but what to make of Legrand's 
 agreement with that opinion, I could not, for the life of me, tell. 
 
 "I sent for you," said he, in a grandiloquent tone, when 
 I had completed my examination of the beetle, "I sent for you, 
 that I might have your counsel and assistance in furthering 
 the views of Fate and of the bug — " 
 
 "My dear Legrand," I cried, interrupting him, "you are 
 certainly unwell, and had better use some little precautions. 
 You shall go to bed, and I will remain with you a few days, 
 until you get over this. You are feverish and — " 
 
 "Feel my pulse," said he. 
 
 I felt it, and, to say the truth, found not the slightest indi- 
 cation of fever. 
 
 "But you may be ill and yet have no fever. Allow me 
 this once to prescribe for you. In the first place, go to bed. 
 In the next — " 
 
 "You are mistaken," he interposed, "I am as well as I can 
 expect to be under the excitement which I suffer. If you 
 really wish me well, you will relieve this excitement. " 
 
 "And how is this to be done?" 
 
 "Very easily. Jupiter and myself are going upon an ex- 
 pedition into the hills, upon the mainland, and, in this expe- 
 
I40 poe's tales 
 
 dition, we shall need the aid of some person in whom we can 
 confide. You are the only one we can trust. Whether we 
 succeed or fail, the excitement which you now perceive in me 
 will be equally allayed." 
 
 "I am anxious to oblige you in any way," I rephed; "but do 
 you mean to say that this infernal beetle has any connection 
 with your expedition into the hills? " 
 
 "It has." 
 
 "Then, Legrand, I can become a party to no such absurd 
 proceeding." 
 
 "I am sorry — very sorry — for we shall have to try it by 
 ourselves." 
 
 "Try it by yourselves! The man is surely mad! — but 
 stay! — how long do you propose to be absent?" 
 
 "Probably all night. We shall start immediately, and be 
 back, at all events, by sunrise." 
 
 "And will you promise me, upon your honor, that when this 
 freak of yours is over, and the bug business (good God!) settled 
 to your satisfaction, you will then return home and follow my 
 advice impHcitly, as that of your physician?" 
 
 "Yes; I promise; and now let us be off, for we have no 
 time to lose." 
 
 With a heavy heart I accompanied my friend. We started 
 about four o'clock — Legrand, Jupiter, the dog, and myself. 
 Jupiter had with him the scythe and spades — the whole of 
 which he insisted upon carrying — more through fear, it 
 seemed to me, of trusting either of the implements within 
 reach of his master, than from any excess of industry or com- 
 plaisance. His demeanor was dogged in the extreme, and 
 
 "dat d d bug" were the sole words which escaped his 
 
 lips during the journey. For my own part, I had charge of a 
 couple of dark lanterns, while Legrand contented himself with 
 the scarabcBus, which he carried attached to the end of a bit 
 of whip-cord; twirling it to and fro, with the air of a conjurer, 
 as he went. When I observed this last, plain evidence of my 
 
THE GOLD-BUG I41 
 
 friend's aberration of mind, I could scarcely refrain from tears. 
 I thought it best, however, to humor his fancy, at least for the 
 present, or until I could adopt some more energetic measures 
 with a chance of success. In the meantime I endeavored, but 
 all in vain, to sound him in regard to the object of the expedi- 
 tion. Having succeeded in inducing me to accompany him, 
 he seemed unwilling to hold conversation upon any topic of 
 minor importance, and to all my questions vouchsafed no other 
 reply than "We shall see!" 
 
 We crossed the creek at the head of the island by means of 
 a skiff, and, ascending the high grounds on the shore of the 
 mainland, proceeded in a northwesterly direction, through a 
 tract of country excessively wild and desolate, where no trace 
 of a human footstep was to be seen. Legrand led the way 
 with decision; pausing only for an instant, here and there, 
 to consult what appeared to be certain landmarks of his own 
 contrivance upon a former occasion. 
 
 In this manner we journeyed for about two hours, and the 
 sun was just setting when we entered a region infinitely more 
 dreary than any yet seen. It was a species of table-land, near 
 the summit of an almost inaccessible hill, densely wooded from 
 base to pinnacle, and interspersed with huge crags that ap- 
 peared to lie loosely upon the soil, and in many cases were 
 prevented from precipitating themselves into the valleys below, 
 merely by the support of the trees against which they reclined. 
 Deep ravines, in various directions, gave an air of still sterner 
 solemnity to the scene. 
 
 The natural platform to which we had clambered was 
 thickly overgrown with brambles, through which we soon dis- 
 covered that it would have been impossible to force our way 
 but for the scythe; and Jupiter, by direction of his master, 
 proceeded to clear for us a path to the foot of an enormously 
 tall tulip-tree, which stood, with some eight or ten oaks, upon 
 the level, and far surpassed them all, and all other trees which' 
 I had then ever seen, in the beauty of its foliage and form, in 
 
142 
 
 the wide spread of its branches, and in the general majesty of 
 its appearance. When we reached this tree, Legrand turned 
 to Jupiter, and asked him if he thought he could climb it. 
 The old man seemed a little staggered by the question, and for 
 some moments made no reply. At length he approached the 
 huge trunk, walked slowly around it, and examined it with 
 minute attention. When he had completed his scrutiny, he 
 merely said, 
 
 "Yes, massa, Jup climb any tree he ebber see in he life." 
 
 "Then up with you as soon as possible, for it will soon be 
 too dark to see what we are about. " 
 
 "How far mus go up, massa?" inquired Jupiter. 
 
 " Get up the main trunk first, and then I will tell you which 
 way to go — and here — stop! take this beetle with you." 
 
 "De bug, Massa Will! — de goole-bug!" cried the negro, 
 drawing back in dismay — "what for mus tote de bug way up 
 detree? — d — nif Ido!" 
 
 "If you are afraid, Jup, a great big negro like you, to take 
 hold of a harmless little dead beetle, why you can carry it up 
 by this string — but, if you do not take it up with you in some 
 way, I shall be under the necessity of breaking your head with 
 this shovel." 
 
 "What de matter now, massa?" said Jup, evidently shamed 
 into compliance; "always want fur to raise fuss wid old nigger. 
 Was only funnin anyhow. Me feered de bug! what I keer 
 for de bug?" Here he took cautiously hold of the extreme 
 end of the string, and, maintaining the insect as far from his 
 person as circumstances would permit, prepared to ascend 
 the tree. 
 
 In youth, the tulip- tree, or Liriodendron Tulipifera, the most 
 magnificent of American foresters, has a trunk peculiarly 
 smooth, and often rises to a great height without lateral 
 branches; but, in its riper age, the bark becomes gnarled and 
 uneven, while many short limbs make their appearance on the 
 stem. Thus the difficulty of ascension, in the present case, 
 
THE GOLD-BUG I43 
 
 lay more in semblance than in reality. Embracing the huge 
 cylinder, as closely as possible, with his arms and knees, seizing 
 with his hands some projections, and resting his naked toes 
 upon others, Jupiter, after one or two narrow escapes from 
 faUing, at length wriggled himself into the first great fork, and 
 seemed to consider the whole business as virtually accom- 
 plished. The risk of the achievement was, in fact, now over, 
 although the climber was some sixty or seventy feet from the 
 ground. 
 
 "Which way mus go now, Massa Will?" he asked. 
 
 "Keep up the largest branch — the one on this side," said 
 Legrand. The negro obeyed him promptly, and apparently 
 with but little trouble; ascending higher and higher, until no 
 glimpse of his squat figure could be obtained through the 
 dense foliage which enveloped it. Presently his voice was 
 heard in a sort of halloo. 
 
 "How much fudder is got for go?" 
 
 "How high up are you?" asked Legrand. 
 
 "Ebber so fur," replied the negro; "can see de sky fru de 
 top ob de tree." 
 
 "Never mind the sky, but attend to what I say. Look 
 down the trunk and count the limbs below you on this 
 side. How many Umbs have you passed?" 
 
 "One, two, tree, four, fibe — I done pass fibe big limb, 
 massa, pon dis side. " 
 
 "Then go one limb higher." 
 
 In a few minutes the voice was heard again, announcing that 
 the seventh limb was attained. 
 
 "Now, Jup," cried Legrand, evidently much excited, "I 
 want you to work your way out upon that limb as far as you 
 can. If you see anything strange, let me know. " 
 
 By this time what little doubt I might have entertained of 
 my poor friend's insanity was put finally at rest. I had no 
 alternative but to conclude him stricken with lunacy, and I 
 became seriously anxious about getting him home. While 
 
144 poe's tales 
 
 I was pondering upon what was best to be done, Jupiter's 
 voice was again heard. 
 
 "Mos feerd for to ventur pon dis limb berry far — 'tis 
 dead limb putty much aU de way. " 
 
 "Did you say it was a dead limb, Jupiter?" cried Legrand 
 in a quavering voice. 
 
 "Yes, massa, him dead as de door-nail — done up for sar- 
 tain — done departed dis here life. " 
 
 "What in the name of heaven shall I do?" asked Legrand, 
 seemingly in the greatest distress. 
 
 "Do!" said I, glad of an opportunity to interpose a word, 
 "why come home and go to bed. Come now! — that's a 
 fine fellow. It's getting late, and, besides, you remember 
 your promise." 
 
 "Jupiter," cried he, without heeding me in the least, "do 
 you hear me?" 
 
 "Yes, Massa Will, hear you ebber so plain." 
 
 "Try the wood weU, then, with your knife, and see if you 
 think it very rotten. " 
 
 "Him rotten, massa, sure nuff," repHed the negro in a few 
 moments, "but not so berry rotten as mought be. Mought 
 ventur out leetle way pon de limb by myself, dat's true." 
 
 "By yourself! — what do you mean?" 
 
 "Why, I mean de bug. 'Tis herry hebby bug. Spose I 
 drop him down fuss, and den de limb won't break wid just de 
 weight ob one nigger." 
 
 "You infernal scoundrel!" cried Legrand, apparently much 
 relieved, "what do you mean by telling me such nonsense as 
 that? As sure as you let that beetle fall! — I'll break your 
 neck. Look here, Jupiter! do you hear me?" 
 
 "Yes, massa, needn't hollo at poor nigger dat style." 
 
 "Well! now listen! — if you will venture out on the limb 
 as far as you think safe, and not let go the beetle, I'll 
 make you a present of a silver dollar as soon as you get 
 down. " 
 
THE GOLD-BUG 145 
 
 "I'm gwine, Massa Will — deed I is," replied the negro very 
 promptly — " mos out to the eend now. " 
 
 ^'Out to the end!" here fairly screamed Legrand, "do you say 
 you are out to the end of that limb?" 
 
 "Soon be to de eend, massa, — o-o-o-o-oh! Lor-gol-a- 
 marcy! what is dis here pon de tree?" 
 
 "Well!" cried Legrand, highly delighted, "what is it?" 
 
 "Why taint nuffin but a skull — somebody bin lef him head 
 up de tree, and de crows done gobble ebery bit ob de meat off. " 
 
 "A skull, you say! — very well! — how is it fastened to 
 the Hmb? — what holds it on?" 
 
 "Sure nuff, massa; mus look. Why, dis berry curous sar- 
 cumstance, pon my word — dare's a great big nail in de skull, 
 what fastens ob it on to de tree." 
 
 "Well now, Jupiter, do exactly as I tell you — do you hear?" 
 
 "Yes, massa." 
 
 "Pay attention, then! — find the left eye of the skull." 
 
 "Hum! hoo! dat's good! why, dar aint no eye lef at all." 
 
 "Curse your stupidity! do you know your right hand from 
 your left?" 
 
 "Yes, I nose dat — nose all bout dat — 'tis my lef hand 
 what I chops de wood wid." 
 
 "To be sure! you are left-handed; and your left eye is on 
 the same side as your left hand. Now, I suppose, you can find 
 the left eye of the skull, or the place where the left eye has 
 been. Have you found it? " 
 
 Here was a long pause. At length the negro asked, "Is de 
 lef eye of de skull pon de same side as de lef hand of de skull, 
 too? — cause de skull aint got not a bit ob a hand at all — ■ 
 nebber mind! I got de lef eye now — here de lef eye! what 
 mus do wid it?" 
 
 "Let the beetle drop through it, as far as the string will 
 reach — but be careful and not let go your hold of the string." 
 
 "All dat done, Massa Will; mighty easy ting for to put de 
 bug fru de hole — look out for him dar below!" 
 
146 poe's tales 
 
 During this colloquy no portion of Jupiter's person could 
 be seen; but the beetle, which he had suffered to descend, was 
 now visible at the end of the string, and gHstened, Hke a globe of 
 burnished gold, in the last rays of the setting sun, some of which 
 still faintly illumined the eminence upon which we stood. The 
 scarahcBus hung quite clear of any branches, and, if allowed to 
 fall, would have fallen at our feet. Legrand immediately took . 
 the scythe, and cleared with it a circular space, three or four 
 yards in diameter, just beneath the insect, and, having accom- 
 plished this, ordered Jupiter to let go the string and come down 
 from the tree. 
 
 Driving a peg, with great nicety, into the ground, at the 
 precise spot where the beetle fell, my friend now produced 
 from his pocket a tape measure. Fastening one end of this 
 at that point of the trunk of the tree which was nearest the 
 peg, he unrolled it till it reached the peg, and thence farther 
 unrolled it, in the direction already established by the two 
 points of the tree and the peg, for the distance of fifty feet — 
 Jupiter clearing away the brambles with the scythe. At the 
 spot thus attained a second peg was driven, and about this, as 
 a centre, a rude circle, about four feet in diameter, described. 
 Taking now a spade himself, and giving one to Jupiter and one 
 to me, Legrand begged us to set about digging as quickly as 
 possible. 
 
 To speak the truth, I had no especial reUsh for such amuse- 
 ment at any time, and, at that particular moment, would most 
 willingly have decUned it; for the night was coming on, and I 
 felt much fatigued with the exercise already taken; but I saw 
 no mode of escape, and was fearful of disturbing my poor friend's 
 equanimity by a refusal. Could I have depended, indeed, 
 upon Jupiter's aid, I would have had no hesitation in attempt- 
 ing to get the lunatic home by force; but I was too well assured 
 of the old negro's disposition, to hope that he would assist me, 
 under any circumstances, in a personal contest with his master. 
 I made no doubt that the latter had been infected with some 
 
THE GOLD-BUG 147 
 
 of the innumerable Southern superstitions about money buried, 
 and that his phantasy had received confirmation by the finding 
 of the scarabcBus, or, perhaps, by Jupiter's obstinacy in main- 
 taining it to be "a bug of real gold." A mind disposed to 
 lunacy would readily be led away by such suggestions — es- 
 pecially if chiming in with favorite preconceived ideas — and 
 then I called to mind the poor fellow's speech about the beetle's 
 being the "index of his fortune. " Upon the whole, I was sadly 
 vexed and puzzled, but, at length, I concluded to make a virtue 
 of necessity — to dig with a good will, and thus the sooner to 
 convince the visionary, by ocular demonstration, of the fal- 
 lacy of the opinions he entertained. 
 
 The lanterns having been lit, we all fell to work with a zeal 
 worthy a more rational cause; and, as the glare fell upon our 
 persons and implements, I could not help thinking how pic- 
 turesque a group we composed, and how strange and suspicious 
 our labors must have appeared to any interloper who, by chance, 
 might have stumbled upon our whereabouts. 
 
 We dug very steadily for two hours. Little was said; and 
 our chief embarrassment lay in the yelpings of the dog, who 
 took exceeding interest in our proceedings. He, at length, 
 became so obstreperous that we grew fearful of his giving the 
 alarm to some stragglers in the vicinity; — or, rather, this was 
 the apprehension of Legrand; — for myself, I should have 
 rejoiced at any interruption which might have enabled me to 
 get the wanderer home. The noise was, at length, very effec- 
 tually silenced by Jupiter, who, getting out of the hole with a 
 dogged air of deliberation, tied the brute's mouth up with one 
 of his suspenders, and then returned, with a grave chuckle, to 
 his task. 
 
 When the time mentioned had expired, we had reached a 
 depth of five feet, and yet no signs of any treasure became 
 manifest. A general pause ensued, and I began to hope 
 that the farce was at an end. Legrand, however, although 
 evidently much disconcerted, wiped his brow thoughtfully 
 
148 poe's tales 
 
 and recommenced. We had excavated the entire circle of four 
 feet diameter, and now we shghtly enlarged the Hmit, and 
 went to the farther depth of two feet. Still nothing appeared. 
 The gold-seeker, whom I sincerely pitied, at length clambered 
 from the pit, with the bitterest disappointment imprinted 
 upon every feature, and proceeded, slowly and reluctantly, 
 to put on his coat, which he had thrown off at the beginning of 
 his labor. In the meantime I made no remark. Jupiter, at 
 a signal from his master, began to gather up his tools. This 
 done, and the dog having been unmuzzled, we turned in pro- 
 found silence towards home. 
 
 We had taken, perhaps, a dozen steps in this direction, when, 
 with a loud oath, Legrand strode up to Jupiter, and seized 
 him by the collar. The astonished negro opened his eyes and 
 mouth to the fullest extent, let fall the spades, and fell upon 
 his knees. 
 
 "You scoundrel," said Legrand, hissing out the syllables 
 from between his clenched teeth — "you infernal black villain! 
 — speak, I tell you! — answer me this instant, without pre- 
 varication! — which — which is your left eye?" 
 
 "Oh, my golly, Massa Will! aint dis here my lef eye for 
 sartain? " roared the terrified Jupiter, placing his hand upon his 
 right organ of vision, and holding it there with a desperate 
 pertinacity, as if in immediate dread of his master's attempt 
 at a gouge. 
 
 "I thought so! — I knew it! — hurrah!" vociferated Le- 
 grand, letting the negro go, and executing a series of curvets 
 and caracoles, much to the astonishment of his valet, who, 
 arising from his knees, looked, mutely, from his master to my- 
 self, and then from myself to his master. 
 
 "Come! we must go back," said the latter, "the game's 
 not up yet;" and he again led the way to the tulip-tree. 
 
 "Jupiter," said he, when we reached its foot, "come here! 
 Was the skull nailed to the limb with the face outward, or 
 with the face to the limb?" 
 
THE GOLD-BUG I49 
 
 "De face was out, massa, so dat de crows could get at de 
 eyes good, widout any trouble." 
 
 '^Well, then, was it this eye or that through which you let 
 the beetle fall?" — here Legrand touched each of Jupiter's 
 eyes. 
 
 "'Twas dis eye, massa — de lef eye — jis as you tell me," 
 and here it was his right eye that the negro indicated. 
 
 "That will do — we must try it again. " 
 
 Here my friend, about whose madness I now saw, or fancied 
 that I saw, certain indications of method, removed the peg 
 which m-arked the spot where the beetle fell, to a spot about 
 three inches to the westward of its former position. Taking, 
 now, the tape-measure from the nearest point of the trunk to 
 the peg, as before, and continuing the extension in a straight 
 line to the distance of fifty feet, a spot was indicated, removed, 
 by several yards, from the point at which we had been digging. 
 
 Around the new position a circle, somewhat larger than in 
 the former instance, was now described, and we again set to 
 work with the spades. I was dreadfully weary, but, scarcely 
 understanding what had occasioned the change in my thoughts, 
 I felt no longer any great aversion from the labor imposed. 
 I had become most unaccountably interested — nay, even 
 excited. Perhaps there was something, amid all the extrava- 
 gant demeanor of Legrand — some air of forethought, or of 
 deliberation, which impressed me. I dug eagerly, and now 
 and then caught myself actually looking, with something that 
 very much resembled expectation, for the fancied treasure, the 
 vision of which had demented my unfortunate companion. 
 At a period when such vagaries of thought most fully possessed 
 me, and when we had been at work perhaps an hour and a half, 
 we were again interrupted by the violent howHngs of the dog. 
 His uneasiness, in the first instance, had been, evidently, but 
 the result of playfulness or caprice, but he now assumed a bit- 
 ter and serious tone. Upon Jupiter's again attempting to 
 muzzle him, he made furious resistance, and, leaping into the 
 
I50 
 
 hole, tore up the mould frantically with his claws. In a few 
 seconds he had uncovered a mass of human bones, forming two 
 complete skeletons, intermingled with several buttons of metal, 
 and what appeared to be the dust of decayed woollen. One 
 or two strokes of a spade upturned the blade of a large Spanish 
 knife, and, as we dug farther, three or four loose pieces of gold 
 and silver coin came to Hght. 
 
 At sight of these the joy of Jupiter could scarcely be re- 
 strained, but the countenance of his master wore an air of 
 extreme disappointment. He urged us, however, to continue 
 our exertions, and the words were hardly uttered when I 
 stumbled and fell forward, having caught the toe of my boot 
 in a large ring of iron that lay half buried in the loose earth. 
 
 We now worked in earnest, and never did I pass ten minutes 
 of more intense excitement. During this interval we had fairly 
 unearthed an oblong chest of wood, which, from its perfect 
 preservation and wonderful hardness, had plainly been sub- 
 jected to some mineralizing process — perhaps that of the 
 Bi-chloride of Mercury. This box was three feet and a half 
 long, three feet broad, and two and a half feet deep. It was 
 firmly secured by bands of wrought iron, riveted, and forming 
 a kind of treUis-work over the whole. On each side of the 
 chest, near the top, were three rings of iron ^— six in all — by 
 means of which a firm hold could be obtained by six persons. 
 Our utmost united endeavors served only to disturb the coffer 
 very slightly in its bed. We at once saw the impossibility of 
 removing so great a weight. Luckily, the sole fastenings of 
 the lid consisted of two sliding bolts. These we drew back 
 — 'trembling and panting with anxiety. In an instant, a 
 treasure of incalculable value lay gleaming before us. As the 
 rays of the lanterns fell within the pit, there flashed upwards, 
 from a confused heap of gold and of jewels, a glow and a glare 
 that absolutely dazzled our eyes. 
 
 I shall not pretend to describe the feelings with which I 
 gazed. Amazement was, of course, predominant. Legrand 
 
THE GOLD-BUG 151 
 
 appeared exhausted with excitement, and spoke very few words. 
 Jupiter's countenance wore, for some minutes, as deadly a 
 pallor as it is possible, in the nature of things, for any negro's 
 visage to assume. He seemed stupefied — thunder-stricken. 
 Presently he fell upon his knees in the pit, and, burying his 
 naked arms up to the elbows in gold, let them there remain, 
 as if enjoying the luxury of a bath. At length, with a deep 
 sigh, he exclaimed, as if in a soliloquy, 
 
 "And dis all cum ob de goole-bug! de putty goole-bug! 
 de poor Httle goole-bug, what I boosed in dat sabage kind ob 
 style! Aint you shamed ob yourself, nigger? — answer me 
 dat!" 
 
 It became necessary, at last, that I should arouse both master 
 and valet to the expediency of removing the treasure. It was 
 growing late, and it behooved us to make exertion, that we 
 might get everything housed before daylight. It was difficult 
 to say what should be done; and much time was spent in 
 deliberation — so confused were the ideas of all. We, finally, 
 lightened the box by removing two-thirds of its contents, when 
 we were enabled, with some trouble, to raise it from the hole. 
 The articles taken out were deposited among the brambles, 
 and the dog left to guard them, with strict orders from Jupiter 
 neither, upon any pretence, to stir from the spot, nor to open 
 his mouth until our return. We then hurriedly made for home 
 with the chest; reaching the hut in safety, but after excessive 
 toil, at one o'clock in the morning. Worn out as we were, it 
 was not in human nature to do more just then. We rested 
 until two, and had supper; starting for the hills immediately 
 afterwards, armed with three stout sacks, which, by good luck, 
 were upon the premises. A little before four we arrived at the 
 pit, divided the remainder of the booty, as equally as might 
 be, among us, and, leaving the holes unfilled, again set out for 
 the hut, at which, for the second time, we deposited our golden 
 burdens, just as the first streaks of the dawn gleamed from over 
 the tree-tops in the East. 
 
152 poe's tales 
 
 We were now thoroughly broken down; but the intense 
 excitement of the time denied us repose. After an unquiet 
 slumber of some three or four hours' duration, we arose, as if 
 by preconcert, to make examination of our treasure. 
 
 The chest had been full to the brim, and we spent the whole 
 day, and the greater part of the next night, in a scrutiny of 
 its contents. There had been nothing like order or arrange- 
 ment. Everything had been heaped in promiscuously. Hav- 
 ing assorted all with care, we found ourselves possessed of 
 even vaster wealth than we had at first supposed. In coin 
 there was rather more than four hundred and fifty thousand 
 dollars — estimating the value of the pieces, as accurately as 
 we could, by the tables of the period. There was not a particle 
 of silver. All was gold of antique date and of great variety — 
 French, Spanish, and Geraian money, with a few English 
 guineas, and some counters, of which we had never seen speci- 
 mens before. There were several very large and heavy coins, 
 so worn that we could make nothing of their inscriptions. 
 There was no American money. The value of the jewels we 
 found more difficulty in estimating. There were diamonds — 
 some of them exceedingly large and fine — a hundred and ten 
 in all, and not one of them small; eighteen rubies of remarkable 
 brilliancy; — three hundred and ten emeralds, all very beautiful; 
 and twenty-one sapphires, with an opal. These stones had 
 all been broken from their settings and thrown loose in the 
 chest. The settings themselves, which we picked out from 
 among the other gold, appeared to have been beaten up with 
 hammers, as if to prevent identification. Besides all this, 
 there was a vast quantity of solid gold ornaments; — nearly 
 two hundred massive finger and ear-rings; — rich chains 
 — thirty of these, if I remember; — eighty-three very large 
 and heavy crucifixes; — five gold censers of great value; — a 
 prodigious golden punch-bowl, ornamented with richly chased 
 vine-leaves and Bacchanalian figures; with two sword-handles 
 exquisitely embossed, and many other smaller articles which I 
 
THE GOLD-BUG 1 53 
 
 cannot recollect. The weight of these valuables exceeded 
 three hundred and fifty pounds avoirdupois; and in this 
 estimate I have not included one hundred and ninety-seven 
 superb gold watches; three of the nmnber being worth each 
 five hundred dollars, if one. Many of them were very old, and 
 as time keepers valueless; the works having suffered more or 
 less from corrosion — but all were richly jewelled and in cases 
 of great worth. We estimated the entire contents of the chest, 
 that night, at a milUon and a half of dollars; and, upon the 
 subsequent disposal of the trinkets and jewels (a few being 
 retained for our own use), it was found that we had greatly 
 undervalued the treasure. 
 
 When, at length, we had concluded our examination, and 
 the intense excitement of the time had, in some measure, 
 subsided, Legrand, who saw that I was dying with impatience 
 for a solution of this most extraordinary riddle, entered into 
 a full detail of all the circumstances connected with it. 
 
 "You remember," said he, "the night when I handed you 
 the rough sketch I had made of the scarahceus. You recollect 
 also, that I became quite vexed at you for insisting that my 
 drawing resembled a death's-head. When you first made this 
 assertion I thought you were jesting; but afterwards I called 
 to mind the peculiar spots on the back of the insect, and ad- 
 mitted to myself that your remark had some little foundation 
 in fact. Still, the sneer at my graphic powers irritated me 
 — for I am considered a good artist — and, therefore, when 
 you handed me the scrap of parchment, I was about to crumple 
 it up and throw it angrily into the fire." 
 
 "The scrap of paper, you mean," said I. 
 
 "No: it had much of the appearance of paper, and at first 
 I supposed it to be such, but when I came to draw upon it, 
 I discovered it, at once, to be a piece of very thin parchment. 
 It was quite dirty, you remember. Well, as I was in the very 
 act of crumpling it up, my glance fell upon the sketch at which 
 you had been looking, and you may imagine my astonishment 
 
154 poe's tales 
 
 when I perceived, in fact, the figure of a death's-head just 
 where, it seemed to me, I had made the drawing of the beetle. 
 For a moment I was too much amazed to think with accuracy. 
 I knew that my design was very different in detail from this 
 — although there was a certain similarity in general outline. 
 Presently I took a candle, and seating myself at the other end 
 of the room, proceeded to scrutinize the parchment more closely. 
 Upon turning it over, I saw my own sketch upon the reverse, 
 just as I had made it. My first idea, now, was mere surprise 
 at the really remarkable similarity of outline — at the singular 
 coincidence involved in the fact that, unknown to me, there 
 should have been a skull upon the other side of the parchment, 
 immediately beneath my figure of the scarabceus, and that this 
 skull, not only in outline, but in size, should so closely resemble 
 my drawing. I say the singularity of this coincidence ab- 
 solutely stupefied me for a time. This is the usual effect of 
 such coincidences. The mind struggles to establish a con- 
 nection — a sequence of cause and effect — and, being unable 
 to do so, suffers a species of temporary paralysis. But, when 
 I recovered from this stupor, there dawned upon me gradually 
 a conviction which startled me even far more than the coin- 
 cidence. I began distinctly, positively, to remember that 
 there had been no drawing on the parchment when I made my 
 sketch of the scarabcBus. I became perfectly certain of this; 
 for I recollected turning up first one side and then the other, 
 in search of the cleanest spot. Had the skull been then there, 
 of course I could not have failed to notice it. Here was indeed 
 a mystery which I felt it impossible to explain; but, even at 
 that early moment, there seemed to ghmmer, faintly, within 
 the most remote and secret chambers of my intellect, a glow- 
 worm-like conception of that truth which last night's ad- 
 venture brought to so magnificent a demonstration. I arose 
 at once, and, putting the parchment securely away, dismissed 
 all farther reflection until I should be alone. 
 
 "When you had gone, and when Jupiter was fast asleep, 
 
THE GOLD-BUG 15$ 
 
 I betook myself to a more methodical investigation of the 
 affair. In the first place I considered the manner in which 
 the parchment had come into my possession. The spot where 
 we discovered the scarahceus was on the coast of the main- 
 land, about a mile eastward of the island, and but a short 
 distance above high-water mark. Upon my taking hold of it, 
 it gave me a sharp bite, which caused me to let it drop. Jupiter, 
 with his accustomed caution, before seizing the insect, which 
 had flown towards him, looked about him for a leaf, or some- 
 thing of that nature, by which to take hold of it. It was at 
 this moment that his eyes, and mine also, fell upon the scrap 
 of parchment, which I then supposed to be paper. It was 
 lying half-buried in the sand, a corner sticking up. Near the 
 spot where we found it, I observed the remnants of the hull of 
 what appeared to have been a ship's long boat. The wreck 
 seemed to have been there for a very great while; for the re- 
 semblance to boat timbers could scarcely be traced. 
 
 "Well, Jupiter picked up the parchment, wrapped the beetle 
 in it, and gave it to me. Soon afterwards we turned to go 
 
 home, and on the way met Lieutenant G . I showed him 
 
 the insect, and he begged me to let him take it to the fort. 
 On my consenting, he thrust it forthwith into his waistcoat 
 pocket, without the parchment in which it had been wrapped, 
 and which I had continued to hold in my hand during his in- 
 spection. Perhaps he dreaded my changing my mind, and 
 thought it best to make sure of the prize at once — you 
 know how enthusiastic he is on all subjects connected with 
 Natural History. At the same time, without being con- 
 scious of it, I must have deposited the parchment in my own 
 pocket. 
 
 "You remember that when I went to the table, for the 
 purpose of making a sketch of the beetle, I found no paper 
 where it was usually kept. I looked in the drawer, and found 
 none there. I searched my pockets, hoping to find an old 
 letter — and then my hand fell upon the parchment. I thus 
 
156 poe's tales 
 
 detail the precise mode in which it came into my possession; 
 for the circumstances impressed me with peculiar force. 
 
 "No doubt you will think me fanciful — but I had already 
 established a kind of connection. I had put together two links 
 of a great chain. There was a boat lying on a sea-coast, and 
 not far from the boat was a parchment — not a paper — with 
 a skull depicted on it. You will, of course, ask 'where is the 
 connection?' I reply that the skull, or death's-head, is the 
 well-known emblem of the pirate. The flag of the death's- 
 head is hoisted in all engagements. 
 
 "I have said that the scrap was parchment, and not paper. 
 Parchment is durable — almost imperishable. Matters of 
 little moment are rarely consigned to parchment; since, for 
 the mere ordinary purposes of drawing or writing, it is not 
 nearly so well adapted as paper. This reflection suggested some 
 meaning — some relevancy — in the death's-head, I did not 
 fail to observe, also, the form of the parchment. Although 
 one of its corners had been, by some accident, destroyed, it 
 could be seen that the original form was oblong. It was just 
 such a slip, indeed, as might have been chosen for a memoran- 
 dum — for a record of something to be long remembered and 
 carefully preserved. " 
 
 "But," I interposed, "you say that the skull was not upon 
 the parchment when you made the drawing of the beetle. How 
 then do you trace any connection between the boat and the 
 skull — since this latter, according to your own admission, 
 must have been designed (God only knows how or by whom) 
 at some period subsequent to your sketching the scarabceus?'' 
 
 "Ah, hereupon turns the whole mystery; although the secret, 
 at this point, I had comparatively little difficulty in solving. 
 My steps were sure, and could afford but a single result. I 
 reasoned, for example, thus: When I drew the scarabceus, 
 there was no skull apparent on the parchment. When I 
 had completed the drawing, I gave it to you, and observed 
 you narrowly until you returned it. You, therefore, did not 
 
THE GOLD-BUG 1 57 
 
 design the skull, and no one else was present to do it. Then it 
 was not done by human agency. And nevertheless it was done. 
 
 "At this stage of my reflections I endeavored to remember, 
 and did remember, with entire distinctness, every incident 
 which occurred about the period in question. The weather 
 was chilly (oh, rare and happy accident!), and a fire was blazing 
 on the hearth. I was heated with exercise and sat near the 
 table. You, however, had drawn a chair close to the chimney. 
 Just as I placed the parchment in your hand, and as you were 
 in the act of inspecting it. Wolf, the Newfoundland, entered, 
 and leaped upon your shoulders. With your left hand you 
 caressed him and kept him off, while your right, holding the 
 parchment, w^as permitted to fall listlessly between your knees, 
 and in close proximity to the fire. At one moment I thought 
 the blaze had caught it, and was about to caution you, but, 
 before I could speak, you had withdrawn it, and were engaged 
 in its examination. When I considered all these particulars, 
 I doubted not for a moment that heat had been the agent in 
 bringing to light, on the parchment, the skull which I saw 
 designed on it. You are well aware that chemical preparations 
 exist, and have existed time out of mind, by means of which it 
 is possible to write on either paper or vellum, so that the 
 characters shall become visible only when subjected to the 
 action of fire. Zaffre, digested in aqua regia, and diluted with 
 four times its weight of water, is sometimes employed; a green 
 tint results. The regulus of cobalt, dissolved in spirit of nitre, 
 gives a red. These colors disappear at longer or shorter in- 
 tervals after the material written upon cools, but again become 
 apparent upon the re-application of heat. 
 
 "I now scrutinized the death's-head with care. Its outer 
 edges — the edges of the drawing nearest the edge of the vel- 
 lum — were far more distinct than the others. It was clear 
 that the action of the caloric had been imperfect or unequal. 
 I immediately kindled a fire, and subjected every portion of 
 the parchment to a glowing heat. At first, the only effect was 
 
158 poe's tales 
 
 the strengthening of the faint lines in the skull; but, on per- 
 severing in the experiment, there became visible, at the corner 
 of the slip, diagonally opposite to the spot in which the death's- 
 head was delineated, the figure of what I at first supposed to 
 be a goat. A closer scrutiny, however, satisfied me that it 
 was intended for a kid." 
 
 " Ha! ha!" said I, "to be sure I have no right to laugh at 
 
 you — a million and a half of 'money is too serious a matter 
 
 for mirth — but you are not about to estabhsh a third Hnk in 
 
 your chain — you will not find any especial connection between 
 
 your pirates and a goat — pirates, you know, have nothing 
 
 to do with goats; they appertain to the farming interest." 
 
 "But I have just said that the figure was not that of a goat." 
 
 "Well a kid then — pretty much the same thing." 
 
 "Pretty much, but not altogether," said Legrand. "You 
 
 may have heard of one Captain Kidd. I at once looked on the 
 
 figure of the animal as a kind of punning or hieroglyphical 
 
 signature. I say signature; because its position on the vellum 
 
 suggested this idea. The death's-head at the corner diagonally 
 
 opposite, had, in the same manner, the air of a stamp, or seal. 
 
 But I was sorely put out by the absence of all else — of the 
 
 body to my imagined instrument — of the text for my context. " 
 
 "I presume you expected to find a letter between the stamp 
 
 and the signature. " 
 
 "Something of that kind. The fact is, I felt irresistibly 
 impressed with a presentiment of some vast good fortune im- 
 pending. I can scarcely say why. Perhaps, after all, it was 
 rather a desire than an actual behef ; — but do you know that 
 Jupiter's silly words, about the bug being of soHd gold, had a 
 remarkable effect on my fancy? And then the series of ac- 
 cidents and coincidences — these were so very extraordinary. 
 Do you observe how mere an accident it was that these events 
 should have occurred on the sole day of all the year in which 
 it has been, or may be, sufficiently cool for fire, and that with- 
 out the fire, or without the intervention of the dog at the pre- 
 
THE GOLD-BUG 1 59 
 
 cise moment in which he appeared, I should never have become 
 aware of the death's-head, and so never the possessor of the 
 treasure?" 
 
 "But proceed — I am all impatience." 
 
 "Well; you have heard, of course, the many stories current 
 — the thousand vague rumors afloat about money buried, 
 somewhere on the Atlantic coast, by Kidd and his associates. 
 These rumors must have had some foundation in fact. And 
 that the rumors have existed so long and so continuously could 
 have resulted, it appeared to me, only from the circumstance 
 of the buried treasure still remaining entombed. Had Kidd 
 concealed his plunder for a time, and afterwards reclaimed it, 
 the rumors would scarcely have reached us in their present 
 unvarying form. You will observe that the stories told are 
 all about money-seekers, not about money-finders. Had the 
 pirate recovered his money, there the affair would have dropped. 
 It seemed to me that some accident — say the loss of a memo- 
 randum indicating its locality — had deprived him of the means 
 of recovering it, and that this accident had become known to 
 his followers, who otherwise might never have heard that 
 treasure had been concealed at all, and who, busying themselves 
 in vain, because unguided, attempts to regain it, had given first 
 birth, and then universal currency, to the reports which are 
 now so common. Have you ever heard of any important 
 treasure being unearthed along the coast? " 
 
 "Never." 
 
 "But that'Kidd's accumulations were immense, is well 
 known. I took it for granted, therefore, that the earth still 
 held them; and you will scarcely be surprised when I tell 
 you that I felt a hope, nearly amounting to certainty, that 
 the parchment so strangely found involved a lost record of 
 the place of deposit." 
 
 "But how did you proceed?" 
 
 "I held the vellum again to the fire, after increasing the 
 heat; but nothing appeared. I now thought it possible that 
 
i6o poe's tales 
 
 the coating of dirt might have something to do with the failure; 
 so I carefully rinsed the parchment by pouring warm water over 
 it, and, having done this, I placed it in a tin pan, with the 
 skull downwards, and put the pan upon a furnace of lighted 
 charcoal. In a few minutes, the pan having become thoroughly 
 heated, I removed the sHp, and, to 'my inexpressible joy, 
 found it spotted, in several places, with what appeared to be 
 figures arranged in lines. Again I placed it in the pan, and 
 suffered it to remain another minute. Upon taking it off, 
 the whole was just as you see it now." 
 
 Here Legrand, having reheated the parchment, submitted 
 it to my inspection. The following characters were rudely 
 traced, in a red tint, between the death's-head and the goat: 
 
 53ttt30S))6*;4826)4t)4l);8o6*;48t8lI6o))85;8;]*:t*8t83(88)5*t;46(;88*96 
 *?;8)n(;485);S*t2:*t(;4956*2(5*— 4)8l[8*;4o69285);)6t8)4tJ;i(t9;48o8i;8:8 
 Ji;48t8s;4)48stS288o6*8ia9;48;(88;4(t?34;48)4t;i6i;:i88;t?; 
 
 "But," said I, returning him the slip, "I am as much in the 
 dark as ever. Were all the jewels of Golconda awaiting me 
 on my solution of this enigma, I am quite sure that I should be 
 unable to earn them." 
 
 "And yet," said Legrand, "the solution is by no means so 
 difficult as you might be led to imagine from the first hasty 
 inspection of the characters. These characters, as any one 
 might readily guess, form a cipher — that is to say, they con- 
 vey a meaning; but then, from what is known of Kidd, I 
 could not suppose him capable of constructing any of the more 
 abstruse cryptographs. I made up my mind, at once, that 
 this was of a simple species — such, however, as would appear, 
 to the crude intellect of the sailor, absolutely insoluble without 
 the key." 
 
 "And you really solved it?" 
 
 "Readily; I have solved others of an abstruseness ten thou- 
 sand times greater. Circumstances, and a certain bias of 
 mind, have led me to take interest in such riddles, and it may 
 
THE GOLD-BUG l6l 
 
 well be doubted whether human ingenuity can construct an 
 enigma of the kind which human ingenuity may not, by proper 
 appHcation, resolve. In fact, having once established con- 
 nected and legible characters, I scarcely gave a thought to the 
 mere difficulty of developing their import. 
 
 "In the present case — indeed in all cases of secret writing 
 — the first question regards the language of the cipher; for the 
 principles of solution, so far, especially, as the more simple 
 ciphers are concerned, depend on, and are varied by, the genius 
 of the particular idiom. In general, there is no alternative 
 but experiment (directed by probabilities) of every tongue 
 known to him who attempts the solution, until the true one be 
 attained. But, with the cipher now before us, all difficulty is 
 removed by the signature. The pun upon the word 'Kid' is 
 appreciable in no other language than the English. But for 
 this consideration I should have begun my attempts with the 
 Spanish and French, as the tongues in which a secret of this 
 kind would most naturally have been written by a pirate of 
 the Spanish main. As it was, I assumed the cryptograph to 
 be English. 
 
 "You observe there are no divisions between the words. 
 Had there been divisions, the task would have been compara- 
 tively easy. In such case I should have commenced with a 
 collation and analysis of the shorter words, and, had a word 
 of a single letter occurred, as is most likely, (a or /, for ex- 
 ample,) I should have considered the solution as assured. 
 But, there being no division, my first step was to ascertain 
 the predominant letters, as well as the least frequent. Count- 
 ing all, I constructed a table, thus: 
 
 Of the character ti there are 8 
 
 Of the character 8 there are S3- 
 
 ; 
 
 26. 
 
 4 
 
 19. 
 
 $) 
 
 16. 
 
 * 
 
 " 13- 
 
 5 
 
 " 12. 
 
 6 
 
 " II. 
 
 o 
 
 92 
 
 ■3 
 ? 
 
1 62 poe's tales 
 
 "Now, in English, the letter which most frequently occurs 
 is e. Afterwards the succession runs thus: aoidhnrstuy 
 cfglmwbkpqxz. E, however, predominates so remark- 
 ably that an individual sentence of any length is rarely seen, 
 in which it is not the prevailing character. 
 
 "Here, then, we have, in the very beginning, the ground- 
 work for something more than a mere guess. The general use 
 which may be made of the table is obvious — but, in this 
 particular cipher, we shall only very partially require its 
 aid. As our predominant character is 8, we will commence 
 by assuming it as the e of the natural alphabet. To 
 verify the supposition, let us observe if the 8 be seen 
 often in couples — for e is doubled with great frequency in 
 English — in such words, for example, as 'meet,' 'fleet,' 
 'speed,' 'seen,' 'been,' 'agree,' etc. In the present instance 
 we see it doubled no less than five times, although the crypto- 
 graph is brief. 
 
 "Let us assume 8, then, as e. Now, of all words in the lan- 
 guage, 'the' is most usual; let us see, therefore, whether there 
 are not repetitions of any three characters, in the same order of 
 collocation, the last of them being 8. If we discover repetitions 
 of such letters, so arranged, they will most probably represent 
 the word 'the.' On inspection, we find no less than seven 
 such arrangements, the characters being ;48. We may, there- 
 fore, assume that the semicolon represents t, that 4 represents 
 h, and that 8 represents e — the last being now well confirmed. 
 Thus a great step has been taken. 
 
 "But, having established a single word, we are enabled to 
 establish a vastly important point; that is to say, several 
 commencements and terminations of other words. Let us 
 refer, for example, to the last instance but one, in which the 
 combination ;48 occurs — not far from the end of the cipher. 
 We know that the semicolon immediately ensuing is the com- 
 mencement of a word, and, of the six characters succeeding 
 this 'the,' we are cognizant of no less than five. Let us set 
 
THE GOLD-BUG 1 63 
 
 these characters down, thus, by the letters we know them to 
 represent, leaving a space for the unknown — 
 
 t eeth. 
 
 "Here we are enabled, at once, to discard the Hh,^ as form- 
 ing no portion of the word commencing with the first /; since, 
 by experiment of the entire alphabet for a letter adapted to 
 the vacancy, we perceive that no word can be formed of which 
 this th can be a part. We are thus narrowed into 
 
 t ee, 
 
 and, going through the alphabet, if necessary, as before, we 
 arrive at the word 'tree,' as the sole possible reading. We 
 thus gain another letter, r, represented by (, with the words 
 'the tree' in juxtaposition. 
 
 "Looking beyond these words, for a short distance, we again 
 see the combination 148, and employ it by way of termination to 
 what immediately precedes. We have thus this arrangement: 
 
 the tree ;4(|?34 the, 
 or, substituting the natural letters, where known, it reads thus: 
 
 the tree thr t?3h the. 
 
 "Now, if, in place of the unknown characters, we leave 
 blank spaces, or substitute dots, we read thus: 
 
 the tree thr ... h the, 
 
 when the word 'through^ makes itself evident at once. But 
 this discovery gives us three new letters, 0, u and g, represented 
 by t, ? and 3. 
 
 "Looking now, narrowly, through the cipher for com- 
 binations of known characters, we find, not very far from the 
 beginning, this arrangement: 
 
 83(88, or egree, 
 
 which, plainly, is the conclusion of the word 'degree,* and 
 gives us another letter, d, represented by f. 
 
164 poe's tales 
 
 "Four letters beyond the word 'degree,' we perceive the 
 combination 
 
 ;46(;88* 
 
 "Translating the known characters, and representing the 
 unknown by dots, as before, we read thus: 
 
 th . rtee . 
 
 an arrangement immediately suggestive of the word ' thirteen, ' 
 and again furnishing us with two new characters, i and n, 
 represented by 6 and *. 
 
 "Referring, now, to the beginning of the cryptograph, we 
 find the combination, 
 
 SoHt. 
 
 "Translating, as before, we obtain 
 
 . good, 
 
 which assures us that the first letter is A, and that the first 
 two words are ' A good. ' 
 
 "To avoid confusion, it is now time that we arrange our key, 
 as far as discovered, in a tabular form. It will stand thus: 
 
 5 represents a 
 t " d 
 8 " e 
 
 3 " g 
 
 4 " h 
 
 6 " i 
 * " n 
 t " o 
 ( " r 
 
 t 
 
 "We have, therefore, no less than ten of the most important 
 letters represented, and it will be unnecessary to proceed with 
 the details of the solution. I have said enough to convince 
 you that ciphers of this nature are readily soluble, and to give 
 you some insight into the rationale of their development. But 
 be assured that the specimen before us appertains to the very 
 simplest species of cryptograph. It now only remains to give 
 
THE GOLD-BUG 165 
 
 you the full translation of the characters upon the parchment, 
 as unriddled. Here it is: 
 
 '"A good glass in the bishops s hostel in the deviVs seat twenty 
 one degrees and thirteen minutes northeast and by jzorth main 
 branch seventh limb east side shoot from the left eye of the death's- 
 head a bee line from the tree through the shot fifty feet out.'" 
 
 "But," said I, "the enigma seems still in as bad a condition 
 as ever. How is it possible to extort a meaning from all this 
 jargon about 'devil's seats,' Meath's-heads, ' and 'bishop's 
 hostel?'" 
 
 "I confess," replied Legrand, "that the matter still wears 
 a serious aspect, when regarded with a casual glance. My 
 first endeavor was to divide the sentence into the natural 
 division intended by the cryptographist. " 
 
 "You mean, to punctuate it?" 
 
 "Something of that kind." 
 
 "But how is it possible to effect this?" 
 
 "I reflected that it had been a point with the writer to run 
 his words together without division, so as to increase the diffi- 
 culty of solution. Now, a not over-acute man, in pursuing 
 such an object, would be nearly certain to overdo the matter. 
 When, in the course of his composition, he arrived at a break 
 in his subject which would naturally require a pause, or a 
 point, he would be exceedingly apt to run his characters, at 
 this place, more than usually close together. If you will ob- 
 serve the MS., in the present instance, you will easily detect 
 five such cases of unusual crowding. Acting on this hint, I 
 made the division thus: 
 
 '"A good glass in the Bishop's hostel in the DeviVs seat — 
 twenty-one degrees and thirteen minutes — northeast and by 
 north — main branch seventh limb east side — shoot from the 
 left eye of the death's-head — a bee-line from the tree through the 
 shot fifty feet out. ' " 
 
 "Even this division," said I, "leaves me still in the dark." 
 
 " It left me also in the dark," replied Legrand, " for a few days; 
 
i66 
 
 during which I made dihgent inquiry, in the neighborhood of 
 Sullivan's Island, for any building which went by the name of 
 the 'Bishop's Hotel;' for, of course, I dropped the obsolete 
 word 'hostel.' Gaining no information on the subject, I was 
 on the point of extending my sphere of search, and proceed- 
 ing in a more systematic manner, when, one morning, it entered 
 into my head, quite suddenly, that this 'Bishop's Hostel' 
 might have some reference to an old family, of the name of 
 Bessop, which, time out of mind, had held possession of an 
 ancient manor-house, about four miles to the northward of 
 the Island. I accordingly went over to the plantation, and 
 reinstituted my inquiries among the older negroes of the place. 
 At length one of the most aged of the women said that she had 
 heard of such a place as Bessop's Castle, and thought that she 
 could guide me to it, but that it was not a castle, nor a tavern, 
 but a high rock. 
 
 "I offered to pay her well for her trouble, and, after some 
 demur, she consented to accompany me to the spot. We 
 found it without much difficulty, when, dismissing her, I pro- 
 ceeded to examine the place. The 'castle' consisted of an 
 irregular assemblage of cHffs and rocks — one of the latter 
 being quite remarkable for its height as well as for its in- 
 sulated and artificial appearance. I clambered to its apex, 
 and then felt much at a loss as to what should be next done. 
 
 "While I was busied in reflection, my eyes fell upon a nar- 
 row ledge in the eastern face of the rock, perhaps a yard below 
 the summit upon which I stood. This ledge projected about 
 eighteen inches, and was not more than a foot wide, while a 
 niche in the cliff just above it, gave it a rude resemblance to 
 one of the hollow-backed chairs used by our ancestors. I 
 made no doubt that here was the ' devil's-seat ' alluded to in 
 the MS., and now I seemed to grasp the full secret of the 
 riddle. 
 
 "The 'good glass,' I knew, could have reference to nothing 
 but a telescope; for the word 'glass' is rarely employed in any 
 
THE GOLD-BUG 167 
 
 Other sense by seamen. Now here, I at once saw, was a tele- 
 scope to be used, and a definite point of view, admitting no 
 variation, from which to use it. Nor did I hesitate to beheve 
 that the phrases 'twenty-one degrees and thirteen minutes,' 
 and 'northeast and by north,' were intended as directions for 
 the levelhng of the glass. Greatly excited by these discoveries, 
 I hurried home, procured a telescope, and returned to the rock. 
 
 "I let myself down to the ledge, and found that it was im- 
 possible to retain a seat on it unless in one particular position. 
 This fact confirmed my preconceived idea. I proceeded to 
 use the glass. Of course, the 'twenty-one degrees and thir- 
 teen minutes' could allude to nothing but elevation above 
 the visible horizon, since the horizontal direction was clearly 
 indicated by the words, ' northeast and by north. ' This latter 
 direction I at once estabHshed by means of a pocket-compass; 
 then, pointing the glass as nearly at an angle of twenty-one 
 degrees of elevation as I could do it by guess, I moved it 
 cautiously up or down, until my attention was arrested by a 
 circular rift or opening in the foliage of a large tree that over- 
 topped its fellows in the distance. In the centre of this rift 
 I perceived a white spot, but could not, at first, distinguish 
 what it was. Adjusting the focus of the telescope, I again 
 looked, and now made it out to be a human skull. 
 
 "On this discovery I was so sanguine as to consider the 
 enigma solved; for the phrase 'main branch, seventh limb, 
 east side,' could refer only to the position of the skull on the 
 tree, while 'shoot from the left eye of the death's-head' ad- 
 mitted, also, of but one interpretation, in regard to a search 
 for buried treasure. I perceived that the design was to drop a 
 bullet from the left eye of the skull, and that a bee-Une, or, 
 in other words, a straight line, drawn from the nearest point 
 of the trunk through 'the shot,' (or the spot where the bullet 
 fell,) and thence extended to a distance of fifty feet, would 
 indicate a definite point — and beneath this point I thought 
 it at least possible that a deposit of value lay concealed." 
 
i68 poe's tales 
 
 "All this," I said, "is exceedingly clear, and, although in- 
 genious, still simple and explicit. When you left the Bishop's 
 Hotel, what then?" 
 
 "Why, having carefully taken the bearings of the tree, I 
 turned homewards. The instant that I left 'the devil's seat,' 
 however, the circular rift vanished ; nor could I get a glimpse of 
 it afterwards, turn as I would. What seems to me the chief 
 ingenuity in this whole business, is the fact (for repeated experi- 
 ment has convinced me it is a fact) that the circular opening 
 in question is visible from no other attainable point of view 
 than that afforded by the narrow ledge on the face of the rock. 
 
 "In this expedition to the 'Bishop's Hotel' I had been at- 
 tended by Jupiter, who had, no doubt, observed, for some 
 weeks past, the abstraction of my demeanor, and took especial 
 care not to leave me alone. But, on the next day, getting up 
 very early, I contrived to give him the slip, and went into the 
 hills in search of the tree. After much toil I found it. When 
 I came home at night my valet proposed to give me a flog- 
 ging. With the rest of the adventure I believe you are as 
 well acquainted as myself." 
 
 "I suppose," said I, "you missed the spot, in the first at- 
 tempt at digging, through Jupiter's stupidity in letting the 
 bug fall through the right instead of through the left eye of 
 theskuU." 
 
 "Precisely. This mistake made a difference of about two 
 inches and a half in the ' shot ' — that is to say, in the position 
 of the peg nearest the tree; and had the treasure been beneath 
 the 'shot,' the error would have been of little moment; but 
 the 'shot,' together with the nearest point of the tree, were 
 merely two points for the establishment of a line of direction; 
 of course the error, however trivial in the beginning, increased 
 as we proceeded with the line, and, by the time we had gone 
 fifty feet, threw us quite off the scent. But for my deep- 
 seated convictions that treasure was here somewhere actually 
 buried, we might have had all our labor in vain." 
 
THE GOLD-BUG 169 
 
 "I presume the fancy of the skull — of letting fall a bullet 
 through the skull's eye — was suggested to Kidd by the pi- 
 ratical flag. No doubt he felt a kind of poetical consistency 
 in recovering his money through this ominous insignium." 
 
 "Perhaps so; still I cannot help thinking that common- 
 sense had quite as much to do with the matter as poetical 
 consistency. To be visible from the devil's-seat, it was neces- 
 sary that the object, if small, should be white; and there is 
 nothing like your human skull for retaining and even increasing 
 its whiteness under exposure to all vicissitudes of weather." 
 
 "But your grandiloquence, and your conduct in swinging 
 the beetle — how excessively odd! I was sure you were mad. 
 And why did you insist on letting fall the bug, instead of a 
 bullet, from the skull? " 
 
 " Why, to be frank, I felt somewhat annoyed by your 
 evident suspicions touching my sanity, and so resolved to 
 punish you quietly, in my own way, by a little bit of sober 
 mystification. For this reason I swung the beetle, and for 
 this reason I let it fall from the tree. An observation of yours 
 about its great weight suggested the latter idea." 
 
 "Yes, I perceive; and now there is only one point which 
 puzzles me. What are we to make of the skeletons found 
 in the hole?" 
 
 "That is a question I am no more able to answer than 
 yourself. There seems, however, only one plausible way 
 of accounting for them — and yet it is dreadful to beheve in 
 such atrocity as my suggestion would imply. It is clear that 
 Kidd — if Kidd indeed secreted this treasure, which I doubt 
 not — it is clear that he must have had assistance in the 
 labor. But, the worst of this labor concludedj he may have 
 thought it expedient to remove all participants in his secret. 
 Perhaps a couple of blows with a mattock were sufficient, 
 while his coadjutors were busy in the pit; perhaps it required 
 a dozen — who shall tell?" 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 
 
 Nil sapientias odiosius acumine nimio. 
 
 — Seneca. 
 
 At Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the autumn of 
 1 8 — , I was enjoying the twofold luxury of meditation and a 
 meerschaum, in company with my friend C. Auguste Dupin, in 
 his little back library, or book closet, au troisieme, No. jj, Rue 
 Dunot, Faubourg St. Germain. For one hour at least we had 
 maintained a profound silence; while each, to any casual 
 observer, might have seemed intently and exclusively occupied 
 with the curling eddies of smoke that oppressed the atmosphere 
 of the chamber. For myself, however, I was mentally dis- 
 cussing certain topics which had formed matter for conversa- 
 tion between us at an earher period of the evening: I mean the 
 affair of the Rue Morgue, and the mystery attending the murder 
 of Marie Roget. I looked upon it, therefore, as something of 
 a coincidence, when the door of our apartment was thrown 
 
 open and admitted our old acquaintance. Monsieur G , the 
 
 Prefect of the Parisian police. 
 
 We gave him a hearty welcome; for there was nearly half as 
 much of the entertaining as of the contemptible about the man, 
 and we had not seen him for several years. We had been 
 sitting in the dark, and Dupin now arose for the purpose of 
 lighting a lamp, but sat down again, without doing so, upon 
 
 G 's saying that he had called to consult us, or rather to ask 
 
 the opinion of my friend, about some official business which had 
 occasioned a great deal of trouble. 
 
 "If it is any point requiring reflection," observed Dupin, as 
 he forbore to enkindle the wick, "we shall examine it to better 
 purpose in the dark." 
 
 "That is another of your odd notions," said the Prefect, who 
 170 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 17I 
 
 had a fashion of calling everything "odd" that was beyond his 
 comprehension, and thus lived amid an absolute legion of 
 "oddities." 
 
 "Very true," said Dupin, as he suppHed his visiter with a 
 pipe, and rolled towards him a comfortable chair. 
 
 "And what is the difficulty now?" I asked. "Nothing more 
 in the assassination way, I hope?" 
 
 "Oh, no; nothing of that nature. The fact is, the business 
 is very simple indeed, and I make no doubt that we can manage 
 it sufficiently well ourselves; but then I thought Dupin would 
 like to hear the details of it, because it is so excessively odd." 
 
 "Simple and odd," said Dupin. 
 
 "Why, yes; and not exactly that, either. The fact is, we 
 have all been a good deal puzzled because the affair is so simple, 
 and yet baffles us altogether." 
 
 "Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the thing which puts you 
 at fault," said my friend. 
 
 "What nonsense you do talk!" replied the Prefect, laughing 
 heartily. 
 
 "Perhaps the mystery is a Httle too plain," said Dupin. 
 
 "Oh, good heavens! who ever heard of such an idea?" 
 
 "A little too self evident." 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha! — ha! ha! ha! — ho! ho! ho!"— roared our 
 visiter, profoundly amused, "oh, Dupin, you will be the death 
 of me yet!" 
 
 "And what, after all, is the matter on hand?" I asked. 
 
 "Why, I will tell you," repHed the Prefect, as he gave a long, 
 steady, and cojitemplative puff, and settled himself in his chair. 
 "I will tell you in a few words; but, before I begin, let me 
 caution you that this is an affair demanding the greatest secrecy, 
 and that I should most probably lose the position I now hold, 
 were it known that I confided it to any one." 
 
 "Proceed," said I. 
 
 "Or not," said Dupin. 
 
 "Well, then; I have received personal information, from a 
 
172 poe's tales 
 
 very high quarter, that a certain document of the last impor- 
 tance has been purloined from the royal apartments. The 
 individual who purloined it is known; this beyond a doubt; he 
 was seen to take it. It is known, also, that it still remains in 
 his possession." 
 
 "How is this known?" asked Dupin-. 
 
 "It is clearly inferred," replied the Prefect, "from the nature 
 of the document, and from the non-appearance of certain results 
 which would at once arise from its passing out of the robber's 
 possession; — that is to say, from his employing it as he must 
 design in the end to employ it." 
 
 "Be a Httle more explicit," I said. 
 
 "Well, I may venture so- far as to say that the paper gives its 
 holder a certain power in a certain quarter where such power is 
 immensely valuable." The Prefect was fond of the cant of 
 diplomacy. 
 
 " Still I do not quite understand," said Dupin. 
 
 "No? Well; the disclosure of the document to a third 
 person, who shall be nameless, would bring in question the 
 honor of a personage of most exalted station; and this fact gives 
 the holder of the document an ascendency over the illustrious 
 personage whose honor and peace are so jeopardized." 
 
 "But this ascendency," I interposed, "would depend upon 
 the robber's knowledge of the loser's knowledge of the robber. 
 Who would dare — " 
 
 "The thief," said G , "is the Minister D , who dares 
 
 all things, those unbecoming as well as those becoming a man. 
 The method of the theft was not less ingenious th9,n bold. The 
 document in question — a letter, to be frank — had been 
 received by the personage robbed while alone in the royal 
 boudoir. During its perusal she was suddenly interrupted by 
 the entrance of the other exalted personage, from whom 
 especially it was her wish to conceal it. After a hurried and 
 vain endeavor to thrust it in a drawer, she was forced to place 
 it, open as it was, upon a table. The address, however, was 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 1 73 
 
 uppermost, and, the contents thus unexposed, the letter escaped 
 
 notice. At this juncture enters the Minister D . His lynx 
 
 eye immediately perceives the paper, recognizes the hand- 
 writing of the address, observes the confusion of the personage 
 addressed, and fathoms her secret. After some business trans- 
 actions, hurried through in his ordinary manner, he produces a 
 letter somewhat similar to the one in question, opens it, pretends 
 to read it, and then places it in close juxtaposition to the other. 
 Again he converses, for some fifteen minutes, upon the pubHc 
 affairs. At length, in taking leave, he takes also from the table 
 the letter to which he had no claim. Its rightful owner saw, 
 but, of course, dared not call attention to the act, in the presence 
 of the third personage who stood at her elbow. The Minister 
 decamped; leaving his own letter — one of no importance — 
 upon the table." 
 
 "Here, then," said Dupin to me, "you have precisely what 
 you demand to make the ascendency complete — the robber's 
 knowledge of the loser's knowledge of the robber." 
 
 "Yes," repHed the Prefect; "and the power thus attained 
 has, for some months past, been wielded, for political purposes, 
 to a very dangerous extent. The personage robbed is more 
 thoroughly convinced, every day, of the necessity of reclaiming 
 her letter. But this, of course, cannot be done openly. In 
 fine, driven to despair, she has committed the matter to me." 
 
 "Than whom," said Dupin, amid a perfect whirlwind of 
 smoke, "no more sagacious agent could, I suppose, be desired, 
 or even imagined." 
 
 "You flatter me," replied the Prefect; "but it is possible 
 that some such opinion may have been entertained." 
 
 "It is clear," said I, "as you observe, that the letter is still 
 in possession of the minister; since it is this possession, and not 
 any employment of the letter, which bestows the power. With 
 the employment the power departs." 
 
 "True," said G ; "and upon this conviction I proceeded. 
 
 My first care was to make thorough search of the minister's 
 
174 POE'S TALES 
 
 hotel; and here my chief embarrassment lay in the necessity of 
 searching without his knowledge. Beyond all things, I have 
 been warned of the danger which would result from giving him 
 reason to suspect our design." 
 
 "But," said I, "you are quite au fait in these investigations. 
 The Parisian police have done this thing often before." 
 
 "Oh, yes; and for this reason I did not despair. The habits 
 of the minister gave me, too, a great advantage. He is fre- 
 quently absent from home all night. His servants are by no 
 means numerous. They sleep at a distance from their master's 
 apartment, and, being chiefly Neapohtans, are readily made 
 drunk. I have keys, as you know, with which I can open any 
 chamber or cabinet in Paris. For three months a night has not 
 passed, during the greater part of which I have not been en- 
 gaged, personally, in ransacking the D Hotel. My honor 
 
 is interested, and, to mention a great secret, the reward is 
 enormous. So I did not abandon the search until I had become 
 fully satisfied that the thief is a more astute man than myself. 
 I fancy that I have investigated every nook and corner of the 
 premises in which it is possible that the paper can be con- 
 cealed." 
 
 "But is it not possible," I suggested, "that although the letter 
 may be in possession of the minister, as it unquestionably is, he 
 may have concealed it elsewhere than upon his own premises? " 
 
 ' ' This is barely possible, ' ' said Dupin. "The present peculiar 
 condition of affairs at court, and especially of those intrigues in 
 
 which D is known to be involved, would render the instant 
 
 availabihty of the document — its susceptibihty of being pro- 
 duced at a moment's notice — a point of nearly equal impor- 
 tance with its possession." 
 
 "Its susceptibihty of being produced?" said I. 
 
 "That is to say, of being destroyed,^' said Dupin. 
 
 "True," I observed; "the paper is clearly then upon the 
 premises. As for its being upon the person of the minister, we 
 may consider that as out of the question." 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 1 75 
 
 "Entirely," said the Prefect. "He has been twice waylaid, 
 as if by footpads, and his person rigorously searched under my 
 own inspection." 
 
 "You might have spared yourself this trouble," said Dupin. 
 
 "D , I presume, is not altogether a fool, and, if not, must 
 
 have anticipated these waylayings, as a matter of course." 
 
 "Not altogether a fool," said G , "but then he's a poet, 
 
 which I take to be only one remove from a fool." 
 
 "True," said Dupin, after a long and thoughtful whiff from 
 his meerschaum, "although I have been guilty of certain dog- 
 gerel myself." 
 
 "Suppose you detail," said I, "the particulars of your 
 search." 
 
 "Why, the fact is, we took our time, and we searched every 
 where. I have had long experience in these affairs. I took the 
 entire building, room by room; devoting the nights of a whole 
 week to each. We examined, first, the furniture of each apart- 
 ment. We opened every possible drawer;* and I presume you 
 know that, to a properly trained poUce agent, such a thing as a 
 secret drawer is impossible. Any man is a dolt who permits a 
 'secret' drawer to escape him in a search of this kind. The 
 thing is so plain. There is a certain amount of bulk — of 
 space — to be accounted for in every cabinet. Then we have 
 accurate rules. The fiftieth part of a Hne could not escape us. 
 After the cabinets we took the chairs. The cushions we probed 
 with the fine long needles you have seen me employ. From the 
 tables we removed the tops." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 "Sometimes the top of a table, or other similarly arranged 
 piece of furniture, is removed by the person wishing to conceal 
 an article; then the leg is excavated, the article deposited within 
 the cavity, and the top replaced. The bottoms and tops of 
 bed-posts are employed in the same way." 
 
 "But could not the cavity be detected by sounding?" I 
 asked. 
 
176 poe's tales 
 
 "By no means, if, when the article is deposited, a sufficient 
 wadding of cotton be placed around it. Besides, in our case, we 
 were obliged to proceed without noise." 
 
 "But you could not have removed — you could not have 
 taken to pieces all articles of furniture in which it would have 
 been possible to make a deposit in the manner you mention. 
 A letter may be compressed in a thin spiral roll, not differing 
 much in shape or bulk from a large knitting-needle, and in this 
 form it might be inserted into the rung of a chair, for example. 
 You did not take to pieces all the chairs?" 
 
 "Certainly not; but we did better — we examined the rungs 
 of every chair in the hotel, and indeed, the jointings of every 
 description of furniture, by the aid of a most powerful micro- 
 scope. Had there been any traces of recent disturbance we 
 should not have failed to detect it instantly. A single grain of 
 gimlet-dust, for example, would have been as obvious as an 
 apple. Any disorder in the gluing — any unusual gaping in 
 the joints — "would have sufficed to insure detection." 
 
 "I presume you looked to the mirrors, between the boards 
 and the plates, and you probed the beds and the bed-clothes, as 
 well as the curtains and carpets?" 
 
 "That of course; and when we had absolutely completed 
 every particle of the furniture in this way, then we examined 
 the house itself. We divided its entire surface into compart- 
 ments, which we numbered, so that none might be missed; then 
 we scrutinized each individual square inch throughout the 
 premises, including the two houses immediately adjoining, with 
 the microscope, as before." 
 
 "The two houses adjoining!" I exclaimed; "you must have 
 had a great deal of trouble." 
 
 "We had; but the reward offered is prodigious." 
 
 "You include the grounds about the houses?" 
 
 "All the grounds are paved with brick. They gave us com- 
 paratively little trouble. We examined the moss between the 
 bricks, and found it undisturbed." 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 1 77 
 
 "You looked among D 's papers, of course, and into the 
 
 books of the library?" 
 
 "Certainly; we opened every package and parcel; we not 
 only opened every book, but we turned over every leaf in each 
 volume, not contenting ourselves with a mere shake, according 
 to the fashion of some of our police officers. We also measured 
 the thickness of every hook-cover, with the most accurate ad- 
 measurement, and appHed to each the most jealous scrutiny of 
 the microscope. Had any of the bindings been recently med- 
 dled with, it would have been utterly impossible that the fact 
 should have escaped observation. Some five or six volumes, 
 just from the hands of the binder, we carefully probed, longi- 
 tudinally, v/ith the needles." 
 
 "You explored the floors beneath the carpets?" 
 "Beyond doubt. We removed every carpet, and examined 
 the boards with the microscope." 
 "And the paper on the walls?" 
 "Yes." 
 
 "You looked into the cellars?" 
 "We did." 
 
 "Then," I said, "you have been making a miscalculation, and 
 the letter is not upon the premises, as you suppose." 
 
 "I fear you are right there," said the Prefect. "And now, 
 Dupin, what would you advise me to do?" 
 
 "To make a thorough re-search of the premises." 
 
 " That is absolutely needless," replied G . " I am not more 
 
 sure that I breathe than I am that the letter is not at the Hotel." 
 "I have no better advice to give you," said Dupin. "You 
 have, of course, an accurate description of the letter? " 
 
 " Oh yes ! ' ' And here the Prefect, producing a memorandum- 
 book, proceeded to read aloud a minute account of the internal, 
 and especially of the external, appearance of the missing docu- 
 ment. Soon after finishing the perusal of this description, he 
 took his departure, more entirely depressed in spirits than I had 
 ever known the good gentleman before. 
 
178 poe's tales 
 
 In about a month afterwards he paid us another visit, and 
 found us occupied very nearly as before. He took a pipe and 
 a chair and entered into some ordinary conversation. At length 
 I said, — 
 
 "Well, but G , what of the purloined letter? I presume 
 
 you have at last made up your mind that there is no such thing 
 as overreaching the Minister?" 
 
 "Confound him, say I — yes; I made the re-examination, 
 however, as Dupin suggested — but it was all labor lost, as I 
 knew it would be." 
 
 "How much was the reward offered, did you say?" asked 
 Dupin. 
 
 "Why, a very great deal — a very liberal reward — I don't 
 like to say how much, precisely; but one thing I will say, that I 
 wouldn't mind giving my individual check for fifty thousand 
 francs to any one who could obtain me that letter. The fact 
 is, it is becoming of more and more importance every day; and 
 the reward has been lately doubled. If it were trebled, how- 
 ever, I could do no more than I have done." 
 
 "Why, yes," said Dupin, drawlingly, between the whiffs of 
 
 his meerschaum, "I really — think, G , you have not 
 
 exerted yourself — to the utmost in this matter. You might — 
 do a little more, I think, eh?" 
 
 "How? — in what way?" 
 
 "Why — puff, puff, you might — puff, puff — employ 
 counsel in the matter, eh? — puff, puff, puff. Do you remem- 
 ber the story they tell of Abernethy?" 
 
 "No; hang Abernethy!" 
 
 "To be sure! hang him and welcome. But, once upon a 
 time, a certain rich miser conceived the design of sponging upon 
 this Abernethy for a medical opinion. Getting up, for this 
 purpose, an ordinary conversation in a private company, he 
 insinuated his case to the physician, as that of an imaginary 
 individual. 
 
 " *We will suppose,' said the miser, 'that his symptoms are 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 1 79 
 
 such and such; now, doctor, what would you have directed him 
 to take? ' 
 
 " 'Take!' said Abernethy, 'why, take advice, to be sure.'" 
 
 "But," said the Prefect, a little discomposed, "I am perfectly 
 willing to take advice, and to pay for it. I would really give 
 fifty thousand francs to any one who would aid me in the 
 matter." 
 
 "In that case," rephed Dupin, opening a drawer, and pro- 
 ducing a check-book, "you may as well fill me up a check for 
 the amount mentioned. When you have signed it, I will hand 
 you the letter," 
 
 I was astounded. The Prefect appeared absolutely thunder- 
 stricken. For some minutes he remained speechless and 
 motionless, looking incredulously at my friend with open mouth, 
 and eyes that seemed starting from their sockets; then, ap- 
 parently recovering himself in some measure, he seized a pen, 
 and after several pauses and vacant stares, finally filled up and 
 signed a check for fifty thousand francs, and handed it across 
 the table to Dupin, The latter examined it carefully and 
 deposited it in his pocket-book; then, unlocking an escritoire, 
 took thence a letter and gave it to the Prefect. This function- 
 ary grasped it in a perfect agony of joy, opened it with a 
 trembHng hand, cast a rapid glance at its contents, and then, 
 scrambling and struggling to the door, rushed at length 
 unceremoniously from the room and from the house, without 
 having uttered a syllable since Dupin had requested him to 
 fill up the check. 
 
 When he had gone, my friend entered into some explanations. 
 
 "The Parisian police," he said, "are exceedingly able in their 
 way. They are persevering, ingenious, cunning, and thor- 
 oughly versed in the knowledge which their duties seem chiefly 
 
 to demand. Thus, when G detailed to us his mode of 
 
 searching the premises at the Hotel D , I felt entire con- 
 fidence in his having made a satisfactory investigation — so 
 far as his labors extended." 
 
i8o poe's tales 
 
 "So far as his labors extended?" said I. 
 
 "Yes," said Dupin. "The measures adopted were not only 
 the best of their kind, but carried out to absolute perfection. 
 Had the letter been deposited within the range of their search, 
 these fellows would, beyond a question, have found it." 
 
 I merely laughed — but he seemed quite serious in all that 
 he said. 
 
 "The measures, then," he continued, "were good in their 
 kind, and well executed; their defect lay in their being inappli- 
 cable to the case, and to the man. A certain set of highly 
 ingenious resources are, with the Prefect, a sort of Procrustean 
 bed, to which he forcibly adapts his designs. But he perpetu- 
 ally errs by being too deep or too shallow, for the matter in 
 hand; and many a schoolboy is a better reasoner than he. I 
 knew one about eight years of age, whose success at guessing in 
 the game of 'even and odd' attracted universal admiration. 
 This game is simple, and is played with marbles. One player 
 holds in his hand a number of these toys, and demands of 
 another whether that nimiber is even or odd. If the guess is 
 right, the guesser wins one; if wrong, he loses one. The boy to 
 whom I allude won all the marbles of the school. Of course he 
 had some principle of guessing; and this lay in mere observation 
 and admeasurement of the astuteness of his opponents. For 
 example, an arrant simpleton is his opponent, and, holding up 
 his closed hand, asks, ' Are they even or odd? ' Our schoolboy 
 repHes, ' Odd,' and loses; but upon the second trial he wins, for 
 he then says to himself, ' The simpleton had them even upon the 
 first trial, and his amount of cunning is just sufficient to make 
 him have them odd upon the second; I will therefore guess 
 odd;' — he guesses odd, and wins. Now, with a simpleton a 
 degree above the first he would have reasoned thus: 'This 
 fellow finds that in the first instance I guessed odd, and, in the 
 second, he will propose to himself upon the first impulse, a simple 
 variation from even to odd, as did the first simpleton; but then 
 a second thought will suggest that this is too simple a variation. 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER l8l 
 
 and finally he will decide upon putting it, even as before. I will 
 therefore guess even;' — he guesses even, and wins. Now this 
 mode of reasoning in the schoolboy, whom his fellows termed 
 'lucky' — what, in its last analysis, is it?" 
 
 "It is merely," I said, "an identification of the reasoner's 
 intellect with that of his opponent." 
 
 "It is," said Dupin; "and, upon inquiring of the boy by 
 what means he effected the thorough identification in which 
 his success consisted, I received answer as follows: 'When I 
 wish to find out how wise, or how stupid, or how good, or 
 how wicked is any one, or what are his thoughts at the mo- 
 ment, I fashion the expression of my face, as accurately as 
 possible, in accordance with the expression of his, and then 
 wait to see what thoughts or sentiments arise in my mind or 
 heart, as if to match or correspond with the expression.' This 
 response of the schoolboy lies at the bottom of all the spurious 
 profundity which has been attributed to Rochefoucauld, to 
 La Bruyere, to Machiavelli, and to Campanella." 
 
 "And the identification," I said, "of the reasoner's intel- 
 lect with that of his opponents, depends, if I understand you 
 aright, upon the accuracy with which the opponent's intellect 
 is admeasured." 
 
 "For its practical value it depends upon this," repHed 
 Dupin; "and the Prefect and his cohort fail so frequently, 
 first, by default of this identification, and, secondly, by ill- 
 admeasurement, or rather through non-admeasurement, of 
 the intellect with which they are engaged. They consider only 
 their own ideas of ingenuity; and, in searching for anything 
 hidden, advert only to the modes in which they would have 
 hidden it. They are right in this much — that their own in- 
 genuity is a faithful representative of that of the mass; but 
 when the cunning of the individual felon is diverse in char- 
 acter from their own, the felon foils them, of course. This 
 always happens when it is above their own, and very usually 
 when it is below. They have no variation of principle in 
 
l82 
 
 their investigations; at best, when urged by some unusual 
 emergency — by some extraordinary reward — they extend 
 or exaggerate their old modes of practice, without touching 
 
 their principles. What, for example, in this case of D , 
 
 has been done to vary the principle of action? What is all 
 this boring, and probing, and sounding, and scrutinizing 
 with the microscope, and dividing the surface of the build- 
 ing into registered square inches — what is it all but an 
 exaggeration of the application of the one principle or set of 
 principles of search, which are based upon the one set of ■! 
 notions regarding human ingenuity, to which the Prefect, in 
 the long routine of his duty, has been accustomed? Do you 
 not see he has taken it for granted that all men proceed to 
 conceal a letter, — not exactly in a gimlet-hole bored in a 
 chair-leg — but, at least, in some out-of-the-way hole or cor- 
 ner suggested by the same tenor of thought which would urge a 
 man to secrete a letter in a gimlet-hole bored in a chair-leg? 
 And do you not see, also, that such recherches nooks for con- 
 cealment are adapted only for ordinary occasions, and would 
 be adopted only by ordinary intellects; for, in all cases of con- 
 cealment, a disposal of the article concealed — a disposal of it 
 in this recherche manner, — is, in the very first instance, pre- 
 sumable and presum.ed; and thus its discovery depends, not 
 at all upon the acumen, but altogether upon the mere care, 
 patience, and determination of the seekers; and where the case 
 is of importance — or, what amounts to the same thing in 
 the policial eyes, when the reward is of magnitude, — the 
 qualities in question have never been known to fail. You 
 will now understand what I meant in suggesting that, had 
 the purloined letter been hidden anywhere within the limits 
 of the Prefect's examination — in other words, had the prin- 
 ciple of its concealment been comprehended within the prin- 
 ciples of the Prefect — its discovery would have been a 
 matter altogether beyond question. This functionary, how- 
 ever, has been thoroughly mystified; and the remote source 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 1 83 
 
 of his defeat lies in the supposition that the Minister is 
 a fool because he has acquired renown as a poet. All fools 
 are poets; this the Prefect feels; and he is merely guilty of a 
 non distrihutio medli in thence inferring that all poets are fools." 
 
 "But is this really the poet?" I asked. "There are two 
 brothers, I know; and both have attained reputation in let- 
 ters. The Minister I believe has written learnedly on the 
 Differential Calculus. He is a mathematician and no poet." 
 
 "You are mistaken; I know him well; he is both. As poet 
 and mathematician he would reason well; as mere mathema- 
 tician he could not have reasoned at all, and thus would have 
 been at the mercy of the Prefect." 
 
 "You surprise me," I said, "by these opinions, which have 
 been contradicted by the voice of the world. You do not 
 mean to set at naught the well-digested idea of centuries. 
 The mathematical reason has long been regarded as the reason 
 par excellence y 
 
 "'II y a a parier,''^^ replied Dupin, quoting from Chamfort, 
 "'que toute idee publique, toute convention recue, est une sottise, 
 car elle a convenu au plus grand nombre.' The mathematicians, 
 I grant you, have done their best to promulgate the popular 
 error to which you allude, and which is none the less an error 
 for its promulgation as truth. With an art worthy a better 
 cause, for example, they have insinuated the term 'analysis' 
 into application to algebra. The French are the originators 
 of this particular deception; but if a term is of any impor- 
 tance — if words derive any value from applicability — then 
 'analysis' conveys 'algebra' about as much as, in Latin, 
 'ambitus^ implies 'ambition,' 'religio/ 'religion,' or 'homines 
 honesti/ a set of honorable men." 
 
 "You have a quarrel on hand, I see," said I, "with some of 
 the algebraists of Paris; but proceed." 
 
 "I dispute the availability, and thus the value, of that 
 reason which is cultivated in any special form other than the 
 abstractly logical. I dispute, in particular, the reason educed 
 
184 poe's tales 
 
 by mathematical study. The mathematics are the science 
 of form and quantity; mathematical reasoning is merely 
 logic applied to observation upon form and quantity. The 
 great error lies in supposing that even the truths of what is 
 called pure algebra are abstract or general truths. And this 
 error is so egregious that I am confounded at the universality 
 with which it has been received. Mathematical axioms are 
 not axioms of general truth. What is true of relation — of 
 form and quantity — is often grossly false in regard to morals, 
 for example. In this latter science it is very usually untrue 
 that the aggregated parts are equal to the whole. In chemis- 
 try also the axiom fails. In the consideration of motive it 
 fails; for two motives, each of a given value, have not, neces- 
 sarily, a value when united equal to the sum of their values 
 apart. There are numerous other mathematical truths 
 which are only truths within the limits of relation. But the 
 mathematician argues, from his finite truths, through habit, 
 as if they were of an absolutely general applicability — as 
 the world indeed imagines them to be. Bryant, in his very 
 learned 'Mythology,' mentions an analogous source of error, 
 when he says that, ' although the Pagan fables are not believed, 
 yet we forget ourselves continually, and make inferences 
 from them as existing realities.' With the algebraists, how- 
 ever, who are Pagans themselves, the 'Pagan fables' are 
 believed, and the inferences are made, not so much through 
 lapse of memory, as through an unaccountable addling of 
 the brains. In short, I never yet encountered the mere math- 
 ematician who could be trusted out of equal roots, or one 
 who did not clandestinely hold it as a point of his faith that 
 x^ + px was absolutely and unconditionally equal to q. Say 
 to one of these gentlemen, by way of experiment, if you 
 please, that you believe occasions may occur where x- -}- px is 
 not altogether equal to q, and, having made him understand 
 what you mean, get out of his reach as speedily as convenient, 
 for, beyond doubt, he will endeavor to knock you down. 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 1 85 
 
 "I mean to say," continued Dupin, while I merely laughed 
 at his last observations, "that if the Minister had been no more 
 than a mathematician, the Prefect would have been under no 
 necessity of giving me this check. I knew him, however, as 
 both mathematician and poet, and my measures were adapted 
 to his capacity, with reference to the circumstances by which 
 he was surrounded. I knew him as courtier, too, and as a 
 bold intriguant. Such a man, I considered, could not fail to be 
 aware of the ordinary policial modes of action. He could not 
 have failed to anticipate — and events have proved that he 
 did not fail to anticipate — the waylayings to which he was 
 subjected. He must have foreseen, I reflected, the secret in- 
 vestigations of his premises. His frequent absences from home 
 at night, which were hailed by the Prefect as certain aids to 
 his success, I regarded only as ruses, to afford opportunity for 
 thorough search to the police, and thus the sooner to impress 
 
 them with the conviction to which G , in fact, did finally 
 
 arrive — the conviction that the letter was not upon the 
 premises. I felt, also, that the whole train of thought, which I 
 was at some pains in detailing to you just now, concerning 
 the invariable principle of policial action in searches for arti- 
 cles concealed — I felt that this whole train of thought would 
 necessarily pass through the mind of the Minister. It would 
 imperatively lead him to despise all the ordinary nooks of 
 concealment. He could not, I reflected, be so weak as not to 
 see that the most intricate and remote recess of his hotel 
 would be as open as his commonest closets to the eyes, to 
 the probes, to the gimlets, and to the microscopes of the 
 Prefect. I saw, in fine, that he would be driven, as a 
 matter of course, to simplicity, if not deliberately induced to 
 it as a matter of choice. You will remember, perhaps, 
 how desperately the Prefect laughed when I suggested, 
 upon our first interview, that it was just possible this mys- 
 tery troubled him so much on account of its being so very 
 self-evident." 
 
1 86 poe's tales 
 
 "Yes," said I, "I remember his merriment well. I really 
 thought he would have fallen into conv.ulsions." 
 
 "The material world," continued Dupin, "abounds with 
 very strict analogies to the immaterial; and thus some color 
 of truth has been given to the rhetorical dogma, that metaphor, 
 or simile, may be made to strengthen an argument, as well 
 as to embellish a description. The principle of the vis inertice, 
 for example, seems to be identical in physics and metaphysics. 
 It is not more true in the former, that a large body is with 
 more difficulty set in motion than a smaller one, and that its 
 subsequent momentrmi is commensurate with this difficulty, 
 than it is, in the latter, that intellects of the vaster capacity, 
 while more forcible, more constant, and more eventful in 
 their movements than those of the inferior grade, are yet the 
 less readily moved, and more embarrassed and full of hesita- 
 tion in the first few steps of their progress. Again: have 
 you ever noticed which of the street signs over the shop doors 
 are the most attractive of attention?" 
 
 " I have never* given the matter a thought," I said. 
 
 "There is a game of puzzles," he resumed, "which is played 
 upon a map. One party playing requires another to find a 
 given word — the name of town, river, state or empire — any 
 word, in short, upon the motley and perplexed surface of the 
 chart. A novice in the game generally seeks to embarrass 
 his opponents by giving them the most minutely lettered 
 names; but the adept selects such words as stretch, in large 
 characters, from one end of the chart to the other. These, 
 like the over-largely lettered signs and placards of the streets, 
 escape observation by dint of being excessively obvious; and 
 here the physical oversight is precisely analogous with the 
 moral inapprehension by which the intellect suffers to pass 
 unnoticed those considerations which are too obtrusively 
 and too palpably self-evident. But this is a point, it appears, 
 somewhat above or beneath the understanding of the Prefect. 
 He never once thought it probable, or possible, that the 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 1 87 
 
 Minister had deposited the letter immediately beneath the 
 nose of the whole world by way of best preventing any portion 
 of that world from perceiving it. 
 
 "But the more I reflected upon the daring, dashing, and 
 
 discriminating ingenuity of D ; upon the fact that the 
 
 document must always have been at hand, if he intended to 
 use it to good purpose; and upon the decisive evidence, 
 obtained by the Prefect, that it was not hidden within the 
 limits of that dignitary's ordinary search — the more satisfied 
 I became that, to conceal this letter, the Minister had resorted 
 to the comprehensive and sagacious expedient of not attempt- 
 ing to conceal it at all. 
 
 "Full of these ideas, I prepared myself with a pair of green 
 spectacles, and called one fine morning, quite by accident, 
 
 at the Ministerial hotel. I found D at home, yawning, 
 
 lounging, and dawdling, as usual, and pretending to be in 
 the last extremity of ennui. He is, perhaps, the most really 
 energetic human being now alive — but that is only when 
 nobody sees him. 
 
 " To be even with him, I complained of my weak eyes, and 
 lamented the necessity of the spectacles, under cover of which 
 I cautiously and thoroughly surveyed the apartment, while 
 seemingly intent only upon the conversation of my host. 
 
 "I paid especial attention to a large writing-table near 
 which he sat, and upon which lay confusedly, some miscel- 
 laneous* letters and other papers, with one or two musical 
 instruments and a few books. Here, however, after a long 
 and very deliberate scrutiny, I saw nothing to excite particular 
 suspicion. 
 
 "At length my eyes, in going the circuit of the room, fell 
 upon a trumpery filigree card-rack of paste-board, that hung 
 dangling, by a dirty blue ribbon, from a little brass knob just 
 beneath the middle of the mantle-piece. In this rack, which 
 had three or four compartments, were five or six visiting 
 cards and a solitary letter. This last was much soiled and 
 
i88 poe's tales 
 
 crumpled. It was torn nearly in two, across the middle — as 
 if a design, in the first instance, to tear it entirely up as worth- 
 less had been altered, or stayed, in a second. It had a large 
 
 black seal, bearing the D cipher very conspicuously, 
 
 and was addressed, in a diminutive female hand, to D , 
 
 the Minister, himself. It was thrust carelessly, and even, 
 as it seemed, contemptuously, into one of the upper divisions 
 of the rack. 
 
 "No sooner had I glanced at this letter than I concluded 
 it to be that of which I was in search. To be sure, it was, 
 to all appearance, radically different from the one of which 
 the Prefect had read us so minute a description. Here the 
 
 seal was large and black, with the D cipher; there it 
 
 was small and red, with the ducal arms of the S family. 
 
 Here, the address, to the Minister, was diminutive and femi- 
 nine; there the superscription, to a certain royal personage, 
 was markedly bold and decided; the size alone formed a 
 point of correspondence. But, then, the radicalness of these 
 differences, which was excessive; the dirt; the soiled and 
 torn condition of the paper, so inconsistent with the true 
 
 methodical habits of D , and so suggestive of a design 
 
 to delude the beholder into an idea of the worthlessness of 
 the document; these things, together with the hyperobtrusive 
 situation of this document, full in the view of every visiter, 
 and thus exactly in accordance with the conclusions to which 
 I had previously arrived; these things, I say, were strongly 
 corroborative of suspicion, in one who came with the in- 
 tention to suspect. 
 
 "I protracted my visit as long as possible, and, while I 
 maintained a most animated discussion with the Minister, 
 upon a topic which I knew well had never failed to interest and 
 excite him, I kept my attention really riveted upon the letter. 
 In this examination, I committed to memory its external 
 appearance and arrangement in the rack; and also fell, at 
 length, upon a discovery which set at rest whatever trivial 
 
THE PURLOINED LETTER 1 89 
 
 doubt I might have entertained. In scrutinizing the edges 
 of the paper, I observed them to be more chafed than seemed 
 necessary. They presented the broken appearance which is 
 manifested when a stiff paper, having been once folded and 
 pressed with a folder, is refolded in a reversed direction, in 
 the same creases or edges which had formed the original fold. 
 This discovery was sufficient. It was clear to me that the 
 letter had been turned, as a glove, inside out, re-directed, and 
 re-sealed. I bade the Minister good morning, and took my 
 departure at once, leaving a gold snuff-box upon the table. 
 
 "The next morning I called for the snuff-box, when we 
 resumed, quite eagerly, the conversation of the preceding 
 day. ' While thus engaged, however, a loud report, as if of a 
 pistol, was heard immediately beneath the windows of the 
 hotel, and was succeeded by a series of fearful screams, and 
 
 the shoutings of a mob. D rushed to a casement, threw 
 
 it open, and looked out. In the meantime, I stepped to the 
 card-rack, took the letter, put it in my pocket, and replaced 
 it by a facsimile (so far as regards externals) which I had 
 
 carefully prepared at my lodgings; imitating the D cipher, 
 
 very readily, by means of a seal formed of bread. 
 
 "The disturbance in the street had been occasioned by 
 the frantic behavior of a man with a musket. He had fired 
 it among a crowd of women and children. It proved, how- 
 ever, to have been without ball, and the fellow was suffered to 
 go his way as a lunatic or a drunkard. When he had gone, 
 
 D came from the window, whither I had followed him 
 
 immediately upon securing the object in view. Soon after- 
 wards I bade him farewell. The pretended lunatic was a 
 man in my own pay." 
 
 "But what purpose had you," I asked, "in replacing the 
 letter by a facsimile? Would it not have been better, at 
 the first visit, to have seized it openly, and departed?" 
 
 "D ," repHed Dupin, "is a desperate man, and a man 
 
 of nerve. His hotel, too, is not without attendants devoted 
 
I go POES TALES 
 
 to his interest. Had I made the wild attempt you suggest, 
 I might never have left the Ministerial presence alive. The 
 good people of Paris might have heard of me no more. But 
 I had an object apart from these considerations. You know 
 my poHtical prepossessions. In this matter, I act as a par- 
 tisan of the lady concerned. For eighteen months the Min- 
 ister has had her in his power. She now has him in hers; 
 since, being unaware that the letter is not in his possession, 
 he will proceed with his exactions as if it was. Thus will 
 he inevitably commit himself, at once, to his political de- 
 struction. His downfall, too, will not be more precipitate 
 than awkward. It is very well to talk about the facilis 
 descensus Averni; but in all kinds of climbing, as Catalan! 
 said of singing, it is far more easy to get up than to come 
 down. In the present instance I have no sympathy — at 
 least no pity — for him who descends. He is that monstrum 
 horrendum, an unprincipled man of genius. I confess, how- 
 ever, that I should like very well to know the precise char- 
 acter of his thoughts, when, being defied by her whom the 
 Prefect terms 'a certain personage,' he is reduced to open- 
 ing the letter which I left for him in the card-rack." 
 "How? Did you put anything particular in it?" 
 "Why — it did not seem altogether right to leave the 
 
 interior blank — that would have been insulting. D , 
 
 at Vienna once, did me an evil turn, which I told him, quite 
 good-humoredly, that I should remember. So, as I knew 
 he would feel some curiosity in regard to the identity of the 
 person who had outwitted him, I thought it a pity not to 
 give him a clew. He is well acquainted with my MS., and 
 I just copied into the middle of the blank sheet the words — 
 
 • — — Un dessein si funeste, 
 S'il n'est digne d'Atree, est digne de Thyeste. 
 
 They are to be found in Crebillon's * Atree.' " 
 
THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO 
 
 The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best 
 could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge. 
 You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, 
 however, that I gave utterance to a threat. At length I would 
 be avenged; this was a point definitely settled — but the very 
 definiteness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of 
 risk. I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A 
 wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser. 
 It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make him- 
 self felt as such to him who has done the wrong. 
 
 It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I 
 given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as 
 was my wont, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that 
 my smile now was at the thought of his immolation. 
 
 He had a weak point — this Fortunato — although in other 
 regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He 
 prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians 
 have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthu- 
 siasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity, to practise 
 imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In 
 painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen, was a 
 quack, but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this 
 respect I did not differ from him materially; — I was skilful in 
 the Itahan vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I 
 could. 
 
 It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness 
 of the carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He ac- 
 costed me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking 
 much. The man wore motley. He had on a tight-fitting parti- 
 striped dress, and his head was surmounted by the conical cap 
 
 191 
 
192 
 
 and bells, I y^as so pleased to see him that I thought I should 
 never have done wringing his hand. 
 
 I said to him — "My dear Fortunate, you are luckily met. 
 How remarkably well you are looking to-day. But I have re- 
 ceived a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my 
 doubts." 
 
 "How?" said he. "Amontillado? A pipe? Impossible! 
 And in the middle of the carnival!" 
 
 "I have my doubts," I replied; "and I was silly enough to 
 pay the full Amontillado price without consulting you in the 
 matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing 
 a bargain." 
 
 "Amontillado!" 
 
 "I have my doubts." 
 
 "Amontillado!" 
 
 "And I must satisfy them." 
 
 "Amontillado!" 
 
 "As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchresi. If any 
 one has a critical turn it is he. He will tell me " 
 
 "Luchresi cannot tell Ajnontillado from Sherry." 
 
 "And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for 
 your own." 
 
 " Come, let us go." 
 
 "Whither?" 
 
 "To your vaults." 
 
 "My friend, no; I will not impose upon yoFur good nature. 
 I perceive you have an engagement. Luchresi " 
 
 "I have no engagement; — come." 
 
 "My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe 
 cold with which I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults are 
 insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nitre." 
 
 "Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. 
 Amontillado! You have been imposed upon. And as for 
 Luchresi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado." 
 
 Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm; and 
 
THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO 1 93 
 
 putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a roquelaure closely 
 about my person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo. 
 
 There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to 
 make merry in honor of the time. I had told them that I should 
 not return until the morning, and had given them explicit orders 
 not to stir from the house. These orders were sufficient, I well 
 knew, to insure their immediate disappearance, one and all, as 
 soon as my back was turned. 
 
 I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to 
 Fortunato, bowed him through several suites of rooms to the 
 archway that led into the vaults. I passed down a long and 
 winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed. 
 We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together 
 upon the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresors. 
 
 The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his 
 cap jingled as he strode. 
 
 "The pipe," he said. 
 
 "It is farther on," said I; "but observe the white web-work 
 which gleams from these cavern walls." 
 
 He turned towards me, and looked into my eyes with two 
 filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of intoxication. 
 
 "Nitre?" he asked, at length. 
 
 "Nitre," I repHed. "How long have you had that cough?" 
 
 "Ugh! ugh! ugh! — ugh! ugh! ugh! — ugh! ugh! ugh! — ugh! 
 ugh! ugh! — ugh! ugh! ugh!" 
 
 My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many 
 minutes. 
 
 "It is nothing," he said, at last. 
 
 "Come," I said, with decision, "we will go back; your health 
 is precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are 
 happy, as once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me 
 it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill, and I cannot 
 be responsible. Besides, there is Luchresi " 
 
 "Enough," he said, "the cough is a mere nothing; it will not 
 kiU me. I shall not die of a cough." 
 
194 POE S TALES 
 
 "True — true," I replied; "and, indeed, I had no intention 
 of alarming you unnecessarily — but you should use all proper 
 caution. A draught of this Medoc will defend us from the 
 damps." 
 
 Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a 
 long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould. 
 
 "Drink," I said, presenting him the wine. 
 
 He raised it to his hps with a leer. He paused and nodded to 
 me famiharly, while his bells jingled. 
 
 "I drink," he said, "to the buried that repose around us." 
 
 "And I to your long life." 
 
 He again took my arm, and we proceeded. 
 
 "These vaults," he said, "are extensive." 
 
 "The Montresors," I repHed, "were a great and numerous 
 family." 
 
 "I forget your arms." 
 
 "A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a 
 serpent rampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel." 
 
 "And the motto?" 
 
 "Nemo me impune lacessit." 
 
 "Good!" he said. 
 
 The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own 
 fancy grew warm with the Medoc. We had passed through long 
 walls of piled skeletons, with casks and puncheons interming- 
 Hng, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs. I paused again, 
 and this time I made bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above 
 the elbow. 
 
 "The nitre!" I said; "see, it increases. It hangs Hke moss 
 upon the vaults. We are below the river's bed. The drops 
 of moisture trickle among the bones. Come, we will go back 
 ere it is too late. Your cough " 
 
 "It is nothing," he said; " let us go on. But first, another 
 draught of the Medoc." 
 
 I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave. He emptied 
 it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed 
 
THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO 1 95 
 
 and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not 
 understand. 
 
 I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement — 
 a grotesque one. 
 
 "You do not comprehend?" he said. 
 
 "Not I," I repHed. 
 
 "Then you are not of the brotherhood." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "You are not of the masons." 
 
 "Yes, yes," I said; "yes, yes." 
 
 ' ' You ? Impossible ! A mason? ' ' 
 
 "A mason," I replied. 
 
 "A sign," he said, "a sign." 
 
 "It is this," I answered, producing from beneath the folds of 
 my roquelaure a trowel. 
 
 "You jest," he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. "But let us 
 proceed to the Amontillado." 
 
 "Be it so," I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak and 
 again offering him my arm. He leaned upon it heavily. We 
 continued our route in search of the Amontillado. We passed 
 through a range of low arches, descended, passed on, and de- 
 scending again, arrived at a deep crypt, in which the foulness 
 of the air caused our flambeaux rather to glow than flame. 
 
 At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another 
 less spacious. Its walls had been Hned with human remains, 
 piled to the vault overhead, in the fashion of the great cata- 
 combs of Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still 
 ornamented in this manner. From the fourth side the bones 
 had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon the earth, 
 forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall 
 thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, we perceived a still 
 interior crypt or recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, 
 in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for 
 no especial use within itself, but formed merely the interval be- 
 tween two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, 
 
*ig6 poe's tales 
 
 and was backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid 
 granite. 
 
 It was in vain that Fortunate, upHfting his dull torch, en- 
 deavored to pry into the depth of the recess. Its termination 
 the feeble light did not enable us to see. 
 
 "Proceed," I said; "herein is the Amontillado. As for 
 Luchresi " 
 
 "He is an ignoramus," interrupted my friend, as he stepped 
 unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at his heels. 
 In an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche, and 
 finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly be- 
 wildered. A moment more and I had fettered him to the 
 granite. In its surface were two iron staples, distant from each 
 other about two feet, horizontally. From one of these de- 
 pended a short chain, from the other a padlock. Throwing the 
 links about his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to 
 secure it. He was too much astonished to resist. With- 
 drawing the key I stepped back from the recess. 
 
 "Pass your hand," I said, "over the wall; you cannot help 
 feeling the nitre. Indeed, it is very damp. Once more let me 
 implore you to return. No? Then I must positively leave you. 
 But I must first render you all the httle attentions in my power." 
 
 "The Amontillado!" ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered 
 from his astonishment. 
 
 "True," I replied; "the Amontillado." 
 
 As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones 
 of which I have before spoken. Throwing them aside, I soon 
 uncovered a quantity of building stone and mortar. With these 
 materials and with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to 
 wall up the entrance of the niche. 
 
 I had scarcely laid the first tier of the masonry when I dis- 
 covered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in a great 
 measure worn off. The earliest indication I had of this was a 
 low moaning cry from the depth of the recess. It was not the 
 cry of a drunken man. There was then a long and obstinate 
 
THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO 1 97 
 
 silence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and the fourth; 
 and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain. The noise 
 lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken 
 to it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labors and sat down 
 upon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I re- 
 sumed the trowel, and finished without interruption the fifth, 
 the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly upon 
 a level with my breast. I again paused, and holding the flam- 
 beaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays upon the 
 figure within. 
 
 A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly 
 from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me vio- 
 lently back. For a brief moment I hesitated, I trembled. Un- 
 sheathing my rapier, I began to grope with it about the recess; 
 but the thought of an instant reassured me. I placed my hand 
 upon the solid fabric of the catacombs, and felt satisfied. I 
 re-approached the wall; I replied to the yells of him who 
 clamored. I re-echoed, I aided, I surpassed them' in volume 
 and in strength. I did this, and the clamorer grew still. 
 
 It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I 
 had completed the eighth, the ninth and the tenth tier. I had 
 finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained 
 but a single stone to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled 
 with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined position. 
 But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erected 
 the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, 
 which I had difficulty in recognizing as that of the noble For- 
 tunato. The voice said — 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha! — he! he! he! — a very good joke, indeed — an 
 excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the 
 palazzo — he! he! he! — over our wine — he! he! he!" 
 
 "The Amontillado!" I said. 
 
 "He! he! he! — he! he! he! — yes, the Amontillado, But is 
 it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, 
 the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone." 
 
198 poe's tales 
 
 "Yes," I said, "let us be gone." 
 
 "For the love of God, Montresor!" 
 
 "Yes," I said, "for the love of God!" 
 
 But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew 
 impatient. I called aloud — 
 
 "Fortunato!" 
 
 No answer. I called again — 
 
 "Fortunato!" 
 
 No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining 
 aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return 
 only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick; it was the 
 dampness of the catacombs that made it so. I hastened to 
 make an end of my labor. I forced the last stone into its posi- 
 tion; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected 
 the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal 
 has disturbed them. In pace requiescat! 
 
NOTES AND QUESTIONS 
 
 Sonnet — To Science 
 
 Summarize in a sentence the central thought of this sonnet. Which 
 sonnet form has Poe here followed, Shakespeare's or Milton's? Notice 
 carefully the adjectives here used. Are any of them especially well chosen? 
 
 Romance 
 
 Poe first published this poem in the 1829 volume of his verse and greatly 
 enlarged it two years' later. Afterward he restored it to nearly its original 
 form. The first stanza offers an interesting picture of Poe's life of dreams, 
 while the second early emphasizes his statement that with him poetry was 
 a passion. 
 
 To Helen 
 
 f 
 
 Poe is said to have written this exquisite little poem when he was four- ~> / • 
 teen, in honor of Mrs. Jane Stjindish, the friend of his imhappy youth; -^T^-^^ 
 but both of these statements may be seriously questioned. We are, perhaps, 
 safer in believing that "Helen" is his ideal woman, whose beauty is here ex- • 
 pressed in terms of art. The spirit of the ancient world is finely suggested 
 in the last two lines of the second stanza and is emphasized by such epithets 
 as "Nicean, " which, though it has never been satisfactorily defined, brings 
 to mind classic lands and times. There is a similar suggestion in "hya- 
 cinthine," which is explained by the following in Poe's tale, Ligeia: "the 
 raven-black, the glossy, the luxuriant, the naturally curling tresses, setting 
 forth the full force of the Homeric epithet ' hyacinthine.'" Like most of 
 his better work this poem was subjected to careful revisions. Thus, lines 
 four and five of Stanza II first read, 
 
 " To the beauty of fair Greece 
 And the grandeur of old Rome"; 
 
 and in the last stanza "The agate lamp" replaced "The folded scroll." 
 Was the poem strengthened by these changes? Why is the movement of 
 the last two Unes especially beautiful? • 
 
 ISRAPEL 
 
 Israfel is another of Poe's youthful poems which was carefully revised 
 and polished before assuming its present form. Poe inserted the phrase 
 "whose heart-strings are a lute" into the motto of the poem, which comes 
 from Sale's Preliminary Discourse to the Koran, through Moore's Lalla 
 Rookh. In the verse-form, the phrasing, the lyric rapture, the yearning 
 for supernal beauty, and the closing personal note, Israfel shows clearly the 
 
 199 
 
200 POE S POEMS AND TALES 
 
 influence of Shelley. Compare the last stanza of this poem with that of 
 Shelley's Skylark. Does the obscurity of certain stanzas add to or detract 
 from the beauty of the poem? Select the most musical stanza. 
 
 The City in the Sea 
 
 Two titles of earher versions of this poem, "The Doomed City" and 
 "The City of Sin," cast a Uttle Hght upon its meaning. We may be satis- 
 fied, however, to read and re-read the poem for its music and for such fine 
 phrases as "The viol, the violet, and the vine." In an earher form of the 
 poem appeared these closing lines: 
 
 "And Death to some more happy clime 
 Shall give his undivided time." 
 
 Was the poem improved by their omission? 
 
 Lenore 
 
 The popularity of The Raven probably induced Poe to recast into the 
 stanza form here used the version of 1831, which had been arranged thus: 
 
 "Ah, broken is the golden bowl! 
 The spirit flown forever! 
 Let the bell toll! — A saintly soul 
 Glides down the Stygian rivei! 
 And let the burial rite be read — • 
 
 The funeral song be sung — 
 A dirge for the most lovely dead 
 That ever died so young! 
 And Guy De Vere, 
 Hast thou no tear? 
 
 Weep now or nevermore! 
 See on yon drear 
 And rigid bier, 
 
 Lies low thy love, Lenore!" 
 
 Which stanza form do you prefer? By whom are the first and third 
 stanzas supposedly spoken? By whom the second and fourth? 
 
 Study carefully Poe's choice of names for his heroines. Do they contain 
 many vowel sounds? What class of consonants does he use most often? 
 
 Hymn 
 
 Poe's tale Morella, in which this Hymn first appeared, was published in 
 The Southern Literary Messenger for April, 1835. Is the poem well named? 
 Why are the first four lines especially musical? 
 
 To One in Paradise 
 
 This poem was first incorporated in Poe's tale The Visionary, later called 
 The Assignation. Some of the variations in its numerous republications 
 are interesting: for example, the version in Burton's Gentleman's Magazine 
 
NOTES AND QUESTIONS 20I 
 
 is entitled To lanthe in Heaven; and in another version appears the follow- 
 ing closing stanza: 
 
 "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." 
 
 Why did Poe finally omit this stanza? Which do you consider the most 
 musical stanza of the poem? Do you here discover any of Poe's favorite 
 phrases? 
 
 D ream-Land 
 
 How do the vagueness and fantasy of these verses affect their charm and 
 value? What different poetic devices are here employed? If we did not 
 know the author, what evidence in the poem would induce us to attribute 
 it to Poe? 
 
 EuLALiE — A Song 
 
 If you did not know who wrote this poem, what internal evidence would 
 lead you to assign it to Poe? In what respects does it differ from most of 
 his other verse? 
 
 The Raven 
 
 In The Raven, which appeared in 1845, we discover the marks of Poe's 
 later poetical style. According to his own account of the origin of these 
 verses, as given in his Philosophy of Composition, he planned them with the 
 precision of an engineer in designing a bridge. He determined the length, 
 decided that the theme should combine beauty and sadness, and built his 
 verse upon the refrain "Nevermore." This explanation must not, of 
 course, be taken Hterally, for Poe loved to hoax his readers. Both in form 
 and in phrase The Raven exhibits some interesting resemblances to Mrs. 
 Browning's Lady Geraldine's Courtship, for which Poe had expressed great 
 admiration in a review late in 1844. Two of the stanzas in Mrs. Browning's 
 poem read as follows: 
 
 "With a murmurous stir uncertain, in the air, the purple curtain 
 Swelleth in and swelleth out around her motionless pale brow; 
 While the gliding of the river sends a rippling noise forever 
 Through the open casement whitened by the moonUght's slant repose. 
 
 "Said he — ' Vision of a lady! stand there silent, stand there steady! 
 Now I see it plainly, plainly; now I cannot hope or doubt — 
 There, the brows of mild repression — there, the lips of silent passion, 
 Curv'd like an archer's bow to send the bitter arrows out.' " 
 
 The Raven won immediate popularity in America and in England and has 
 since been widely translated, so that to-day it shares with Gray's Elegy 
 the fame of being one of the two most widely known poems in English. 
 Its popularity has been due in part to its novel but easily remembered verse 
 structure, its weird, dramatic power, and its steady progress to a vivid, 
 
202 POE'S poems and TALES 
 
 allegorical climax. "It is not till the very last line of the very last stanza, " 
 says Poe, "that the intention of making the raven emblematical of Mourn- 
 ful and Never-ending Remembrance is permitted distinctly to be seen," 
 
 Poe's belief that the poet's sensitiveness to beauty brought with it a keen 
 perception of deformity, led him in his later verse occasionally to use gro- 
 tesque rhymes and phrases, the effect of which may be compared with that 
 produced by faces of grinning imps on a stately cathedral spire. Can you 
 discover any such rhymes and phrases in The Raven? A repetition with a 
 slight variation is called a repetend. Point out some effective uses of this 
 device. Indicate some Hnes where the sound echoes the sense. Are there 
 any lines or phrases that might be used to characterize Poe and his work? 
 
 Ulalume 
 
 " Ulalume, " says Mr. Stedman, " seems an improvisation such as a violinist 
 might play on an instrument which remained his one thing of worth after 
 the death of a companion who had left him alone with his own soul. " The 
 poem belongs on that borderland where poetry passes into music, and with 
 its suggestion of grief, of beauty, and of supernatural powers, appeals to the 
 emotions rather than to the intellect. Joined to the musical beauty, however, 
 is a dim symbolism which shines out at times like the moon in a clouded sky. 
 This we may interpret as we will. 
 
 Point out some especially beautiful words and musical lines. Show how 
 Ulalume exempUfies Poe's conceptions of poetry as given in the Introduc- 
 tion, pages x-xii. 
 
 To My Mother 
 
 This poem is addressed to the woman who guarded and cared for him with 
 a rare devotion — Mrs. Clem, Virginia's mother. 
 
 This is, perhaps, the best of Poe's few sonnets. Which sonnet form is here 
 employed, that of Shakespeare or that of Milton? 
 
 tVnnabel Lee 
 
 There has been much discussion concerning the identity of "Annabel 
 Lee." The public, however, has chosen to believe her Poe's child wife, 
 Virginia. This poem, the most human of all our author's verse, has much 
 of the simple, naive beauty of the old ballads. 
 
 Note carefully the skillful use of simple, recurring rhymes. Where 
 does a slight change in the rhythmical movement add beauty to the poem? 
 
 The Bells 
 
 Before this poem appeared in its present form in Sartain's Union Maga- 
 zine, it was twice revised and enlarged. The earliest version reads thus: 
 "The bells! — hear the bells! 
 The merry wedding bells! 
 The little silver bells! 
 How fairy-like a melody there swells 
 From the silver tinkling cells 
 Of the bells, bells, bells! 
 Of the bells! 
 
NOTES AND QUESTIONS 203 
 
 "The bells — ah, the bells! 
 The heavy iron bells! 
 Hear the tolling of the bells! 
 Hear the knells! 
 How horrible a monody there floats 
 From their throats — 
 From their deep-toned throats! 
 Of the bells, bells, bells! 
 Of the bells ! " 
 
 The Bells is perhaps the most perfect example in EngHsh of onomato- 
 poetic verse, i.e., a poem in which the sound echoes the sense. 
 
 Pomt out the similarities in the beginning and the ending of the four 
 stanzas. Do any Hnes serve as a refrain? Show how the diction, the use of 
 rhymes, and the varying length of line add to the melody of the poem and 
 the onomatopoetic effect. Point out passages which take their tone from 
 the repetition of a single vowel sound. 
 
 Eldorado 
 
 Both the theme — the search for Eldorado, "The Golden Land," — and 
 the unique stanzaic form help confirm Poe's authorship of these verses 
 published after his death. 
 
 How does this poem suggest Poe's own life experience? With these verses 
 compare Longfellow's treatment of a similar theme in Excelsior. 
 
 Shadow 
 
 Shadow is one of Poe's early prose-poems; it owes something in form and 
 styleto Bulwer and more to Coleridge and Byron. Every detail has been 
 cunningly chosen and fitted into place: the dark chamber in the dim eastern 
 city, the hysterical terror of the revellers, the faint shadow, and the thriUing 
 chmax in the tones of the "thousand departed friends" — all contribute 
 to Poe's predetermined effect. 
 
 Note_ carefully the rhythmical phrasing, the Bibhcal simpHcity and 
 suggestiveness of diction, the word-order and use of connectives. Why is 
 the last sentence especially suggestive? 
 
 The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion 
 
 Byron's Darkness popularized with writers and painters this theme of 
 the destruction of the world. Poe's treatment of it illustrates well both his 
 love of_ speculating upon the unknown if not the unknowable and his power 
 of casting into semi-poetic form his pseudo-scientific conceptions. 
 ^ Which of the characteristics of style marking his poetry may be traced 
 in this tale? What different purposes are served by the opening dia- 
 logue? Give three reasons to account for the effectiveness of the 
 ending. 
 
204 
 
 Eleonora 
 
 This is perhaps the brightest and most attractive of all Poe's tales. It 
 exemplifies well his power of creating novel forms of beauty and of weaving 
 into his prose-poems strands from his own life. He himself is the dreamer, 
 the man of moods, wedded to his child cousin. 
 
 What are the chief resemblances between the style of Shadow and that of 
 Eleonora? Are any phrases here used as a refrain? Point out some sen- 
 tences marked by especially beautiful cadence. What purpose is served 
 by the first two paragraphs? Would the tale gain or lose by their omission? 
 
 LiGEIA 
 
 Poe chose the name Ligeia, which is from the Greek and means "clear- 
 voiced," because of its musical beauty. In Ms earlier poem Al Aaraaj 
 he thus addresses Ligeia as the spirit of music in nature: 
 
 "Ligeia! Ligeia! 
 
 My beautiful one! 
 Whose harshest idea 
 Will to melody run. 
 
 "'Ligeia! wherever 
 Thy image may be, 
 No magic shall sever 
 Thy music from thee. " 
 
 Ligeia, which Poe once declared his best story, belongs among his narratives 
 of mystery and terror and is filled with a fantasy which justified him in 
 including it among his Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque. The marked 
 use of alliteration, quaint comparisons, poetic phrases, and word-order 
 relate it to Shadow and Eleonora. The motto, which is here used as a re- 
 frain, has not been traced in Glanvill's writings, and is possibly of Poe's 
 own creation. The poem woven into this later form of the story appeared 
 separately in 1843 as The Conqueror Worm. An earlier and less perfect 
 development of the theme of tliis story may be found in Poe's tale Morella. 
 
 P. 44, 1. 3. "the misty winged Astopet." This allusion, and that later 
 to "the valley of Nourjahad, " are probably of Poe's own invention. They 
 are good examples of his delight in references to an Orient which he knew 
 largely through the pages of Byron and Thomas Moore. 
 
 P. 45, 1. 26. "let me repeat." Poe frequently secures atmosphere or tone 
 by dwelling upon an idea and presenting it in new forms in sentences in- 
 troduced by "Let me repeat," "I have said," etc. 
 
 P. 50, I. 31. "a child-like perversity." Poe recognized this as a marked 
 element of his own character. See his story The Imp of the Perverse. 
 
 Why has Poe made the setting of the tale so indefinite? Express in a 
 sentence the basic idea of the story. Note such phrases as "the thrilling 
 and enthralling eloquence of her low, musical language"; and point out 
 other alliterative passages. What is Poe attempting to symboKze in the 
 poem? Which is the most musical stanza? Compare its treatment of the 
 theme of death with that in The Raven. 
 
NOTES AND QUESTIONS 205 
 
 The Fall of the House of Usher 
 
 This story is usually regarded as the best of Poe's tales of fantastic terror 
 and as his most perfect effort in combining atmosphere and plot. Every 
 phrase in the opening sentence adds to the dreariness and desolation; the 
 effect is heightened by each detail in the picture of the house and its people, 
 upon which he skillfully dwells till the reader breathes the atmosphere of 
 decay and death. Gradually the threads of the story tighten, and cHmax 
 follows climax to the thrilling, vibrant close. 
 
 P. 60, I. II. A good illustration of Poe's use of repetition in his sentence 
 structure for the sake of emphasis. 
 
 P. 64, 1. 32. Poe has here drawn in careful detail his own likeness. Com- 
 pare this description with his portrait and with his delineation of Lady 
 Ligeia, pages 43-44- 
 
 P. 69, 1. 27. The Haunted Palace, which first appeared separately in The 
 Baltimore Museum for April, 1843, symbolizesj^the overthrow of a briUiant 
 human mind. The fine management of its slightly irregular metrical form, 
 its beauty of vowel and consonant combinations, and the "mystic current 
 of its meaning," entitle it to a place among Poe's best verses. 
 
 P. 71, 1. 30. One or two of these "quaint and curious volumes" Poe may 
 have read; most of them he knew only by name; the last title is probably 
 of his own invention. 
 
 P. 79, 1. I. Poe was fascinated by the horror of premature burial; he 
 retvu-ns to the theme in many of his stories. 
 
 What poetic elements mark the diction, word-order, and sentence struc- 
 ture in various parts of the story? Select some well-constructed and beauti- 
 fully cadenced sentences and indicate the source of their power. Note 
 carefully how details introduced early in the story are employed later. 
 Why does Poe here make such sUght use of conversation? Give four reasons 
 why this should be considered one of the world's greatest short stories. 
 
 The Tell-Tale Heart 
 
 The Tell-Tale Heart might be classed with William Wilson and The Black 
 Cat as stories of conscience. The victims are all men of acute senses, mad- 
 dened by torturing memories and teased by the Imp of the Perverse. In 
 this story an original if rather slight plot hastens to a tense climax; while 
 the short, crisp sentences, the simple diction, the well-chosen comparisons, 
 and the direct appeal to the reader heighten the vividness and the reaUty 
 of the scene. 
 
 Why is the first paragraph an especially effective beginning? Notice 
 carefully the use here made of laughter. What different devices does Poe 
 employ to strengthen the effect of his climax? 
 
 The Masque of the Red Death 
 
 In a sub-title Poe once called this tale "A Fantasy"; he is here more 
 interested in the setting, tone, and atmosphere than in the plot, and seeks 
 rather to create a mood than to tell a story. Here, as in the majority of his 
 
2o6 poe's poems and tales 
 
 tales of mystery and horror, the scene is laid in a far-distant castle of Foe's 
 dreamland of magnificence and terror and is utterly lacking in the realism 
 which marks such an account of a plague as Defoe's Journal. For atmos- 
 phere and tone Poe again resorts to his poetic-prose style, especially in his 
 introduction of obsolescent words, in the free use of conjunctions, and in 
 the phrasing and sentence structure of such passages as his opening and 
 closing paragraphs. To this theme of the " Conqueror Worm" Poe returned 
 in the poem later inserted in Ligeia, the fourth stanza of which might serve 
 as a summary of this story. 
 
 How does the fear here portrayed differ from that in The Fall of the House 
 of Usher? Compare the use of color and light with that in Ligeia. Point 
 out some phrases that help characterize Poe himself. 
 
 The Pit and the Pendulum 
 
 The Inquisition, or Holy OflSce, was a papal court for the discovery, 
 examination, and punishment of heretics, developed by the Church in the 
 thirteenth century. The Spanish Inquisition, which was placed under 
 state control in the fifteenth century, acted with a notorious cruelty which 
 even the Church could not curb. Though its worst abuses gradually ceased 
 in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, it continued, largely as a poUti- 
 cal weapon, till the invasion of Napoleon in 1808, and was not formally 
 abolished till 1834. In this story Poe not only wrings every thrill of terror 
 from his situations, but also appeals to our interest in the solution of 
 some puzzling problem, an appeal which comes to play a more and more 
 important part in liis tales. Here, again, he plunges at once into his story, 
 gives the setting almost incidentally, and through his keen analysis of 
 suffering and dim states of mind soon rouses our sympathy. He describes 
 each species of horror with minute fidelity and strengthens his effects with 
 every detail of style — repetition, parallel sentence structure, question and 
 exclamation. He rises from climax after cUmax to a conclusion that thrills 
 like the blast of many trumpets. 
 
 Indicate the main divisions of the story and give each a name. How 
 does Poe's purpose here differ from that in The Masque of the Red Death? 
 State three reasons why this is one of the most effective endings ever given 
 a short story. 
 
 A Descent into the Maelstrom 
 
 This narrative embodies many of the characteristics of each of Poe's 
 chief classes of stories. At times it uses words and phrases that might 
 find a place in Eleonora; it thrills us in every nerve; and the plot is solved 
 through the ingenuity of the hero. Like his other pseudo-scientific stories, 
 it is marked by that plausibility, that display of learning, and that appeal 
 to curiosity in which he deUghted. Poe's geography is here so accurate 
 that he must have written with a good map or some detailed account of the 
 region fresh in mind. The student should consult the Century Atlas, where 
 many of these names appear in slightly different form. There is no such 
 whirlpool as that which Poe here pictures, but the swift tidal currents have 
 
NOTES AND QUESTIONS 207 
 
 giveif a basis for the tradition he employs. Most of his information, in- 
 cluding the title from Jonas Ramus, he derived from the third edition of 
 the Encydopcedia Britamiica. In a later edition of that work Poe is cited 
 as an authority on whirlpools, — a striking illustration of his power to 
 create the semblance of truth. To secure our belief Poe has devised 
 an admirable setting; we, too, seem to watch from the precipice the waters 
 boiling and seething far beneath us, and we realize the better their power 
 by the effect they produce upon the narrator even at that height. He 
 also controls well the progress and interest of the story and heightens them 
 with a hand as sure as an engineer's on the throttle of a locomotive. 
 
 Indicate three devices by which Poe secures belief in his story. Select 
 some vivid, well-chosen words, some striking comparisons, and some ex- 
 amples of effective use of contrast. 
 
 The Gold-Bug 
 
 The Gold-Bug appeared in The Philadelphia Dollar Newspaper, where 
 it won Poe a prize of one hundred much needed dollars. Within a few 
 years the story had reached a circulation of 300,000 copies. Some of the 
 reasons for this popularity may be briefly summarized: (i) There is a 
 fascination in the subject of buried treasure — the theme has all the lure of 
 a lottery. (2) To this must be added the widespread interest in the deeds 
 of that prince of pirates. Captain Kidd — his very name rouses attention. 
 (3) To the spell of romance Poe has here joined the charm of the detective 
 story and has turned to good Uterary account his ability to decipher secret 
 writing. Thus realism and romance go hand in hand through the story. 
 
 Poe has exercised a romancer's right in placing a chain of rough hills on 
 the flat coast of Carolina and in changing the appearance of Sullivan's 
 Island, which he had known during his soldier days at Fort Moultrie in 
 1828. In some parts of the story, where we might expect a strict accuracy, 
 such, for example, as the weight and amount of the treasure, and the measure- 
 ment of distance, his details will not bear close inspection. Again, he is 
 weak in his management of dialogue and utterly lacking in any command 
 of dialect: Jupiter uses a dialect but little more realistic than that of Crusoe's 
 man Friday. But we forget these defects when once Poe has caught us 
 in the net of his plot; and while the story is in full swing, we suspend for 
 the time our disbelief. The narrative grips and holds us; it makes many 
 and cimning appeals; consequently, it will probably long continue to be 
 our best known American short story. 
 
 P. 131, 1. 3. Legrand is one of Poe's typical heroes: a man acquainted 
 with wealth; a lover of letters and science; given to reverie; of superior, 
 though somewhat unsettled, mental faculties; and fond of exercising and 
 displaying their powers. 
 
 Is the motto especially appropriate? Would it have been more appro- 
 priate if they had failed to find the treasure? Why should not Legrand 
 tell the tale? Indicate the large divisions of the story. Which of these 
 did you find the most interesting? Which, probably, interested Poe the 
 most? Why does Poe close the story by recurring to Captain Kidd? 
 
2o8 poe's poems and tales 
 
 The Purloined Letter 
 
 This is the last of Poe's series of detective stories, which also includes 
 The Murders in the Rue Morgue and The Mystery of Marie Roget. Poe's 
 sharp-eyed, keen-minded M. Dupin has been the first of a large family of 
 detectives, such as M. Lecoq of Gaboriau and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's 
 Sherlock Holmes. How closely the EngUsh detective treads in the tracks 
 of Poe's hero may be seen by comparing this story with Doyle's A 
 Scandal in Bohemia. Accompanying Poe's hero, and sharing his scorn of 
 the stupidity of the police, is the confidant who tells the tale and opportunely 
 asks those questions that rise in the minds of the readers. Poe has con- 
 structed his plot in a neat, careful, plausible fashion, and offers the reader a 
 pleasure somewhat akin to that of following the steps in a logical demon- 
 stration. The detective tale is not, perhaps, the highest class of story; 
 but The Purloined Letter is probably the best of its class. 
 
 Name three different piurposes served by the first paragraph. Where is 
 the first hint regarding the outcome of the story? Point out the resem- 
 blances in structure between The Purloined Letter and The Gold-Bug. In 
 which is the close the more clever and the more appropriate? 
 
 The Cask of Amontillado 
 
 Poe here uses his favorite conception of entombing the living as the 
 basis of a study in diabolical revenge. The rapid beginning of the story, 
 its brevity, the contrast between the gay dress of the reveller and the nitre- 
 covered walls of his tomb, and the deUneation of fear, gradually rising 
 through every degree of terror to the agonizmg death scream, all combine 
 to stamp the story deep in the reader's memory. 
 
 Where do you begin to realize Montresor's purpose? What is the effect 
 of his gaiety? Trace the growth of terror in Fortunato. Might the closing 
 Latin quotation be omitted without loss to the story? 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY 
 
 1827. Tamerlane and Other Poems, By a Bostonian, Bostoft". 
 
 1829. Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems, Baltimore (including 
 
 Sonnet — To Science and Romance). 
 1 83 1. Poems, New York (including To Helen, Israfel, The City in the Sea — 
 
 then entitled The City of Sin, Lenore — then entitled A Pean). 
 1833. MS. Found in a Bottle, "The Baltimore Visiter." 
 1835. Hymn, "The Southern Literary Messenger," April. 
 
 To One in Paradise, in his tale The Visionary, "The Southern Literary 
 
 Messenger, " July. 
 Shadow — A Parable, "Southern Literary Messenger," September. 
 
 1837. The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, New York. 
 
 1838. Ligeia, "The American Museum," September. 
 
 1839. The Fall of the House of Usher, "Gentleman's Magazine," Sep- 
 
 tember. 
 
 1840. Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque, Philadelphia. 
 
 1841. A Descent into the Maelstrom, "Graham's Magazine," May. 
 
 1842. Eleonora, "The Gift." 
 
 The Masque of the Red Death, " Graham's Magazine," May. 
 
 1843. The Conqueror Worm, "Graham's Magazine," January. 
 The Tell-Tale Heart, "The Pioneer," January. 
 
 The Gold-Bug, "Philadelphia Dollar Newspaper," June 21-28. 
 
 1844. Dream-Land, "Graham's Magazine," June. 
 
 1845. The Raven, "The Evening Mirror," January 20. 
 Eulalie — A Song, "American Whig Review," July. 
 The Purloined Letter, "The Gift." 
 
 The Raven and Other Poems, New York. 
 
 1846. The Cask of Amontillado, "Godey's Lady's Book," November. 
 
 1847. Ulalume, "American Whig Review," December. 
 
 1849. To My Mother, "Flag of Our Union." 
 
 Annabel Lee, "The New York Tribune," October 9. 
 The Bells, "Home Journal," April 28. 
 
 1850. Eldorado, " The Works of the late Edgar Allan Poe, with a Memoir 
 
 by Rufus Wihnot Griswold." 
 
 The first careful edition of Poe's writings was that of John H. Ingram, 
 four volumes, Edinburgh, 1874-75; this was followed in 1884 by Richard 
 Henry Stoddard's six volume edition. In 1885 George Edward Wood- 
 berry issued his Life of Poe, which in an enlarged form, 1909, is still the 
 
 209 
 
2IO poe's poems and tales 
 
 standard biography. In 1894-95, in collaboration with Edmund Clarence 
 Stedman, he published a very complete edition of Poe's works, which was 
 followed and supplemented in 1902 by Professor James A. Harrison's ad- 
 mirable "Virginia Edition." James H. Whitty's "Complete Poems," 
 191 1, has given us a few new minor poems and some new facts about Poe's 
 life. Killis Campbell's The Poems of Edgar Allan Poe, 1917, is the most 
 scholarly edition of Poe's verse. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 abandon (French). A free yielding to impulse. 
 
 Abernethy, John (1764-1831). A popular but eccentric English surgeon 
 and medical lecturer. 
 
 .Egipan. The " goat-Uke " Pan, so called from the appearance of his head 
 and legs. See Mela. 
 
 .ffiolus. The Greek god of the winds; these stir the strings of the ^olian 
 harp. 
 
 agressi sunt, etc. (Latin). " They entered the sea of darkness to seek what 
 might there be found." 
 
 Aidenn (Arabic adn, thence Eden). Paradise. 
 
 ambitus (Latin). A " going-about "; hence, an illegal ofl&ce-seeking. 
 
 Amontillado (a mon ti yd' do). A Spanish hght colored wine, of rich flavor, 
 having little sugar or sweetness. 
 
 Anacreon (563-478 B.C.). A noted Greek lyric poet, born in Teos, whose 
 chief themes were wine and love. 
 
 aqua regia (Latin, royal water). A compound of nitric and hydrochloric 
 acids, taking its name from its power to dissolve the royal metal — gold. 
 
 Archimedes (287?-2i2 B. C). The renowned mathematician of Syracuse. 
 The title here given may be freely translated, The Principles of Floating. 
 
 Aries. The ram, or the first of the twelve signs of the Zodiac. 
 
 Astarte. The Greek equivalent of the Hebrew Ashtoreth, worshipped by 
 the Phoenicians as the moon goddess. 
 
 au fait (French). Expert, skillful, well-instructed. 
 
 auto-da-fe (Portuguese) . Literally, act of the faith — the execution, es- 
 pecially the burning, of a heretic. 
 
 au troisieme. The fourth floor, though hterally on the third, since the 
 French begin their count above the ground floor. 
 
 avatar. The incarnate form or manifestation of the plague. 
 
 Aztael. The Mohammedan death angel who parts the soul from the body. 
 
 Bacon, Francis, Baron Verulam (1561-1626). An eminent EngHsh states- 
 man, philosopher and author. His actual words read, " There is no ex- 
 cellent beauty," etc. 
 
 Beranger, Pierre Jean de (1780-1857). A French writer of songs and lyrics, 
 the champion of the common people and much loved by them. 
 
 bridge. Guarding the entrance of the Mohammedan paradise is the bridge 
 Al Sirat, " finer than a hair and sharper than the edge of a sword." 
 
 brusquerie (French). A blunt, curt manner. 
 
 Bryant, Jacob (17 15-1804). An English antiquarian whose Mythology 
 Poe knew intimately and used extensively. 
 
 Campanella, Tommaso (1563-1639). An Italian monk who while im- 
 prisoned for heresy pictured a model state in his Civitas Solis. 
 
212 POE S POEMS AND TALES 
 
 Canning, Sir Launcelot. The author, the title of his book, and the ex- 
 tracts given are probably of Poe's invention. 
 
 Catalan!, Angelica (1779-1849). An ItaHan soprano celebrated for her 
 high notes. 
 
 Chamfort, Sebastian Roch Nicolas (i 741-1794). A clever French writer 
 of maxims and epigrams. 
 
 Charonean Canal. Acheron, the river of woe, over which Charon was 
 believed to ferry the dead. 
 
 Chian. From Chios, modern Scio. An island in the ^gean Sea, famous 
 for its wine. 
 
 Cleomenes. The Son of Apollodorus, and sculptor of the Venus de' Medici. 
 
 cleverly. Here used colloquially for fairly or actually. 
 
 counters. An obsolete and contemptuous word for coins. 
 
 Crebillon, Prosper Jolyot de (1674-1762). A French tragic poet. 
 
 decora (Latin, plural of decorum) . Those things fit or proper — the propri- 
 eties. 
 
 De Grave. A Bordeaux wine, red or white, full of body. 
 
 Delos. An island in the yEgean Sea set apart for the worship of Apollo 
 and Latona. 
 
 Democritus. A Greek philosopher slightly older than Socrates. " The 
 Well of Democritus " is probably the void in which he believed there 
 revolved the infinite atoms of which Being is composed. 
 
 demon. Here a " familiar or friendly or guiding spirit." 
 
 Dian, Diana. The Roman goddess of chastity and hmiting; also the moon- 
 goddess. 
 
 empressement (French). Earnestness, heartiness, ardor. 
 
 ennuye (French). Bored. 
 
 Eros. The Greek god corresponding to Cupid. 
 
 escritoire (French). Writing desk or secretary. 
 
 Eymeric, Nicolas (1320-1399). His Directoriuyn Inquisitorum prescribed 
 the methods of the Inquisition with fiendish ingenviity; first printed in 
 1503. 
 
 facilis descensus Averni (Latin). " Easy is the descent into Avernus," or 
 Hell. Cf. Virgil's jEneid, vi, 126. 
 
 Faubourg St. Germain. Formerly a fashionable part of Paris, south of 
 the Seine. 
 
 Feroe. A group of about twenty small Danish islands between the Shetland 
 Islands and Iceland. 
 
 fete (French). Festival, celebration of some day. 
 
 Flud, Robert (1574-1637). An English mystic, who claimed power to read 
 the future. 
 
 Fuseli, John Henry (1741-1825). An eminent Swiss-English artist and 
 professor of painting. 
 
 Gilead. A district in Palestine east of the Jordan; see Jeremiah, viii, 22. 
 
 Glanvill, Joseph (1636-1680). An English divine and author, philosopher 
 and mystic. 
 
 Golconda. A city in India, faipous for the diamonds there cut and 
 polished. 
 
GLOSSARY 213 
 
 Gothic. The pointed type of architecture which prevailed in Europe from 
 
 the twelfth to the fifteenth century. 
 Gresset, Jean Baptiste Louis de (1709-1777). A French poet. Vert-Veri 
 
 relates the adventures of a profane parrot in a nunnery; Ma Chartreuse 
 
 is a finely tempered satire on the Jesuits. 
 Helusion. Properly Elusion, or Elysium. The fields where dwell the 
 
 souls of the blessed dead. 
 Hernani. Victor Hugo's famous tragedy, 1830. 
 Herod. Herod was the stock ranter in the miracle plays. Hence the 
 
 phrase means to out-do in some extreme act. 
 Hesper. Hesperus, the western or evening star. 
 Holberg, Ludwig von (1684-1754). A gifted, original, and learned Danish 
 
 writer. His Nicholai Klimii iter suhterraneum, published in Latin, was 
 
 very popular. 
 homines honesti (Latin). Distinguished men. 
 hotel (French). A public building or ofiicial town mansion. 
 houri. Literally " gazelle-like in the eyes," — a nymph of the Moham- 
 medan Paradise. 
 II y a, etc. (French). " It is a safe wager that every widespread idea, every 
 
 accepted convention is a bit of stupidity, — since it has been approved 
 
 by the mob." 
 Impia tortorum, etc. (Latin). " Here the impious, insatiate throng of tor- 
 turers long nourished its madness on innocent blood. Now the native land 
 
 is saved and happy, the pit of death has been destroyed, and where grim 
 
 death walked, appear life and health." 
 improvisatori (Italian). Those who improvised music or verse. 
 Indagine, Jean d' (Joannes ab Indagine). A sixteenth century German 
 
 priest and writer, who was a strange mixture of scientist, mystic, and 
 
 quack. 
 In pace requiescat (Latin). May he rest in peace, 
 insignium. Here and elsewhere Poe uses this word to mean symbol or 
 
 device, not realizing that the singular of the Latin insignia is insigne. 
 intriguant (French). Intriguer. 
 
 Kircher, Athanasius (i 602-1 680). A German Jesuit who wrote on mathe- 
 matics, physics, and philosophy. 
 La Bruyere, Jean de (1645-1696). A French moralist and character 
 
 writer. 
 La Chambre, Martin Cureau de (1594-1669). A French royal physician 
 
 whose Chiromancie was published in 1653. 
 La Salle, Antoine Chivalier Louis CoUinet (1775-1809). Napoleon's great 
 
 cavalry leader in the Invasion of Spain, in 1808. 
 Leda. The mother of Castor and Pollux who, according to Greek mythology, 
 
 became the constellation of the Gemini, or Twins. 
 Lethean. From Lethe, the river of forgetfulness in Hades. 
 Liriodendron Tulipif era. The tulip tree, which som-etimes reaches a height 
 
 of 150-200 ft. 
 LuUy, Raymond (1235-1315). A Spanish author, mystic, and missionary 
 
 to the Mohammedans. 
 
214 poe's poems and tales 
 
 Luxor. A village in upper Egypt built on the site of ancient Thebes and 
 
 containing some of its ruins. 
 Lyra. A Northern constellation of twenty-one stars which outline a lyre or 
 
 harp. 
 Machiavelli, Niccolo (1469-15 2 7). An Italian diplomat and author. 
 
 His Beljagor is a satire on marriage. 
 Mare Tenebrarum (Latin). The sea of darkness. For the ancients, the 
 
 unexplored Atlantic. 
 Medoc. A red French wine, mellow and delicately flavored. 
 Mela, Pomponius. A Roman geographer of the first century. He used 
 
 the epithet ^gipans to describe a goat-like race of beings in Africa, 
 monstrum horrendum (Latin). A frightful monster. From Virgil's 
 
 Mneid, iii, 658. 
 Nemo me inpune lacessit (Latin). No one wrongs me with impunity. 
 Nepenthe. A potion used by the ancients to deaden pain or sorrow. Hence, 
 
 anything causing oblivion. 
 Nil sapientiae, etc. (Latin). To wisdom nothing is more offensive than 
 
 over shrewdness. 
 non distributio medii (Latin). A term used in logic meaning " the undis- 
 tributed middle." See The Century Dictionary imder " fallacy." 
 Norway mile. Nearly five EngUsh miles. 
 Nubian geographer. Possibly the geographer Claudius Ptolemy, who 
 
 lived in the second century A. D., though there is no proof that he was 
 
 a Nubian. 
 (Edipus. In Greek mythology the Theban king who solved the riddle of 
 
 the Sphinx. 
 Oinos (Greek). Wine. 
 
 Pallas. Pallas Athene, the Greek goddess of wisdom. 
 palazzo (Italian). A palace; a nobleman's private residence. 
 par excellence (French). Preeminently. 
 Peccavimus (Latin). We have sinned. 
 Percival, Dr. James Gates (1795-1856). A popular. American scientist 
 
 and a mediocre poet. 
 Phlegethon. A " burning " or fiery river of Hades. 
 Plutonian. Pluto was the god of the dark, mysterious underworld. 
 Pomponius Mela. See Mela. 
 
 Porphyrogene (Greek). " Bom to the purple," — i.e. of royal descent. 
 Procrustes. " The Stretcher." A fabled Greek robber who fitted his 
 
 victims to a bed by stretching them or by lopping off their limbs. 
 proper. Used in the earlier sense of personal or own. 
 Psyche (Greek). The soul; here, as frequently, personified. 
 Ptolemais. Five cities in the ancient world bore this name. Poe may have 
 
 had one of these definitely in mind, but probably he here uses the name 
 
 to enforce his suggestion of an old " dim city." 
 Ramus, Jonas (1649-1718). Norwegian priest and author. 
 recherche (French). Secret, hidden, carefully planned. 
 regulus. The mass of metal gathering beneath the slag in smelting. 
 religio (Latin). Ceremoniousness, punctiHousness. 
 
 I 
 
GLOSSARY 215 
 
 Rochefoucauld, Francois de la (1613-1680). A French moralist and 
 
 author of maxims. 
 roquelaure. A cloak for men, popular m the eighteenth century, and taking 
 
 its name from the Duke of Roquelaure. 
 Rue Morgue, etc. Referring to Poe's tales, The Murders in the Rue Morgue 
 
 and The Mystery of Marie Roget. 
 Runic. From rune, the written characters of the old languages of north- 
 ern Europe; here, a dark, mystic song. 
 Saturnian lead. Those born under the influence of Saturn were beUeved 
 
 by astrologers to be stupid and dull and heavy like lead, 
 scarabaeus (Latin). A beetle. 
 
 scarabaeus caput hominis (Latin). Man's-head beetle. 
 Schiraz or Shiraz. A Persian city where the poet Hafiz (fourteenth century) 
 
 was born and buried. 
 Seneca, Lucius Annaeus. A Latin philosopher and dramatist, tutor to 
 
 Nero. 
 Sexagesima Sunday. The second Sunday before Lent. 
 Sherry. An amber-colored, dry Spanish wine. 
 
 solus (Latin). Alone. . . 
 
 son coeur, etc. (French). " His heart is a suspended lute; as soon as it is 
 touched, it resounds." Professor F. C. Prescott has recently found this 
 in Ber anger's Le Rufus. 
 Spallanzani, Lazaro (1729-1799)- An Italian traveler and writer. 
 Spanish Main. The seas to the northeast of South America, which in 
 
 fiction have been the stock resort of pirates. 
 Sub conservatione, etc. (Latin). With the preservation of a characteristic 
 
 form, the soul is secure. 
 Swammerdam, Jan (165 7-1680). A noted Dutch naturalist. 
 Swedenborg, Emanuel (1688-177 2). The celebrated Swedish mystic and 
 
 theologian. 
 Teios, properly Teas. See Anacreon. 
 
 Tieck, Ludwig (1773-1853). One of the greatest of the nineteenth century 
 German romanticists who may have influenced Poe's writings._ Poe 
 here uses the sub-title of Tieck's volume: Das Alte Buch; oder Reise ins 
 Blaue hinein. 
 Ultima Thule. The name given by the Romans to the northernmost in- 
 habited lands; hence, anything far distant, remote. 
 Un dessein si funeste, etc. (French). "So baleful a design, if unworthy 
 of Atreus, is worthy of Thyestes." For the vengeance Atreus wreaked 
 on Thyestes, see Gayley's Classic Myths. 
 Verulam, Lord. See Bacon. 
 VigiUae Mortuorum, etc. (Latin). " Vigils for the Dead as rendered by the 
 
 Choir of the Church at Mayence." Probably Poe's own invention, 
 virtuoso. Skillful in, or having a taste for, the fine arts, 
 vis inertiae (Latin). Power of inertia. 
 
 Watson, Richard (1737-1816). A superficial but popular writer on chem- 
 istry; made Bishop of Llandafi in 1782. 
 
2i6 poe's poems and tales 
 
 Weber, Baron Karl M.F.E. von (1786-1826). A famous German musical 
 
 composer and conductor. 
 Zaffre. An impure cobalt oxide, used in making pigments and in producing 
 
 a blue enamel on pottery. 
 Zoilus. A name to-day associated with an infamous Greek critic; not very 
 
 appropriately used here. 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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